The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (10 page)

She bent down to retrieve the pile of rags and pair of street-worn boots and carried
them to the door, tossing them into the hall.

“She stole my clothes!” Mouse cried out.

“If she hadn’t, I would have,” Nicholas replied. “Now clean yourself before my arms
grow too tired to hold this up any longer.”

He looked meaningfully at the length of fabric that concealed the boy’s quantity of
bare skin from Sophia.

“You wouldn’t,” Mouse squeaked, grabbing a rag from Singh and lunging for the bowl.

“No, he would not,” Sophia answered, glaring at Nicholas. “Still, I will turn around
all the same.”

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and covered his matted hair with the soaked rag. He
rubbed vigorously, the soapy water stripping dirt away to reveal a surprisingly light
shade of hair. Water ran down his face and over his thin chest, making slim paths
of cleanliness through the layer of grime.

His collarbones protruded like chicken wings beneath his pale skin, each one of his
ribs all too visible.

Nicholas winced at the swift sympathy that pinched his heart. He looked away and grunted
deep in his throat. “Turn about, Mouse. Let Singh attend to your back.”

The boy let out a suffering sigh. “If you must. But I’m ticklish, so watch yourself.”

He turned around. Singh dunked and wrung out a clean rag. Nicholas returned his attention
to the boy and caught sight of something on Mouse’s right shoulder. He squinted in
order to make it out beneath the soapsuds. It looked to be a brand of sorts, in the
shape of a chess piece.

“Young Mouse, tell me,” Singh said, rinsing the boy’s back with clean water from the
pitcher. “Why do you have a tattoo of a chess piece on your shoulder? Is this customary
for young English boys?”

Mouse threw himself forward, tripping on the edge of the wool carpet and falling face-first
onto the bed. “That’s none of your business is what it is,” he yelled. He rose on
all fours and scrabbled across the mattress, dropping off the opposite side and disappearing
underneath the frame.

Singh looked at Nicholas in disbelief. “What have I done now?”

“I’ve no idea,” Nicholas replied, slapping his friend on the back reassuringly before
rounding the bed to reach for the frightened boy. “Mouse, come out from under there
and tell us what is wrong.”

The boy began to sob, the rough, scratchy sounds loud in the quiet room.

“Then I will have to fetch you,” Nicholas announced, a growing concern making him
impatient. He crouched down and reached for Mouse.

The boy jerked back and Nicholas’s fingertips only grazed bare skin. He swore under
his breath and stood just as Mouse rolled out from under the far side of the bed and
ran for the door.

Singh lunged for him. Mouse darted to the left, his bare feet slipping on the wet
floor. He lost his balance and fell to his knees.

“Enough,” Sophia commanded, wrapping her arms protectively around the frightened boy.

Nicholas moved to help her with the child, but Sophia warned him away with a hurried
flick of her hand. He halted, close enough to intervene if needed.

“You are safe, Mouse,” she said firmly, her tone calm and soothing as he struggled
for release. “You are safe.”

The boy’s terror was obvious and Nicholas had no idea how to help. “What can I do?”

Before Sophia could reply, Mouse stilled and allowed her to rock him soothingly back
and forth. The sobbing began once more, giant gulps of air punctuating the agonizing
sound.

“Mr. Singh, please bring me a tumbler of brandy,” Sophia instructed as she stroked
the boy’s pale blond hair. “And Mr. Bourne, I will see to Mouse while you review my
notes concerning your accounts. You’ll find them on the desk in your study. The sketch
as relates to the men in question should be of particular interest, I would think.”

Nicholas knew she referred to the Afton file. He just didn’t know why.

The door hinge creaked, drawing Sophia’s attention.

“Under the bed again?” Nicholas asked softly, stepping inside and closing the door
to Mouse’s room behind him.

Sophia rose from the wing-back chair and took the candlestick in hand. “Follow me,”
she whispered.

She pointed to the farthest corner and moved ahead of him across the Aubusson carpet,
tiptoeing around the bed. “There,” she said quietly, pointing to where Mouse lay on
his stomach, the bed linens pushed to his waist. The featherbed pillows were lined
up in a row, forming a barricade between him and the room.

“Why?”

Sophia shooed Nicholas back toward the fireplace and motioned for him to sit. She
couldn’t be bothered to return the chair she’d moved nearer the door should Mouse
attempt an escape. So she’d followed Nicholas’s tall form and sank to the carpet in
front of the hearth.

Nicholas instantly stood up.

“Do sit down,” Sophia urged, halfheartedly arranging her skirts about her. “I’m too
tired to stand up, so you’re wasting your time.”

His eyes narrowed with displeasure and he lowered to the floor, backing up until the
velvet upholstered chair supported him.

“He’s never slept in a bed.” Sophia rubbed the back of her skull where a wayward hairpin
had been poking and worrying the spot all day. “Even after swallowing the entire tumbler
of brandy, he would not yield and climb beneath the covers. So we moved the blankets
to the floor. The pillows, I suspect, are for protection.”

She expected Nicholas to respond with a caustic remark. Instead, he nodded in agreement.

“As ridiculous as it sounds, I believe you’re correct,” he said. “With his back in
the corner, two sides are safe. That left two more to guard. Sleeping in the rookery
must have presented a dangerous proposition.”

Sophia wanted to cry. Instead, she allowed her fingers to fumble once more through
her hair. Despite her efforts, the menacing pin remained at large. She bit her lip
in frustration.

“It’s all right if you need to cry.”

Her breath caught. His voice was soothing, considerate, and tempered with concern.
“Who are you?”

Nicholas’s eyes flared in surprise. “Do you mean to tell me I’m responsible for your
tears, not Mouse’s insufferable existence?”

“No,” Sophia replied, swiping at her wet cheeks. “That is, yes. Oh, Nicholas, I don’t
know. I cannot bear to think of his life before this,” she added, looking around the
beautiful room. “But there’s more; there’s you. India changed you, I believe. Your
affection for Mouse and Mr. Singh is quite revealing.”

“Affection?” Nicholas parroted as if to deny any such
silly notion. “I am hoarse from trying to convince Singh to return to his village.
And as for Mouse, the boy fell into my lap. I had no other choice.”

Sophia watched as he averted his eyes, knowing every word was a lie. “You care for
them, Nicholas. There is tenderness beneath your bluster. You cannot deny it. I’ve
seen it for myself now—and, to be entirely honest, it is befuddling. I feel unsure
of where I stand with you. Does that make any sense?”

He dismissed her claim with a subtle shrug of his shoulders.

“Don’t,” she added, the tears she’d valiantly fought off up to that point threatening
again. “Please don’t hide from me.”

Nicholas yanked the knot in his neckcloth free and pulled the linen off. He leaned
forward, one big hand cupping her chin while he carefully dried her tears with the
cloth.

Sophia’s breath caught. His lashes were lowered over his eyes as he concentrated on
the task, and she could study him unobserved. A faint shadow of beard darkened the
line of his jaw. She badly wanted to test it with her fingertips. Would it be rough
against her sensitive skin? His mouth was a firm line, echoing the concern in the
faint frown that drew his dark brows lower.

He looked up, his gaze meeting hers, and went still. Sophia was instantly mesmerized
by the depth of emotion that blazed in his dark eyes.

The backs of his fingers brushed over her heated skin in a sensual caress, fingertips
tracing the line of her jaw before his hand cradled her cheek.

“I don’t know that anything would make sense at a quarter past three o’clock in the
morning,” he answered gently. He bent by slow degrees until his lips nearly brushed
hers.

No biting remark or cutting comment. He’d remained
in plain sight, revealing a part of himself Sophia had only ever imagined was real.
The distance between a kiss was no more than one foolish flex of her muscles and a
monumental leap in judgment.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. It has been a rather trying day,” she murmured, her
gaze fixed on his full, sensuous mouth.

“A rather trying number of years, Sophia,” Nicholas corrected. “There will be time
to make sense of all that has happened, once you’ve rested.”

She closed the small expanse that separated them and placed her lips against his.
The contact did nothing to lessen the perplexing need growing within her. She pressed
into him harder, her lips seeking relief from the turmoil he’d inspired.

He lifted a fraction, his breath ghosting over her damp, parted lips as he tilted
his head to press his mouth against hers at a slightly different angle. The dizzying
flick of his tongue as he opened her mouth and tasted her communicated his own primal
need.

Sophia’s nipples hardened at the sensation and she instinctively grabbed at his shoulders,
pulling him in closer.

Nicholas suddenly stopped and tore his mouth from hers, his eyes flashing with anger.
“Christ, Sophia. Here you are, exhausted, vulnerable. In need of nothing more than
comfort. And what do I do? I take advantage of you.”

He sat back against the chair and brought his knees into his chest.

Sophia felt foolish. Exposed. Confused. Grasping for a reprieve, she adopted a calmness
not one measure of her body nor mind felt and shook her head. “It is all right, Nicholas.
A moment of weakness on both of our parts—a very human need, I would think, in such
a situation.
Let us agree to forget this moment altogether, shall we?”

Nicholas nodded in agreement, though he looked loath to do so.

Sophia cleared her throat. “Did you find the sketches I left with your case notes?”

Nicholas hesitated, the cravat dangling from his fingers in the space between them.
“I did,” he finally answered. He dropped the neck cloth on the floor. “Quite remarkable
on your part.”

“Not really,” Sophia said, picking up the linen and folding it as she consciously
slowed her breathing. “A bit of mindless drawing, really. And it could still be sheer
happenstance and not connected to Mouse’s brand. Still, I think it’s worth looking
into.” She offered the neat square to Nicholas, smiling nervously when he accepted
it.

“I agree.” He laid the cravat on the chair cushion behind him and looked at Mouse.
“We’ll not question him—not yet.”

“Not ever. I would never forgive myself if we caused the boy more anguish. We’ll need
to find another way to secure the answers we seek,” Sophia countered firmly with a
worried shake of her head, glad for the distraction of conversation. “What you witnessed
was only the beginning; Mouse slipped into some sort of waking nightmare, as if fear
had consumed him. He wasn’t the same boy, not even after drinking the brandy. Calmer,
yes, but still altered. I won’t willingly put him through that again.”

Nicholas turned back toward Sophia and nodded, his gaze grim. “Perhaps we won’t have
to. I’ll see what I can find out through my street contacts.”

“As will I,” Sophia answered. “Mrs. Mason is very familiar with the St. Giles gangs.”

He frowned and looked as if he would protest.

Sophia pushed to her knees and rose before he had the chance to speak. “It’s too late
to do anything further tonight, and I confess, I am exhausted. Please call a hackney
for me, won’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll see you home.”

Sophia could not bear to be alone with him any longer. “That won’t be necessary.”

“If you’ll not allow me to accompany you, then I insist Mr. Singh go in my place,”
Nicholas pressed. “I trust the man as I do Langdon. And I’ve told him the truth—he
knows who you are and will keep our secret from Mouse, so there is no need to be concerned
in his presence.”

Sophia nodded, unable to argue anymore.

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