Authors: Moriah Denslea
As her anger dissipated, she acknowledged, “I suppose if I couldn’t open buttons, an automatic fastener might seem newsworthy.”
While she was forgiving Lord Devon, he had turned her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest, resting his chin at her temple. He hummed quietly, undisturbed as he held her in a casual embrace. His husky tenor voice near her ear went straight to her loins, made her eyes close, and gave her essentially ill-advised notions.
The cricket game had ended, and while his sisters fetched the wickets Lt. Cavendish watched the terrace from the field, scowling at his uncle. He swung the bat behind his shoulders, irritated like a cat lashing its tail.
“Your skin smells like peaches and cloves. So
soft
. I find the texture addicting.” His lips trailed across her cheekbone — a display for Philip, no doubt — and he held tight against her effort to break free, whispering, “Remember our bargain.”
“Fiend.” she reprimanded, even as she relished the low, sensuous timbre of his voice. It affected her like an opiate.
“The post has arrived, my lord,” interrupted Martin, the butler. Wilhelm released her hand and accepted the small bundle of letters. Where did he find such a straight-faced butler? Martin didn’t even raise a brow at the inappropriate position he found them in.
“For you, my lady.” Lord Devon passed her a letter. He called her
Rosalie
less and less lately, and usually in sarcasm. She knew her disguise bothered him.
She took the envelope addressed to
Mrs. Rosalie Cooper
, recognizing Mr. Cox’s hand. Her solicitor sent news every few weeks, but this letter felt heavier and fatter than usual. She tucked it deep in a pocket hidden in her skirts.
“You will not read it?”
“Not with you looking over my shoulder.” She reminded him of his side of the agreement, that he allow her privacy and let her secrets lie. “Remember our bargain?”
• • •
Dearest Sophie,
Do not be angry with Mr. Cox, I begged him to forward my letter. Chauncey found me in Edinburgh, his investigators followed servant gossip, according to Mr. Cox. Chauncey is livid, Sophie. Last time he wanted me to give up your location. This time I think he only wanted to gloat. He says he knows where you are and vows to make you regret your defiance. I wished him to hell. Mr. Cox assures me it was a bluff and that you are safely hidden. Wherever you are be careful, Sophie. I wish you were here —
Heavy knuckles rapped on the door, the one between her room and Lord Devon’s. “Are you ready to go down?” He let himself in before she could answer.
Sophia hid the letter from her mother behind her back with one hand and held the loose bodice of her gown up with the other. “One day you might barge through that door and find me
in flagrante delicto.”
“That would be the same day I commit murder.” His cold smile gave the impression he wasn’t joking.
“So, who am I this evening?” Sophia crumpled the paper in her fist as he approached.
“Aunt Louisa’s cousin from France, whom I appear to be smitten with. It is time to reveal you to the neighbors. According to my aunt, the parish is rife with rumors.”
“So you want me to pretend to be respectable
and
speak with a French accent?”
“If it is not too much to ask, do that in addition to appearing smitten with me in return.” He closed the back of her dress and kissed the nape of her neck.
Sophia caught her breath, struck with how natural the gesture felt. If she didn’t take care, she would believe the false sense of intimacy between them. She reminded herself Lord Devon was improperly direct and she was desperate for protection; not elements of a genuine romance.
Sophia attached the ruby earbobs but put the matching necklace away in favor of appearing more modest. Her organza gown in a deep shade of burgundy wine was dramatic enough. She tucked the crumpled letter inside the box with the necklace, to finish reading later.
Lord Devon studied her from head to toe and hummed in approval. “Perfect.”
It was the closest he had ever come to complimenting her appearance. Even if she resembled a hedgehog, was it not his duty as her escort to say something gallant? With nothing forthcoming, she took his arm and walked toward the first-floor drawing room.
He paused at the door and muttered, “This is Aunt Louisa’s idea of vital community leadership. I call it death by half-wits. Anything to keep the Old Dragon contented. She has promised to support you this evening.”
“A truce? Very well.” Ah, so Lord Devon had agreed to socialize with the neighbors if Aunt Louisa painted on a smile for Sophia? This should be entertaining.
To her surprise, Wilhelm behaved with utmost gentility as he introduced her. He seemed so relatively
normal
among company, she doubted anyone would suspect his limitations. To his guests Lord Devon must seem hale and clever if they forgave him for being a bit dark and acerbic. The vicar suggested Lord Devon attend the parish bazaar next Saturday. The balding owl-eyed man made the mistake of implying obligation, his tone scolding.
Wilhelm nodded thoughtfully and answered, “In a deterministic universe, there would be no use for probability if all the conditions were known, such as the current rate of my attendance in relation to the statistical feasibility of a future appearance. Multiplied with incentives applied by entities supernatural or divine, the result is the antithesis of expectation.” Wilhelm smiled and added cordially, “Of course you may count on financial support from Rougemont. Your service is duly appreciated.”
Sophia bit her lip to resist laughing out loud — Wilhelm had quoted Newton to insult a clergyman. The vicar seemed aware he had been set down but had no idea how and could hardly protest Lord Devon’s pledge of funding.
Settled in a corner with Elise and the elderly half-deaf Miss Cloward, Sophia could hear every word from the group of young ladies and their mamas clustered in a circle by the mantle. They supposed they were whispering.
“Just look at the
Honorable
Miss Pomphrey! She is positively stricken with him.”
“She laughs at everything he says whether it is amusing or not.”
“For thirty-four thousand a year I would do
anything
on cue.”
They giggled, each shooting furtive glances in Wilhelm’s direction. He stood with a crowd of mixed company around the piano, looking scholarly but distant with the blushing Miss Pomphrey.
Sophia’s brows raised in spite of herself. She had no idea Lord Devon was so outrageously wealthy. By all accounts he didn’t seem to care, lacking the air of avarice most rich men reeked of.
Louisa sat at a table of whist, exchanging sideways glances with Sophia, who feigned interest in Miss Cloward’s ghost cat story.
“Well, he can have her if he pleases. It is none of my business if he robs the cradle.”
“Thirty and five? Not too old to father an heir.”
“I would take Sir Cavendish just as soon. A
pirate slayer
!” The rustle of half a dozen crinolines meant they all turned to look at Philip.
“I should not like to be an officer’s wife. Countess, I would not mind.”
“Not me. Lord Devon is frightening. There is something not quite right about him.”
One of the mamas stage-whispered, “Do you mean his unspeakable proclivities or the torture?”
“
Torture
?”
The matronly voice lowered, “Oh yes, it was hushed up, but my housekeeper Mrs. Rutger came from Ashton Hall in Lancashire, which you know is the Tilmore estate, and Lord Courtenay and Lord Devon are the best of friends, not to mention Lord Courtenay was Lord Devon’s commanding officer in the Russian war, only Lord Devon was a spy — my Mrs. Rutger heard it from Lord Courtenay himself, only he didn’t know she was listening — ”
Sophia wanted to shout,
Mercy, woman, take a breath! And get on with the bit about torture
.
“And so Mrs. Rutger heard Lord Courtenay speak about how Lord Devon was a spymaster, or more like an
assassin
— ” Her audience gave an appreciate
ooh
. “But he was betrayed and captured.
Tortured
. A ruined man, but at least they made him lieutenant-general for his trouble. Or perhaps to cover up the scandal.”
After the gasps, one young voice quivered, “That sounds rather heroic,” the same time another said, “Ruined?”
“I hear he has fits. And worse, he is quite hideously disfigured with scars.”
“La! That cannot be true! Just
look
at him; he is a god!” Another collective sigh.
A nasal, wistful sigh. “He is a
Michelangelo
!”
“Girls,
please
.”
“Well, at thirty and five it is high time he married!”
“Don’t waste your energy. Lord Devon has never paid particular attention to a lady in all the time I have been his neighbor.”
“He must entertain himself in London, then.” The whispers turned to hisses.
“It cannot be true he prefers men? I will cast myself from a tower, I vow it, if such a — ”
“I heard he keeps his mistress here, right in
his own rooms!
”
Sophia bit back a groan as she heard, “No!” and “Shameful!” and an indignant, “Well, who is she?”
“The cousin!”
The collective swish of petticoats meant they all turned to leer at her, and Sophia resisted the urge to give them a salacious wink that meant,
Yours truly, girls
.
“I wish he wanted
me
… countess!” If they all sighed in concert one more time, Sophia feared she might jump out her seat and shout like a bedlamite.
At that, Aunt Louisa tossed her hand of cards on the table with an indignant
Humph!
and pushed back in her seat while the footmen scrambled to help her up, her cane rapping the floor impatiently. The gossiping women were moments from evisceration when Wilhelm blocked Aunt Louisa’s way, walking straight for Sophia with an outstretched hand. Now
everyone
in the room looked at her.
“Lord Beckham requested Schumann. I told him you know
Liebesgarten
, the duet in F?”
“Yes, my lord, I believe it is in Opus Thirty-Four, and I am sure you have the sheet music in the box.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to convey,
Please leave me alone
.
“I meant, we would like you to perform it for us, with me.” His expression said,
Obey, woman
.
This is a ridiculous display
. “My pleasure.” She flashed him her ingénue smile.
Sophia ignored murderous glares from that hen-pecking group of ladies. She sat on the piano bench, assuming the role of accompanist. Lord Devon made a silent but definite announcement: Instead of standing in the curve of the piano or beside her to turn the pages, he sat next to her on the bench. Right next to her, with his inside arm reaching across her back to rest on the edge of the bench, pinning her shoulder against his side in a half-embrace. And for him to select
Liebesgarten
— Lover’s Garden, he might as well have proclaimed aloud,
Behold, neighbors, I have an intimate attachment to this woman!
She began apprehensively, but before long she couldn’t help but appreciate the music. Wilhelm was superb — his voice rich, clear, and expressive. The wistful German text made it a romantic experience whether she willed it or not, masculine and feminine in harmony as tenor and soprano. She felt every bit of the scandal as she drew deep breaths in rhythm with his, engrossed in melding her half of the vibrations to match his, creating a sympathetic whole.
Their voices were ideally matched, and they both knew it, reveled in it. She had never been so attuned to another, enveloped in the unison of motion and perfect sonority. It felt like both a secret and a promise. Her imagination provided the rest.
The applause echoed in her head, sounding distant. She could hardly breathe. She knew she should look away from Wilhelm’s ice-burn gaze; his narrowed eyes and flared nostrils meant he felt the same buzz of arousal. She could not feel more stricken and exposed if she and Wilhelm had just made love on the lid of the piano.
Finally Martin announced dinner. If the duet hadn’t been tormenting enough, Wilhelm sat her at his left. He fielded compliments and dined with impeccable elegance, and if she didn’t know better she would have thought him most courtly. To the contrary, his left hand stroked the top of her thigh under the table, his foot rubbed her ankle, and he sent her sideways winks and dimpled half-smiles when he thought no one watched.
After the taxing dinner, Sophia pled exhaustion, avoiding the volatile situation awaiting in the drawing room.
Those stupid gossiping women didn’t know the first thing about Wilhelm. None of them could handle him, not his passions or his struggles. Sophia vowed it was not longing on her own behalf, but it would grieve her if Wilhelm was ever deceived into caring for a woman who did not genuinely love him.
She identified another burning feeling; it pricked behind her eyes and tightened her throat.
Sadness
. Regret, bitterness, heartbreak, all in turn.
You will never be a wife and mother
, an insidious voice in the back of her mind taunted.
Spinster, bluestocking! You might as well be a strumpet for all your reputation. Ruined. Unloved
. “Stop!” she shouted to the darkness, clutching her head in her hands.
Boiling anger at her father riled her. He destroyed everything he touched, including his wife and daughter. “Black-hearted villain!” she cursed out loud. She sat up and wiped away hot tears then slipped on a dressing robe and sneaked barefooted to the west service door. She only had to call once for Fritz. He dashed inside and followed her through the corridors, prancing circles around her with his tongue lolling out.
“Oh, Fritz,” she sighed and scratched behind his ears. “What do you do when you feel the opposite extremes of emotion all at once?” He cocked his head. “Come and keep me from feeling lonely.” She paused to chortle, “And so it seems I shall have a male in my room this evening. Scandalous!”