The Stolen Bride (15 page)

“I think they’re all old enough to cope,” he said firmly. “If it comes to pistols I’m willing to lock Verderan in the dungeons till after the wedding, but short of that they can manage for themselves. Let me see that list. A pinecone? At this time of year? Come on.”

 

“Well?” said Sophie brightly to Verderan. “What’s first on the list?”

“A switch,” he said.

She grabbed the piece of paper. “What? That’s not ...” She looked at him and across to Randal who, damn him, looked amused.

“I’d leave you to your own devices, young lady,” said Verderan with an edge on his voice like a blade, “which is doubtless what you want. But that would offend Randal’s virginal modesty. I give you his advice, though. Behave yourself.”

The startling thing, thought Sophie, edging toward Randal simply for protection, was that Verderan might well beat her. He was in a rage, she saw, though he had himself well in hand. If she crossed him he doubtless would put her over his knee. And she hadn’t even had any such Machiavellian thoughts as his abandoning them; she’d just hoped his proximity would stir a little jealousy in her husband-to-be.

“We,” said Verderan tightly, “have to find an earthworm and you, young lady, are going to carry it.” He set off toward the kitchen garden with his long fluid stride, leaving Sophie and Randal to follow.

“Don’t involve Ver in this game,” said Randal softly but firmly as they walked behind. “He can’t afford the stakes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rightly or wrongly, his reputation has him living on the edge of an abyss, Sophie. I honestly don’t know if he cares if he falls or not but I wouldn’t like to see him pushed.”

“It’s you I’m pushing, Randal, not him,” said Sophie desperately.

“I think you may have it in mind to use him as a prod. Don’t.”

“Is that an order?” she demanded, realizing that with Verderan a few yards ahead in the tricky half-light this was as close to privacy as they’d had since that night in her bedroom.

“If you like,” he said and put his arm around her waist, but only to hurry her after his friend.

They easily found a worm, and Sophie carried it, though she insisted in putting it in a flowerpot full of earth so it wouldn’t die. Verderan was nonplussed by the need for a seashell until the local pair showed him a bank of earth full of them.

“The scientists say this land was underwater once,” said Randal as he picked out a smooth, pink shell. “Next?”

“A piece of orange thread,” said Verderan. “Your department, Sophie.” She led the way back to the house and up to the sewing room.

Having found the room she shrugged. “I don’t know this place any better than you,” she said. “Let’s all search.”

All they found, however, was red and yellow. Sophie was also searching for some way to capitalize on the situation she had created. She didn’t find that either. She had intended to flirt a little with Verderan but in his present mood she simply didn’t dare.

Her best tactic doubtless would be to get rid of him somehow.

“We had better try Mama’s embroidery box,” she said and led the way swiftly to the far wing. Could she try to divide the party? Send Verderan for something. She tried to remember the list that he was carrying.

“Hold on,” called Verderan as they passed through the music room. “We need catgut too. Will there be any here? If we keep tearing around like this I, for one, will be worn to a shadow.”

“That’s what you get for a life of dissipation,” said Sophie pertly and he laughed. It wasn’t a very warm laugh but it was better than nothing.

She went to some cupboards and soon found the catgut. She wound it round her finger into a tight little coil. “Who gets to carry this?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she went over to Randal and slowly tucked it into his jacket pocket.

She heard his breathing change. He looked at her in a way that sent a shiver down her spine and raised her hopes sky-high.

It was going to work if she could only get rid of Verderan.

“What else do we need?” she asked him.

“A luster from a chandelier, for heaven’s sake. Are we supposed to wreck the thing?”

“Of course not,” said Sophie, heading for the blue drawing room. “You’ve obviously never had the task of washing them. They are hooked on. You’ll see.”

The chandelier, hanging up near the cloud-painted ceiling, had to be let down with pulleys to be in reach.

“How much does that thing weigh?” Verderan asked dubiously.

“I think four men let down the one at the Towers,” Randal remarked.

This situation should do very well indeed, Sophie thought. “We need a couple of sturdy footmen,” she said and placed her worm pot carefully on a piecrust table. She turned to Verderan to give him directions. “The bell would bring Burbage, but if you were to go—”

A sound alerted her and she spun around to see Randal already leaving on the errand.

“Damn that man!” she cried as her hopes came crashing down.

Sophie’s own temper snapped. It was so bloody unreasonable. He was like a nervous spinster—and to abandon her to the tender mercies of the Dark Angel ... She forgot his earlier words of warning. The complacent fool deserved everything he got.

Sophie flung herself into Verderan’s arms and said, “Kiss me!”

He was turning from watching Randal and off balance, so they both went sprawling onto the carpet. He instinctively caught her and rolled to take the worst of the fall. Sophie found herself sprawled on top of him inches from two of the most furious eyes she had ever encountered.

Even as she scrambled to get off him and escape, he surged fluidly to his feet, carrying her with him. She tried to run but his hand shackled her wrist and dragged her against him as if she were floss. He locked her to him and backed her up against a heavy table.

Terrified, Sophie tried to kick and bite but he controlled, as he had said he could, with one arm, and grabbed her chin with the other hand.

“Oh no, you spoiled bitch,” he snarled. “You will get what you wanted from the Dark Angel!”

He hurt her. His fingers pinched as he forced her mouth open. Their teeth clashed achingly and he thrust his tongue deep and ground his body against hers. Then he stepped back and threw her away so she bruised her hip against a corner of the table. She felt raped.

“Randal will kill you for this,” she whispered, rubbing at her tender mouth with the back of her hand.

The disgust in his eyes shriveled her. She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t face Randal just yet. Aware of tears gathering and that she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her cry. Sophie turned and fled from the room....

Verderan was lounging full length on the long sofa when Randal returned with the footmen.

“Where’s Sophie?”

“Having been left with the wrong man,” said Verderan smoothly, “she took umbrage and abandoned me.” He swung to his feet and picked up a pot from the floor. “Fortunately she left the worm, so I had suitable company.”

F
LEEING TOWARD her bedchamber Sophie heard the voices of Mrs. Hawley and Marius and turned down a narrow set of stairs to avoid a meeting. She came to the room of the mystery guest and ducked in there for sanctuary.

The room was dark and she thought the woman would be asleep but the dry voice said, “Is that you, Lady Sophie?”

“Yes,” said Sophie, coming close to the bed. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. I have been lying here since someone brought me supper, trying to remember. I must be a great trouble to you all.”

“No, of course not,” said Sophie. She surreptitiously rubbed away the few tears which had escaped, grateful for the obscuring gloom. “Do you want me to light some candles?”

“No, no,” said the lady. “With the moonlight I have no need of them and it’s safer without. I hoped you would come again.”

Sophie realized guiltily that she hadn’t given the invalid a thought and put her anguish about recent events behind her. She took a seat by the bed. “I hope you have everything you want, ma’am.”

“Everyone is very kind,” the woman said. “But you, my dear. Have you everything you want?”

“Who ever does?” asked Sophie softly. In this dim gray-ness there was no reality to this conversation. “I thought once I had the moon and stars in the palm of my hand ...”

“And now?”

“And now,” she said sadly, “I have bruised lips and disgust.”

The woman sighed and reached out a hand. Sophie placed hers in it, though it was in fact unpleasantly dry and clawlike. She silently chided herself for her repugnance when the poor woman had been ill.

“You came to me for refuge, my dear,” said the woman, with a squeeze. “Your instincts did not play you false. I will hold you safe.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Sophie said, hardly hearing the woman’s words as she thought of Randal and Verderan and the mess she seemed to be making of everything. She’d threatened to tell Randal about that assault. After all, Verderan ought to pay for what he had done. It had been vile, far worse than a beating. She still felt nauseated. But could she face the consequences? They were both crack shots. They’d kill each other.

But what if Verderan told Randal himself? He was quite capable of it and might even make it all seem Sophie’s fault. She was honest enough to acknowledge that he wouldn’t have to distort the truth very much to do that.

“I don’t know what to do,” she repeated.

“It would be better to tell them all,” said the woman as if she knew all about it. “They would not be so very harsh with you, surely, and everyone would know where the real blame should lie. A man like that—a libertine, a debaucher. He’s doubtless diseased.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Sophie, shocked. It was difficult to imagine a disease bold enough to attack Verderan—which is what she’d just done, she thought with a touch of hysteria. “How on earth do you know what happened?” she asked.

“My dear, I haven’t been spying on you,” said the woman gently. “I can hardly leave this bed as yet. I just know who is involved and can guess the rest.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m up to telling anyone the truth of the affair,” Sophie said, rising to her feet. “It would upset too many people and serve no purpose.”

The lady sighed softly, like rustling leaves. “Never mind, my dear. It will soon be irrelevant, you will see.”

Irrelevant? thought Sophie blankly. And then had a revelation. Yes, Verderan
was
irrelevant. She paced the bedchamber a few times, oblivious of the invalid. He’d called her a spoiled bitch and he’d been right. How terrible to try and involve him in matters between her and Randal. She shuddered as she imagined what would have happened if Randal had walked in during that awful kiss.

She remembered the lady in the bed. “I must leave now,” she said abruptly, adding more gently, “Good night. You have been a great help to me.”

Sophie hurried off to try to mend the damage she had caused.

The invalid lay back thoughtfully. Things were come to a pretty pass indeed, thought Edith Hever, when her dear daughter in God’s eyes was at the mercy of a debauched libertine such as Lord Randal Ashby. Matters should have been taken care of long before this.

When she’d first regained her wits and found herself in Stenby Castle with no one aware of her identity it had seemed the work of the Lord. Now she fretted at her continued weakness and wondered what her servant, Jago Haines, was about that he could not snuff out one life before now.

The death by suicide of her darling son, Edwin, had left Edith ill for many months and the cruel way her nephew had thrown her out of her home had added to her burden. She had begun to give up on life until she had learned of the terrible plans in hand for Edwin’s dear Lady Sophie.

During his stay in London, Edwin’s letters had been full of Lady Sophie Kyle and it had been clear she was his chosen bride. A sweet, well-born, sensitive creature. Why then had he shot himself? When the
Gazette
had conveyed the news that Lady Sophie was betrothed to another—and to one well-known for his libertine ways—she had understood at last. A broken heart and despair over his beloved Sophie’s fate had driven Edwin to take his life.

That was beyond her correction, but Sophie was not beyond her aid. How desperate the poor girl must be, having lost Edwin and being forced into union with such a debaucher. In all ways that mattered the child was Edwin’s bride. Without a plan but trusting to Providence, Edith had set out for Stenby to protect her.

On her way she had sent a letter to Sophie. In case the girl’s correspondence was monitored she had given her servant, Jago, another letter to pass to the young woman in some discreet way. Edwin’s bride must know she was not alone in her ordeal lest she be driven to the same dreadful act of despair.

Edith had also sent a letter to the libertine, Lord Randal Ashby, with another for Jago to post at a later date. It was only fair that the villain receive notice of his fate; a condemned criminal was given the opportunity to make his preparations for the hereafter. She had made it clear that he was not to be killed without this warning but she had not intended Jago to be so laggardly. The wedding day was rapidly approaching and see how poorly Sophie was guarded that she be open to insult.

It was not so hard a business, thought Edith angrily, to snuff out a life. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told Jago to make it look like an accident. Or perhaps he lacked the nerve.

If Jago lacked the resolution, Edith did not. She would do the job herself now she had her weapon. She smiled as she thought of the removal of her powder flask. She had had the forethought to pour a portion of the gunpowder into another container. When opportunity presented, as it surely must, she would be ready.

Dead, Lord Randal Ashby would no longer be able to force his loathsome attentions on sweet Sophie.