The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (9 page)

Now Nicholas needed to sit down.

“Mr. Bourne’s extended stay abroad made quite a tangle of his affairs here at home,”
she continued, the fanciful tale flowing from her lips with ease. “It will take no
small effort on my part to tidy up, but it is what my father would have wanted.”

“Your father?” Singh asked, thoroughly engrossed in Miss Spoon’s history.

“Didn’t you know?” Sophia countered, as if
everyone
knew the Spoon family’s business. “He was Mr. Bourne’s secretary. When Papa became
ill, I promised to continue on in his place.”

Singh nodded in understanding.

“Yes, it is all rather touching, I’ll give you that,” Nicholas offered sarcastically,
“still I believe it is time for Mouse to be abed.”

“I don’t have no bed. Don’t have no curfew, either,”
Mouse protested, picking up his bowl and tipping the last of the stew into his mouth.

Nicholas would have roared with irritation if not for the damage the noise would do
to his head and growing headache. “Singh, if you would, please help the boy to the
guest room.”

“I would be most happy to assist young Mouse,” Singh agreed, holding out his hand.
“Come along.”

Mouse set the bowl down and stood, a scowl pinching his pale lips. “All right, then.
I’m tired, anyway.” He refused Singh’s hand and instead fell behind him, the sound
of his reluctant footfalls echoing on the polished floor.

Nicholas emitted a deep, weary sigh. “All right, Miss Spoon. It is time to pay the
piper.”

Sophia’s gaze followed Singh as he quit the room with Mouse in tow before she took
the seat opposite Nicholas. A subtle sense of panic at being left alone with him settled
in her chest. She smoothed her skirts, folded her hands in her lap, and contemplated
him as he eased back in the wooden chair and negligently crossed one leg over the
other.

An illustration of a black panther she’d once seen in a book came to mind as his strong,
muscular form effortlessly settled into the space while his intense gaze remained
fixed on her. It was always so with Nicholas; he projected an air of uninterest and
ease while beneath the casual façade, his mind worked swiftly, all at once dissecting,
analyzing, and understanding whatever problem lay before him.

This time, that problem was Sophia.

“First, let me apologize for my behavior at the Primrose,”
Sophia began, hopeful that taking the reins of the conversation would ease her nerves.

He continued to stare at her silently for a moment, then, finally, he spoke. “You
broke into my home to apologize? Really, Sophia. A letter would have sufficed.”

“Nicholas, please,” Sophia sighed. “I’m asking you to forgive me. I shouldn’t have
pushed you. It was childish and rash.”

“Is
that
what happened?” Nicholas asked, his gaze sharp.

“Do you forgive me?” Sophia pressed, avoiding his question.

“Will doing so move this conversation along?” Nicholas teased, one eyebrow lifting
in sardonic inquiry.

Annoyed—and oddly comforted to be so—Sophia pursed her lips in disdain and narrowed
her eyes at him. It was now her turn to remain stubbornly silent.

“Yes, I forgive you,” he shrugged dismissively, continuing to watch her with unwavering
intensity. “Now, why are you here?”

“I could wait no longer, Nicholas,” she answered, shaking her head in frustration.
“I know I’ve only just apologized for invading your privacy. But I needed to move
forward, and familiarizing myself with the case seemed the logical first step.”

Nicholas went still, his eyes sharpening with disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me—”

“That I broke into your home, located your notes in the study, and proceeded to read
them?” Sophia interrupted, realizing as she listed her offenses just how serious they
sounded. She cringed with chagrin. “Yes, that is precisely what I am telling you.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “How the hell did you even know they existed?” he
growled.

A buzzing sounded in Sophia’s ears and heat gathered at her temples. The pulse at
the base of her throat
pounded faster. “I saw them in your room at the Primrose. I did not read one line
then, I promise you.”

“What does that matter now?” he jeered.

“It has been three days, Nicholas,” Sophia explained, her arms now prickled with perspiration.
“Why would you make me wait three days? Did you believe I would relent, even after
I expressly told you otherwise?”

Nicholas chuckled low in his throat. “I know you too well to believe you would be
reasonable. Still, I had hoped.”

Sophia glared at him, her palms itching with the urge to punch him squarely on the
chin.

“No response?” Nicholas asked.

She was overheated and anxious. Her head felt filled with angry bees, her stomach
captured by butterflies. And she was tired. So very tired—physically, mentally, and
more important, emotionally. “I do not want to fight with you anymore.”

Nicholas closed his eyes. “But you’ve given me no choice.”

Sophia stared at him, noting the angular cheekbones so much like Langdon’s, and yet
his sun-kissed skin was so very different from his brother’s.

The undeniable sense that she was seeing him for the very first time returned. When
she’d informed Lettie that he was no longer the Nicholas she’d known she’d felt confused.
Now she was curious. And dangerously so.

He opened his eyes, his gaze unreadable.

“There never was a choice,” Sophia finally whispered, captivated by the minute gold
flecks within the sea of umber of his irises. His thick black lashes half lowered
and she felt the force of his gaze as he stared at her mouth for one long, torturous
moment. When his glance lifted to meet hers again, the heat in his eyes seared her
sensitive skin.

But then he blinked and it was gone. Bewildered,
she wondered if she’d imagined the flash of desire. She struggled to speak, relieved
when her voice sounded reasonably normal. “My involvement was a foregone conclusion.
The question was whether you would help me or not.”

He lowered his arms to the table, brushing her wrist with his hand. Sophia pressed
her fingertips against the hard wood though she wanted nothing more than to touch
him back—to experience the delicious thrill his nearness afforded.

She held her breath and waited.

7

He wanted to kiss her. Badly. The embarrassment over their altercation at the Primrose
lifted from his obstinate heart as she searched his face. He could see his reflection
in the depths of her emerald eyes, and he liked the view this time around. He was
not the depraved, pathetic soul she’d encountered at the inn. No, he was soul-weary,
but sober.

He lowered his forearms to the table. His hand brushed torturously against the inside
of Sophia’s wrist.

“How can I say no?” Nicholas asked, his throat suddenly parched.

Sophia licked her lips.

He watched as the tip of her tongue dampened her full bottom lip, and then lightly
stroked the top lip until it glistened.

“You can’t.”

He should have been angry. Enraged, even.

Instead, he was aroused.

A loud crash rang out above, followed by a cry of distress.

Sophia blinked quickly, as if awoken from a dream. “Was that Mouse?”

Nicholas ran his hands through his hair until his scalp tingled. “It could’ve been
Singh. I suppose we should check on them?”

Sophia nodded as she pushed her chair out and stood.
She rounded the table before Nicholas could secure his bearings, and quit the room
in a swirl of flying skirts.

Nicholas hit the table hard with his fist, biting off a curse as he stood and followed
after her, feeding his speed with frustration.

The muffled sound of voices grew more distinct as they turned down the hall. By the
time they neared the open guest-room doorway, there was a second crash, followed by
Singh’s abrupt wail of protest.

The two paused just across the threshold, staring in disbelief at the chaos.

His thin face determined, Mouse stood with his back to the wall on the far side of
the fireplace. He held a poker upright, gripping it with both hands as he threatened
Singh.

Singh stood across the room, eyeing the boy.

The remains of a porcelain pitcher and bowl lay scattered in pieces on the floor between
them.

“What happened?” Sophia asked.

The two turned to look at Sophia and Nicholas. Mouse’s expression took on a faint
edge of fear; Singh’s face one of bewilderment.

“I suggested to young Mouse that he might be more comfortable if he washed.” He gestured
at Mouse’s appearance, covered with grime. “And he broke the bowl. And the pitcher.
Have I offended him in some way?”

“He’s right,” Nicholas told the boy, attempting to hide his amusement. “You’re filthy.”

“No.” The boy shook his head, a stubborn light in his blue eyes. “I’ll catch my death,
I will. I never wash. My mum warned me not to.”

Sophia moved farther into the room, closer to Mouse, and nodded in understanding.
“While I’m sure that’s true, I think your mother would approve of a quick wash-up.
The soap and water will do you good.”

Mouse continued to look skeptical about the whole undertaking and held his ground.

Nicholas tapped his hand on his thigh and readied to strong-arm the boy into surrender.

“The men will help you undress, Mouse, while I fetch a second bowl and pitcher. I’ll
be back shortly,” Sophia said with calm command.

All three males watched with varying degrees of astonishment as she confidently strode
from the room.

“Christ’s blood,” Mouse swore, leaning the poker against the brick then letting out
a weary sigh. “I’d forgotten what women were like.”

Surprised, Nicholas laughed, the lingering tension of his time in the kitchen with
Sophia melting away. He beckoned the boy to come forward. “We’ve our orders.”

The boy moved slowly, dragging his feet the entire width of the room to underscore
his unwillingness.

Singh took a length of linen from a sideboard and joined Nicholas. “Perhaps you would
hold this up in front of young Mouse while I assist with his clothing?”

“I don’t need no help,” Mouse grumbled, bending over to untie his boots.

“Are we ready?” Sophia asked a moment later as she swept back into the room. She set
a bowl full of soapy water and a pitcher for rinsing on the floor near Mouse’s feet
then handed Singh several clean rags.

Mouse stood up and kicked off his boots, a grim set to his lips. “S’pose so.” He peeled
off a threadbare coat and cotton shirt, dropping both on the floor.

“And your breeches,” Singh mentioned helpfully.

“Those will stay right where they are, Mr. Singh. Even Miss Spoon won’t change my
mind.” Mouse’s chin set stubbornly, a militant gleam in his eyes.

Singh looked at Nicholas.

Nicholas looked at Sophia.

Sophia narrowed her eyes at the boy, her disappointment
clear. “That will do—for tonight, that is. Tomorrow you will have a proper bath, in
a tub, without a stitch of clothing on.”