Chapter Four

He had underestimated winning her over but would not err in that estimation again. Nash accepted the glass of brandy with a polite nod and relaxed back into the settee, whose delicate design had never been intended for a man his size. It crackled and groaned every time he moved. If the thing didn’t collapse into a pile of yellow damask cushions and splintered mahogany kindling, he would be surprised.

The rich, fruity aroma of the drink warned him the spirits were more than likely the highest quality of brandy his modest palate had ever enjoyed. Possibly even cognac, but he was not an expert on such indulgences. He held it on his tongue and breathed it in to savor the flavor while plotting the next skirmish of words with his lovely swan. She might assume she had won the battle, but the lady would do well to realize he intended to win the war.

“Your mother informed me about your placing marked banknotes in the ransoms you paid so far,” he said. The reason for his calling her swan had failed to impress her or soften her resolve against him. It was time for another tactic. “Quite brilliant of you.”

Sophie acknowledged the compliment with the barest tip of her head, clearly conveying she was not the vain sort who hungered for any form of flattery. “It is not brilliant until it traps our enemy. As of yesterday, no one has attempted to cash them out.”

“Were each of the payoffs made at the same place?”

“No.” She sipped her brandy while staring off into the distance. “Four different addresses with no similarities at all. The only thing the five letters seem to share is the author.”

“I don’t suppose the handwriting is familiar to you?” As another sip of brandy warmed his tongue, he feasted his eyes on the delightful flush of color rising along the curve of the lady’s lovely throat and across her high cheekbones. The one or two sips of brandy she had taken so far were hardly enough to warrant such a warming to her fair skin. She must have partaken in a drink or two while visiting the Duchess of Hasterton. Lady Rydleshire had also apprised him of Sophie’s close friendship with Her Grace.

When she didn’t answer, he stretched out his long legs, crossed them at the ankles, and openly stared at her. His swan appeared quite bemused as she gazed off into space with her glass partially lifted to her lips. “Lady Sophie? Have you thought of something?”

“All the letters were sent from a location fifty miles from here. Thornton specifically reported each of them cost the same to receive. The postage was two shillings and fourpence.” She blinked and looked at him as if suddenly remembering he was there. “And no, I do not recognize the handwriting. Nor can I discern if the author is male or female.”

“So, no suspects?”

“No. And the nature of the beastly thing cripples my resources, and the blackmailer knows it. I cannot very well make use of the Bow Street Runners or any of my private investigators. They all believe my fictitious brother Solomon is quite real.”

“Solomon?”

Sophie huffed a humorless laugh that made his heart go out to her. “My father’s name was David, so Maman felt the name Solomon quite fitting.” She set her glass on the table and frowned down at it. “After my father’s death, Maman became quite pious. I believe she can still quote several chapters of the Old Testament word for word. Especially the ones about King David.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and bowed her head. “I really am quite tired, Sir Nash. Might we continue this conversation at another time?”

He shifted to rise from the settee, but the thing gave way with a groaning crash, just as he had feared it might. “Bloody hell!” He slammed to the floor atop the cushions that had thankfully protected his arse from any sharp stabs of broken wood.

Sophie snorted with laughter. “Oh my heavens, are you all right?”

He stared up at her, then couldn’t help but laugh himself. “A fitting tribute to today. Would you not agree?”

“As long as you are not injured.” She pushed the low table bearing their refreshments out of the way and moved closer, reaching down to assist him. “Here. Let me help you. Who knows how many splinters are waiting to impale you?”

“Thank you, my lady, but I can manage. I do not wish to pull you down on top of me.” Well, he did, but he was now quite convinced that he had a great deal of reparation to do before that delight would be his. Gingerly, he shoved himself up from the mess, then stared back down at it. “I apologize for destroying your sofa. Apparently, I am more solid than I realized.”

“Do not apologize.” She wrinkled her nose at the ruined settee. “I never liked that horrid thing. It was a gift from one of Maman’s admirers from King Louis’s court. She had it placed in here because it reminded her of that odious little man who always reeked of soured wine, pungent garlic, and rotted onions.”

Nash tried to be inconspicuous and take a sniff of his own scent to ensure the lady would not find him just as offensive as the malodorous Frenchman. He smelled of leather, perhaps a bit of wet horse, and then, thankfully, the clean citrus and sandalwood of the soaps and oils he had used this morning. He nudged the toe of his boot against the broken leg of the sofa and offered her a smile. “I assume your mother rebuffed the man gently, since he was one of King Louis’s courtiers?”

Sophie pursed the supple bow of her tempting mouth into a thoughtful grimace. “I believe she convinced the king to have the man executed, but I am uncertain about that.” Her grimace became a proud smile as she tipped a nod at the ruined bit of furniture. “Never underestimate or anger Maman.”

“Duly noted.” He studied her for a long moment, realizing this was the first time the two of them had managed a conversation that was neither stilted nor filled with animosity. “This is nice, my lady.”

Her reddish-blonde brows drew closer, turning her expression into a lovely furrow of confusion. He rather liked that look on her. It somehow made her endearingly quizzical, like a kitten trying to decide whether to pounce. “I have confused you,” he said.

She twitched the slightest shrug. “I must admit, you have. What are you referring to as nice?”

“Us.” He motioned at the two of them. “At this particular moment. Talking to each other without it becoming a battle.”

“Oh.” She stared at him. The uncomfortable tension returned to the set of her shoulders, and her chin shot back to its defiant angle.

Damn and blast it all. He had ruined the moment by drawing attention to it. He could be such a fool at times. “I am sorry, Lady Sophie.”

Leeriness darkened the velvety brown richness of her eyes. “And for what are you apologizing, might I ask? I already told you that piece of furniture would not be missed.”

“I am apologizing for everything. For the way I hurt you in the past with my boyish stupidity. For unintentionally usurping the world you and your mother created and cared for since your birth. I am not sorry for kissing you, but I should not have done it without your permission, and I swear I shall never do so again. Kiss you without your permission, that is. I would very much like to kiss you again as much as you will allow me to.” The way she caught her hand to her throat made him ache to reach out and take her into his arms, but he didn’t.

“I am not so certain I can trust you,” she said so softly it was as though she spoke more to herself than him. “You broke my heart all those years ago—without even trying. Or caring that you did so, for that matter.”

“You were the daughter of my mentor, and please do not take offense when I say that at the time you still seemed to be a child. At least, to me you did. I saw you as a mere slip of a girl not yet old enough for a man’s attentions. I respected you and your mother too much to insult either of you with what I felt would be unseemly behavior toward you.”

She stared down at the floor, slowly shaking her head. “I was a horridly late bloomer. Maman used to try to console me by saying she had been the very same.” She lifted her head to settle a narrow-eyed gaze upon him. “But you were still insufferably mean. Teasing me. Calling me names whenever I bested you in training.”

“You irritated the bloody hell out of me,” he said before thinking better of it. “How was I expected to act when a mere child made me look like an incompetent fool in front of my peers?”

“I suppose that would be rather uncomfortable.” The leeriness in her eyes turned to mischievous pride. “But as the older of us, and a gentleman, you should have been more mature. Handled the situation better.”

“Yes, well… I should have done a lot of things differently in my past.” He resettled his stance, bracing himself. “That is why I apologized. Do you accept it, my lady, and can we move forward and leave the past behind us where it belongs?”

She studied him while working her clasped hands together, as though kneading a tiny ball of dough between her palms. Eight loud, distinctive pops sounded off as she flexed each of her fingers at the knuckles. She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. Terrible habit I have whenever I am thinking.”

An amused snort escaped him. “That is not very countess-like behavior.”

She rolled her eyes. “You sound like Maman.”

“You are avoiding giving me an answer, my lady. Do you accept my apology?” He eased closer, close enough to breathe in her delectable scent of jasmine, and this time, not a furious woman but one who was even more delicious and desirable.

She narrowed her eyes again, but her expression held no animosity. “I accept your apology. At least for now. We shall see if I can learn to trust you.”

“I hope you can. I much prefer us to be friends rather than enemies.”

“Friends,” she repeated.

Was that disappointment in her tone, or was he imagining it? Had he erred and said the wrong thing again? He took her hand, praying he wasn’t botching this as well. “Friends at first. And with any luck, and some time spent together, maybe more.”

She allowed her hand to remain in his for a moment longer, then gently slid it out of his grasp. “We shall see.”

“I understand you planned to retire for the evening and dine here in your rooms, but might you consider dining with me instead?” He felt compelled to nurture this tenuous bond they had formed. He wished to strengthen it.

She tortured him with another long moment of pensive silence, then finally eased his mind with the slightest inclination of her head. “I think that would be very nice, Sir Nash. I will dine with you.”

“And would you do one thing more for me?”

She arched a brow, daring him to ask.

“Would you please call me Nash?”

“Yes—but that is the last request I will grant you for now.” She leaned toward him, a thrilling wickedness in her smile. “Nash.”

The way his name rolled off her tongue made him pull in a sharp intake of air. What he wouldn’t give to hear her cry out his name while she lay beneath him sprawled across his pillows. His body agreed, hardening immediately. He offered her a gracious bow. “Thank you, Lady Sophie.”

“Sophie,” she corrected him as she poured them both another brandy. She handed him his glass, then lifted hers in a toast. “To prosperous alliances.”

He touched his glass to hers. “To prosperous alliances.”

“By the way, my dear friend Celia”—she interrupted herself with a shake of her head—“the Duchess of Hasterton has offered to be our witness and also volunteered her husband for the post as well.” She cringed and stared down into her glass. “I wonder how long it will take for the special license to be delivered to us.”

“With the queen behind it, I am surprised we have not already received it.” He set his glass down on the table and offered her his arm. “Shall we return to your workroom and have another look at those letters?”

To his delight, she accepted his offer and allowed him to escort her into the hallway. But then she slowly shook her head. “I doubt you will find anything. I promise, I have studied those insufferable things backward and forward and still have made no headway regarding who wrote them or their origin. All I know is that they each required the same amount of postage one would pay for a letter coming from fifty miles away in any direction. Whoever this is, they are very cunning.”

“Did the same post office collect each letter? Do they all bear the same inked stamp?”

“No. A different post office processed each of them.”

“Quite cunning, indeed.”

Thornton met them at the bottom of the stairs with a silver tray bearing a single large envelope. “The royal seal, my lady,” he said in an ominous whisper.

She stepped back as if the parcel held a poisonous viper. “You open it,” she told Nash. “Although I am quite certain we both know what’s inside.”

“Yes. I am sure it’s the special license.” He opened the envelope and removed the contents. “It is, and a letter from Her Majesty.”

Sophie groaned and dismissed Thornton with a nod. “Now what does Her Royal Highness command?”

Nash squinted at the page. The flowery writing of the queen’s secretary was not the easiest to decipher. He snorted out a deep huff before catching himself and stopping it. Her Majesty left nothing to chance. “Queen Charlotte has graciously invited us to have the ceremony at Kew, so she might enjoy it in the comfort of her own surroundings and help us celebrate our union.”

“In my eye,” Sophie growled. “She wants the marriage there to make sure we go through with it.”

He offered her a sympathetic nod. “I believe you have the right of it there.” He tapped the gilded edge of the parchment. “And tomorrow is the date she has chosen.”

“Tomorrow?”

The panic in her tone was disappointing, yet understandable. As a military man and then a knight, he might not initially like the orders he was given, but he had learned long ago to accept them, make the best of them, and move on. While he had not planned on marrying anytime soon, now that he found himself royally betrothed to this fiery beauty, he was ready to see it done. In fact, he rather looked forward to it.

“Tomorrow.” He tapped on the letter again. “With the queen and her daughters, Princess Augusta and Princess Sophie, as our witnesses.”

“And Maman, of course.”

“I am sure that goes without saying. Shall we find her and let her know? She was in the parlor before I came up to speak with you.” He folded the papers, slid them back inside the envelope, and tucked it inside his waistcoat.

With her scowl locked on something off in the distance, Sophie worked her fingers as though trying to make her knuckles crackle once more.

“Sophie.” He reached out and gently touched her arm. “We cannot avoid this, but everything will be all right. I will make it so.”

She turned her scowl on him, then dropped her hands to her sides. “Do not make promises about things you have no power over. I am not one of those ridiculous women who think every word that falls from a man’s lips is as reliable as pure gold.”

He caught hold of her hand and kissed it. “Then let me reword my statement so I am quite clear. I shall do everything in my power to make our future together not only bearable but also pleasant.” Still holding her hand, he stroked his thumb across the silkiness of her fingers that were tightly grasping his. “I swear my vow is as reliable as pure gold.”

“There you are,” the dowager countess called out as she emerged from the front parlor. “Thornton said an envelope had arrived bearing Queen Charlotte’s seal?”

“Thornton gossips worse than the maids,” Sophie grumbled as she snatched her hand out of Nash’s grasp and tucked it behind her back.

“Thornton merely keeps me informed.”

Slightly amused that Sophie didn’t wish her mother to witness the intimacy of his holding her bare hand, Nash pulled the envelope from his waistcoat and held it out to the dowager. “The special license Her Majesty promised, as well as a command for the ceremony to take place at Kew. Tomorrow. In her presence, along with Princess Augusta and Princess Sophie.”

Lady Rydleshire did not appear surprised. “Queen Charlotte has never been known for her patience or for leaving a plan to chance.”

“Sophie’s and my sentiments exactly.”

The lady eyed them both as though sizing them up, her expression thoughtful and something more. Something Nash couldn’t quite identify.

“I find myself overly tired today,” she said. “You will forgive me if I dine in my rooms? Especially since tomorrow is now to be quite full as well. I find I need more quiet moments to reflect and ponder things, especially with the onset of the recent threats.”

“Are you unwell, Maman?” Sophie drew closer to her mother as if ready to defend her against the world.

“I am merely tired, sweet child.” The dowager touched her daughter’s cheek. “And I need time to think. Do not worry.”

Nash felt like an intruder. The close bond the pair of women shared was one he had never known with his family. His mother had died when he was quite young, and his father still behaved as though the very sight of his only son filled him with revulsion.

“Good evening to you both,” Lady Rydleshire said. The woman was as beautiful as ever, even though a bit of silver highlighted her reddish-gold hair. She gave him a pointed look. “Take good care of her this evening, young Bromley. She has a great deal on her mind, and I do not wish her overset any more than she already is. Is that understood?”

“I shall take good care of her, my lady.” He underscored the promise with a formal bow, then moved to Sophie’s side and subtly rested his hand on the small of her back.

To his surprise, she didn’t move away from his touch. Instead, she clasped her hands to her chest, almost curling into herself as she drew closer to him while watching her mother ascend the stairs.

“This has been so very hard on her,” Sophie said, her words laced with worry.

“I am sure it has been difficult for both of you.” He gently turned her toward the workroom, then halted. No. The blackmailer could wait. Sophie had endured enough this day. “Come. Let us sit in the parlor and speak of other things before dinner. Shall we?”

She nodded and slowly headed that way. “Poor Thornton. We have divided on him. That sometimes sends him into a spin.”

“From the man’s expression when he brought you that letter, I am sure he will understand.” Nash glanced around the parlor, gauging the French-style furniture with a critical eye. He did not wish to land on the floor again. The light-colored wood of the tables, chairs, and settees appeared sturdier, even though the legs curved inward and ended in feet shaped like a lion’s paws.

“Maman selected this furniture,” Sophie said as if reading his mind. Her smile somehow seemed sad. “She said it was much like a woman, delicate and lovely in appearance but strong enough to withstand whatever comes its way.” She lowered herself into a chair near the front window and gazed outside. “I fear I shall not be fit company this evening, Sir Nash. If you wish to rescind your invitation to dine together, I understand completely.”

“Nash.” He selected the chair closest to her. “And I find your company—”

She looked at him when he paused and smiled. “You cannot finish that sentence, can you?”

He rose and knelt at her side. “But I can, my lady. I find your company as exciting as a stormy sea and as intoxicating as the brandy we shared in your sitting room.” With the lightest touch, he stroked a single fingertip across the back of her hand. “But you do not like or trust flowery declarations. So I find myself at a loss when attempting to speak from the heart.”

She stared down at him, not quite frowning, but only just. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what, my lady?”

“Trying to win me. It is unnecessary. I am yours, whether or not either of us wish it.” She flicked a hand as if shooing him away. “Courting. The flirtatious games. The flowery declarations, as you call them, are all unnecessary.” Her mouth tightened. “We have received our sentence, Nash, and the queen has never extended clemency to condemned prisoners.”

“Hard words from such a delicate swan.” He rose and returned to his chair, sensing he had lost ground, and she had slid back to her original low opinion of him. “Prisoners often find their sentence easier to bear if they make the best of things. In fact, it often saves their sanity. Helps them survive.”

She deflated with a heavy sigh and bowed her head. “I am sorry, Nash. I warned you I was not fit company this evening.”

“What can I do to make this easier for you?” He ached to ease her turmoil, make her see him as he was now: a gentleman who admired and respected her. No more was he the insolent arse of his youth. Or, at least with her, he would do his level best not to be. “Tell me how I can help you, Sophie. I truly wish to.”

She slowly shook her head and straightened in the chair. “There is nothing you can do. I must come to terms with this in my own way. My own time.” Her focus shifted back to the window, and she narrowed her eyes as though studying something off in the distance. “Maman came to terms with her circumstances when Papa died, and I was born a girl rather than the son she needed. She never complained. Not once. I need to be like her.”

“Do you still ride?”

“What?” She turned and eyed him as if she thought him suddenly off-kilter.

“Do you still ride?” Changing the subject and catching her off guard was the only thing he knew to do. As best as he could remember, all those years ago, she had loved riding and excelled at it.

“I do.” She flicked a quick look at the rain-streaked window. “Weather permitting, of course. Why?”

“I remember you always seemed happiest whenever you were riding.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “It was also when you were the least annoying.”

“I can still be annoying, if necessary,” she warned.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” He settled deeper into the chair and patted the armrests. “Quite solid, thank goodness. Just as you said.” That won him a smile from her—a genuine smile.

Thornton entered the room. The stoic man appeared decidedly unhappy as he hurried to Sophie’s side and held out a small silver tray bearing a note. “Forgive me, my lady. Another has arrived.”

“Another what?” Nash rose from his chair.

“Are you certain it is from them?” she asked the butler while staring at the small letter as if it were about to burst into flames. She clutched her fists to her breasts as though determined not to touch it.

“The same postage was required to accept it, and the handwriting appears much the same as the others.” He stood there, partially bent and holding out the tray, waiting for her to pick it up. “Would you prefer Sir Nash examined it?”

“Most definitely,” she whispered. “I fear this day has drained me of all courage and determination. Forgive me.”

Nash snatched up the letter. “Thank you, Thornton. By the way, Lady Sophie and I would like to dine in here, since it will just be the two of us this evening. It is my understanding that Lady Rydleshire intends to dine in her rooms.”

“Yes, Sir Nash. I shall see to everything personally.” The butler bowed and hurried out, closing the set of double doors behind him.

Sophie rose and stood beside him, peering down at the note in his hands. “Thornton was correct. The handwriting is the same. Well, go on, then. Open it.”

Opening the intricately folded paper that was tucked into itself, Nash clenched his teeth as the single sentence jumped out at him. “I know your plan, and it will fail.”

At Sophie’s strangled gasp, he caught her to his side and supported her. “Let me help you to the settee.”

“I…I am all right.” But she clung to his jacket as he led her to a nearby small sofa and settled onto it with her. She didn’t release her grip on his coat, just thumped her fist against him. “How can they possibly know? Is it someone in our household? Someone close to the queen?”

“The queen requested the special license, which would require both our names. But those outsiders would not know about the Rydleshire title or what she planned regarding that.” He silently listed everyone who might be privy to the queen’s intentions.

“Servants hear everything,” she whispered.

He refolded the letter. “Yes, they do. But to travel to a post office fifty miles away and make it back here without their absence being noticed would be quite the feat.”

“And we only found out today what we were expected to do. How could the blackmailer discover everything so quickly?” She not only popped every finger but also cracked the knuckles of her thumbs.

If the situation weren’t so dire, he would have playfully scolded her. Instead, he ignored her nervous habit. “It has to be someone in the queen’s household,” he said. “There is no other answer.”