Three Original Ladies 02 - Lord Trowbridge’s Angel (7 page)

“Gloves, yes. Gauntlets, no.”

“I should have thought. I will pick some up in the morning.”

He was wearing his public personality, and it was making her uncomfortable. She sought to puncture it.”Your orchid was beautiful, Frank. I have never seen one before. Thank you.”

In a low voice, he said, “I got it from Dr. Mowbray’s hot house. He said it was exceedingly rare. No other flower would do for you.”

“And the Byron was exquisite,” she whispered. “But not more so than your own words.”

He did not reply, and there was a nervous tic at his temple.

She saw Fanny watching them with a smile. Tea arrived.

“Are you quite certain that I will be able to become a decent archer? I am not convinced,” Sophie said in a normal voice.

“Believe me, Angel, I am the consummate instructor. You will do splendidly. Just give it a try.”

Her sister and Buck urged her on.

“All right. I will make you regret your boast if you are wrong,” Sophie said. “And if I become an archer, does that mean you will take lessons from me on the violin?”

“Certainly not. Archery is a simple matter. It would be almost blasphemy for me to pick up the violin. But I will happily learn to play the tambourine. I think percussion is my
métier.
I have always loved to pound things and make noise.”

Sophie laughed.

“There is something that you can do to repay me for the archery lessons, however.”

“Yes?” she asked with some trepidation.

“Lord Shrewsbury, my good friend, is organizing a school for girls. The orphans in the East End. He wants to teach them to read. Would you be willing to donate some of your time as a teacher?”

Sophie blinked. Why was she surprised that he was involved in such a venture? He had mentioned to her at the ball his concerns for the poor.

“I would be most happy to help. I think that is a splendid idea! I would do it even without the archery lessons, you know.”

“Do you think perhaps Lady Melissa would be willing to teach, as well?”

“I am certain she would. She is very good with children.”

“I would be interested, too,” Fanny said. “As soon as Alexa no longer needs me at her beck and call. Speaking of whom, I had better go to her. But I think it a marvelous idea, Frank.”

“Good! I will tell Shrewsbury.” He stood. “Now, I will take my leave. But I will return tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock.”

They both rose from the bench, and he saluted her with a kiss on her bare knuckles. Sophie’s whole arm prickled, and the kiss seemed to go straight to her fluttering heart.
Get hold of yourself, my girl!

She smiled and bade him good day.

~
~*

As Sophie lay in her bed, she tried to think rationally about Frank. He
was
gorgeous, and that was for certain. She had not been exposed to many fashionable men in her life, but he had an unmistakable air of confidence and competence.

Thinking about the first time she had seen him, her stomach quivered as she remembered how his face had changed from laughter to serious regard as he looked at her. What had he been thinking?

Compliments had rolled off his tongue that night, with the sure practice of an expert. Had he meant any of them?

There had been a sea change in him last night. They had connected. She was certain they had. But today, he seemed, for the most part, to be falling back on his classic wit and extravagance. Perhaps he did not know how to act when they were in company.

If only she need not have a chaperone! They could recapture that intimacy of last night. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Just thinking of it brought to mind words like
exquisite,
velvet,
and
starry.
They had both stepped into another realm when she began to play. No wonder he had had recourse to Byron. But she did prefer his own words:
Angel, you have given me a gift so rare I cannot find the phrases to describe it. But Byron almost has the words to define you in your black silk and cameo. And the orchid symbolizes your rarity. With my heart, Frank.

~
~*

Frank arrived at precisely two o’clock. Sophie had not had time to change out of the unflattering blue muslin round gown she had worn for rehearsal that morning. Fanny and Sophie greeted him together.

“Good afternoon, ladies! Sophie, are you prepared to become a serious archer?”

“I am not perfectly certain,” she said, keeping her face straight.

Raising an eyebrow, he told her, “Surely, as a serious violinist, you know not to face challenges in a tepid manner. Nothing is to be gained that way.”

“Let us proceed to the back garden,” she said. “You are very good to teach me.”

Frank set up the target, then paced off the distance to the place where Sophie should stand. Fanny sat watching in a garden seat, wearing a large sun bonnet, cradling Alexa in her arms. Sophie donned her new gauntlets and took up the bow, holding it as she had watched others do.

Trowbridge said, “Here, let me show you.” Putting both arms around her, he placed a hand over each of hers. She was locked in his arms so closely, she could smell the citrus of the cologne he wore. His strongly muscled arms held her encircled completely. Heat prickled over her whole body.

“You nock the arrow just so. Then you close one eye and, stretching out the bowstring, you look with your other eye along the length of the arrow to the target,” he said. “Line them up.”

She tried to do as he suggested, but it was impossible to concentrate with his arms around her.

“Angel!” he said, his voice husky. “You are trembling. Relax the bow.”

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him and looked into her eyes.

“Lord Trowbridge, are you trying to seduce me?” she asked in a low voice.

“What?” His forehead bunched, his eyes showed outrage.

“I may be just a green girl, but I cannot think of one other reason why you would contrive to have me in your arms.”

Full of some odd energy, he clutched his fists and paced about in a circle. “Not a single other reason?” He paced some more, finally coming to a halt in front of her. “Have you forgotten the night before last? I believe your soul actually seared mine, Sophie. Archery is but a game. But my feelings for you, though I make light of them most of the time, are not. And I am Frank, Sophie.”

She could only nod.

“When men have these sorts of feelings for a woman, unless she is married, they pursue them. If she is a virtuous young woman, and they are decent men, they do not do so with seduction in mind, but with serious intent. Honorable intent.”

Sophie stared at him. “You are telling me that you have … serious intentions toward me?”

“How can you doubt it? I am utterly and completely entranced by you, Sophie. I all but worship you.”

She continued staring.

He took her chin in one hand and raised it. “Believe it, Angel. I am in earnest.”

“I think I would like to resume my lesson,” she said in a low voice.

Frank looked over to where Fanny had sat watching them. Sophie followed his eyes. To her surprise, Fanny was nowhere to be seen.

Her archery instructor took the bow and arrow out of her hands and tossed them on the ground. Putting both arms around her, he pulled her close with great energy. “At last,” he murmured.

With his arms around her, she felt once more shrouded in the velvet intimacy they had shared after the Mozart. But now a wave of heat ran through her and a swirling sensation began in her abdomen and twirled up to her heart. She laid her head upon his chest, and Frank held her tightly to him like a precious find.

“Angel, you feel perfect in my arms. But you are trembling again.”

“It is your nearness. It makes me feel as weak as a noodle.”

“Maybe a kiss would help.”

“I think it could not hurt.”

He placed his lips carefully on hers, kissing her gently. His mouth tasted delicious. It strayed from her lips to kiss her eyelids, then trailed to her temples, her cheeks, and down her jawbone, leaving a trail of fire behind. When he came to her lips again, his ardor increased as though he were starving. Taking her upper lip into his mouth, he stroked it with his tongue. Then the lower lip. Her heart was beating like a tambourine in a gypsy band. And wonder of wonders, she could feel that his was doing the same.

Frank pulled away slowly. “I do not want to dishonor you. That must be enough for today.”

“Fan is very unconventional, you know.”

“The perfect chaperone.”

“I have so many things to learn about you, my lord …”

“Frank.”

“
Gorgeous
Frank. I think we have moved beyond our trial friendship.”

“We did that the moment you picked up your violin. We’ve skipped friends altogether and have become lovers.” He stooped and kissed her forehead.

“But … it has only been four days since we met. How can this be?”

“I feel you have been eternally mine, Sophie. We fit together as though we were made that way. Do you not feel that there is some kind of recognition between us? You have unlocked me so that I am finding deeper parts of my heretofore shallow self.”

Sophie pondered this. “I remember when I first saw you, you looked familiar. You think we existed before this life? Like Wordsworth?”

“Yes. You at least are ‘trailing clouds of glory.’ I am just an ordinary fellow.”

“Not ordinary,” she whispered. “Never ordinary.”

He kissed her again and to Sophie, it seemed as though their heat melted them into each other.

{ 10 }

PACING HIS LIBRARY
, Frank did not know when he had felt as humbled and alive.
Ennui
had left him days ago. He had waited all his life for a purpose that would consume him, and now he had it: marrying Sophie and starting a family, nurturing her brilliance, loving her every day of his life. What they had together was surely not garden-variety passion. It was something only the poets knew of. There was enough substance in little Sophie’s great soul to spend a lifetime exploring. Reliving the moments he had held her in his arms, he physically ached for completion. His whole body was aflame with twin urges to possess and to protect her.

Tonight, he was staying in. He could not even contemplate attending a ball followed by a card party. He had tried to do his duty by attending his godmother’s ball the previous evening, and after one dance with Lady Melissa, he had bid Godmama goodnight. Now, penning his regrets to his hosts and hostesses, he rang for Dinwoody, his butler.

“Have these delivered by one of the footmen. I shall dine at Brook’s, but then I shall stay in this evening.”

“Is your lordship ill? I must say, if you will pardon the familiarity, you do not look it.”

“No, Dinwoody, I am not ill. I am in love. And you are the first I have told. I trust you will keep it to yourself. I should not care for my emotions to be broadcast along the servants’ grapevine.”

“No, your lordship. Congratulations, your lordship. There is claret in your carafe. Would you rather I brought brandy?”

“Yes, Dinwoody, that would be splendid!”

~
~*

When Frank returned home from Brook’s at half past nine, it was to the news, conveyed by his butler, that he had a visitor.

“Lady Manwaring insisted upon waiting for you in your library.”

“But how did she know I wasn’t out for the evening?”

“She said she would wait, I quote, ‘as long as it takes.’ I made up the fire in there, your lordship, so you should find it quite comfortable.”

“I shall not find it comfortable! I shall find it a demmed nuisance!”

“Darling,” came a throaty whisper from the shadows of his library. No candles had been lit. By the light of the fire, he was able to see his former mistress sitting in front of it, holding a glass of claret. “I had to see you. I was hungry for you.”

“Lila, all is over between us,” he said, trying to be gentle.

He sat in the chair opposite her. Her face was naked with passion in the firelight. Still holding her glass, she seated herself in his lap, caressing his face with her free hand. Her touch was clumsy, her words slurred.

Grabbing her shoulders, he held her at a distance. “Lila, you must get hold of yourself and get up. You are acting the fool. You will regret this.”

“Are you not bored with the simpering Edwards gel yet? She cannot dance. She cannot ride. What is the attraction? Perhaps she has replaced me in your bed?”

“Certainly not. And I will not discuss Miss Edwards with you.”

She brought her mouth down on his. Instantly rearing backward in his chair, he stood, causing her to slide to the floor, sloshing the claret on his breeches and the Oriental rug.

“Lovely, lovely Frank. You can’t throw me over. You see, I love you. Always have done.”

“You need to sleep it off, Lila. Get up. I’m putting you on the couch. You’re ready to pass out.”

Scooping up the untidy bundle of woman, he carried her to the couch and arranged her limbs.

In a moment, she was snoring. Leaving her there, he exited the library, where he had hoped to spend the evening. Instead, he went upstairs to his dressing room, where his valet awaited him. He removed his cravat, collar, and waistcoat and donned a dressing gown over his wine-splattered breeches. Ordering a carafe of whiskey, he retired to the next-door sitting room that he hoped would one day belong to his Sophie. There he sat, staring into the fire, as thoughts of his love recaptured him, erasing the unwelcome scene downstairs. Would Sophie rather live in London, where she could perform? Or would she be more comfortable in the country? Perhaps a compromise. They could live at Hanford House in Oxfordshire, come down to London for the season so that he could sit in Parliament, and then away to Bath for the summer, where there would be plenty of opportunities for her to perform.

Why had she never been to a decent
modiste
before? And had a Harley Street doctor ever had a look at that knee?

Oh, he was full of plans. Perhaps they would journey to Vienna for their honeymoon and meet Herr van Beethoven in person. No one could help loving Sophie.