Chapter Seven

“You are absolutely glowing,” Celia whispered as she and Sophie discreetly moved to a quieter part of the crowded drawing room. A subtle knowing colored her smile. “I see you wasted no time in consummating your marriage.” She cast a glance over at where Nash stood talking to the husbands of some of the greatest gossips among the ton. “I cannot say as I blame you, sister. Your description of him did not do the man justice. Are you any better about this situation?”

“If anything, I am even more frustrated.” Sophie eyed the carefully selected guests, gauging if anyone stood close enough to overhear their conversation. With a forced smile that belied the chaos churning within her, she fought to keep her voice low. “I told him I would never allow myself to love him again, and the stubborn churl took it as a challenge. Men!” She huffed. “Maman was right. They always fight for whatever is denied them, whether they want it or not.”

“Did he say he took it as a challenge?” Celia sipped her champagne and adopted the sort of expression one might assume when talking about the weather or the latest fashions.

“No, but I saw it in his eyes. I remember that look from when we competed on the training fields.” Sophie caught the eye of the footman bearing a tray of drinks and lifted her empty crystal flute. She needed another, and another after that. Nash’s reaction to their indescribable afternoon terrified her. He might think himself temporarily besotted, but she knew he would never remain that way—and then where would her poor, battered heart find itself for a second time?

“You already love him,” Celia whispered, then tittered with a false laugh as a pair Sophie didn’t recognize strolled past them. “How in the world do you hope to keep it from him when I can see it plain as can be?”

Sophie attempted as graceful a stance as she could manage and sent a fake look of happiness Nash’s way while lifting her second glass of champagne in a silent toast to him. “I shall simply make myself unlove him.”

“I do not believe unlove is a word, sister.”

Before Sophie could argue, Celia took hold of her by the arm and steered her toward the double doors that led out into the garden. “Come. The rain has stopped, and your complexion has become as red as your hair. I noticed you ate nothing at supper, and downing champagne the rest of the evening is unwise. You might fool the others, but you cannot fool me. Some fresh air is called for before your mother gets involved.”

“Unlove is most certainly a word.” Sophie swapped out her empty glass for yet another full one. “And I fully intend to accomplish it for my heart’s own safety.”

“What would be so wrong with allowing yourself to love your husband?” Celia took the champagne away from her and poured it into the nearest rosebush.

Sophie worked her knuckles, flinching with every soft pop. “And then what happens to me when his temporary fascination wears off? When he gains what he thought he wanted, only to discover he did not want my affection at all? When he decides to take a mistress from all the ladybirds looking to land an earl as their next benefactor?” She peeped back in through the side window, trying to spot him. “Do you not remember what I wrote about the way he treated several of my older friends in Calais?”

“You are stronger than this, Sophie.” Celia scowled at her. “I know the queen unraveled everything you and your mother nurtured all these years, but do not allow this situation to take your power from you. You have the ways and means to make that man’s life quite uncomfortable should he be foolhardy enough to take a mistress, and you know it.” She tipped a decisive nod. “And if you cannot make him miserable, you can certainly scare off any woman foolish enough to come sniffing around him. Since when do you allow anyone to take anything that is yours?”

“Since Queen Charlotte so easily took everything I ever worked for.” Sophie blinked hard, fighting back angry tears—or maybe not angry ones. Maybe the tears came from her aching heart. Since the rain had stopped, she could no longer use that as a cover to hide any weeping. “I thought you would understand, but I should have known better. You and Elias have always loved each other.”

“Not always, and you know it,” Celia corrected her with a rare sternness. “I love you, my sister, but you must stop feeling sorry for yourself and take control of this situation before it makes you ill.”

Something heavy and sharp hit Sophie so hard between her shoulder blades that she cried out and stumbled forward. Clutching at the trellis to keep from going to the ground, she struggled not to pass out from the pain. “Run!” she gasped to Celia. Head swimming and fighting to breathe, she couldn’t move, but Celia needed to get away from whatever was happening. “Save yourself! Run!”

“Help!” Celia shrieked. “Help us!”

Strong hands closed around Sophie’s shoulders, and she flailed to fight them off. It had to be the blackmailer. Who else would have the audacity to climb the wall and attack her in her own garden?

“Sophie, it’s me!”

Nash’s deep voice somehow made it easier for her to breathe. She closed her eyes and stopped fighting, swallowing hard to keep from becoming ill.

“Search this garden now!” he bellowed, then swept her up into his arms, painfully jostling her as he charged back inside.

“I will be all right.” She forced her eyes open and pulled in a steadier breath that helped ease the throbbing that had started in the center of her back and shot through her. “Set me down and let me gather myself while you go after the fiend.”

Fury filled his face. Murder flashed in his eyes. “I will not leave you alone again. Why did you go out there without me?”

“It is our private garden,” she forced through clenched teeth. “Do not scold me like a child.”

He bowed his head, but his face reddened with even more rage. “Forgive me.” He eased her down onto a settee but bared his teeth when he drew his arm out from around her and discovered blood on his sleeve. “Call for a physician! My wife is badly injured.”

“Right away, sir,” Thornton called out amid the chaos in the drawing room.

“Let me have a look,” the dowager countess ordered Nash, seeming to appear out of nowhere. She joined Sophie on the settee and gently tugged her forward. “Did you hear gunfire, daughter?”

A roaring in Sophie’s ears drowned out her mother’s voice. She struggled to remain conscious, fighting against the dark spots swirling in her vision. A hard swallow to calm her churning stomach helped very little. “Maman, just let me breathe and calm myself. I am sure the injury cannot be as bad as all that, or I would not be speaking.”

“Did you hear gunfire?” her mother repeated more sharply.

“No. Something just hit me. Is Celia all right?” She tried to roll her shoulders, but a searing burn that triggered another vicious surge of nausea made her stop.

“I am right here,” Celia said from her other side. “I didn’t see or hear anything. She simply stumbled forward after something struck her in the back. Perhaps whatever hit her is still out there.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” said a footman to the dowager countess as he cautiously approached. He held out a large bundle crudely wrapped in twine and parchment. “This was found close to the trellis where Lady Sophie fell.”

Sophie held out her hand. “Here. Give it to me.”

“I will not,” her mother curtly replied. “You are not only bleeding but still quite dazed. I can tell by your eyes.”

“Maman—”

“Listen to your mother,” Nash said, pushing closer and catching hold of her chin to peer into her eyes. “You do appear quite dazed. I shall carry you upstairs to await the physician.”

“You shall not. I want to examine that bundle.” A grunt escaped her as she pulled in another deep breath that resulted in a harsher stabbing pain. “I am better already. You should not have sent for a doctor.”

“You are lying, my lady.” He glared at her. “You are still in pain and shall be seen to if I have to hold you in place to be examined.”

A dangerous glow warmed through her traitorous heart. She tried to stanch its fickleness, but his genuine concern for her refused to be ignored. He needed to stop behaving as if he cared about her, because it would not last. He would tire of her as soon as he considered her conquered.

“I would like to examine the weapon used against me, please,” she said with an imploring tone she hoped would move him. She needed something that would take her mind off him, and the way his caring weakened her defenses. “Please, Sir Nash.”

He pressed his mouth into a tight, flat line that made his displeasure unmistakable, but he jerked a single nod. “A quick examination of the thing, and then I carry you upstairs. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” What choice did she have, since she was hampered by no small amount of pain?

He tore away the twine, then carefully unwrapped a jagged rock that was a little larger than his fist. “You might very well have broken bones from this. We must show it to the physician.” He handed it off to the dowager countess, who examined it with a grimness that sent a stinging chill up Sophie’s spine.

“If this had struck you in the head, you could have been killed,” the dowager said.

“But I was not killed,” Sophie said, trying to keep them focused on the matter at hand rather than on what might have been. “Are there any clues on the wrapping?”

Nash opened the crumpled paper wider. His knuckles whitened as his grip on the parchment tightened. “You will pay in more ways than just coin,” he read in an enraged hiss. “This is only the beginning. Be warned.”

She tried to rise from the settee, but the throbbing ache made her gulp and catch her breath. “Oh…dear.”

“You will stop at once, wife,” he growled. He handed off the note to the dowager countess, then gently gathered Sophie up and cradled her to his chest. “To bed with you now, to wait for the doctor.”

“But we must…” She fought to catch her breath from the tearing burn ripping between her shoulders. “We must compare the handwriting with the other letters.”

“I am quite certain your mother will take care of that once she sees all our guests on their way.” He doggedly continued striding up the steps, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a feather. “We must see to your injury and ensure it is not grave.”

“I am conscious and speaking, am I not?” She had not remembered him being this stubborn.

“Many a soldier has died while conscious and speaking. I will brook no argument on this.”

She relented and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to better battle the ever-increasing urge to retch that was probably more because of her overindulgence in champagne on an empty stomach rather than her injury. “If Thornton returns with some ill-mannered quack, I refuse to allow him to examine me.”

“I overheard your Celia advise Thornton to fetch her stepfather. Are you familiar with the man?”

Even through the pain and nausea, Sophie smiled. Dr. MacMaddenly had married Celia’s mother after saving her life. “Dr. MacMaddenly is a stubborn Scot who thinks himself the most brilliant physician in London because he studied medicine at the University of Edinburgh.”

“Good.” Nash shouldered open the door to her suite, stepped inside, then kicked it shut. “It sounds as if the man will do.”

“Dear heavens! My lady!” Marie flitted around them like an overwrought butterfly, opening the bedroom door and rushing to turn down the bed. “Your things have been moved, Sir Nash,” she said over her shoulder. “Just as you ordered.”

“What is she talking about?” Sophie asked, then unleashed a sharp yelp as he lowered her into the pillows.

Nash ignored her. Instead, he turned to Marie. “Thank you. Help me get Lady Sophie out of this gown. She was attacked in the garden, and we await Dr. MacMaddenly’s arrival.”

“Merde!”

“Marie?” Sophie glared at her personal maid, who only swore in French when overly distraught or astonished. “What did you mean when you said Sir Nash’s things have been moved?”

The maid avoided meeting her gaze as she rushed around to the other side of the bed and clambered up on it. “If you will support her, Sir Nash, I shall undo her buttons and laces—Oh dear, there is blood. Oh, my lady.”

“Do not alarm your mistress,” Nash ordered her, while gently but firmly holding Sophie as Marie had asked.

“If you two do not stop speaking around me as if I am a child or unaware of my surroundings, I am going to thrash you both as soon as I regain my strength.” A hitching moan escaped Sophie as another agonizing twinge sliced through her. “Answer me, Marie. This instant.”

“Your husband bade us move his things from the guest room into this suite, my lady,” Marie said. “I have her undone, Sir Nash. Lift her, and I shall slide the gown and corset off her. Shall I wait to change her shift until the doctor sees her? That will cause her less discomfort for now.”

“Yes.” Nash gently hugged Sophie to his chest so her garments could be removed in a smooth downward motion.

Panic swept across her as a harsher ache made her gasp, “I need a basin!”

Much to her horror, he held her as she retched and rid herself of every drop of champagne she had ever thought about drinking. How much more humiliation was this night to bring her?

“A wet cloth for her mouth and another for her head,” he said to Marie after handing off the basin. He eased Sophie back onto the pillows and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. “Your chemise is soaked through with blood. We should change it, rather than allow you to lie in it.”

“No. Not yet.” She didn’t care if she was floating in blood—she just wanted to be left alone so she could cover her head and quietly die from embarrassment. Through barely opened eyes, she didn’t detect a hint of revulsion from him. “I will be fine,” she whispered. “I merely need a moment to gather myself.”

“You keep saying that.” With a touch so gentle and caring it threatened to make her weep, he wiped her mouth with the wet cloth and draped another over her eyes. “Rest now. Talking only makes you draw deeper breaths and increases your pain. Be still, my swan, so you will improve. None of us can bear the thought of life without you.”

He should not say such things. That wasn’t at all fair. She rested her hand across the cloth covering her eyes, willing her heart to shut him out.

The door creaked, warning her someone had either arrived or departed, but she was too overset by the evening’s events to lift the cloth and look. A distinct hint of crisp, clean mint wafted across her, and she immediately knew it was Celia’s stepfather. The man always smelled of freshly crushed mint. She pulled in a deeper breath, knowing it would help allay the returning nausea.

“All of ye may leave while I see to the lady,” Dr. MacMaddenly announced with his usual gruff efficiency. “Now.”

“I am Sir Nash Bromley, Lady Sophie’s husband. I will not be leaving.”

“Ye will stay out of my way, then, sir, or we shall have words in another room, ye ken?”

“I assure you, doctor, I shall not be a hindrance.”

Sophie kept her eyes covered but expelled a long-suffering breath. “Dr. MacMaddenly, it was just a rock that hit me in the back. Not a dagger. Not a bullet. Merely a stone, and it knocked the wind from me. I shall be fine.”

“I shall be the judge of that, m’lady,” the doctor said. “If ye insist on being in here, Sir Nash, lift your wife, so I might examine the wound. I saw that missile. Such an object could do a great deal of damage.”

“The intensity of her pain has also caused her to be quite ill,” Nash told the doctor as he slid an arm under her shoulders and gently curled her to his chest to expose her back. “I am sorry, my love. I know it hurts when I move you.”

My love?When in heaven’s name had he started using that endearment? He needed to stop it. Such subtle attacks on her heart were not at all amusing. A jaw-tightening sourness pounded behind her ears, warning that more champagne was on its way out. “I need the basin!”

Once again, he held it for her as she heaved so hard it felt as though she had surely turned herself inside out.

“Marie!” he bellowed. “More cool cloths for her ladyship!”

“How many times has she been ill like that?” Dr. MacMaddenly asked.

“That is only the second time,” Sophie whispered as she sagged against Nash’s chest. “And kindly stop talking around me. I am quite capable of supplying you with whatever information you require.”

“The bruising is quite severe and only just started,” the doctor said as he unceremoniously cut her chemise and peeled it away. He gently prodded and pressed, hitting every excruciatingly tender spot.

She held her breath and buried her face in Nash’s chest, willing herself not to cry out.

“Nothing can be done for the puncture wounds but to keep them clean and bandaged,” Dr. MacMaddenly said. He gently squeezed her arms and hands, then tapped on the bottoms of her feet. “Any tingling or numbness, m’lady?”

“No.” She swallowed hard, trying not to give in to another round of heaving. A strained groan escaped her lips as Nash eased her down among the pillows onto her side.

“Laudanum and rest. Keep the wounds clean and let her rise from the bed when she feels well enough to do so.” The gruff physician rounded the bed and offered Sophie a somewhat affectionate scowl. “And none of your stubbornness about resting and healing, m’lady. I ken well enough how ye are, but Celia bade me warn ye that if ye dinna do as ye are told, she will have a bit of ye, and ye willna like it.”

“Thank you, Dr. MacMaddenly.” She attempted a weak smile. “I shall do my best to behave.”

“I doubt that.” The doctor pulled a bottle and a small vial from his black leather satchel and handed it to Nash. “A full vial of the laudanum immediately. ’Tis a large dose, but she will need it for this first time, especially. Once it takes effect, see that her maid cleans and bandages those wounds. Celia said ye were a military man, so ye ken how it should be done. After that, Lady Sophie may have more laudanum as the pain demands it, but knowing this lass, she’ll not take it unless ye force her, so watch her closely. There is no reason for her needless suffering.”

“I shall personally see to her care,” Nash said, sounding entirely too ready to rise to the challenge.

Sophie closed her eyes and covered them again with the fresh, damp cloth Marie provided. “Merde,” she muttered, then flinched and peeped out from under the cloth to see if anyone had heard.

Dr. MacMaddenly chuckled as he closed his satchel and tipped her a nod. “Merde indeed, m’lady.” He offered Nash a polite dip of his chin as well. “Good evening to ye, sir. Send for me if her condition worsens, and the vomiting does not cease.”

“I will. Thank you, Dr. MacMaddenly.”

Sophie covered her eyes again, wishing all of them would leave along with the good doctor. But then the bed shifted and confirmed that her wish was not to be granted.

“Here, Sophie,” Nash said, his tone soft and coaxing. “Down this. It will get you through what we need to do before you can rest.”

She cracked open an eye and glared at him. “You have filled that vial entirely too full of that bitter stuff.”

“There is no need to be overly brave. That stone cut you deeply in three places that will require a generous dousing with whiskey to ensure the punctures are properly cleaned. It will not be pleasant.” He leaned closer and held the vial to her lips. “Please, Sophie. Your suffering is pure torture for me.”

Then get out, she wanted to scream, but not only would it take too much effort, it would also hurt. Instead, she relented and forced down the bitter concoction that had not been sweetened with nearly enough honey. She held her breath to keep from gagging.

“Perfect.” He turned and set the vial and the bottle on the bedside table. “Marie has gone to fetch everything we need, and soon you can rest.” He gently brushed her hair back from her face. “Shall I remove your hairpins so they don’t prick you?”

“Whatever you wish,” she whispered, her heart already aching in anticipation of the day when he would consider his challenge of winning her heart achieved and then would no longer want her.

He worked his fingers through her hair, plucking out the hairpins and setting them aside. “I shall tell Marie to forgo brushing out your hair this evening. Is the laudanum taking hold yet?”

“I am sad.” She frowned. Had she said that aloud? “I mean…the pain does not seem as bad.”

“Why are you sad, my swan?” he asked so softly that she wasn’t sure he had really said it.

“Because I will always love you, and you will never love me.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, then scrubbed the damp cloth all over her face. Her nose itched something terrible. “Ants are crawling all over my face and making it itch.” She pawed at herself. “Get them off me.”

“Easy now, Sophie.” He stopped her from batting at herself. “The ants are gone now.” He rubbed her nose with a dry cloth that did, in fact, rid her of all those terrible, tickling bugs.

“I hate ants. Be sure they don’t get into the bed.” She tried to focus on Nash’s face to read his expression, but he kept swimming around the room. “Sit still. How can I tell what you are thinking if I cannot see you?”

He moved closer.

“Why do you look sad too? Do you also love someone who will never love you?” Noises behind her and something touching her back made her try to turn. “Who is there?”

“Look at me, Sophie,” Nash said. “Marie is getting you ready for bed. Talk to me while she works. We were talking about my being sad, remember?”

She didn’t remember, but if he said so, she supposed it must be true. “I am sorry you are sad. There are kittens in the stable. Mr. Wallace showed them to me, and I told him to be sure and see that they are made quite comfortable. You could go see them. They always make me happier.” Her eyelids drooped no matter how hard she tried to keep them open. They felt so heavy. Almost as if they were weighted. “Kittens and babies,” she mumbled.

“What about kittens and babies?” His deep voice floated around her like a beautiful song. “Sophie?”

“Kittens and babies make me happy,” she said without bothering to open her eyes. “Babies sometimes make me sad too, though, because I know I will never have one.”

“We are married now, remember? We promised the queen to name our first daughter Charlotte.”

“We cannot have a daughter. Or a son. We can only have kittens.” At least, she thought so. Although, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why.

“If you would let yourself love me, Sophie, we could have as many babies as you wish.”

“Who are you?” The voice sounded like Nash, but it couldn’t be. Nash didn’t like her.

“Your husband. Nash.”

“I married Nash?” She huffed a snort and batted at him but kept missing. “You cannot be Nash. He was a cruel toad who wouldn’t even give me the time of day ten years ago, even if I begged him for it. Who are you really, sir? And what are you doing here? I believe I am in a bed somewhere. Why are you here in a bed with me?”

“We can cut her chemise the rest of the way off, sir,” a woman said from behind her. “I have her a fresh one right here.”

Something shifted around her, then slipped over her head, making her nose tickle again, but she couldn’t scratch it because they kept trying to guide her hands into some sort of cloth opening. “Let me go. The ants are back.”

“I shall get rid of the ants again as soon as we get your chemise sorted.”

Whatever he wished. She didn’t bother opening her eyes again, just allowed herself to float along on the deep voice that seemed so familiar. “You have the nicest voice. Do I know you, sir?”

“No, my lady. You do not know me at all, but I swear, as I live and breathe, that you someday will.”