Behind the Courtesan

chapter Nine

Sophia fumed. If she’d been elsewhere, she would have paced, she would have thrown her arms in the air and ranted like a lunatic. But she was here. Instead she had to keep the smile on her lips and charm the current Duke of Blakiston all the way back to the inn.

She clasped her hands around her bare arms in an effort to get warm and shake the melancholy that threatened.

“Are you cold, m’dear?” Blakiston asked, his voice charming, his manner not in the least bit threatening.

So why did she feel such a deep sense of impending doom?

“A little, Your Grace.” She watched as he stood, stooped and lifted the top of the bench seat he sat upon. He pulled out a blanket of rich maroon wool large enough to warm her entire body if she wrapped it around herself.

“Here you go.” The duke placed the blanket on her lap and tucked the edges beneath her legs. He was so close she could smell his cologne—an off-putting scent filled with enough sandalwood to make her nose itch—and his touch evoked yet more shivers, but this time of revulsion. Even though Charles was a very distant relative to the previous duke, the same blood flowed through his veins. Through all men of the Blakiston line.

Blake included.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I only hope my gown doesn’t soil the fine wool.” The mud had dried from her ruined dress, but sand and dirt still fell with only the slightest of movement. She didn’t like to think of the picture she made, blood and mud and dirt combined.

“Nonsense,” he replied with a wave of his bejeweled hand. “Can’t have you freeze to death just to save my linen.”

The intent catlike gaze he turned on her after he sat made Sophia squirm and pull the warm blanket to her chin.

“Would you like to tell me what you were doing there with that oaf?” he asked.

Sophia thought about her reply for a moment before deciding a lie would be far better than the truth. “I had heard of a milliner in Sheffield that I thought to visit, so Blake accompanied me. It wouldn’t do to travel about alone.”

“What of your carriage?”

Yes, why hadn’t she thought of that? “Blake had to collect supplies and they wouldn’t have fit in my small conveyance.”

“Pardon my ignorance, but are you good friends with the innkeeper?”

Sophia laughed out loud. “Friends, Your Grace? I would hardly count Blake a friend. I am staying at his inn for a short time is all.”

“So you hail from this part of the country then?”

“I grew up close to here if that is your question, Your Grace.”

“You don’t have to ‘Your Grace’ me, Sophia. You can call me Blakiston.”

She would rather not, but under the circumstances it was better than him offering his Christian name, so she inclined her head.

“What lures you from the comforts of London? I imagine the delights there are far more interesting than any you will find hereabouts.”

“Daemon is out of the city on business and my brother invited me to attend the birth of his child.”

“Your brother?”

“Matthew Martin.” She gave the name, but then wished she hadn’t.

“You’re that Sophia Martin?”

She swallowed hard. “I am.”

Blakiston reclined farther into his seat unknowing of the damage she had just caused. The village of Blakiston was the only place in the world she could hide herself from the eyes of London, but no more.

“Does St. Ives know you are visiting?” Blakiston asked, a small smile on his pale lips. She would have believed he merely passed the time and made conversation except for the smugness about him.

“He is not my keeper in all aspects, Your Grace. I do not have to inform him of my every movement.”

“If you were mine, I would want to know your whereabouts at all times.”

“Oh?” The sick feeling multiplied in the pit of her stomach.

Blakiston reached across the carriage and put his hand on her knee. She suddenly had the urge to kick a second man.

“I would want to know if I had to challenge any man who tried to steal you away.”

Sophia let out a strangled laugh, the lump in her throat made it hard to draw breath. “Daemon knows I can’t be stolen easily, Your Grace.”

He shrugged, removed his hand and reclined once again. “Perhaps there are those out there who don’t fight fair, who enjoy the thrill of a challenge?”

“Then there will be those out there who will be disappointed,” she replied, hoping that would be the end of it.

He shrugged again. “You are in love with St. Ives then?”

Hers was an easy answer. She may no longer share his bed, but St. Ives was her friend no matter their relationship status or station difference and she owed him everything she had left. “I would give my life to him if he so chose it.”

“Such loyalty,” he muttered with a shake of his head. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back against the squabs.

Sophia quietly exhaled the breath she hadn’t known she’d held and relaxed a fraction. So many lies told in such a small amount of time. She often wondered what the devil would do to her for her thousands of untruths when her time came to answer for her sins. But it was part of her existence.

It had been four long months since she had enjoyed a man’s touch, since she had enjoyed Daemon’s protection. Now she was on her own. With a little bit of luck Violet would soon have her baby and give Sophia a reason to back out of her ridiculous bargain with Blake. Then she could begin to consider the rest of her life. Contrary to what the ton believed, it had been she who had separated from Daemon. Discovering that she was pregnant had quickly put an end to their affair and given her the hope of a new beginning. He’d handed her a very large sum of money and extracted a promise to be kept up to date with the child’s progress.

But then the worst came about and she was forced to creep back into his life. Offering him his money back days after losing the baby had nearly destroyed her mind. It probably would have had he been a lesser man and reclaimed the money. Instead, he had folded her into his arms and held her as she’d cried, promising her that things could be different for her now. She was wealthy enough to be independent. To never have to rely on her charms to put food on the table or a roof over her head.

She had never before been in that situation and had had no idea where to start. It was why she had sought the comfort of her old home, of her brother, while she sorted out her mind.

As she peeked at her companion beneath her lashes, she was mightily glad of St. Ives. If men like Blakiston were to be options, she would have become a chambermaid long ago. Luckily she was adept at handling unwanted advances. It helped that her reputation had been upheld by St. Ives. According to the papers, she’d managed to land the Earl of Whitcombe on his back with only one hand after he pawed her. The real truth was that St. Ives hit him, but unless Whitcombe wanted to be hit again, he would leave the truth alone and let the lies do their work. Her career was based on lies, her friends having put it out that she had more experience than most practiced courtesans. It was a large gamble and her first protector, Noah, had seen through the fabrication at their first “meeting.” But after she risked all and poured her story out to him, he took her in and showed her what it was like to truly be touched, to feel passion, to try to let go of some of the scars and move on.

It didn’t happen often to women like her, but she had been cared for. After Noah, she’d had her pick of fine but lonely gentlemen. If she treated them right, they treated her to houses to live in, money and gifts of jewels and trinkets. She couldn’t say it was an ideal life but she had lived. Survived to fight another day.

No thanks to Blake’s ancient horses and a road not fit to walk on, let alone drive a carriage or cart. She could have broken her neck in the accident. They both could have.

The man’s insults did nothing to blunt the desire she felt when close to him, when watching the dance of his muscles, the mischievousness in his grin, the tilt of his jaw.

But Blake had more erratic mood swings than a fishwife.

Sophia shook her head and bit down on the end of the tongue. Why did her mind always come back to him? Why couldn’t she see him for the bitter man he was, take his insults for what they were and flee back to London?

Because Matthew needs you.

She barely contained a snort. No one needed her. Violet certainly didn’t need her help. Matthew wanted her there, but he didn’t need her. Daemon didn’t need her. Blake didn’t want her. That much was blatantly obvious in the way he looked at her, as if disgusted by her even sleeping in his inn. She was yet another problem to be dealt with. She wasn’t sure if it was a man thing or a Blake thing.

There she went again. Thinking of Blake.

She knew all his faculties weren’t straight this morning when they’d woken. The startled look in his eyes and his jerky movements showed he hadn’t meant his actions even though they’d caused him pain. She really hadn’t even been angry with him, she’d been furious with herself for reacting to his touch. A touch that made her burn. But it had felt so good. He had felt so good.

Even the roughness of his hands provoked sensations she hadn’t experienced. Each and every callus on his fingers and palm had scratched at her skin, sending pleasure shooting right to her sex.

Damn him! Damn him for making her enjoy his touch, for making her want him to touch her again. For if the truth were told, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel the texture of his unshaven face against her cheek, across her stomach, the inside of her thigh.

“You’re looking a little flushed, m’dear.” Blakiston’s voice startled her out of her reverie.

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling quite the thing right now, Your Grace.”

“Not surprising. It must have been rather cold and lonely out there last night.”

The implication in his tone sent a shiver up her spine. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

She was saved from any further conversation when the driver slowed the horses and announced they had arrived at the inn. Sophia looked out at the mud-covered ground and sighed. Her gown and shoes were already ruined. But Blakiston had his own agenda.

“Allow me, Sophia.” He climbed down from the carriage with surprising speed, bowed and then held his arms out for her and all before his driver had even jumped down.

“Your Grace, I can’t... You can’t. I’m filthy.”

“Nonsense.” He stepped closer. “And I asked you to call me Blakiston.”

Had his voice risen a notch? Perhaps it was her imagination or simply fatigue that made her see more in his gallant action than was actually there.

“Thank you.” She let the man pick her up as though she weighed no more than a picnic hamper. Each slow step he took through the drying mud made his arms tighten around her until she was positively crushed to his chest.

The door to the tavern burst open and Matthew’s brooding face appeared in the early morning light. Sophia couldn’t have been happier to see him or his anger at that moment.

Blakiston stepped over the threshold and released her legs, causing her body to slide against his on purpose. Involuntarily her arms tightened about his neck to keep her balance. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she stepped away and mumbled her thanks, eyes downcast.

“Any time you are in need of assistance, Sophia, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Blakiston, I shall keep that in mind.”

From the corner of her eye she noted Matthew watching the exchange. His expression went from brooding to furious at the use of her Christian name and the almost pleasant way she responded. Sophia barely held her groan in check. There was going to be a lot of explaining to do.

“I’m very grateful for your assistance, but now I think it is time I retired.” She turned from the knowing grin on the duke’s lips to her brother’s obvious concern. “Matthew, Blake is still out on the road with the broken cart, he needs a rescue party of his own.”

“The wagon’s hitched and ready to go. I believe thanks are required, Your Grace, but I’ll take care of my sister now.”

Blakiston raised his thin brows, flourished yet another of his overdone bows and retreated to his carriage.

Sophia sagged and fell heavily into the nearest chair. Suddenly her head ached abominably and her stomach felt hollow and sick.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell happened? Why were you with Blakiston at this time of the morning and what happened to Blake? Where were you last night?”

“One question at a time, Matthew, I have the most horrendous headache.”

Once the words passed her lips, the events of the night and morning caught up with her and her bottom lip trembled. Hot tears pricked her eyes but she willed them back. She was made of sterner stuff than to cry when she was whole and healthy and safe.

“One of the horses went lame and we had to shoot him. The other horse ran off, so we were stranded.”

“Why didn’t you walk back?” Matthew asked, suspicion still front and center in his eyes.

“I think Blake may have broken his ribs and he lost a lot of blood.”

“Christ! Are you all right?” Matthew finally took in her ragged appearance, the nasty gash on her head, how pale she must appear.

She nodded. Nothing a bath, sleep and a new coat of dignity wouldn’t repair.

“How could you leave Blake out there?” There was no question of why he hadn’t come back with her and Blakiston. There was no way Blake would get in that man’s carriage even if his life depended on it. Rot him anyway, she thought. It would do his ego good to think about his situation and his treatment of her. Never mind that being alone would also give his temper time to heighten and burn out.

“His injuries are not life threatening and someone needed to get word to you.”

Matthew raked a hand through his hair and then pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. “I was worried about you.”

For a moment, she stiffened and wanted to push him away, and then in a moment of pure exhaustion and vulnerability, she melted into him and hugged him back. “You needn’t worry over me,” she whispered. But never had the words sounded so hollow in her life. For once, just once, she was glad someone worried for her. Maybe there was a person in the world who loved her still.

* * *

Blake scowled when he saw Matthew’s wagon approach. It was obvious he hadn’t hurried out to find him. Damn Sophia and her tears. She probably got back and spun a fine story about how he pawed her and shouted and drove her to get in a carriage with that slimy weasel. Her lips would have trembled and a fine show would have been witnessed by all.

His scowl was accompanied by a growl.

“You took your sweet time,” he called when the wagon neared. Two old nags trailed behind while Matthew and the bar hand, Dominic, rode up front.

“I can go back and leave you here if you want,” came Matthew’s laughing reply.

Laughing? Why wasn’t he facing him down with a pistol in his hands over his sister’s honor? “Damned if I want to spend another night like this.” His ribs were on fire and the multiple cuts and scrapes pulled at his skin to remind him how much of a sorry state he was in.

“You should have come back with Blakiston.”

“Is Sophia all right?” Blake asked despite knowing he shouldn’t care what went on between her and the Duke of Slime.

“Sophia it is now? I thought you were only going to call her Sophie?”

He shrugged. “Slip of the tongue. Is she all right?”

Matthew nodded and set to work untying one the nags from the lead ropes. Dominic was already at work on the other. There wasn’t much he could say when the boy was there too. He would not give yet more fodder to the gossips by talking about Sophie behind her back.

It took a good half an hour for Matthew and Dominic to move Monster’s body far from the road. They shouldn’t just leave him there, but dragging the once majestic horse back to the inn would be of no use to anyone. Blake was forced to watch as they pulled on ropes tied to his body and the harness he still wore. Once he was far enough from the roadway, Blake said his final goodbyes to the old boy, then went back to his wagon.

Dominic sat on the driver’s bench with the two horses already crudely hooked up and ready to be gone. Blake checked that the makeshift preparations would hold and then went to climb up beside him.

“You ride with me,” Matthew called.

“I’ll ride with the boy,” Blake called in return as he gritted his teeth against the pain that would come once he grabbed a hold of the cart.

A warm, firm hand came down on his shoulder, stopped him from jumping up.

“You can’t seriously mean to be jostled around on that seat all the way back?”

Blake turned to Matthew and knew by the look in the other man’s eyes that this was a battle he’d already lost. He didn’t have the energy to protest. All he really wanted to do was lie back down on the ground and sleep for a day or more.

“I suppose not.” He let Matthew help him into the back of the wagon, where a makeshift bed had been thrown down on the timber boards. He would have put up a fight at being treated like an invalid, but it felt so good to finally relax. How had he thought sitting on a driver’s seat a good idea?

Matthew chuckled again and climbed up. He took the reins and rolled on slowly as the pair set their own speed.

“You never answered my question,” Blake reminded him after a few minutes.

“She’s fine. Blakiston made quite a show of carrying her into the inn, which should set tongues wagging for a while to come. Apart from the dirt and that scrape on her head, she says she’s fine.”

Blake tensed. He wanted to meet Matthew’s eyes, but couldn’t quite raise himself to his elbow. “Blakiston’s not there with her now, is he?”

“So what if he is? The two of them obviously know one another.”

“They do not.”

“He called her Sophia and she called him Blakiston.”

“I knew I should have stopped her.”

“Yes, you should have,” Matthew said as the first hints of anger crept into his voice.

“And how would you have stopped her?”

“Any way I could have. Blakiston is a toad—”

“Worse than a toad,” Blake interrupted.

“Worse than a toad. He is going to come back to see her.”

“Did he say that?”

“He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes as he stared at her, he’ll be back. I’d bet my baby on it.”

“You don’t have to go that far.” Blake laughed in spite of his anger. Some of the finely wrought tension left his body but the motion stung his side so he had to pause before drawing his next breath to continue. “Sophie can look after herself.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Matthew said, the line of his back sitting up straighter.

Blake remembered the way her palm had cracked his cheek, the shock wave it had sent through his body. The little minx would be fine even in a fight to the death. “She has slapped me a few times since her arrival.” If she kept it up, he’d have a permanent imprint.

Matthew laughed loud and long, slapping a hand to his thigh. “Did you deserve it?”

Blake smiled and closed his eyes, remembering the fury that fired those slaps. “Of course I did.”

“Sophia isn’t as tough or as strong as she makes out,” Matthew said, sobering in an instant.

Blake knew that too.

He just wished she did.