Song for Sophia (31 page)

“Good heavens, no. Naturally I am aloof to the rough ways of men.”

He started to scoff, then stopped himself. He reached inside his coat for a cigarillo and gestured for a light.

Sophia arched a brow and nodded at a dish on the table, indicating he should extinguish it before he even managed to light it. Chauncey always smoked, and Sophia detested the smell.

Jenks cleared his throat. “Might Lord Devon answer the question, seeing as your ladyship has little in the way of information, begging your pardon.”

Sophia cocked her head and began to apologize, “I regret Lord Devon is — ”

“Right here,” came Wilhelm’s voice from the doorway. Jenks startled. She turned to see Lord Devon wearing a perfectly sanguine expression despite his obvious
déshabillé
. He looked as though he had jumped from the back of a horse into the drawing room; windblown hair, loose collar, and a wild look in his eyes. He had probably come straight from the stables, judging by his dusty boots.

She caught his eye. “My lord, Inspector Jenks from London wishes to inquire about Sir Vorlay, reportedly missing these many months.”

“My lord,” Jenks mumbled, and Sophia observed him trying not to appear intimidated by Wilhelm, but clearly he felt inferior. But then, most men would. Wilhelm looked like the Warrior God of Virility next to the sallow, softer Mr. Jenks.

Wilhelm hummed and folded himself into the seat across from Jenks in a deceptively casual pose. “I am not terribly surprised to hear such news. Vorlay is the sort of man who goes looking for trouble and finds it.”

“Then you admit to altercations with the aforementioned person?”

Wilhelm scraped a thumbnail across his jaw, drawing attention to the shocking knife scar running nearly the entire length. “Did I quarrel with Vorlay? Yes, sorely, on more than one occasion. I doled out punishment for his offenses, which he would be mortified to have disclosed. I believe he would say he got much less than he deserved from me. Does that match the report his valet gave?”

Sophia stared, trying desperately to maintain her calm façade. Wilhelm appeared cool and untroubled, a little cocksure, even. She noted his particular use of the present tense.

Jenks sputtered a mouthful of tea into his napkin. Disgusting. “You — you … admit to foul play?”

Wilhelm laughed, an odd sound, given the situation. “Foul play? Of course not. Ask a dozen of Vorlay’s acquaintances, and you will find a dozen men who wish him ill. Unfortunately he is that sort of man. When he turns up at some rat-infested opium den in the East End, you can ask him yourself.”

Jenks scowled, seemingly chastised to silence.

Wilhelm rested his arms on his knees, a picture of leisure. “Tell me, Mr. Jenks, who sent you here?”

Jenks stuttered on about the commissioner and magistrates, and Wilhelm silenced him with his palm thrust forward. “No. Who
really
sent you, Jenks? You seem like a fairly good sort, one who might act outside his mandate should something valuable be held over his head. What is it? An indiscretion? Property? Not a child, I hope?”

At his words, Jenks turned ghostly pale and clambered out of the seat. “I — I must be going. Good d-day, my lord. Lady Devon.” He practically ran from the room, and Sophia heard Martin remind Jenks to take his hat and cloak.

“I thought he would never leave,” Wilhelm complained, pouring himself two fingers from the brandy bottle on the table.

“So gallantly you spin falsehoods,” she whispered.

“Recall my words. I spoke nothing false. In fact, I disclosed a shocking portion of the truth.” Wilhelm downed the brandy in two swallows without pausing to wait for the burn. His throat was probably made of steel, like the rest of him. “Chauncey put him up to it.”

“
What?
How?”

“There is no missing persons case. Poor Jenks was probably blackmailed into falsifying one. Really, it is quite boring, how predictable these villain-types are. I half expected Jenks to be an imposter, one of the bounty hunters. Alas I do think he was who he said, poor sod.”

“How can you be so sure there is no case under investigation? It would seem to the world that Vorlay disappeared, and suspicious he was last seen here.”

“It has been thoroughly managed, I assure you.” Wilhelm twirled the glass and peered at her through the facets, then lowered it. “Sophie, again I must ask for your forbearance and trust. I cannot reveal all my affiliations.”

“You mean the
Brotherhood of the Falcon?
”

He dropped the glass. Its shattering remained the only sound for long minutes. His voice came low and wary, “Where did you hear that name?”

“I cannot reveal my affiliations,” she echoed, arching a brow in challenge.

“
Damn
. Anne-Sophia, you must never utter those words again, understand?” He rose, pecked a kiss on her temple, then left the room.

She meant to go after him before she noticed a small envelope on the floor, under the chair Mr. Jenks had vacated minutes ago. Making certain she had no observers, Sophia retrieved and opened it. Hardly surprising to see her father’s handwriting:

Torquay railway station. Thursday. Two o’clock train to Portsmouth.

• • •

How did she end up on a train with Wilhelm instead of Aunt Louisa? One moment it seemed they had him in agreement, and the next he turned their arguments upside down and insisted on accompanying Sophia himself. Not only did he seem undaunted by the prospect of attending Helena Duncombe, but he showed genuine concern for her supposed illness.

So far the plan was a disaster.

How on earth would she get rid of him at Portsmouth? When Sophia arrived with Lord Devon as her guard dog, Chauncey would suppose she had gone simpering to her husband, an act of defiance that would enrage him. She thought of Chauncey’s well-placed threats, how he had proven he could hurt the Cavendish girls and ruin Wilhelm if Sophia failed to cooperate. Surely the best way was to placate, to feign defeat and obedience.

And Wilhelm? For all his spying and plotting, that fact remained that he was hot-tempered and vulnerable. Chauncey could not be quietly exterminated, and damned if she would let Wilhelm take the fall for her. She did agree — her father would leave them in peace over his dead body. So be it. But Wilhelm must not be the one to do it.

Lately visions haunted her, so real in her dreams. Wilhelm, convicted of murder, swinging from a noose. She had even begun to see details; his silver eyes glazed in dull gray, void of the fire and light she loved. His strong, scarred hands swollen stiff and tinged purple with death. She heard echoes of his piano music when she thought of his hands. Sophia stifled a sob into her palm.
Make it go away
.

Wilhelm set his paper on the seat and turned to see what bothered her. He lounged with his back against the wall, one foot propped on the opposite seat to counter the motion of the car jerking along the track. He watched her, waiting for an explanation.

“Just the usual pains,” she lied, pressing a hand to her abdomen. The
adenomyoma
had not bothered her for … . she paused to think, realizing it made weeks, no, nearly two months now. Not since she had miscarried the baby. Wilhelm tucked her against his shoulder and rubbed his palm over her belly, heating her skin in a way that would have soothed her if she actually had the pains.

“What burdens you, love?” He brushed a fingertip from the corner of her eye over her cheekbone. She hadn’t noticed the tension there, but obviously he had. Mercy, how could she carry out her plan without her fairly supernatural husband discerning her duplicity?

A distraction. She had not meant to tell him until she knew for certain, but … . “Remember when you said lightning never strikes the same place twice?”

Comprehension dawned on his face immediately, but he appeared stricken with surprise. How cavalierly he had dismissed the possibility that she might conceive after one careless night. It seemed despite her poor health, he was fertile enough for the both of them.

“Lightning, meet fate,” she mused.

He blinked, twice, then the most beatific smile spread slowly over his lips, dimples and all. His hand returned to her belly and rubbed thoughtful circles. His smile faded, and she knew he had already begun worrying. “Are you sure?”

“Not entirely. But I think so. Where will you be June of next year?”

Ah, she loved his crooked half-smile. “Not sitting in the House of Lords, apparently.” He held up the newspaper to block the center window as a waiter passed outside the aisle with a tray. He had been surreptitiously observing all who walked past, both passengers and staff. Suspicious. In fact, he had been flighty since they left Rougemont. At Torquay he had herded her quickly from the carriage to the railway car with her tucked under his shoulder and hiding from view. She assumed he was on the lookout for bounty hunters as always.

At first she thought nothing of bringing Fritz along, but perhaps Wilhelm expected trouble. He purchased a private car. And he had pulled down the window shade even though — wait, an eastbound train should have the afternoon light behind it, so why did she see the sunset level with the window? Come to think of it, the shadows streaking across the shade matched hills and tall forest trees, not rocky coastline.

“Wilhelm,
darling
… what is going on?”

He hummed absently, reading his newspaper. Upside down.

She leaned toward the window and pulled the shade aside, confirming the sight of moorland.
Northern
moors, by the look of them. “Wil!” she knocked his knee with her ankle to catch his attention. “I am on to you. Where are you taking me?”

He replied, “Hmm,” and now she knew he ignored her on purpose. She reached for his paper and slowly crumpled it from the top corner down. When he finally raised his gaze to hers, she regarded him with pursed lips and raised eyebrows.

“He was at the station. I wanted him to think you took the rail to Plymouth.”

She made a noise like a miniature volcano eruption. “Wha —
Chauncey
, you mean? You saw him there?”

“Hmm.”

“Wilhelm Montegue!” She leaned over the aisle and gripped her hands on either side of his lapels. He didn’t know she had nearly gripped her hands on his throat in a sudden burst of animosity mixed with panic. “Quit playing with me and explain!”

Fritz growled, confused by the quarrel.

“I kidnapped you,” Wilhelm answered carelessly.

Yes, she might want to throttle him!

He had the nerve to lower his eyes to her mouth. Slowly he raised his smoky-silver gaze to meet hers. It took a few hundred degrees of heat off the anger swirling at the top of her head and transferred it to a particular spot that had no business thrumming with such eagerness during a debate. An underhanded tactic on his part.

“I happen to know that Helena Duncombe is being held captive in Versailles. I have a double agent infiltrated among Chauncey’s henchmen for her protection. So I also happen to know she is not ill, unless you count Chauncey as a contagious disease.”

“Wil. What are you plotting? Tell me.” She smoothed her hands over his neck, and he still watched her with a lascivious invitation in his eyes. Interesting, he found her combative tendencies erotic.

“He nearly came up behind us. I bribed the porter to detain him. Then I convinced the conductor on the Plymouth-bound engine to call your name for the box car.” He reached to rub a fingertip back and forth over her bottom lip, teasing for a kiss.

She held him at bay, but then he ducked and worked his lips down her throat. “And so you hid us on another train.” She hissed though her teeth as he sucked on the sensitive skin at the base of her neck where it met her shoulder. “But that — ” Her breath hitched as he tickled a nerve between her jaw and ear. “That doesn’t explain why we are heading north.”

“Lancashire to Ashton. The Tilmores will help us.”

“Tilmores? Lord Courtenay?”

“Yes.”

Oh no. She had been trying to remain calm, but alarm bells clanged in her head and cold water trickled through her veins. A sudden
lost
feeling made her tremble, competing with the numb sensation in her hands. Everything at stake, the entire plan gone up in smoke.

“Imagine my surprise when you told me you wanted to visit your poor bed-ridden mother. Such a heart-rending tale you gave, Sophia.” He said not a word about her deception but pulled her into his lap, gripped his fingers in her hair and crushed his mouth to hers. He vented his anger on her lips, nipping, biting, arguing without words. Fritz poked his nose through any space he could find, whining for attention, until Sophia ordered him to sit.

Wilhelm reached to pull the shade down over the aisle glass and leaned back against the wall, pulling her onto his chest. Her protests flew away one by one, until the last stuck:
War had just been declared, and it could not be undone.

Chapter 24

On The Joys Of Surprising One’s In-Laws

The Tilmores were a bizarre family. Not only because Violet Villier lived openly at Ashton as Lord Courtenay’s mistress. Aside from being an unrepentant adulterer, he behaved with surprising indulgence for his children, allowing them in the drawing room with company.

Lady Courtenay seemed perfectly tranquil about it all, caught up in local Lancashire affairs and apparently her own conquests. Off-putting at first, until Sophia accounted for the ways of the ton. It made her aware of how unfashionable she and Wilhelm must appear, an imprudent love match. Secluded in the southern end of England, they had yet to face the scrutiny of their peers. Thankfully the Tilmores took little stock in doing so. This left Sophia free to observe them instead.

The lovely lavender-eyed young woman was Violet Villier’s daughter. Alysia Villier single-handedly maintained order in the house, with all the authority Lady Courtenay should wield but abdicated. The Tilmore children proved especially remarkable; they banded together, largely aloof of the adults in the room.