Behind the Courtesan

chapter Eight

The distant sounds of horses’ hooves drifted through Blake’s mind, threatening to bring him more fully awake, to take him from a place where he was content. Beneath floating apple flowers, his hands molded her curves as his mouth brushed her jaw, her ear lobe, her cheek, consigning her taste to the deepest parts of his memories. In this place, in his dreams, Sophie was his wife and life was perfect.

He didn’t want to wake up, but the drumming of hooves meant a customer. His delirious dreams could wait.

He flexed his fingers and stretched but the woman of his nighttime invention didn’t move. She didn’t disappear when he opened his eyes, her apple scent continued to tickle his nose. Her warmth still filled his arms as he held her tightly to his side, heat radiating from both their bodies.

His sleepy gaze shifted as he remembered where they were. Who she was. Right about the same time she did.

A sudden stiffness infused Sophie’s body. Her head rose and her back straightened.

Shit.

Pulling his hands away from her, Blake cried out when pain exploded in so many parts of his body at once he thought he might die. The dream must have been God’s idea of a nasty joke.

The skin on his arm pulled, pain from ribs that were surely broken took his breath away, and a thousand other little hurts made themselves known. He couldn’t feel his sleeping lower limbs at all.

Before Sophie could berate him for his actions, before he could explain that he’d dreamed of happiness while holding her tight, she was on her feet and in the middle of the road.

“Sophie,” he called out to her.

“Don’t you dare say a word!” The finger she held out to him, the accusation in her eyes as she pointed in his direction, flustered and embarrassed him and made him click his mouth shut with a snap.

In the cold light of the morning, he was right. He wasn’t a duke and she wasn’t interested.

As crude as the truth was, Sophie sold her body to the lord with the deepest coffers. The very idea of sleeping with her head on his shoulder had to be causing no end of inner turmoil for her.

The silence between them intensified, the thumping in his ears testified to his weakened state, his aroused state. He’d lost enough blood yesterday to fell the mightiest of men and anything remaining had flooded south at the mostly innocent sharing of body heat.

He stared at Sophie, standing in the middle of the road, hands on hips, one foot tapping the gravel beneath her toe. What was she doing? Would she stand there until someone came along? He’d need help getting to his feet and was about to ask her when he realized the thumping in his head was actually the sound of horses, the sound that had woken him.

From where he sat, his back still against Monster’s, he couldn’t see down the road, but he could hear the driver’s order to the horses pulling the carriage to slow and then stop.

Doing his best to ignore the pain that racked his body, Blake rolled to his side, the side on which his ribs were unharmed, and willed blood back into his legs. The carriage could hold any manner of filth.

“Good morning to you, sir,” Sophie said, her voice clear and loud and sweetly feminine. “As you can see, we have met with some trouble and require assistance.”

“Who is it, Gaspar?” a voice asked from the inside of the carriage. Whoever it was sounded frustrated.

“A...lady, Your Grace.” The hesitation in the driver’s words made Blake want to punch the man in the face. He wasn’t at all sure if Sophie was a lady due to the richness of her clothes or just another woman standing in the middle of the road, but his hesitation implied he would as soon as run her down than render assistance.

“Please, sir, it has been a harrowing night already, I would be most appreciative.”

Why hadn’t she ever used that tone of voice with him? She sure knew how to stroke a man’s conscience.

He groaned, the pain in his legs taking his mind off the thought of Sophie stroking anything.

He heard the door of the conveyance open, boots hit the earth and the traces jangle as the horses shifted.

“And who might you be?” Frustration seemed to be replaced by curiosity.

Blake rose to his feet, worried about the black spots swimming before his eyes. Taking the few steps toward Sophie, Blake saw who stopped to offer them aid and swore.

* * *

Sophia itched to march over to the bone-head and kick him. What kind of man welcomed their rescuer with a string of vile, offensive curses? Did he think she wanted to stay on the side of the road with him?

Not likely!

Dropping a deep curtsey, Sophia tried her best to appear every inch the lady. If this man knew her status by birth, he would probably beat her out of the way with the ivory-handled walking stick he held. “My name is Sophia Martin, Your Grace.” She hadn’t missed the title the driver had so carelessly thrown about.

“And what kind of trouble have you come across?” The question was asked as the duke assessed first Blake, then their broken cart and then her. His gaze started at her toes and traveled slowly, insolently up, pausing at her chest, and then finally meeting her eyes.

Sophia remembered when Blake made much the same perusal. She narrowed her gaze in his direction before turning back to the duke. “I’m afraid one of the horses went lame and the other ran off. After spending the night on the road, I find myself eager for a warm bath and a glass of wine.” Sophia knew what she was doing perfectly well. The inflection she put on the word bath, implied she wished for company. She played with the devil not knowing whom she addressed, but faced with two evils, she would choose a stranger over Blake’s nearness any day.

“Oh, dear lady, of course I will offer you the sanctuary of my carriage. I expect the ambience will be improved with your presence.”

Sophia tittered. “Your Grace, you are too kind.”

“Ah, but you must call me Blakiston if we are to be traveling companions.”

Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. Resisting the urge to let her jaw fall open in shock, or to look to Blake to seek confirmation, she merely inclined her head. The presence at her back told her Blake had finally pulled himself from the ground.

“You needn’t risk the mud to your leather, Blakiston. Sophie will be quite fine here with me until the search party arrives.”

Ooh. Her foot itched again, only this time she would do more than kick his shins.

Blakiston didn’t give her the chance. “I’m sure the lady would rather join me than stay here in the cold with you.” His tone challenged, condescended.

“And I’m sure our searchers will be along any moment now, so you needn’t bother yourself. Why don’t you get back in your carriage and be on your way.”

The duke’s face turned a rather unbecoming shade of red, his lips tightened to a thin line and Sophia swore she heard his teeth grind together in his mouth. But then he closed the distance, his hand held out to her. “I believe the choice is yours, milady. Stay here in the cold with a barkeep or join me in my warm carriage for a glass of French brandy. I will have you back to your lodgings and in that hot bath before the lunch gong sounds.”

Oh, she played with fire. The way Blakiston’s charm oozed from his handsome mouth worried her, but she would surely kill Blake if she had the chance to have him alone right now.

“I would be eternally grateful, Your Grace.”

As she stepped toward the duke with the feeling akin to entering a snake pit, Blake’s hand shot out and gripped her arm hard. “Sophie, you can’t go with him.”

“And why not?” she asked through teeth gritted against a frustrated shriek.

“He is nothing more than a slimy worm. You are better than this.”

Sophia’s cheeks heated and before she knew what she was about, her free arm swung, her palm flat, and for the second time, Sophia slapped Blake’s face with all the anger he made her feel. Did he think she would perform sexual acts with a duke in his carriage for the pleasure of a comfortable seat back to the tavern? His tone implied that was exactly it.

Wrenching her arm from his hold, she turned to Blakiston, placed her fingers in his hand as if nothing had happened and let him lead her to his carriage and the promise of spirits. She could certainly use something to calm her nerves and her fury.