Chapter Ten

“You cannot travel to Calais alone,” Sophie told her mother. “Safety in numbers, remember? How many times have you told me we must never travel alone?”

“I am going. With my maid and an armed footman, I shall be quite safe. I am not helpless nor without my own resources.” The dowager squared her narrow shoulders. Self-assuredness streamed from her like rays of light. “You forget who I am, my child.”

Nash caught hold of Merritt’s arm and stopped him before the fool waded into the treacherous waters of two women in the middle of a disagreement. “Let them sort it,” he advised in a low voice. The lovely ladies had taught him that lesson well.

“Lady Sophie is right,” Merritt said too loudly for his own good. He kept his gaze locked on the dowager countess. “Lady Nia cannot travel to France with merely a footman and a maid. Not under the present circumstances.”

Both women turned and glared at him.

“You are a dead man,” Nash murmured before stepping forward to sacrifice himself in his friend’s stead. “If anything were to happen to you, dear mother-in-law, I should never forgive myself. Why this sudden need to return to Calais? You said yourself the academy was under the exemplary care of some of your former star pupils.”

The woman eyed him as if sighting a pistol for the killing shot. “It is best I return to Calais for several reasons. Sophie will be safe here with you, allowing me to approach this dilemma from another angle.”

“What angle?” He studied her. Something uneasy brewed in the lady’s amber eyes, and it was not merely concern for her daughter’s safety. No, it was more than that, but he couldn’t fathom what. He had always been somewhat awestruck by the powerful woman, and the more he was around her, the more enigmatic she seemed—like a mighty goddess he dared not question. But he would question her for his beloved Sophie’s sake. “What angle, my lady?”

The dowager ignored him. Instead, she turned back to her daughter. “I understand what I am doing. You must trust me.”

“We are in full mourning, Maman,” Sophie countered with a haughty tilt of her chin. “You should not be traveling. It is not proper.”

“I have been in full mourning since your papa’s murder. Do not lecture me on the appropriate behavior while grieving a loved one.” Not sparing any of them another look, she haughtily swept from the room and stormed up the stairs.

Sophie stared after her, looking so lost and forlorn that Nash’s heart ached for his precious wife.

He went to her, took her hand, and pressed a kiss to it, pleased she had honored his request to remain gloveless unless they were entertaining or out for the day. The satin of her skin, even the simple innocence of her bare hand, beguiled him. He couldn’t get enough of touching her. He kissed the backs of her fingers again. “We will convince her to stay, my swan. Somehow.”

“If need be, I will follow and keep her safe,” Merritt said a little too strong for one merely determined to protect a lady.

Nash turned to his friend and found himself unable to keep from smiling. “You have fallen under her spell.”

Merritt glared at him but didn’t protest or deny the observation.

“If you truly care for her, then go upstairs and talk some sense into her,” Sophie told him. “Be firm and do not take no for an answer.”

“Does she keep weapons in her rooms?” Merritt asked with uncharacteristic leeriness.

“Of course. Any table with a drawer has a pistol in it. As long as you keep her away from drawers, you should be safe enough.”

He arched a brow, rolled his shoulders as though flexing for a fight, then strode out of the room.

“You have just sent my most trusted friend to his death,” Nash said, only partially in jest. He had never seen Merritt so taken with a woman before. He feared it would dull the man’s sense of self-preservation.

“The only way Maman will hurt him is by refusing his attentions.” Still staring after Merritt, she slowly shook her head. “She has toyed with men over the years. Out of boredom, I suppose, or what she always called keeping her skills sharp. But I have yet to witness her allowing another into her heart. She once told me that the pain of Papa’s loss never eased, and at times was almost more than she could bear.” A hitching sigh escaped her as she pressed a hand to her throat. “I cannot count the many times she told me I was her only reason for living on.”

“It sounds as though your mother loves hard and with all her being.”

Sophie turned to him, her rich mahogany eyes filled with uncertainty. “Yes, she does.” After nervously catching the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, she pulled in a deep breath and let it ease out. “As do I.”

He coaxed her into his arms and tilted her face up to his. “I am glad of that, my love. Do not be uncertain or afraid, because I promise you, that is a trait you and I share.”

She touched his cheek as if convincing herself he was real. “I am glad too, then,” she said softly. “I know I promised to leave the worries of our past behind, but the troubles of our present seem to keep dragging them forward.”

“I understand. What with two attempts on your life, blackmail threats, and a forced marriage? Most women would find themselves so overwhelmed they would take to their beds for weeks on end.” He treated himself to the lightest of kisses, unable to resist the sweet temptation of her mouth so close to his. “But fortunately for me, you are not most women. You have taken it all in stride even while imprisoned by full mourning. You need a diversion from all these beastly troubles, my fractious little swan. You need an outing.”

“Full mourning, my lord. Remember?”

“My lord?” He tucked her tighter against him. “All because I called you fractious?”

Her crestfallen look eased the knot in his chest that always twinged whenever he suspected her old resentments had risen once again. “No—you are right. I am quite fractious.” She stretched on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Everything is closing in around me, and this ridiculous mourning for a brother who never existed is insulting and unfair to those truly going through the loss of a loved one.” She gave an irritated huff that made her delicate nostrils flare. “And now Maman has suddenly become unreasonable. I am beside myself and resent that position very much.”

While Nash longed to sweep her up to the bedroom and treat them both to an entirely different position, even his aching lust sensed Sophie needed more than resuming their marital delights for an afternoon. No, as much as he longed to sink into her and never surface again, that was for later, after she’d had some respite from their current troubles. He nibbled a kiss across the rosy sweetness of her mouth, then lifted his head and whispered, “What say you to a bit of scandalous behavior?”

Her eyes lit up like a pair of the brightest candles. “Scandalous, you say?” She teased him with a suggestive wiggle that made him second-guess his decision about not retiring to their bedchamber. “Since we are married, how could anything we do together possibly be scandalous?”

“While I adore your line of thinking, my seductive swan, I had something else in mind.”

Her immediate frown delighted him. “I told you I am quite well, and last night you refused me after promising…”

He silenced her with another kiss. “You had just been shot at by someone you thought was a friend and were exhausted from the day’s trials.” After another gentle kiss, he barely lifted his head and lost himself in her stormy gaze. “And dare I remind you that you immediately fell asleep in my arms?”

She huffed like a child about to throw a tantrum. “No.”

He tried not to smile, but her wanting him with such ferocity filled his heart with joy. “Go upstairs and have Marie help you into your riding habit,” he whispered. “Let the gossips be damned.”

Eyeing him as though wondering what demon had taken control of his tongue, she eased a step back. “Was it not you that sided with Maman only yesterday about Dr. MacMaddenly’s recommendation that I forgo riding for at least several weeks?”

Nash ducked his head, feeling like a schoolboy caught in a lie. “Yes, it was me. However, your troubled spirits concern me as much or more than your physical wellbeing. If the mind is not at peace, how can the body be?” He nodded at the sunny window. “It is a lovely day, and surely a calm, meandering ride through Hyde Park would do you more good than harm.”

“And you do not mind the wagging tongues that will surely be set off by our riding on Rotten Row while propriety demands I hide at home in layers of black bombazine and crepe, respectfully mourning my brother?”

“Let the wagging tongues be damned.”

Her hopeful smile started small, then blossomed into the full gamut of lighthearted joy he had hoped to coax free.

“I don’t know which pleases me more,” she said, “the fact that you remembered how I love riding or that I will actually be free of this Society-imposed prison for a few hours, and you refuse to let the gossips control our lives.”

“We control our lives.” Then he amended the bold statement with a humble tip of his head. “Well, we control as much of our lives as Her Majesty and Prinny allow.” He gave her a quick kiss and nudged her toward the door. “Hurry now and get changed before we lose any more daylight.”

“I shall be ready in no time.” She gathered up her skirts and dashed away.

The sound of her skipping up the stairs filled him with joy and warm satisfaction. This was what the two of them needed—a brief escape into their own little world to strengthen their fragile bond. As he headed toward the window for a precautionary glance at the street, Merritt walked back into the parlor, scrubbing his face as if wearied to the bone.

“You survived,” Nash said, unable to resist a teasing jab at his friend.

“Barely. She told me to go to the devil in no uncertain terms.” Merritt shook his head. “And I believe a few of those terms were some of the coarsest French vulgarities I have ever heard anyone say, much less a lady.”

“All because of your concern for her safety?” Nash eyed the man, knowing there had to be more to the story. The dowager countess never lost her temper and quite coolly eviscerated her enemies with a cutting wit that required no derogatory terms whatsoever. “What did you say to her?”

Merritt rubbed the back of his neck while staring downward and uneasily shuffling in place. “It might not have been what I said that drew the dressing-down she delivered.”

Nash folded his arms across his chest and waited, knowing his friend would eventually confess all.

After a deep breath and a blustery sigh, Merritt shrugged. “I believe it was the kiss.”

“The kiss?” Nash stared at him in disbelief. “You were foolish enough to kiss the woman when you knew her to be overwrought about all that has recently come to pass?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And now?”

“Perhaps not so much.” Merritt grinned. “But at least she didn’t shoot me. Maybe she possesses a growing fondness for me after all and just isn’t quite ready to embrace it.”

“And how do you propose to compete with the memory of her beloved husband?” Nash decided not to mention the age difference between the two. The dowager countess had to be almost two decades older than them both. “You cannot battle a ghost, old friend. Especially not one as cherished as Sophie’s father.”

“I have always loved a challenge. You know that.” Merritt rolled his shoulders and tugged on his jacket to resettle it. “I saw the look in her eyes when I told her that if she insisted on leaving for Calais, I would be traveling with her.”

“I still do not understand her need to return to France.” Nash turned back to the window as if the street outside might provide him with an answer.

“About that,” Merritt said as he joined him. “I believe I caught her in either a lie or a confession she did not wish to make.”

“Go on.”

“She said she needed to speak to someone in Calais and tell them if they did not cease, she would not be responsible for her actions.” Merritt narrowed his eyes as he pursed his lips. “And then she jerked as if startled by the words she had just uttered and bellowed for me to get out, or she would shoot me.”

“If they did not cease what?” An uneasiness rolled across Nash like a heavy, wet blanket smothering a fire. Suspicion filled him. “Surely she is not the one behind the assassination attempts on her own daughter.” He shook his head at the silly notion. “No. She adores Sophie and would kill anyone who dared threaten her.”

Merritt gave a doubtful shrug. “All I know is what she said, and how she reacted after she said it.”

“Will you be able to stay close to her and watch her without getting shot?” Nash was dead serious this time. If Lady Nia knew the assassin or knew who sent the assassin, why hadn’t she shared that important bit of information before now? He would be speaking to his mother-in-law after his outing with Sophie.

“I will stay close to her because I wish to stay close to her,” Merritt said in a tone that spoke far louder than his words. “She is a woman worth getting shot for.”

“Even though she told you to go to the devil?”

Merritt smiled. “It wasn’t what she said, old friend, it was how she said it.” He dipped a self-assured nod. “You know exactly what I mean. I’ve seen how you look at your wife. You are as besotted with her as I am with Lady Nia.”

Nash snorted a laugh. “It appears we are a pair of fools.”

“It would seem so.” Merritt nudged him. “But better a happy fool than a miserable old sage, eh?”

“Most definitely.” Nash glanced back at the door. “I am taking Sophie riding to get her mind off this miserable situation, even if only for a little while. Stay here and watch her mother. Lady Nia was not exaggerating when she said she was not a woman without resources. I would not be surprised if she attempted to steal off to France this very day.”

Merritt arched a brow. “It also has not escaped my notice that the staff here are more devoted than most. That makes keeping her here more of a challenge.” He tipped his head to one side while eyeing the stairs. “Perhaps I should stand guard at the door to her suite. I would not put it past the lady to try to escape by way of the servants’ passages.”

Nash clapped him on the back. “Good man.”

Sophie appeared on the stairs resplendent in a dark blue riding habit.

He dismissed himself with a nod to his friend and met her in the hallway. She did not need to know Merritt’s fears about her mother. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and ushered her to the drawing room and out into the garden.

“One moment, my lady,” he said as opened the back gate. “Do not think me rude. I merely wish to keep you safe.” He stepped through first and scanned the mews for anything that might be amiss. When all appeared as it should be, he held out his hand and smiled. “All clear. Come. Let us escape for a little while.”

She took his hand and skipped along beside him like an excited young girl. “I so needed this. What a fortunate lady I am to have such a thoughtful husband.”

He couldn’t resist giving her a teasing wink. “That is exactly what I have been telling you, my swan.”

As soon as they entered the stable, they halted to avoid being run over by a trio of young cats racing after something only the felines could see.

“So, these are the kittens you spoke of?” Nash laughed as one of them skittered up a wooden post, danced across the wall separating the stalls, then leapt onto its unsuspecting siblings as they rounded the corner.

“When did I tell you about the kittens?” she asked, while leading him to the stalls at the rear of the stable.

“During your laudanum sleep after your injury.” Inwardly, he flinched. He should not have brought that up. This outing was to make her forget about the trials, not relive them. A sense of relief washed across him when she didn’t seem at all troubled by his answer.

“Such nasty stuff that was. For future reference, I would rather be in pain.” Then she tantalized him with a sultry smile and a slow wetting of her lips, making him contemplate finding an empty stall filled with an inviting bed of clean hay. “I do remember you resting your head beside me and refusing to join me in bed because you didn’t wish to jostle me.” She licked her lips again and lowered her voice to a seductive purr. “I am quite healed now, dear husband, and more than a little ready to be jostled.”

He couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms and agreeing with a kiss so heated it left them both groaning. As he pressed her back against one of the posts, he deftly removed the pins holding her hat in place, swept it off her head, and tossed it aside. Nuzzling her throat, he took great pleasure in filling both his hands with her fine, round rump and pulling her tighter against him so she might feel the effect she had on him. “Are you not interested in riding, my swan?”

She worked her hips, molding her softness along his hardened ridge. “I am indeed interested in riding. Shall we not avail ourselves of that empty bench in the stall?” She slid her hands down his back and hugged him closer. “And then, after that delicious ride, if we are so inclined, we can continue on to the park to pursue the more usual definition of the word.” She caught his earlobe between her teeth and drove him mad by gently sucking on it before whispering, “Forgive me if I am too brazen, but it is your fault. You made me drunk with pleasure on our wedding day, and now that I have decided to give us a chance, I thirst for that drunkenness again.”

He stretched tall and peered across the tops of the stalls, searching for any sign of the head groom or other stable hands. Oddly enough, all seemed quiet and deserted except for the animals. Perhaps the men had paused in their labors to go and eat. After all, it was nearly time for their midday meal. Satisfied they wouldn’t be disturbed, he bent his head and nibbled his way along her jawline while untying her cravat and unbuttoning her jacket. “My only regret is that we shall be unable to divest ourselves of all our clothing. I so love the feel of your skin against mine.”

“And my skirts are so dreadfully long for modesty’s sake,” she murmured with a breathlessness that urged him on. Then she trembled with a mischievous giggle.

He lifted his head, smiling at her sudden merriment. “My lady?”

Her expression turned wonderfully wicked. “If you conquer the incredible yardage of my riding skirts, you will find nothing but skin underneath. That is—if you are so inclined.”

“I am indeed so inclined.” He swept her into the empty stall, undid his falls, then lowered himself to a handy bench left there by a groom. Ablaze with yearning and determination, he rucked up her skirts and smoothed his hands up the outside of her warm, silky thighs as she straddled him.

Holding tight to his shoulders, she wiggled downward and fully engulfed him while treating him to a delighted moan. “Wonderful,” she breathed, then took his mouth with a hunger that threatened to make him spill himself entirely too soon. She moaned again and started rocking her hips with the perfect rhythm.

“Exemplary riding form,” he rasped as he nibbled and kissed the delightful mounds of her breasts swelling above her corset.

“What?” She gave a shudder that warned him she was close to her bliss.

“Harder, my love. Ride harder and gallop to your pleasure.”

“Oh yes!” She gave a gasping cry that pushed him past his limit. He rose and took her up against the wall, pounding into her with all the passion and fury she stirred within him. The side of the stall creaked and groaned as though about to give way. He didn’t care. He drove harder, growling as she sank her teeth into his jacket, drowning her shout in the cloth. With a roaring thrust, he locked in and stayed, suspending them both in time as he emptied and she filled.

“Who is there?” someone bellowed from the front of the stable. “Answer, or you’ll be going to his lordship on the end of me pitchfork!”

“It is all right, Mr. Wallace,” Sophie called out, in a somewhat strained and breathless voice. “His lordship and I are going for a ride.” She lost what little control she had mustered, erupting into a series of giggling snorts and rendering herself unable to speak further.

“All is well, Mr. Wallace,” Nash said, struggling to sound authoritative rather than well bedded and looking forward to another tumble in the hay. “Go about your business. Lady Sophie and I can tend to our mounts.”

“Aye, well, take care, my lord. That man what shot at the house had another one with him. We’ve yet to find that seedy cove, but we been a searching for him. I grant you that.”

“Why are we just now hearing about this?” Sophie whispered while still pinned against the side of the stall.

“Let us sort ourselves and find out.” As much as he hated to end their passionate tête-à-tête, he gave her a reluctant kiss, then withdrew and eased her feet to the ground. As she shook out her skirts, he suddenly realized that while caught up in the throes of their delights, he had forgotten about her injured back. “Bloody hell! Are you all right, Sophie?”

She eyed him as if he had lost all reason. “Of course I am all right. What on earth are you fussing about?”

“Your back? Hammered against those boards. Shall I send for Dr. MacMaddenly?”

“You most certainly shall not. I told you I am quite hearty, and I meant it. Now, stop being silly.”

“I am never silly. Not when it comes to being concerned about your wellbeing.”

“Hmmpf.”

“And what does that mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “It means you should go and speak with Mr. Wallace while I finish tidying up.” Her wicked smile returned. “You still owe me a ride, my lord.”

“Several, my lady.” Nash cleared his throat, adjusted the front of his pantaloons, and straightened his waistcoat and jacket with a jerk. “I shall see what Mr. Wallace can tell us.”

He found the man at the front of the stable, sitting on a short stool, sharing his meat pie with the trio of kittens and their mother. “Perhaps Cook should make the meat pies larger, Mr. Wallace, so you do not go wanting while feeding your friends there.”

The grizzled old man grinned as he held out a tidbit to the mother cat, and she ate it from his hand. “Aww…I don’t mind none. This here girl is the best ratter in all of London.” He nodded at the largest of the three kittens. “And that one there done caught him a mouse in the feed the other day. Takes after his mum, he does.”

“Perhaps they deserve a meat pie all their own as a reward. Tell Cook I said so. A meat pie a day to keep the rats away.” Besides, Sophie loved the kittens. Nash knew she would approve. “You said there was another man with the assassin we captured. Why did you not mention it earlier?”

Mr. Wallace, the head groom, shifted uneasily on the stool and shook his head. “Because the bastard got away. Shamed me, it did. I used to be a fair enough guard for the mistresses of the house while keeping their favorite horses healthy, and now look at me. One snuck up the garden wall and hurt Lady Sophie and the other shot at her.” He hung his head and set the rest of the meat pie on the ground for the cats. “I should be let go, I should. But I am that sorry, my lord.”

“No one is going to be let go,” Sophie said as she joined them. “Especially not you, Mr. Wallace. I could not entrust my beautiful horses or my kitties to anyone but you.”

“Why do you believe that the man who took the shot and the one who climbed the wall are two different people?” Nash asked. “Did you see them? Can you describe the second man?”

Mr. Wallace pushed himself to his feet and pointed out the door. “I guess I couldn’t say that the one that done the shooting and the one who climbed the wall weren’t the same, but I caught sight of the second man watching while you and Mr. Merritt dragged his partner away. Right there he was. At that corner. But by the time I grabbed my pitchfork and went to catch the bas—” He clamped his mouth shut and gave an apologetic tip of his head to Sophie. “Beg pardon, my lady. By the time I went to catch the fiend, he’d done took off quicker than a fox. Tall man. Older. Dark-headed, with some gray. Had an odd look about him.”

“Have you seen him around here since?” Nash asked, wondering if taking Sophie to the park was such a good idea after all.

The old groom shook his head. “No, my lord. And the other grooms are watching for him as well. Anybody comes around here will be set upon right quick, so they best have a good reason for being here.”

“Good man,” Sophie said as she bent and stroked the mother cat’s sleek back. “And thank you for taking such good care of Mama here and her babies.”

“I wish I’d done better with that there cove, my lady.” Mr. Wallace seemed to sag as he blew out a heavy sigh. “I beg your forgiveness.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Sophie gave him a stern shake of her finger. “Carry on as you always have. I rest easier knowing you are here.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you, my lady. Thank you kindly.” He bobbed his head again. “I best get your mounts ready. I know you said you was doing it, but that just ain’t proper, if you don’t mind my saying so. Be ready for you in a moment.” He shuffled off down the aisle between the stalls.

“Sophie,” Nash said, not wanting to disappoint her but determined to keep her safe.

She held up a hand. “We are going. I refuse to cower.”

“We must be rational and safe.” He braced himself for the argument he saw brewing in her eyes.

“Then fetch your pistol and have Thornton fetch mine from my bedside table. It is my favorite, and fits quite nicely in the special pocket I had the craftsman add to my saddle.” She twitched a shrug that dared him to argue. “Or there is a rifle in my workroom, and all our saddles have been modified to carry them.”

“And do you have shields you can lash around your body in case the miscreant shoots from a distance before we see him?”

“I daresay that my jacket, waistcoat, and the whalebone in this corset should at least slow a bullet. I am sure I will be quite fine. In fact, my greatest danger will probably be from too much sun.” She gave a decisive nod. “Please have Thornton send my parasol along with my pistol.”

“You cannot ride with your parasol.” Nash felt himself losing this disagreement at an alarming speed.

“Have you quite forgotten my impeccable horsemanship?”

He surrendered with a bow of his head. He did not have the heart to refuse her, not when they were getting along so well. “You will stay beside me at all times and do as I ask should anything untoward happen. Agreed?”

Victory sparkled in her smile and gleamed in her eyes. “Agreed. I shall be the model of an obedient wife.”

“I doubt that very much, my swan.”

She snorted with mirth. “So do I.”