A Regency Match (21 page)

But her grandmother hadn't scolded. In fact, she'd said very little beyond asking a few questions to clarify the tale. Her face rigidly composed, the old lady had listened patiently to every detail, had nodded in agreement when Sophy suggested that they leave at first light the following morning, and had rung for Miss Leale. She'd ordered the worried-looking abigail to bathe the girl immediately, feed her some broth and put her to bed. Sophy was curiously upset by the lack of a scolding. If her conduct was beyond censure, the enormity of her crimes must be terrible indeed. She had burst into a fresh flood of tears and had to be led, weeping, from her grandmother's room.

But Lady Alicia was not unaffected by Sophy's story. It was quite obvious to her that her granddaughter had fallen in love with Marcus. The young Earl was the complete antithesis of the sort of man Sophy might hope to attract. He was repelled by the very qualities which made the girl what she was. That knowledge had wounded Sophy, and the wound cut deep. Alicia had no doubt that it would heal in time, but the scar would always be with her. Her heart twisted in pain for her granddaughter—the goddess Venus was ever a spiteful bitch!

Sophy refused to go to bed until her things were packed. She wanted nothing to delay their departure the following morning. But when she tapped at her grandmother's door the next day at the stroke of seven, bonnetted and cloaked for the journey, she found Lady Alicia still in her bed. “Grandmama, why aren't you ready?” she demanded impatiently.

“I shall be ready in due course,” Alicia responded calmly. “We shan't be able to go much before noon.”

“Why not?”

“Because, my dear, you cannot run off in secret, like a thief with the family silver in his sack. We must say proper goodbyes to Charlotte and her guests. And
you
, my dear, must pay a call on Lord Wynwood, ask after his health and make a sincere and proper apology.”

“Grandmama,
no
!”

“Granddaughter,
yes
! And since we must permit him to sleep for at least another few hours, our departure must be postponed until you've had a talk with him. I think you should explain everything to him, just as you did to me. It's the only course I consider seemly.”

Her grandmother was adamant and would brook no argument. Sophy had no choice but to acquiesce. Two hours later, when she'd learned from his man that Lord Wynwood was awake and willing to see her, she tapped at his door. In the hopeful expectation that the interview would be brief and that she could quit this place—the scene of so much humiliation—immediately thereafter, she had not removed her cloak, and she carried her bonnet clutched in her hand. A female voice bid her to come in. Timidly, she pushed open the door.

Marcus, wearing a green, frogged dressing gown, was lying on a chaise in a large, sunny alcove of his bedroom. His head was cushioned by a huge pillow, and his left foot, thickly bandaged at the ankle, was resting on a tufted bolster. Iris Bethune sat at his side, an open newspaper in her lap. “Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt …” Sophy said awkwardly.

“You're not interrupting,” Marcus said with a leer. “We've been expecting you.”

Iris looked quickly from one to the other. “We've quite finished with the important news,” she said, folding the paper and rising. “Marcus doesn't like being read to, in any case.” She patted him gently on the shoulder. “See you later, my dear.”

Sophy felt very much the intruder. “Please don't go on my account,” she urged. “I shall stay only a moment.”

Marcus hooted. “If you think you'll escape me as easily as that, Miss Edgerton, you're out in your reckoning. It will take more than a moment to hear what I have to say to you.”

“Don't tease her, Marcus,” Iris said kindly, crossing to the door. “And remember that the doctor said to refrain from any exertion until the headache is gone.”

The warning was aimed more at Sophy than at Marcus. Sophy colored, and Iris, having made her point, quickly left the room. There was a moment of awkward silence. “I … I hope, your lordship, that you are … er … feeling more the thing …” Sophy ventured unhappily.

“‘Your lordship,' is it? How is it that I was ‘Marcus' when I lay in your lap yesterday, and I've been reduced to ‘your lordship' today?”

Sophy crimsoned. “I
never
called you Marcus!” she protested vehemently.

“Yes, you did. Several times. But I don't intend to be thrown off the track by irrelevant discussions. Sit down, please. There are a few matters I'm determined to clarify before this interview is over.”

“I'm afraid, sir, that … er … I haven't much time …” She tried surreptitiously to edge toward the door. If matters became insupportable, she could merely dash out of the room.

“Haven't much time?” he asked impatiently. “What flapdoodle is this?”

“Well, you see, we'll be leaving as soon as … I mean, the carriage has already been ordered—”

“Carriage? You're thinking of
leaving
?”

“Yes, sir. My grandmother and I thought—”

“Well, you can both think again. I won't have it.” He eyed her askance. “Is this one of your tricks to avoid answering my questions? It won't wash, my girl. Sit down, I say, or I shall have to get up and use force.”

Sophy made a restraining gesture and scurried to the chair vacated by Miss Bethune. “The doctor said you're not to exert yourself.”

“Then see that you do nothing to
force
me to exertion. Now, Miss, if you'll take off that cloak, we may be comfortable.”

She obediently untied the cord at her neck, let the cloak slip back from her shoulders, and turned nervously to face him. “What … what is it you wish to ask me, sir?”

“What do you
think
I wish to ask? Why did you
do
it?”

“Ride off that way, you mean? I … haven't a very good reason, I'm afraid.” She turned the bonnet round and round in her fingers. “I suppose I wanted to show you that I could ride Picaro as well as you.”

“Well, you certainly showed me,” he said drily.

“I'm truly sorry that you were injured because of my foolishness,” she said, the bonnet trembling in her unsteady grasp. “I never meant it to be more than a little … joke …”

She braced herself to receive his cutting retort. But Marcus said simply, “I know that.” She looked at him in surprise. He was looking a bit shamefaced himself. “I didn't mean all those malevolent things I said to you yesterday. I realized as soon as I came to my senses that you didn't mean to injure me. It was only the pain that made me so rancorous—the pain and the humiliation …”

“Humiliation?”

“Yes … of being thrown.” He glanced up at her with a sheepish grin. “I'd never been thrown by a horse in my life before.”

“You are being very kind to me, my lord,” Sophy said, her eyes on the bonnet in her lap, “but you didn't say anything to me yesterday that I haven't said to myself. I've been very foolish and headstrong … I've tried to ruin your lovely houseparty, and … I've caused you … bodily injury. I can only h-hope you'll forgive m-me … and that you'll be able to … to forget all this after I've gone.” With that humble and penitent apology, she rose from her chair and started hurriedly for the door.

But he sat up and caught her arm as she brushed by the chaise. “Sophy,
don't!
There's no need for this … self-castigation. Do you think I don't know that I'm somehow at fault in all this? From the day of your arrival, I've felt your disapproval. I know I've somehow offended you. Can't you tell me what it is I've done? I want, more than
anything
, to find a way to … end these hostilities between us.”

Sophy was dumbstruck by his sincerity. She turned her head away so that he wouldn't see how shaken she was. “There
was
something,” she admitted reluctantly, “but it seems so … so
insignificant
now.”

“I won't find it insignificant.”

“Yes, you will. You
must
find it so. It all seems so
silly
now.”

He said nothing, but merely watched her while she gathered the courage to tell him. After a momentary struggle, she faced him. “It was … you see, I was utterly
affronted
… when you said I was a … shatterbrained hysteric—”

“Sophy! I
never
said a thing like that to you!” he objected, horrified.

“Not to me. To Stanford. I … overheard you at the theater.”

“The theater? I don't—” He wrinkled his brow in his attempt to recall the incident. “Oh, good God! I seem to
remember
…! It was at Drury Lane … Coriolanus! But how could you have heard—?”

Sophy blushed painfully. “I saw you coming down the corridor together. It was shortly after I'd made that … scene at the bookstore, do you remember? I didn't want to face you, so I … hid behind a door. You and Stanford stopped just outside my hiding place to talk. There was nothing I could do but remain where I was and listen.”

“You overheard our entire conversation? Good Lord! It must have been hideously vulgar. Dennis and I can be quite … ungentlemanly in our private talks. Sophy, I … I don't know what to say!”

“There's nothing you
ought
to say. It was a private conversation, and I had no right—! Besides …”

“Besides?”

She turned away again. “Besides, I'm beginning to agree with your assessment of my character,” she said with a little catch in her voice. “I
am
a sh-shatterbrained hysteric. And a … a zany little d-disaster, too.”

He winced. “I was
afraid
you might have overheard that bit of malignity.”

“I don't b-blame you for it,” she said with a tiny sob. “Not any more. It's all quite t-true!”

Deeply shamed, Marcus clumsily lowered his bandaged foot to the floor and stood up. Sophy jumped up and ran to him. “Marcus, what are you
doing
? The doctor
told
you—!”

“The devil with the doctor!” Ignoring the pain which his implusive action brought on, he pulled her roughly into his arms. “Sophy,” he implored, “you can't believe that I
still
think of you that way! You must
know
that my feelings have passed far beyond …” He paused helplessly, not knowing how to prove to her that those cruel words, uttered in an ignorant past, had no longer any meaning or reality for him. Pinioning her to him with one arm, he tilted her face up to his with his other hand. She was staring at him in wide-eyed breathlessness. Her lips, still swollen from a night of weeping, looked so achingly desirable that his innards clenched in a hungry spasm. As had happened once before, he felt himself irresistably drawn to kiss her. This time there was no interruption. His mouth found hers, and he pressed her to him with a pleading urgency.

The fervor of this unexpected and illicit embrace left them both shaken and amazed. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then he dropped down on the chaise and buried his head in his hands. When she managed to regain control of her breathing, Sophy approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “It's all right, Marcus,” she said softly. “It … was only an … accident. I don't … refine on it too much.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. “No. You … we … mustn't. I hope you can forgive me. I don't know what's happening to me.” He grinned at her with wry self-mockery. “It's
I
who has become the shatterbrained hysteric.”

“Don't be so silly. Please lie down again, Mar—Lord Wynwood. I would not like your mother or Miss Bethune to think I had upset you.”

“You needn't be afraid to call me Marcus,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “There's nothing improper in
that
, at least.” Paying no attention to her request that he lie down, he grasped the hand she'd placed on his shoulder. “You won't leave, will you, Sophy? Promise me you'll stay til the end of the week. I won't believe myself forgiven if you go.”

She hesitated. Her feelings were so confused that she didn't know what she wanted, or what was the proper course of action. “But … there's nothing to forgive—” she vacillated.

“Please, Sophy, you
must
stay. It's only for a few days. We
need
those days, if only to prove to ourselves—and each other—that we can be sensible and … normal. And that we can … part as friends.”

Sophy nodded. She couldn't resist his appeal. She helped him to lie back on the chaise and went swiftly to the door. Her feelings were in a turmoil and would require several hours of calm reflection to be adequately soothed. In the meantime, the only thing she knew was that she'd never been happier in her life … nor more miserable.

Chapter Sixteen

L
ADY
A
LICIA HADN'T PACKED
. Her friend Charlotte, having learned of her intention to leave, simply refused to permit it. “I shan't have you running off like this,” she'd declared, adamantly seating herself on the edge of Alicia's bed. “Yes, I'm quite well aware that my son has sustained a few injuries as a result of a riding accident, but I will not hear of anyone's taking the blame for it. No, don't argue with me, my dear. I have no time to bandy words. Mrs. Cresley wishes to consult me about tomorrow's menus, so I must be off. Put away those trunks immediately and come downstairs. My yellow tea roses have bloomed in the night, and I'd like to show them to you.”

She had moved gracefully but inexorably to the door in her customary cloud of sheer silk. But before she drifted out, she reminded Alicia to refrain from berating Sophy for an occurrence which was not the girl's fault. “It would be presumptious of mere mortals to credit or blame ourselves for the things which should properly be laid at the door of Fortune herself,” she said poetically.