The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (21 page)

Petworth was vastly different from the hustle and bustle of the capital city.

A murder of crows broke the silence. Their raucous cawing was deafening as, without
warning, they swooped low in formation then shot up suddenly and dispersed.

Sophia instinctively lifted her arms to shield herself from them, panic pricking her
skin. Distracted, she stepped in a hole and pitched forward. Unable to keep herself
from falling, she threw her hands out to break
her impact, wincing at the sting of rocks against her palms.

The crows resumed their loud cawing and Sophia looked up. She saw them behind her,
gathered in one of the chestnut trees, their sleek black bodies bobbing as the branches
swayed.

She shuddered with renewed apprehension and a deep sense of foreboding. The birds’
repetitive cawing pulsed in her ears and the grass and dirt beneath her felt as if
it were bruising her bones.

A single crow flew low over her, nearly brushing the top of her head with its wings.

Sophia cried out, terrified, her gaze fastened on the bird as it flew high and picked
up momentum. When it circled back, she staggered to her feet and bolted, tearing off
across the field. She didn’t bother to look up to assess the crow’s progress, catching
her skirt in both hands to run faster, harder, than she could remember ever doing
before.

Her lungs burned and every muscle in her legs ached with fatigue, but she pressed
on, dropping her hem and pumping her arms in an effort to put as much distance as
possible between herself and the crow.

The shores of the lake, ringed in chestnut trees, drew nearer. Sophia ignored her
dizzying tiredness and pushed on, not slowing until she reached the coolness of the
lake’s edge. Her breathing rasped as she struggled to draw oxygen into her starved
lungs.

She looked up from the safety of the tree cover and searched the sky for the crow,
knowing that it was a foolish act. Still, relief flooded her when she saw only gray
clouds and not the darting black bird.

Her heart pounded and she drew in deep, gasping breaths in an effort to slow her pulse.
She walked closer to the lake’s edge and stared into the clear water, waiting
for even a small measure of the comfort that the placid waters had always granted
her when she was a child.

Now even the lake felt threatening in some way. Sophia dropped onto the soft, mossy
grass and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms about her legs tightly, shivering in
reaction.

“Sophia?”

She closed her eyes. Even her imagination was taunting her.

“Sophia, what the hell are you doing?”

Nicholas’s familiar voice reached her ears a second time and she began to cry hot,
angry tears. How she wished he were really there.

She rubbed her temples hard in an effort to banish the illusion, but when strong fingers
closed over the curve of her shoulder, she looked behind her—and saw Nicholas.

He was crouched down, his head level with hers, a concerned, if irritated, look on
his face. “Oh God, you’re crying. I hate it when women cry.”

His honest admission struck Sophia as terribly funny and she began to giggle.

“Have you gone mad?” he asked warily. “Because the only situation worse than a woman
crying is a woman gone mad.”

She could not help herself. She’d never been happier to see him—anyone, really. The
giggles took on a life of their own and Sophia simply threw her head back and let
the laughter rule until her sides ached.

Nicholas sat down on the grass beside her, his confusion over her current state clear
as he watched her warily.

When Sophia felt the last of her laughter bubble up and escape, she let go of her
knees and wiped at her tearstained cheeks.

“Are you finished?”

“I am,” Sophia replied, taking a long, cleansing
breath and folding her legs daintily beneath her. “And I am sorry if I frightened
you.”

“Well, I don’t know that ‘frightened’ is the precise word I would use,” Nicholas replied,
planting his hands on the grass behind him and leaning back on his braced arms. “Actually,
come to think of it, yes, it is. What did you think you were doing hiking about the
grounds when you’ve only just arrived? And clearly in an unstable condition, to boot.”

Sophia felt the pressure of tears building behind her eyes as she suddenly realized
Nicholas’s presence
had
frightened her. “My letter requested that you not follow me to Petworth. Why did
you come against my express wishes?”

“God Almighty,” Nicholas muttered. “Do you think I wanted to come back here? I simply
could not leave you to face returning all on your own.”

His nearness only serving to upset her further, Sophia scrambled inelegantly away
until an expanse of ground separated them. “I don’t think it is wise for you to be
here.”

“I am trying to do the right thing, Sophia. Do not make it harder than it already
is,” Nicholas replied, his own rancor growing to match hers.

“Why must you
do
anything?” she countered with frustration, pulling at the grass until she felt the
cool dirt beneath her fingertips. “Especially what is right. Isn’t that best left
to—”

Sophia regretted the careless, hurtful words the moment they left her lips. “Nicholas,
I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He emitted a low, mirthless chuckle, then stood. “You are absolutely right.
Such noble acts are best left to my brother. Langdon and I are nothing alike. He is
the responsible one, the man who can be counted on to keep a level head and act in
an honorable manner. I, on the other hand, know nothing of such things.
I’ve worked my entire life to be his polar opposite. Your words, and their weight,
are precisely what I deserve. And it is Langdon who should be here with you, not me.”

He looked down at her and gave a practiced smile, only his eyes betraying the pain
she’d caused. “I’ll go.”

“Please,” Sophia begged, her voice no more than a whisper.

Nicholas turned back toward the house and strode away, his strong shoulders slumped,
his capable hands curled into fists at his sides.

“No, please don’t,” Sophia commanded, her voice growing with need. “Don’t go.”

She struggled to stand, her boots tangling within the drape of her skirts. Finally
gaining purchase, she leapt up and rushed after him, running ahead before turning
to block his path.

“Don’t leave. I was wrong—I’ve been wrong all along.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers together and pulling down
until his head was level with hers. “Please, do not deny me.”

Sophia closed her eyes as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his—afraid he might
refuse her, but more afraid not to try.

At the time, Nicholas could not have explained precisely why he’d been exceedingly
enraged at the thought of Sophia wandering about Petworth lands, other than he feared
she might feel as he did about returning to Sussex.

Frightened. Confused. Even angry. And terribly alone.

And he had been right.

He unclasped her hands from about his neck and
gently pushed her away. “You’re upset, Sophia. Confused. You do not know what you’re
saying,” Nicholas responded, stepping around her and walking on. “Only a moment ago
you wished me gone.”

“I was being stupid—and cowardly,” she called out, running to obstruct his route once
more. She planted herself firmly in front of him and reached up to cradle his face
in her small palms. “You are as different from Langdon as two brothers could ever
be, that much is true. Still, you’ve something in common with him.”

He watched as her feathered brows veed with earnestness, and for a moment he let himself
pretend she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He let himself grasp her lightly
about the waist and pull until she fit snugly against his chest.

“Neither of you are a matter of black and white—none of us are. I see the good in
you, Nicholas. You try so hard to cover it up. But it’s there.”

Goddammit, he was a scoundrel, he thought with self-loathing. A poor brother to Langdon.
And a worthless friend to Sophia.

The realization was not new to Nicholas. It had never been more painful than now,
though, with her in his arms.

He brushed his lips against the soft silk of her hair. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he
said bleakly.

Tension eased from her body and she settled more fully against him. “That is just
it; I wasn’t certain before. I didn’t want to be, if you must know. But I am now.
There is no going back.”

Nicholas wanted nothing more than for the world to stop, right there and then, to
hold Sophia close with her sweet words still lingering in his ears. And thank her
for having some faith in him, no matter how minute.

Menacing clouds rolled in from the west, a thunderclap
parting the skies. Guinevere, tethered loosely to a chestnut tree nearby, nickered
wildly.

“I would be a selfish coward were I to take you for my own,” Nicholas said even while
he tightened his hold about her waist.

“We would both be selfish cowards if we allowed Langdon to believe in something that
was doomed from the beginning,” Sophia countered, lifting her head from his chest
and gazing into his eyes. “I do not claim to understand love, Nicholas. But now, with
you here, I can recognize its presence. I want the same for Langdon, just not with
me; my heart belongs to you.”

The rain began to fall in earnest and Nicholas thought he heard Guinevere nicker a
second time. Yet there was nothing more than Sophia in his arms. “Am I dreaming?”

“Kiss me.”

He lowered his head to hers and kissed her left cheek and then the right, the tangle
of words, “Don’t wake me,” ricocheting against reason in his mind as he turned to
her mouth and captured her with a deep, soulful kiss.

16

Mrs. Kirk had taken one look at Sophia when she stepped over the threshold of Petworth
Manor and taken charge, her efforts more fierce and accomplished than those of a seasoned
general.

Sophia barely had time to greet the servants before Lettie bustled her up the grand
staircase and down the hall of the south wing, stopping in front of the last door
on the left. “We thought it best for you to sleep here,” the older woman explained,
failing to add the reason.

Sophia knew exactly why they’d chosen the room. It was the farthest from her parents’
adjoined suites. Lettie opened the door and ushered Sophia inside, closing it behind
them.

“Let’s get you out of that dress,” she urged, crossing the room to where Sophia’s
travel trunks sat. “And into a gown more …”

Sophia looked around her, trying to remember the rose-accented suite. “Dry? Less bedraggled?”
she suggested absently as she frowned at the lovely tea-rose wall covering and attempted
to harness her emotions.

“I did not want to comment, my lady,” her companion began, unlocking the first trunk
and lifting the lid back to rest on its hinges. “But you look as if you swam to Petworth.”

Sophia would have laughed at the comment if not for
the very thing that had contributed to her current disarray.