Sweet as the Devil (29 page)

“He has an heir in you,” Ben pointed out. “Isn’t that sufficient?”

“Yes, yes, certainly—you’re right,” Sofia quickly replied, unable to reveal Von Welden’s continuing malevolence.

“It’s really just a matter of instituting some legal procedures,” Jamie interposed, his voice deliberately mild. “The Austrian judicial system is fearfully antiquated, unfortunately, so a certain amount of political influence and money is necessary to oil the bureaucratic wheels. There’s no question that Prince Ernst’s sovereignty will be upheld; it’s just a matter of time.”
And one man’s demise.
Jamie made a show of looking at the tall case clock in the corner. “It really is getting late,” he said, wishing to put an end to the conversation before too much was said. “If you’ll excuse us.” He stretched out his arm and touched Sofia’s hand resting on her chair. “Morning comes early, dear.” He came to his feet.

Sofia didn’t move. “Are you sure we can’t stay for a few days?”

Amelia took note of the entreaty in her daughter’s gaze. “We’d love to have you extend your visit,” she pleasantly said. “Please consider staying, Lord Blackwood.”

Jamie smiled politely. “My gillies are expecting us. Perhaps some other time when we’re not traveling with so many friends. I feel we’re imposing.”

“Nonsense,” Ben gruffly remarked. “You’re not imposing in the least.” He glanced at Sofia. “Perhaps
you’d
like to stay on, Sofie dear, and travel to Scotland later.” He wasn’t entirely sure of the relationship between his stepdaughter and this man who traveled with a small army. A hunter himself, he’d taken note of their weaponry; it wasn’t for hunting. “Amelia, do coax Sofie into staying on with us. We haven’t seen her for so long.”

“Really, dear, I wish you would,” Amelia said warmly, smiling at her daughter. “The landscape is gorgeous this time of year, and the spring light is simply stupendous. Ben and I hardly come in to eat we’re so eager to capture the colors on canvas. We can send you along to Scotland in a week or so.”

“Why don’t I return later this summer instead,” Sofia tactfully suggested, knowing it was impossible for her to stay. “I promised Jamie I’d come to see his estate; he’s described it in such glowing terms I’m quite looking forward to our holiday. Which reminds me, I need some canvas and paints. I was too lazy to pack much.”

While Ben didn’t dispute Sofia’s laziness, what bothered him was that Sofie was wearing someone else’s frock, the dress clearly not her style. Why was she traveling without her own clothes or her usual green leather trunk?

Additional factors fueling his unease about this Scottish holiday.

Jamie turned to Sofia, his brows lifted faintly. “Are you coming, darling?”

“You go. I’ll be up shortly. I haven’t had a chance to quiz Mother on all the latest news and scandals in the art world,” she added with a playful grin.

Dare he insist? If Sofia kept drinking. who knew what she’d say?

“Speaking of news!” Amelia exclaimed. “I’d quite forgotten! A telegram arrived yesterday for Lord Blackwood. We thought it was some mistake. Ben, where did we put that envelope?”

“I’ll get it.” Ben rose from his chair.

Instantly on alert, Jamie said, “I’ll come with you.” Who the hell knew he was here? More aptly, did the wrong people know he was here? “Don’t stay up too late, darling,” he said, the fiat in his voice only thinly veiled. “I’m going to wake you early.”
Perhaps extremely early depending on who sent the telegram.
With the merest lift of his chin, he summoned Douglas to his side, and together the two men followed Ben from the room.

“He’s stunning,” Amelia murmured as Jamie disappeared from sight. “You’re going to paint him no doubt. He’s utterly lovely in a brute sort of way, much different from your other beaux. Almost
indifferent
I’d say, except the way he looks at you quite discourages that notion. I suspect you’re enjoying yourself,” her mother added with a small smile.

“Very much so, Mother. He can be very attentive.”

“Always an attractive feature in a man, isn’t it? He’s nicely dressed as well; European tailoring has a certain flair. I almost took out my sketchbook as he lounged in his chair, nursing his whiskey and watching you. I can’t decide, though—is his tailor Venetian or Viennese? The lapels suggest the Venetians. They like a bit more drama, not to mention the complementary color of the stitching on his pockets. I particularly like his elegant waistcoat, such a glorious pongee silk. And his coat of angora wool is very suggestive of Venice—any enormously expensive fabric delights the Venetian eye.”

Sofia grinned. “Only you would notice a man’s clothing. Would you like me to ask him the name of his tailor?”

“No, no—actually yes,” Amelia amended with a piquant twinkle in her eye. “There’s an elderly lady who sews for all the old, moneyed Venetian families.” She pursed her lips in musing thought. “I forget her name, but I believe that colored stitching is her trademark. And while we’re on the subject of clothes,” she added with a disapproving glance, “where in the world did you find that horrid dress?”

“It was a gift.”

Her mother lifted her brows. “Obviously from someone without taste.” Amelia’s wardrobe was in the avant-garde of fashion, as was her daughter’s.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t care to hear that.”

“Surely, you don’t mean—”

“No, Mother. A barrister friend,” Sofia lied.

Amelia snorted. “That explains it. Such a weary lot, barristers.”

“Some are pleasant enough, Mother. You entertain Lord Parker from time to time.”

“Only because he’s Ben’s cousin.”

“And also because he’s your best bridge partner.”

Her mother’s lashes drifted downward. “Very well, I stand corrected. Martin has some fine qualities. Now tell me the truth,” she said, curtailing their current topic, using the stringent tone mothers used to command honesty in their children. “Why exactly are you going to Scotland? I can’t imagine Ernst allowing his ADC to go on holiday when he’s in London. As I recall, your father was rather a selfish man.”

Sofia looked her mother straight in the eye, having learned as a child that an evasive glance tainted one’s credulity. “The prince seems not to have changed in that regard, but he and Jamie must have come to some agreement. I only spoke to Ernst briefly, so I wouldn’t know what they arranged,” she lied. “Ernst was entertaining other guests at the time.”

“A woman, you mean,” her mother said.

Sofia shot her a quick look. “Does it bother you?”
Good. A change of subject.

Amelia shook her head. “Too many years have passed. I’m sure if we met again neither of us would find each other as charming as we once did. And I dearly love Ben—I have for ages.”

“He was a very good father to me—is a very good father,” Sofia quickly corrected, Ben the most kindhearted of men.

“He
is
an absolute darling, isn’t he?” Amelia paused for a moment, choosing her words. “As to this title you’ve been offered, you must do as you wish. Ben would agree.” She took a small breath. “But bear in mind, sweetheart, Ernst isn’t known for his loyalty. I wouldn’t want you hurt.”

“Like you were.”

“Perhaps I was for a time.” Amelia smiled faintly. “But not for long. Ben was with me even before you were born, and I’ve had a very good life. I have you, a husband who loves me, and a career anyone would envy. I hold no grudge against Ernst. Poor man—his parents completely controlled his life, and word had it his marriage proved unhappy. Naturally, I’m sorry for the loss of his son. But don’t feel you have to provide your life in compensation. You don’t.”

“I know. Don’t worry, Mother, I’m not the sacrificial type. I more or less told Ernst as much. Not that he believed me, but I expect he will eventually.”

“Now there’s my darling girl,” Amelia said with obvious relief. “Ever practical.” Amelia bestowed a doting smile on her daughter. “Not that I’m advocating you relinquish either the title or wealth if you don’t wish to. You know whatever you choose to do is fine with us. We’ve always allowed you your independence.”

“For which I’m grateful. One last question,” Sofia said, leaning forward slightly in her curiosity. “Why did you never consider divorce?”

Amelia shrugged. “I had no assurance that I was married. The ceremony was performed in the Austrian embassy, Ernst took possession of the papers, and once he was gone, I had no proof that the ceremony was legitimate. Then when Ernst was married soon after to the Princess of Bohemia, naturally I questioned the authenticity of
my
marriage.” She softly sighed. “So beyond the obvious doubt . . . I didn’t have the means to sue for divorce without proper documentation. And had I asked the Austrian embassy for those papers, I assume they would have been withheld to protect Ernst’s new marriage.”

“Meanwhile, Ernst couldn’t divorce or he’d risk some bureaucrat disclosing the proceedings and Rupert’s legitimacy would have come into question.” Sofia grinned. “Your impetuous love affaire posed some serious problems.”

“Or perhaps fate took a hand that long-ago summer.” Amelia offered her daughter a good-natured smile. “You
are
a princess after all.”

“If only I
wished
to be a princess,” Sofia ruefully noted. “Which I most certainly do not. Oh hell,” she muttered, vexed and moody, “enough about this ungodly mess. I need some distraction—some new and scandalous gossip. How goes Burke and Mona’s affaire, for instance? Have they decided to marry, or has Mona flitted on to some other lover?”

“D
OUGLAS IS MY lieutenant,” Jamie said as he and his aide entered Ben’s study, shut the door behind them, and approached the desk where Ben was pawing through a pile of papers. “He’s privy to Ernst’s business.”

Ben looked up. “Which is?”

“Nothing untoward,” Jamie calmly replied.

“I saw your weapons. They’re not for hunting.”

“We happen to like them for hunting.”

“You have guards outside.” Ben waved his hand at the windows.

“Force of habit.”

“You’re wearing a shoulder holster. I felt it when I welcomed you.”

“Again—force of habit.”

“Sofie’s traveling without her luggage. She never does.”

Jamie smiled. “You can blame me for that. I was in a hurry to reach Scotland.”

“So she bought clothes in Bolton.” He’d seen the packages unloaded.

“Is that a problem?”

“It could be,” Ben growled. “She normally shops in Paris.”

“She seemed willing to compromise.”

“Bloody hell!” Ben exploded. “Enough evasion, damn it! Look,” he said, tamping down his temper with effort, his nostrils flaring slightly with the attempt, “I hunt. I don’t own guns like yours.”

“My friends are particular.”

“They’re not your friends. They’re your army.”

“Allow me to disagree.”

“Stop fucking with me.”

“If I might have my telegram,” Jamie gently said, trying not to show his anger.

“This
telegram?” Ben spoke as gently. He held the found item aloft and out of reach.

“Yes, please.” A small edge had entered Jamie’s voice.

“I want some answers first. I don’t like Ernst. I never have, not in the beginning nor any time since.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with my message.”

“It has to do with my daughter.”

Jamie’s brows rose infinitesimally.

“She’s my daughter a thousand times more than Ernst’s,” Ben curtly said.

“Again, an issue that has nothing to do with my telegram.” Jamie scanned the room with a soldier’s eye, debating his options, deterrents, whether Ben had weapons on hand. His gaze at the last fell on the cluttered desktop and his heart skipped a beat. “Perhaps we could come to some agreement,” he said, his voice carefully modulated. He indicated with a flick of his fingers an envelope of fine quality paper lying amidst Ben’s documents. A family crest embellished the envelope, the device familiar to Jamie: double eagles, crossed swords, and lions couchant supporting a cartouche. “Might I ask when you received that?”

“Why?”

“It interests me.”

“My only interest is Sofie. Her safety particularly.”

“Then it might be useful for you to turn over my telegram and that letter,” Jamie quietly said, although he could have whispered and still have been heard in the taut silence of the room.

“She
is
in danger. I knew it.”

“I’m not at liberty to betray the prince’s confidences, but we both want Sofia protected.”

“From whom?”

“I can’t say.”

“I’ll ask Sofie.”

“No you won’t.”

“You’ll stop me?”

“I could,” Jamie said with impatient economy.

The two men faced each other over the untidy desktop in the untidy room that smelled of paint and turpentine and linseed oil—both large, powerful men, separated, however, by significant differences. Like any English gentleman, Ben knew how to handle a gun; his collection of custom-made hunting guns was extensive. Like any soldier, Jamie didn’t restrict his hunting to four-legged prey. Therein lay the novelty of their positions.