The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (28 page)

The carriage slowed. Sophia heard Langdon yelling something to the driver, though
she could not make out what, precisely, he had ordered the man to do.

And just as quickly, the carriage began to move again. Langdon’s large, warm hand
covered hers as he whispered indistinct words of comfort into her ear.

“Everything will be fine, my lady,” Mrs. Kirk assured Sophia in her practical way.
“We’re returning home now. Soon enough you’ll be in your bed with nothing, only the
quiet to keep you company.”

It occurred to Sophia that the only situation worse than what she found herself in
presently was the one Lettie described.

Nicholas stood near the orchestra in the Beechams’ ballroom, nursing a cup of tepid
lemonade. He watched Singh as the man entertained a group of people, including Lord
Beecham, a particularly annoying sort who never tired of his own importance.

Nicholas smiled. Lord Beecham would be horrified to know that Singh was not the son
of a Maharajah, as Nicholas had informed his hosts, but in fact a holy man
of sorts who preferred a simple robe and bare feet to the colorful silk and linen
Indian costume he currently wore.

Nicholas was not about to tell anyone the truth. And Singh was clearly enjoying himself.
Rumors of his false identity as foreign royalty had spread throughout the ballroom
and earned him a growing following. The man deserved a spot of fun. After all, he’d
seen to the running of the house while Nicholas had been away—a house that now boasted
a cook, a maid, and a footman.

If he was not careful, he thought with amusement, he would soon be seen as something
approaching social respectability. “Blast you, Singh,” he muttered wryly, then finished
off the lemonade.

He could grouse all he wanted. Secretly, Nicholas was making plans. With Sophia at
his side, anything was possible. Suddenly the world had opened up to him in ways he
never could have imagined.

Laughter erupted from the group around Singh and Nicholas smiled at his friend. Perhaps
he’d underestimated the man’s wisdom, after all. Not that he would ever admit such
a thing.

“Is that Singh?”

Nicholas turned to find Langdon behind him, his gaze fastened on the Indian man.

“Yes,” Nicholas answered, turning back toward the crowd. “Though he is pretending
to be royalty this evening, so do not spoil his fun.”

Chuckling, Langdon stepped forward and clapped Nicholas on the back. “God, I have
missed you.”

“We reserve such thumps for Carrington, if you’ll remember,” Nicholas replied, handing
his empty glass to a passing footman.

“Yes, well, Carrington is not here. So we must make do …”

“Nor are Sophia and Mrs. Kirk. Did you forget to fetch them this evening?” Nicholas
asked.

Langdon’s congenial manner disappeared at once, replaced by sober concern. “It was
the oddest thing: Sophia became quite upset in the carriage. So much so that Mrs.
Kirk and I decided it was best for her to return home.”

“Upset?”

Langdon hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if he did not know what to say.
“I believe a physical ailment is at the root of the episode. It was most distressing
for her; in fact, I do not think I’ve ever seen her more agitated. She claimed that
she could not breathe and insisted Mrs. Kirk unlace her corset.”

“Scandalous!” Nicholas said dryly, attempting to appear unmoved. “Did you fetch the
doctor?”

“Oh yes, the doctor was sent for immediately. I stayed until after he’d examined her.”

Nicholas tensed. “And what did he believe the cause to be?”

“Nerves.”

“Nerves?” Nicholas repeated, thankful that Sophia was not physically ill, yet still
filled with concern.

“Yes, nerves,” Langdon confirmed. “The doctor inquired as to the subject of our discussion
just before the episode and whether it might have been upsetting to Sophia.”

Was Langdon toying with him? Had Sophia told him of their time in Sussex on the way
to tonight’s ball, then broke down from the stress of the admission? “And?”

Langdon looked at Nicholas with amusement. “Good God, little brother. You’ve not been
this interested in Sophia since we were eight and you discovered she could whistle.”

“She is to be a member of our family, is she not?”
Nicholas asked, an appropriate amount of sarcasm in his voice. “I am simply concerned,
that’s all.”

Langdon shook his head. “I’m only teasing, Nicholas. The truth is, we were speaking
about our wedding. And I won’t deny that if her attack of nerves was a response to
the thought of marrying me, it hardly puts my mind at ease.”

“But you said you believed a physical malady brought on the episode,” Nicholas pointed
out.

Langdon nodded. “Yes, well, the doctor did hint at the cause being something feminine
in nature. Still, I do not want to be a man that assumes every little irritation may
be attributed to a woman’s …”

For the first time that evening, Nicholas was thankful for Langdon’s hesitancy. “Ah,
I see,” he replied. “While I commend your desire to be forward-thinking, perhaps the
doctor is correct in his assumption.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Langdon agreed, his expression easing. “And it is not
as if our marriage should come as a surprise to Sophia.”

“No, it should not,” Nicholas confirmed, his heart aching for her. To engage in such
a conversation so soon after returning from Petworth must have been torturous.

A footman approached, a tray laden with champagne flutes balanced carefully in his
hands.

Langdon took a glass and waited for Nicholas to retrieve one as well.

Nicholas waved the footman on and smiled at his brother, eyeing the flute with envy.

“Are we not drinking this evening?” Langdon remarked casually, though he was obviously
pleased.

Nicholas nodded. “We are not.”

Langdon beckoned the footman to return. “I will not be needing this after all,” he
explained to the man, setting his glass on the tray. He turned back to Nicholas. “A
woman?” he asked, clearly curious.

Nicholas was momentarily thrown by his brother’s question. “Why would you assume a
woman had anything to do with it?”

“Because they always do,” Langdon replied, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “Now,
anyone I know?”

Love was meant to simplify life, wasn’t it? Nicholas had always assumed as much. Yet
another bloody fallacy, he reflected, floated by poets and writers through the ages.

“A gentleman never tells,” Nicholas answered, adding, “nor do I.”

20

Afton House

Sophia sat up at the sound of her bedroom door being opened. “Lettie?”

The woman’s tall form appeared in the doorway. The candlestick she carried illuminated
a look of severe distress on her face. “My lady, I am sorry to wake you. Mr. Bourne
insisted I do so.”

She stepped inside the room, followed by Nicholas.

“Sophia, assure Mrs. Kirk my presence is acceptable,” he whispered, glaring at her
companion. “She threatened to send for Bow Street and insists she will go ahead with
the hue and cry if you do not ease her mind.”

“Lettie,” Sophia began, beckoning the woman closer. “My wrapper, if you will.”

Her companion handed the candle to Nicholas and retrieved the silk garment from the
back of Sophia’s desk chair. “My lady,” she whispered, coming forward, “this is highly
inappropriate.”

“I am aware of that, Lettie,” Sophia answered. She threw back the covers, swung her
legs over the edge of the bed, and stood.

Lettie held up the wrapper while Sophia put it on. “The servants are bound to talk—”

“Then I will rely on you to curb their tongues,” Sophia
interjected, tying the sash about her waist. “Trust me, Lettie.”

The older woman hesitated in front of her and reached out to straighten the two ends
of the sash. “It’s not you I do not trust.”

“Enough,” Nicholas ground out. “I’ll not say nor do anything that Sophia may object
to. You have my word, Mrs. Kirk.”

Lettie released the sash and folded her hands together. “I’ll go, then,” she said,
and turned toward the door.

Sophia reassured her with a loving pat on the back.

Nicholas offered the candlestick to Mrs. Kirk but she refused.

“Keep it, Mr. Bourne—and you would do well to light the others in the room,” she informed
him, pointing to each and every last candle in Sophia’s bedchamber. “My lady does
not like the dark, you see.”

He nodded impatiently and opened the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Kirk.”

Sophia watched as Lettie crossed the threshold and Nicholas swiftly closed the door
behind her.

He turned the key in the lock. “If she did not hate me before tonight, she most assuredly
does now.”

“She does not hate
you
—at least, not entirely,” Sophia answered, hurrying to meet him. “She hates the idea
of a man in my room.”

Nicholas set the candlestick on the fireplace mantel. “I don’t blame her,” he replied,
his hands reaching out to lovingly cradle Sophia’s face. “But when Langdon explained
the reason for your absence from the ball, I had to see you.”

The mere mention of Langdon’s name set Sophia crying again.

“Please, Sophia,” Nicholas murmured, pulling her close. “Come, sit with me.”

Sophia buried her face in the warmth of his superfine
coat. She relaxed into his arms as he carefully picked her up and carried her to the
end of the bed.

“His face beamed with happiness as he talked of the wedding—
our
wedding,” Sophia began, settling onto Nicholas’s lap. “I’d always assumed he’d viewed
marriage much the same as I—inevitable, but agreeable enough. His face told me otherwise.”

Nicholas felt her words like a blow and he froze for a moment, absorbing the impact.
She belonged to his brother. It should be Langdon holding her, not him. But his heart
refused to accept the thought and his arms tightened around her in instant rejection.

He kissed the crown of her head, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and soap.
“I’m sorry, Sophia. If I were not so selfish, I would let you go.”

She hugged him closer, her soft breasts pressing against his chest. “You’re not selfish,
Nicholas, not in the slightest.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “But I’m a terrible
person. I felt like the most despicable villain in that carriage—knowing I loved you,
yet still allowing Langdon to continue as if I shared his enthusiasm for his plans.”

She tipped her head back, her gaze searching his with mute appeal. “When I arrived
home, after Lettie had helped me undress and prepare for bed, I recalled what I told
you at Petworth: Langdon deserves to have someone love him with all the passion, respect,
and tenderness I feel for you. I would never be able to offer him more than companionship
and a friend’s affection. It isn’t fair to allow him to settle for less when he has
every right to expect so much more from a wife.”

A swell of fierce pride and admiration swept over Nicholas. Her willingness to face
her emotions with unflinching honesty was a testimony to the depth of her character.

“I love you,” he murmured. His voice was rough, his
throat clogged with too much feeling. “For everything you are—and all I am not.”

Her beautiful eyes instantly welled with tears, dampening the thickness of her lashes.
“And I love you,” she whispered. “For everything
you
are, and I am not.”

She lifted her head to press her lips against his in a soft, warm kiss that felt like
a vow.

Nicholas loved the way her arms wrapped around his neck, claiming him, her fingers
threading into his hair. The move brought her unbound breasts tighter against his
chest, the rounded curve of her bottom shifting closer. A swift surge of lust hit
him, swamping the pure affection, love, and commitment in their kiss that had shaken
him to his soul.

Wrong place, wrong time
. He couldn’t strip her out of her night rail and take her, not after he’d promised
to be a gentleman.