The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (31 page)

“Oh yes. I even have a sketch of the play with me,” Nicholas said, bending low to
retrieve Sophia’s bag.

“You carry a reticule, Mr. McVeety?” she asked, arching one perfectly drawn eyebrow
in amused disbelief.

Nicholas smiled at her and winked. “Annabelle was kind enough to shield the sketch
from the rain.”

He opened the small bag and lifted out the thick folded paper, then dropped the reticule
on the floor. “It would have been a great pity to have damaged such a lovely sketch.
Wouldn’t you agree?” He held it up to Camilla’s eye level and watched the woman’s
face fill with surprise and pleasure.

“Why, that is Maggie Pemble—and in my own creation, I might add,” she exclaimed, reaching
out to reverently touch the faded piece of paper. “Do you know, the troupe only performed
Dido Queen of Carthage
five times before the piece was retired? Such a shame. That dress was one of my favorites.
In fact …”

Camilla abandoned the shirt and bolt of fabric on the floor and returned to the rack
of costumes, thumbing through each one quickly. “Wait, that’s right, I put it with …”

She swung around and came back toward Nicholas, shooing him out of the way and continuing
on to a trunk shoved against the wall. She lifted the lid and set it back on its hinges,
then bent over, nearly disappearing into the cavernous interior. “No … no … no … Aha!”

Sophia returned to stand next to Nicholas. The costume she’d donned looked odd. “I
could not undo my own buttons,” she explained, lifting up the hem to reveal her own
gown below.

“Oh, my creation is as glorious as I remember,” Camilla gushed, standing upright with
a bundle of blue silk in her hands. She grasped the outer gown by the straps and let
the fabric fall, miles of blue silk unraveling to reveal a bodice encrusted with beading
that glittered in the light. “I hadn’t been with the company for very long—and truth
be told, I’d lied to get the job. This dress, though …” She paused as if remembering
the very moment she’d stitched the soft fabric together. “This dress proved me right.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that I’d been blessed with Maggie. The woman could’ve worn
a potato sack and looked beautiful.”

“Maggie?” Sophia asked innocently, steering the conversation to what she instinctively
felt was the important information.

“It’s a sad tale—a tragedy, really. The troupe had traveled south for a scheduled
appearance in Sussex. The day before the performance, the lady of the house was murdered.
Murdered! Maggie was not back in London for a fortnight before she lost her mind over
the ordeal. Most of us weren’t even given the chance to say good-bye before they carted
her off to Bedlam.”

Camilla stared at Sophia as if seeing her for the very first time. “No, that color
won’t do at all.”

Nicholas reached for the silk gown and held it between his fingers while he admired
the beadwork. “Good God, that is tragic. And poor Maggie, is she yet alive?”

“Do you know, I’ve no idea,” Camilla answered honestly, carefully tugging the fabric
from his fingers and lovingly folding the gown. “I tried to visit her once—even brought
a new night rail for her. They wouldn’t let me see her. The guard said she was in
confinement for
attempting to injure herself. Only family and her doctor were allowed in.”

“Family?” Sophia asked in a quiet, gentle voice.

Camilla finished folding the dress and returned it to the trunk. “Maggie had one sister
living—Rosamund was her name. But she couldn’t be bothered to come up to London for
her sister. So that left her doctor. If she is still alive, would that mean that she’d
only ever been allowed to see her doctor and no one else?”

Nicholas glanced at Sophia knowingly. “Aye, I suppose it does.”

“That makes Maggie’s story even more tragic,” Camilla muttered, straightening the
skirt of her own beautifully stitched gown. “Now, off with that dress, young woman.
Thinking on Maggie has made me sad and I’m in no mood to dilly-dally.”

It had never occurred to Sophia that Bedlam would be difficult to visit.

Of course, it had never occurred to her to consider Bedlam at all.

Sophia watched as the women in the Halcyon afternoon sewing class perfected the buttonhole.
She was glad that none in the Society’s care had required the services of England’s
infamous mental institution.

During her time working with the Runners, there had been passing mentions made of
criminals being sent to Bedlam rather than prison. She’d never been allowed to interview
those men while they were in the court’s custody and there was absolutely no chance
anyone would reconsider once they were behind the walls of Bedlam.

The hall door squeaked, drawing Sophia’s attention
away from her thoughts. Young Abigail appeared and hurried toward her.

“Beg pardon, my lady. Mrs. Mason asked that I fetch you. There’s a man here to see
you.”

Sophia smiled at the girl. “Ah, Lord Stonecliffe,” she explained, settling her hand
on the girl’s shoulder as they walked from the room.

“Oh no, this man is far more devilish than the earl, of that I am sure.” Abigail’s
hand clamped over her mouth the moment the words slipped from her lips. “I’m sorry,
my lady. I should not have said such a thing.”

“It’s all right, Abigail. And if it is the man I think it is, I rather agree. But
we will keep this between the two of us, all right? Mr. Bourne has not had an easy
life, you see.”

“You can trust me to keep our secret, Lady Sophia,” Abigail said solemnly, moving
her hand to her heart. “I swear on my dead granny’s grave.”

Sophia dropped a kiss on the crown of the girl’s head. “Thank you, Abigail. I knew
that you would understand.”

Sophia steered Abigail toward the stairs and waited while she took the first step
down, then followed.

Nicholas waited in the foyer. Sophia and Abigail reached the landing and the young
girl pressed onward at an industrious clip, reaching the foyer before Sophia.

“It is a pleasure to welcome you to Halcyon House, Mr. Bourne,” Sophia commented as
she joined the group. “May I introduce Abigail?”

“A true pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bourne,” Abigail said cheerfully.
She rolled her shoulders back and stood up straight. “Now, I’ll see to the tea.” She
quickly curtsied and turned toward the stairs with military precision.

Nicholas chuckled. “She reminds me of a girl I used to know.”

Sophia batted his arm playfully. “Come, have a seat in the parlor. We must talk of
Bedlam. Have you made any progress in gaining entry?”

Nicholas caught Sophia’s arm. “Yes, we will talk. First, though, now that we are …”
He paused, then pulled her close.

“Yes?” Sophia asked, keenly interested to hear just what Nicholas would say.

“Friends. Lovers,” he replied, his breath tickling her skin. “Soul mates. Have I forgotten
anything?”

Sophia was vaguely aware that they should not be having this conversation in the foyer
and attempted to gather her wits. “No, I believe you have thoroughly covered every
point.”

“Good,” he growled, his lips nearly touching the sensitive lobe of her ear. “Because
I do like to be thorough. But, as it so happens, I do not like tea.”

“Tea?” Sophia asked, sure that she’d missed something important, but her mind was
far too befuddled by Nicholas’s nearness to ascertain what that might be.

He pulled back slightly and looked at her, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Yes, tea.
In the interest of absolute honesty, I feel it is time I told you that I do not like
tea. In fact, I hate it.”

“But you love me?”

“Well, yes,” Nicholas replied automatically. “After all, you’re not tea.”

A solid rapping at the door startled Sophia and she squeaked with surprise.

Abigail came rushing down the stairs, slowing when she saw Nicholas and Sophia standing
in the foyer. “Beg your pardon, my lady. There’s someone at the door.”

“Of course, Abigail,” Sophia replied, stepping back to put distance between herself
and Nicholas.

Abigail took the remaining stairs at a quick, efficient
clip, her boots making a small clacking noise as she hurried to the door.

Sophia noticed that Nicholas had not let go of her arm. “Mr. Bourne, my arm, if you
please,” she whispered, tugging gently.

Instead of obliging her request, Nicholas began to rub the pad of his thumb against
the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow.

Sophia sighed at the seductive caress, the circular pattern Nicholas traced and retraced
lulling her into a carnal haze.

“Hello there, Abigail. I’ve come to see Lady Sophia. I trust she is here?”

Langdon’s voice instantly pierced the bubble of sensation that Abigail’s opening of
the front door had not.

“Of course, your lordship. Do come inside.”

23

There was no mistaking his brother’s voice. Nicholas released Sophia’s arm and took
a step back just as the little maid opened the door far enough to reveal Langdon.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Langdon proclaimed, smiling with pleasure at the two.

“Is it?” Sophia asked nervously.

Langdon removed his greatcoat and handed it to the waiting girl. “A happy surprise,
I assure you. What brought you to the Halcyon Society, Nicholas? Am I correct in assuming
you’ve not been here before?”

Abigail curtsied, then made haste for the stairs.

Nicholas watched as his brother took Sophia’s hand and kissed it, his lips lingering
against her soft skin. “Yes, you are—as always. I’ve heard so much of the Halcyon
Society that I wanted to see the charity for myself.”

“You are a kind man, Nicholas. For the life of me, I will never understand why you
hide your good qualities,” Langdon declared, pride beaming in his eyes.

Nicholas felt the weight of Langdon’s thoughtful words as though they were bags of
sand, tied to his wrists and ankles, intent on dragging him to the bottom of the cursed
sea.

“Well, do not get ahead of yourself. After all, it is very poor form on my part to
only now be visiting the Halcyon
Society, when I should have been supporting Sophia’s charitable endeavors all along.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Langdon replied, finally releasing Sophia. “In fact,
perhaps you’ll do me a favor and convince Sophia to devote herself to another, more
urbane charity.”

Nicholas could not understand his brother’s request. “Whatever for? I cannot think
of a more deserving organization. Can you?”

“Whether or not the Halcyon Society is deserving is not the issue, Nicholas,” Langdon
explained patiently. “The issue is Sophia’s safety. Which I fear is compromised by
the Society’s clientele.”

“Well, you’re mad if you think I will encourage Sophia to listen.”

Sophia cleared her throat. “Gentlemen—”

“Then protecting Sophia is of no consequence to you?” Langdon interrupted.

Nicholas gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt. “From what, precisely? Life?”

“Langdon, I’ve just invited Nicholas to stay for tea,” Sophia broke in, gesturing
toward the parlor. “Won’t you join us? There will be biscuits as well. But no arguments.”

“Including the one we are currently engaged in?” Langdon hazarded a guess.

“Especially that one.”

Langdon breathed a frustrated sigh. “And we must have tea?”

“I adore tea,” Nicholas lied.

“You
adore
tea?” Langdon asked flatly.

“Boys,” Sophia warned, then held out her hand to Langdon and allowed him to escort
her to the parlor.

“Rather dodgy looking for a hospital that is meant to keep the insane on the inside,
wouldn’t you agree?”