Lady Sophia's Rescue (Traditional Regency Romance) (5 page)

Sophia swung around to face the maid, her dark eyes glittering.

“Ye must allow Mr. Birmingham to ruin ye. Surely then Lord Finkel wouldn’t want ye back.”

“That is the most devilish scheme I’ve ever heard of!”
Even if it was terribly alluring
. “I doubt Mr. Birmingham would be remotely interested in seducing Isadore. I don’t know what he wants from the odious woman, but it certainly isn’t sex. You heard him vow to be a gentleman, and I know he’s a noble man incapable of breaking a vow.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at ye.”

Sophia bolted up. “What way?”

“With desire. Sexual desire.”

She dared not ask how Dottie knew about things like sexual desire. A tingling infused her body as she contemplated what her maid had just told her. “While I’ll admit you’re always right about men, this once you must be mistaken.”

Dottie shook her head. “I know what I see.”

“You’re a pea goose. Blow out the candle and come to bed.”

As Sophia lay in the darkness, soft rain falling on the casements, she wondered what it would be like to lie with Mr. Birmingham. The very notion did strange things to her body.

And robbed her of sleep.

* * *

Mr. Birmingham delivered her breakfast tray himself the following morning. Freshly shaven and cheerful, he at least must have had a good night’s sleep. Unlike her. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

“Better, but my head feels as if a regiment of grenadiers danced upon it throughout the night.”

His gaze raked over her, sifting down to the white lace robe she had just donned. “I’ve brought something to help with that. Thompson has a wonderful concoction that works wonders for a bad head.”

She had to remember to speak as if it were a great effort. “Then I pray that it helps,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

He situated the tray to span her lap, then he stood back and directed his comments to Dottie. “I’ll stay with your sister for a spell if you have other matters to see to. You cannot have rested well last night.”

Sophia could not be left alone with him. He would be sure to ask “Isadore” something that Sophia could not possibly answer. She stiffened. “No!”

A quizzing look on his face, he spun around to face Sophia.

She lowered her voice. “It’s just that my sister worries excessively whenever I am ill. She positively won’t let me out of her sight.” She lowered her voice even more. “Residual effects from Dorcus’s tragic death, no doubt.”

He shot Dottie a kindly glance.

“Besides,” Sophia added, “as a maiden, I cannot possibly entertain you in my bedchamber.”

His eyes went hard. “Then you don’t trust me?”

She shrugged. “Actually, I do. I believe you are a gentleman.”

“Then since your sister is unable to read to you, allow me. It will help pass the time, take your mind off your discomfort.”

How flattered she was that he would devote himself to her when so many other matters must have a claim upon him after his absence from the city. And how incapable she was of allowing him to walk away when she wanted nothing but to spend every minute with him. “Poetry answers very well for my blue devils.”

He offered her a lazy smile. “Have you a request?”

“Cowper or Blake. I like them both very much.”

He raised his brow. “What, no deathbed stanzas? I thought all ladies were enamored of poems that can only be read with handkerchief in hand.”

She shot him an amused gaze. “Oh, I adore that kind of poem,” she lied, “but I assumed a gentleman such as yourself would not have such in his library.”

“I don’t.” He excused himself to go to his library.

He was more convinced than ever that Isadore was a well-borne lady. Instead of the insipid, flowery love poems of third-rate poets embraced by women of society’s lower rungs, Miss Isadore Door had superb taste in poetry. As in everything else.

Save her penchant for embroiling herself in danger.

It occurred to him when he was perusing the volumes of Blake and Cowper and Pope that he and Isadore had a great deal in common. If she had added Pope’s name to her list of favored poets, it would surely have been a sign from the Almighty that this woman was his fate. Even if she was a shady lady.

The moment he reentered her bedchamber and beheld her considerable beauty he grew angry that she was endangering that lovely, lovely neck of hers. By God, he would not have it! He would make her turn straight, even if he had to
give
her, gulp, eighty thousands pounds from his own pocket.

“I brought Cowper,” he informed her.

Her only response was a flutter of her lashes and a faint smile.

He brought a chair to her bedside. “Do you have a favorite?” he asked, opening the book.

“You select.”

He began to read from
The Winter Evening
. She smiled at his selection, and though it was a long poem, she mouthed along with him several lines.

And when he finished, she said, “This Sylvan Maid thanks you deeply.”

Good lord! Sylvan Maid was from an obscure line in Pope’s
Windsor Forest
.

She must be The One.

Even if she was a shady lady.

Chapter 5

As thoroughly as she had enjoyed sharing her morning with Mr. Birmingham, whom she kept thinking of as Mr. Perfect (except for the problem with him likely being a criminal), she'd been impatient for him to leave. She simply had to speak to her brother about the difficulty with Finkie. Devere would know how to go about dissolving the silly marriage. And, of course, she had to see that her . . . ahem,
husband
did not get his hands on her dowry.

As she and Dottie walked the several blocks from Grosvenor Square to Half Moon Street, she kept thinking about Mr. Birmingham and cursing the fact she had not met him before that single act of lunacy which joined her to Lord Finkel.

The sooner that absurd marriage was dissolved, the sooner she could hurl herself at the feet of the Divine Mr. Birmingham. Even if he was earning his substantial riches on the wrong side of the law. Perhaps her dowry could entice him to give up his wicked ways.

For in the past four and twenty hours she had found what she had failed to discover in seven and forty proposals of marriage and seven and twenty years: her perfect mate.

She wasn't at all sure he would even want her.

"A sweeter man there never was," Dottie gushed as they continued along Piccadilly, impervious to the clopping of hooves and the rattle of carriage wheels along the busy street. "Can you imagine a manly man like that sittin' and reading poems to the woman he loves!"

Sophia's eyes narrowed. "I am
not
the woman he loves!" Then, with lowered voice, she added, "Though, I must own I have discovered that I wish I
was
the woman he loves."

They had reached the corner of Piccadilly and Half Moon Street as Dottie stopped dead in her stride and faced her mistress, a huge smile on her narrow face. "Milady! I never thought to ever hear you utter them words. You're really and truly in love for the first time in your seven and twenty years. I knew when I laid me eyes on him night before last he was the very one for---" Dottie screamed.

Sophia had been so intent watching Dottie's lips, she had failed to see the liveried Finkel servant come up behind her abigail and accost her. Poor Dottie was screaming and kicking the man, who was well over six feet tall, as he attempted to make off with Dottie as if she were a poached quail.

"Where's the valise?" the horrid man asked Dottie.

"Unhand my servant!" Sophia shrieked as she aimed a kick in the vicinity of the wretched man's unmentionable anatomy (as her brother had once instructed her).

Then, like ants converging on a blob of honey, three more Finkel servants collapsed around the two women.

How stupid of me!
Finkie had obviously ordered his servants to watch her brother's house. She had thought to be safe from Finkel's long arm in broad daylight. In the midst of her blood-curdling yell, a huge hand cupped around her mouth with great force. She felt as if she were suffocating. As her breath waned, her panic set in. These . . .these animals were treating a well-born lady with the utmost discourtesy. In fact, their behavior was that of the worst sort of guttersnipe.

She would certainly see to it that Lord Finkel was informed of their great barbarianism. Why, he would turn out the whole lot of them for daring to treat Lady Finkel in such a manner!

If the men did not kill Dottie and her first.

A horrid man pinned her arms behind her, but her legs were still free. She managed — with one well-placed swift kick — to cause one of her assailants to double over in pain.

Why wasn't a passer-by attempting to rescue her? Could they not tell she was Quality? This was, after all, Mayfair. Ladies of good birth were never accosted upon the streets of Mayfair in broad daylight.

No sooner had those thoughts flitted through her panicked brain when she heard His voice. Her Savior. Mr. Birmingham. "Get your filthy hands off that woman, or I'll kill you!"

Almost simultaneously, she heard . . .well, she couldn't precisely remember his name, but she did know it was the voice of Mr. Birmingham's valet (who was nothing like any valet she had ever seen) warning the beastly men away from Dottie.

Suddenly those thick fingers were removed from her mouth, and she gulped in mouthfuls of air while those hands which had so recently covered her lips were now fisted and directed at Mr. Birmingham's exceedingly nice face.

She needn't have worried about her Savior. He could well handle himself against twice as many burly footmen.

As did his valet.

Almost as easily as boots crushing broken glass, Mr. Birmingham and his man disabled the Finkel servants, and once again she and Dottie were obliged to remove sashes from their dresses so the evil men's hands could be tied behind them.

Mr. Birmingham bent over Dottie's captor and spoke in an almost sinister voice. "Who do you work for?"

Sophia's gaze clapped upon the horrid man. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth, and great rivulets of perspiration criss-crossed his ruddy forehead. But he refused to answer Mr. Birmingham.

She could see fear in his eyes. Were he afraid of Mr. Birmingham, he would have answered. Which meant he must be terrified of Lord Finkel.

"If you value your teeth, you'll answer me," Mr. Birmingham warned through gritted teeth.

Still, the man remained silent.

Despite her anger at the odious man, she took pity on him. "These men are in the employ of Lord Finkel," she said.

At the mention of Finkie, Mr. Birmingham's eyes flashed, and an expression of decided distaste swept over his very agreeable features. "I will see your master ruined if it's the last thing I ever do. Now I can add the abduction of fine ladies to my list of grievances against the man."

She'd as lief not let Mr. Birmingham know she even knew the despicable Lord Finkel. It was obvious Mr. Birmingham disliked Finkie excessively. As she was beginning to. Had Finkie authorized these ruffians to abduct Dottie and her? Twice?

The man's gaze swept from Mr. Birmingham to rest upon her. "Lord Finkel will be wantin' to know the name of the man you've run off with, Lady Finkel."

Mr. Birmingham stiffened, then ever so slowly turned around to face her, searing anger in his eyes.

Uh oh. She could not allow Mr. Birmingham to send her back to her lawful husband. "Pray," Sophia rasped, remembering that she was supposed to be ill, "I beg that you . . ." she clutched his forearm and grasped at her chest, "take us away from these beasts, especially the odious Lord Finkel." Then she went into a mock swoon, knowing full well she would find herself in His arms before she met the pavement.

* * *

Damn the cursed woman! Would that he'd never heard the name Isadore. How could he have been such a fool to even consider that she might be The One? He could have looked high and low over the three kingdoms and not found a more disreputable woman.

Just this morning, the no-good, smuggling, lying,
married
charlatan had feigned her damned illness. Not twenty minutes after he'd reluctantly left the
infirm
beauty, he'd come across the able-bodied wench and – foolishly thinking she was a helpless
maiden
– once more had been obliged to extricate her from cutthroats. For he was convinced a man as dastardly as Finkel would not have men in his employ unless they were those lowest sort of criminal.

But if Isadore was Finkel's accomplice in his sordid dealings, why would he be trying to
force
her back to him? And why would she display unmistakable signs of repugnance at the mention of her husband's name?

William hadn't heard of Finkel marrying. Just two weeks ago he was heiress hunting.

Good lord, had the fiend Finkel forced Isadore into marriage in order to get his hands on the gold bullion? Isadore might be a lying cheat, but he could tell when someone was terrified. Both the Door sisters – if that was their real name – were so frightened, he'd had to force two glasses of brandy down them in order to quell the trembling in their limbs and quiver in their voices once he got them to the safety of his house.

He faced Isadore as she sat on the silken sofa in his library, a glass of brandy in her elegant hand. He made no effort to hide the signs of his blistering rage. "So the terribly ill Miss Isadore Door rather easily roused herself from her sickbed?" His narrowed eyes took in her cowering form. "You,
Lady
Finkel, bloody well will
not
leave this house until I get the eighty-thousand guineas worth of gold bullion."

Her great eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"Tell me, my lady, did Finkel force you into marrying him? Did he have. . .documents he was going to suppress from being published—"

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I've been aware of the man's underhanded methods of amassing riches since he caused the death of my friend five years ago."

"How did he cause the death of your friend?"

"My friend had conducted an affair with his own brother's wife. The only person who knew of it, beside me, was Finkel. The publisher Josiah Smith threatened to publish the details of the affair in his
Evening Chronicle
if my friend did not pay an exorbitant sum to suppress publication. When my friend failed to raise the sum, he committed suicide rather than face his brother.

"Finkel had to have supplied the information to Smith. I believe that brokering such information is the method by which Finkel's managed to rescue his estates from the auction block."

"Dear God," she said, her brows lowered. "You must be right!"

"I take it, in your situation, he possessed information about the bullion."

Silence penetrated the chamber like a resounding echo. Finally, she said, "That. . .and more. He told me if I would marry him he would keep the printer Smith from disclosing something which would ruin my younger sister."

"When did this marriage of yours take place?"

"The night I met you was my. . .thwarted wedding night."

Something deep inside him uncoiled, and his anger began to dissipate. "You had the good sense to leave him?"

She nodded solemnly. "I panicked as soon as I was alone with him. I couldn't. . ."

He held up his palm. "Say no more. I understand. You will
not
return to the vile creature."

"I did not know until this very morning of Finkie's wickedness – not until I realized he meant to force me back. Those men were so brutal."

His hands fisted. Leaving those animals tied up on Half Moon Street was too good for them! "Which is no accident. Be assured Finkel's servants have to be unscrupulous in order to work for him. He's been threatened many times. A pity no one's ever been able to prove his misdeeds."

"We must stop him."

"My thoughts exactly. And, of course, if the man's misdeeds can be proven, it should be a simple matter for you to annul the marriage. A woman cannot be forced to wed."

"Or to bed," she said, her eyes flashing.

The very thought of bedding her aroused him.

"But I shouldn't want the reference to my sister to ever come out." She tossed her head back and smiled. "I suppose I could say I was the one who'd be ruined by the printer's revelation. I daresay my reputation's already ruined by my association with the wretched Lord Finkel."

Why would a woman who smuggled gold bullion ever have been concerned about protecting her reputation?

Suddenly a loud commotion came from his entry hall. Panicked voices. He catapulted toward the door.

Just as it slammed open, barely missing him. He froze. A band of six men – sinister looking, all of them – stood there, and the one in front directed a musket at him. When the man's glance moved from Dorothea to settle on Isadore, he smiled. His teeth were rotten. "I'll jest relieve ye of these women, Mr. Birmingham."

Isadore immediately stood and turned to William. "It's all right. Please don't try to be a hero. I shouldn't like to see you killed."

She moved toward the man wielding the rifle. Then her silent sister joined her.

"One more thing, Lady Finkel," the gang's leader said. "We'll be needin' that valise you stole from his lordship."

Isadore froze for a moment, then she said, "You'll find it upstairs in the second room on the left, the Blue Room."

Her room
.

A minute later one of the men returned with a dark green valise.

"Before you take me away, sir," Isadore said to the man with the gun, "I beg that you allow me to kiss my lover good-bye. I promise to go quietly after that."

The swarthy man peered from her to William, then he nodded.

What the hell?

She moved to William, her back to the men, and he drew her into his arms and lowered his head. Just before his lips brushed across hers, she whispered. "You must get the other valise from my sister's room." Then her arms came around him, and she settled her lips upon his for a long, extremely satisfying kiss that left him stunned when she walked away.