Chapter Sixteen

“What makes you think she will even agree to see me?” Miss Hampshire wrinkled her nose at the sober gown of light gray with dark blue trim that she pulled from the trunk. “Even if she does, she’ll think you just paid me to say whatever I tell her.”

While Nash wasn’t foolish enough to disagree, he still held out hope. He would never give up, never relent in convincing Sophie that he had not been unfaithful to her. He fully admitted he should have included her in his plans and told her everything. Avoiding an unpleasant confrontation with his wife was his sin—not adultery. His precious swan had to be swayed to forgive him for his cowardice. “Burns brought the letter from your father. That will help.”

With a moue of distaste, the lady eyed the pair of sedate black boots before placing them in the wardrobe’s bottom. “The lady will claim it a forgery.” She arched a brow at him. “I know wives, colonel. Lady Rydleshire is not the first to oust her husband after he sought a bit of fun outside the marriage bed.”

“I sought nothing outside my marriage bed—nor will I ever.” Nash yanked open the door to the small room assigned to Miss Hampshire for the length of her training. “How many times must I demand that this door be left open? Understood?”

With a wicked gleam in her eye, the girl waved a corset and a pair of shockingly pink stockings like flags of surrender. “No privacy for my intimates, colonel? Shame on you.”

“Burns!” Nash stuck his head out into the hallway, grabbed the man leaning against the wall, and dragged him inside the room. “Stay in here with us.”

“Need a chaperone, do you, colonel?” Burns grinned. “Addy trying to take advantage of you again?”

Nash shoved the man against the wall. “If not for the general, I’d send you both back to the hell where I found you. This favor, which neither of you appears to appreciate, has cost me the only woman I have ever loved.”

Miss Hampshire snorted and waved away his words. “You are an earl. You’re supposed to have mistresses.”

“I do not want a mistress!” he bellowed. “I want my wife!”

Both Burns and Miss Hampshire glanced at each other and edged as far away from him as the small room allowed.

“Meant no harm, colonel.” Burns lifted both hands while pressing back tighter against the wall. “We’ll make this right with your woman so she’ll know you didn’t do nothing untoward with Addy or none of her girls. General wants us to make amends too. He was none too happy when I told him ’bout what went on and how things soured on you.”

“You got me out of debt with Mr. Forbes,” the somewhat meeker Miss Hampshire said. She hung another sedate gown into the wardrobe while offering Nash a slight nod. “I owe you, colonel, and I appreciate all you did. Truly, I do.” She frowned at the items left in the trunk. “I sure miss my fancy clothes, though.”

“Both of you report to the manor as soon as this room is set in order.” Nash glared at them, wishing he had never gotten involved in the sorry matter. While he respected the general and considered him a friend, Miss Hampshire’s lukewarm gratitude and heady regret about giving up certain particulars of her past had set his nerves on edge. That woman had cost him entirely too much. He charged out of the dormitory and stormed across the campus on foot in the driving rain.

Servants scattered as he burst into the manor, all except the butler, Clipton. The diminutive man with his black hair slicked back as if it had been painted on his head rushed forward, reaching for Nash’s dripping coat and hat. “Saunders informed me your bath stands at the ready, my lord.”

Nash still wasn’t accustomed to having a valet who anticipated his every need. “Thank you, Clipton. I am expecting a Mr. Burns and a Miss Adelaide Hampshire. When they arrive, please see them into the front parlor, and notify me immediately.”

“Shall I have refreshments prepared, my lord?”

“No. Their visit will be brief.” And, hopefully, effective, Nash silently added as he climbed the stairs. At the top, he paused and stared longingly at the door to Sophie’s suite and sent up a prayer that this meeting would repair at least some of the damage done. In his heart, he knew it would take a lifetime to win both her forgiveness and trust once more. All he asked was a chance to prove he would never hurt her again, or be so foolish as to keep anything from her merely to avoid a clash of their wills. Lady Nia had been oh so right, and so had Merritt. He had been a coward when he chose not to tell her of his plans to help the general’s wayward daughter.

“Your bath, my lord.” Saunders directed him to the dressing room with an efficient tip of his head. “Shall it be casual attire this evening, or do you expect guests?”

“Not casual,” Nash said as he peeled off his soaked clothing and stepped into the tub. “I am dressing for war, Saunders.”

“War, my lord?”

The valet’s expressionless voice revealed no opinion whatsoever, but Nash knew better. Servants knew everything, and he had no doubt they were well aware that the lord and lady of the manor were at odds with one another. “Yes, Saunders, war. I am fighting for my wife.”

“For your wife, my lord? Not with?” For the first time, the stoic little man appeared to be slightly perplexed and attempting to clarify matters in order to react accordingly.

“Yes, Saunders, I am fighting to win my wife’s heart once more.” Nash hurried to wash, stepped out of the tub, and scrubbed himself dry. He halted as soon as he entered the bedroom and stared at the clothes laid out on the bed.

“Acceptable, my lord?”

“Yes, Saunders. Quite.” His military dress, complete with medals, sword, and highly polished Hessians, bolstered his hopes further. That had been his attire on their wedding day, and Sophie had seemed to like it. This plan would work. His precious swan would be his once again, and he would spend the rest of his life proving his devotion to her.

As he finished dressing, a quiet knock was followed by Clipton’s quiet announcement through the barely opened door. “Mr. Burns and Miss Hampshire have arrived, my lord. Waiting in the front parlor, as instructed.”

“Good.” Nash tugged his coat in place and adjusted the hang of his sword at his side. “Show them up, please. I shall be at the door to Lady Sophie’s suite.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Nash squared his shoulders, then charged forward as though heading into battle and took his post in front of Sophie’s rooms. He breathed a bit easier when he noted that Miss Hampshire had changed into one of the more sedate dresses provided by the modiste responsible for costuming the ladies of Rydleshire Academy. Burns had even combed his hair and appeared to be doing his best to look respectable.

Nash didn’t speak to either of them when they reached him, merely gave a curt nod and ushered them into the private sitting room. He motioned for them to be seated on the sofa in front of the window.

Marie stepped out of the bedroom, clutching a pile of folded linens to her middle as if they were a shield. “My lord?”

“Please ask her ladyship if she is well enough for a brief meeting with myself, Mr. Burns, and Miss Hampshire.”

The maid eyed the pair on the couch, then slid a doubtful look back to him. “Her ladyship has had a very trying day, my lord, and is currently attempting to repair herself with a good, long bath.” She cleared her throat and took on a sterner air. “Forgive me, my lord, but I shan’t be interrupting her or asking her to hurry. She has been through too much, she has.”

Nash bowed his head. Unrelenting regret pounded through him, wrapping cruel fingers around his heart and twisting. “I am well aware of her suffering, Marie, but it is imperative that we speak with her. Please convince her to see us. We will wait however long it takes her to get ready—at her leisure, of course.”

The maid squinted at him as if wrestling with whether to do as he asked. “I will try, my lord,” she said quietly, then curtsied and disappeared back inside the bedroom.

“Colonel?” Burns said in a loud whisper while waving him closer.

Nash arched a brow as he walked toward him. From the man’s expression, there was no telling what he was about to say.

“Does she still have her pistol?” Burns cast a nervous look at the closed bedroom door. “Forthrite said she separated Nevillestone from his bollocks in one shot.” He gave Nash a leery nod. “After the week that lady’s had, you might want to make sure she’s no longer armed.”

“Rest easy, Burns. If she shoots anyone today, it will be me.” Nash returned to the other side of the room, then did another lap, unable to stand in one spot for very long.

“You better quit your pacing,” Miss Hampshire said while tapping the toe of her boot on the lush Persian rug at their feet. “She’ll be even angrier if you mark a trench in her pretty red and gold carpet.” She wiggled in place and glanced at the bedroom door. “She won’t be one of my instructors, will she? Showing me how to use weapons and such? I’m not so sure that would be such a grand thing.”

“I have no idea,” Nash said, and nor did he presently care. His sole concern was a selfish one. He wanted Sophie back in his arms and would never let her go. He continued his pacing, straining to hear the slightest sound from the next room. Nothing but silence reached him, and that was worse than shouting for Marie to tell them to all get out. Silence could be deadly.

He jerked with a start as the latch of the bedroom door clicked, then held his breath as it slowly swung open. He continued not to breathe as Sophie swept into the room, not dressed in her mourning clothes but wearing an off-the-shoulder gown of the whitest silk that shimmered with leaf work embroidered with golden threads. It was a ball gown designed to stop time and draw every eye in the room. And it did so, perfectly displaying the mounds of her creamy breasts that swelled with her every intake of breath, accentuating her long, slender neck, and showing off her lovely shoulders and narrow waist that filled his hands so perfectly. Gads, he had been such a damned fool.

Nash licked his lips, then cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sophie,” he forced out in a rasping whisper.

She spared him a narrow-eyed study, then swept her gaze from the toes of his boots up to his medals, and then to his sword. “Have you been called to another war of which I am unaware, my lord?”

Time to fight for her. Time to win her back.“I have been called to war, my lady,” he said while jutting his chin higher. “A war for your heart. I fully intend to win it and never lose it again.”

She flattened her mouth into a taut, displeased line, then shifted her attention to Burns and Miss Hampshire.

Both jumped to their feet. Burns bowed, and Miss Hampshire dipped a curtsy deep enough to satisfy the queen herself.

“Granville Burns at your service, my lady.” The man bobbed his head again. “Deepest regrets on the loss of your mother.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burns.” She slid her focus to Miss Hampshire and waited.

Nash held his breath, praying Miss Hampshire could convince Sophie that nothing untoward had ever happened between them.

“Miss Adelaide Hampshire, your ladyship.” The girl curtsied again and kept her gaze locked on the floor. “I cannot thank you and Lord Rydleshire enough for giving me a way out of…” Her voice trailed off, and she cringed. “For giving me a way out.” She nervously tipped her head at Mr. Burns. “He’s brought a letter from my papa, thanking you too.” She coughed and bowed her head even more. “And apologizing for all the trouble I caused between yourself and Lord Rydleshire.”

“Do you think I am a fool, Miss Hampshire?”

The young woman arched both her fair eyebrows to her matching hairline. “Oh no, my lady. I told Lord Rydleshire that no matter what I said, you’d think he just paid me to say it, so he wouldn’t be in the suds with you anymore.” She emphatically shook her head. “But he truly did nothing untoward, my lady. All he did was pay off my debt to Mr. Forbes so I could be free. The whole time he was at our place, he pushed me and the girls away. Didn’t want a thing to do with any of us.”

Sophie’s expression remained unreadable, but Nash sensed her aching weariness. He felt how fragile she was, and how she was barely holding herself together. “Sophie,” he said quietly with a step toward her, but stopped as she held up a hand to stay him.

She approached Burns, gliding like the magnificent vision she was. “The letter, Mr. Burns.”

Burns hurried to pull it from the inner pocket of his jacket and held it out. “It’s no longer sealed, my lady, because it was addressed to Lord Rydleshire, and he done read it.”

“Then why is it in your possession, Mr. Burns?”

“’Cause his lordship gave it back to me and said for me to bring it to you.” Burns shrugged. “He knows you don’t trust him anymore, and more than likely wouldn’t take it from his hand.”

“He is quite correct.” Sophie opened the letter and stared down at it long enough to read it more than once.

Nash held his breath again, wanting to rush to her but knowing to hold fast and not overplay his hand.

She slowly re-folded the parchment and gave it back to Mr. Burns. With her gloved hands clasped tightly in front of her, she squared her lovely shoulders and turned to Nash. “Is that all?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Is that all?” she said quite a bit slower, as if she thought him somewhat dim.

Both his hopes and his heart sank like the heaviest stone, but he refused to surrender. “That depends, my lady.”

“Depends on what?”

“On you, my precious swan.”

Remaining as cold and unsmiling as she had been for the past week, Sophie moved to the golden tasseled cord hanging beside the hearth. With her head held high and her gaze locked straight ahead, she gave it a hard pull, then turned and faced the door leading to the hallway. She stayed as silent and unyielding as the iciest day of winter.

A few moments later, Clipton entered, looking from her to Lord Rydleshire.

“Please show Mr. Burns and Miss Hampshire out,” she told the butler.

“Yes, my lady.” Clipton held the door and arched a brow at the guests, who hurried to leave. The butler followed, closing the door behind him.

Nash braced himself, waiting for her to oust him next. He resettled his stance. He would not leave her this time. If he had to, he would sleep across the threshold of her bedroom door.

She stared at him, her rich mahogany eyes weary and sad. With a slow shake of her head, she turned away, went to the blue velvet fainting couch in front of the hearth, and slowly lowered herself onto it. She kept her gaze fixed on the gently crackling fire.

“You hurt me,” she finally said so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.

“I know,” he admitted, daring to move closer. “I was a coward and a fool.”

Her faint smile gave him hope. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” she said, as though repeating a memorized verse. She turned and looked up at him, her brow puckering with the slightest frown. “But was it really better?”

He dropped to his knees beside her. “No. It was not, my love, and it has taught me that no matter how much I fear we might disagree or fight, it is much better to include you in everything rather than risk losing you.” He took her hand, his heart soaring when she didn’t pull it away this time. “I cannot live without you, Sophie. Please try to love me again.”

A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek as she gave him another sad smile. “That is the problem, you see. Even though I wanted to hate you for making me look the fool, I couldn’t. I have loved you since I was ten and five, and you were twenty. Even then, I tried to hate you when you were so infuriating, but I couldn’t.” She frowned and shook her head again. “You are like an affliction I can never be rid of—one that has no cure.”

Considering all the things she could have called him, he humbly accepted the title of affliction. At least they were talking, and she still held his hand. She could call him anything she liked.

“Might we begin again?” he asked gently. “I will do better this time. I swear it.”

She didn’t answer, and the deepening of her frown worried him.

“Sophie?”

“I know I am stubborn and have a temper, but am I truly so horrid that you felt forced to hide things from me?” She shifted on the lounge and leaned toward him. “Is it because I kneed you in your… Is it because I attacked you that day?”

He cupped her cheek in his hand and forced himself to speak the truth. “I was cowardly, my love. I took the easy way out because I truly did not think it would matter. I needed to talk to Burns about helping us and thought I could kill two birds with one stone—and didn’t want to take the time to convince you that I needed to do it.” He grazed his thumb along the curve of her bottom lip, still not brave enough to try to kiss her. “I failed you, and I failed your mother. I am so sorry for being such a fool.”

“If Maman’s death taught me anything, it is that we sometimes make mistakes when we think we are doing what is best for those we love.” She took in a pitiful, hitching breath. “I miss her so much, Nash.” She touched his face as her tears overflowed. “And I missed you too.”

A groan escaped him as he pulled her into his arms, rocking as he cradled her to his chest. “My darling,” he whispered, hating himself for causing her so much pain and now finding himself powerless to ease her sorrow. “I love you, my precious swan, and I am here now.”

She clung to him, weeping for the longest while. He hated her suffering but loved her being in his arms. Then she made a noise he couldn’t define. It wasn’t exactly a stifled sob, but more like an uncomfortable exasperation.

“My love?” He gently lifted her face to his.

“The haft of your sword is rather unbearable, my lord,” she said, arching to one side while holding her ribs.

“Gads, forgive me!” He set her aside and removed the offending weapon. “Did it bruise you?”

She graced him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. “I am sure it did not.” She cast a meaningful look at the door. “But perhaps we might check. After you ensure the latch is locked, of course.” She sniffed and swiped at her tears. “And I would not be averse to your holding me some more once we are more comfortable—if you don’t mind.”

If he didn’t mind? Did she think him a complete cod’s head? He hurried to secure their privacy, then returned to where she sat on the floor, tilting her head, watching him with a faint smile. Without hesitation, he scooped her up, lowered them both to the lounge, and settled her on his lap. “Hopefully, your stays took the brunt of the sword’s abuse,” he said as he positioned her so he could undo the multitude of tiny buttons running down the back of her gown.

“I am not wearing any stays. In fact, I am not even wearing my chemise or petticoats, since I was in a hurry to dress and get your meeting over with.” She cast a sheepish glance at him over her bare shoulder. “Please do not think me vulgar or lowly. I simply did not care at the time and was not of the mindset to force myself to feel otherwise.” She held up both hands and gave a derisive laugh. “Marie convinced me to at least wear my elbow-length gloves.”

Her confession about her state of undress hardened him to the point of nearly spilling himself. He struggled for control as he tugged off her gloves and tossed them aside. “You know how I feel about gloves, my lady.”

She gave him a lopsided smile that turned slightly wicked. “Yes, I know. How do you think Marie convinced me to wear them?”

He ached to taste her, hold her while breathing her in and possessing her completely. But he was so afraid of stepping wrong and fouling the moment. “May I kiss you now, my love?”

“No.” A warm sultriness had replaced her cold disdain, but her smile disappeared, making his heart plummet.

“No?” He swallowed hard.

She twisted to face him and plucked at his cravat, untying the neckcloth with slow, deliberate tugs. “You may not kiss me until we rid ourselves of these clothes.” She arched a brow. “I do not wish to snag my gown’s fine needlework on your medals, my lord.”

“A prudent decision.” He slid her gown down to her waist and leaned forward to bury his face in the warm, silky curve where her neck met her shoulder. He breathed in the deliciousness of her jasmine scent and groaned. “Pray, let us make haste, then.”

She rose and let her gown fall away into a froth of snowy silk around her ankles. Without taking her gaze from his, she untied the shimmering gold ribbons tied just above her knees.

Nash reached to help remove her stockings, but she backed up a step and shook her head.

“No, dear husband. You have fallen sorely behind in divesting yourself of your clothing.” She stood before him in all her naked glory, idly plucking the hairpins out of her curls and allowing the coppery waves to tumble free. As she ran her fingers through her hair and fluffed her tresses, she frowned. “Have you changed your mind? You appear to be frozen in place.”

“You have bewitched me, my love.” He yanked off his coat and threw it aside, then kicked off his boots, stripped off his waistcoat, and sent his shirt sailing through the air. “You outshine Botticelli’s Venus,” he whispered as he shed his pantaloons. “You are my goddess.”

“I do not want to be your goddess,” she said quietly as she seemed to float toward him. She rested her hands on his shoulders and kept a frustrating amount of space between their naked bodies. “I want to be the woman you cannot live without.” She smiled as she traced the outline of his ear, then combed her fingers through his hair. “Even though I have a terrible temper, no patience whatsoever, and make my knuckles pop at the most inopportune time…” Her smile faded. “Can you please try to love me as much as I love you?”

“I love you more.” He pulled her into his arms and covered his mouth with hers while pressing her tight against him. Her warm, satiny softness drove him mad with more desire than he had ever possessed before.

She clung to him, opening her mouth and inviting him to deepen the kiss by tangling her tongue with his. She wrapped a silky leg around him as she raked her hands down his back, then clutched his buttocks and squeezed.

The smoothness of her belly rubbing against the hardness of his length made him groan. “I need you, my love,” he rasped. “I fear I cannot go slow this time. I have longed for this for too long, feared I would never know the treasure of your embrace ever again.”

“Then take me, my love. On the lounge, on the floor, on the sofa, or in the bedroom.” She squeezed his buttocks again, harder this time, the same desperate need echoing in her tone. “I do not care where you take me. Just take me. Make me forget my sorrows for a little while.”

“We shall start with the floor,” he said as he lowered her onto the Persian carpet in the middle of their discarded clothes.

She smiled as she wrapped her legs around him and arched to meet him. “A promising start, but mind your elbows, my love.”

He sank into her with a rumbling groan, burying himself completely. “Elbows?” he rasped as he slid back out, then drove in deep again.

“Rug burns,” she said with a gasp as he pounded into her faster.

“To hell with the rug burns,” he growled, then set into a rhythm that made further conversation not only impossible but unnecessary.