My Seductive Innocent (24 page)

“If you continue to cover for her you will find yourself out of a position. Do you understand?” The woman nodded, and he turned on his heels and stormed out of the room.

He released the tenuous tether he had on his temper the moment he stepped into his bedchamber. The heavy wood door slammed behind him and rattled in its frame. With a vicious rip, he tore his cravat from his neck, then yanked off his coat and shoes. The shoes hit the wall one by one.

Damn her to hell and back for getting under his skin. He slid a crystal glass across the wood of the dressing table and then tilted the decanter to pour a drink. He stared down at the glass without seeing it. He saw his mother too drunk to stand time and again. Liquid wet his hand and he blinked, hurriedly turning the decanter upright and grimacing at the mess he had made.

He swiped his hand across his trousers and stormed across the room to slump into the chair in front of the large marble fireplace. Staring blindly into the flickering orange flames, he cursed as images of Sophia intertwined with images of his mother. He would have never thought Sophia to be the sort of woman to imbibe in too much spirits.

His heart twisted, and he gripped the glass, feeling the sting of the crystal cutting into his skin but not caring. She was in his head. This was what became of letting down one’s guard. One began to feel things, to be hurt by others. He didn’t want her in his head. He didn’t want her there.
Damn her.
He downed the contents of his drink and made his way across the carpets.

An almost-crazed feeling was taking hold of him. He stared at his bed, the immense expanse of it, and he could see
her
there. In it. With him. Laughing, smiling, her blue eyes sparkling.
Goddamn her.
It had taken a good deal of effort to make himself numb and she’d swept into his life and thawed his heart. Growling, he threw his empty glass on the bed and trod through the door to his study that connected to his room.

Grabbing the first book he came to, he settled in to read. He forced himself to the task, but he realized after a while that he could not recall one damned word he’d read. Yet, he could recall whole conversations he’d had with Sophia. Snarling, he threw the book against the far wall and stalked out of the study, back into the main bedchamber, and over to the large stained glass window that overlooked the acres of parkland on which his home was situated. He placed his hands against the cold glass and heaved a disgruntled sigh. She’d cracked the lock on his heart, and he hadn’t even realized it. Hell, he’d even contemplated the notion of love for her.

Before his tirade could really commence a scratch came at the door. “Come in,” he bade in a clipped tone.

Mary Margaret entered the room on her mother’s heels, and the young lady stayed there, hovering. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t make a move to be friendly. So the girl was afraid of him now? Good. She needed to be scared witless after lying to him. “Don’t tell me my bride is already sober?” he sneered.

Mary Margaret stepped out from behind her mother. “She’s not foxed,” the lady’s maid said in a rebuking tone. “She’s ill.”

She glanced at her mother, and Mrs. Cooke, who had been his mother’s lady’s maid, nodded. “I’d recognize someone in their cups immediately. Her Grace is sick. You need to fetch the doctor at once. I’ve done all I can, but she’s still retching.”

Something inside him tingled with fear, but he ruthlessly beat it back. He refused to care. “Mother used to retch up a storm.”

Mrs. Cooke shook her head. “Not like this. Your wife cannot stop. She’ll die if she goes on in this manner, and if you refuse to send a servant to fetch the physician, I’ll send Mr. Cooke and you can let us all go. I’ll not have that innocent young woman’s death on my hands.”

“Let you go?” he asked, surprised, despite the fact that he’d given Mary Margaret that exact ultimatum. “You’ve worked for my family for as long as I can remember.”

Mrs. Cooke nodded. “Exactly. You are wrong about this. Please send for the physician.”

“We’ll see,” he said, sure he was not mistaken. He’d seen his mother in the same state hundreds of times. He strode out of his room and down the hall to Sophia. Outside the door, the sound of her violent sickness filled the halls and set fear in his belly. He shoved through the door and cursed. She lay in a small, pitiful ball in the center of the bed, shaking. Her dark, short hair was slicked back with perspiration, and her eyes were closed but moving violently under her lids. Her skin had an odd ashy tint to it.

Mrs. Cooke was right. This was worse than anything he’d ever seen. This was a great deal more than simply being foxed. Every part of him wanted to go to her, but he sensed there wasn’t a minute to waste. “Don’t let her die,” he commanded and hurried out of the room to the staircase.

He met his aunt halfway down the spiral stairs.

“Scarsdale, where are you going in such a rush?”

“To fetch the physician. Sophia is sick.”

“Send a servant, for pity’s sake. The staff will think your tragic little wife has you besotted if you go yourself.”

“I don’t give a goddamn what the servants think,” he snapped and turned on his heel to make his way down the rest of the stairs. He was the best equestrian in this house, and he’d reach the physician faster than any of his servants.

Within minutes, his horse was made ready and he dashed off into the night to fetch Dr. Maddox. Each time the horse’s hooves made contact with the hard dirt, one thought pounded into Nathan’s head. He wasn’t good enough for Sophia.

She was an innocent despite her circumstances.

He was jaded beyond repair
because
of his circumstances.

She held hope in her heart.

His heart contained bitterness.

She assumed the best of him always.

He was such a cynical bastard that he was all too willing to assume the worst from her, even though she’d only shown kindness and love.

She trusted him.

He didn’t even trust himself.

She claimed to love him and want his love in return.

All he could claim was that he was sure she would snatch back all that she offered the minute he failed her.

But damnation, he didn’t want to let her go. And even worse, she had somehow managed to stir an undeniable desire to try to simply feel again. For her.

“P
oison?” Nathan repeated with disbelief.

Dr. Maddox nodded. “Seems so. I cannot say for certain, but all her circumstances indicate she was poisoned.”

Nathan gripped the bedpost and glanced down at Sophia, who was finally resting peacefully after hours of retching. She looked so small and fragile. A large lump settled in his throat and his blood turned cold. What if he had been the target and she an innocent victim as before on the road when he’d been shot? Someone was trying to kill him, after all. He knew that for a fact.

He cursed under his breath that he had not gotten to see Sir Richard in London. He had wanted to hire the man because he was known and admired for his investigation skills, but just as importantly, he was known for his discretion.
And
Sir Richard had been a personal friend of Nathan’s father.

He yanked his hand through his hair. Had he made a grave mistake by waiting to hire an investigator and given whoever wanted him dead another opportunity to try to kill him? Or Sophia? He tugged the bell cord to call a servant, and within seconds, Mary Margaret appeared.

She dipped a curtsy, her gaze darting between him and the physician. “How may I be of service?”

“Summon all the servants to the courtyard,” he clipped in a cold, hard tone.

Her eyes widened considerably. “But it’s snowing.”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s lightning, thundering, and hailing. Summon every servant to the courtyard from the stable boy to my valet. And tell them that if they do not appear within fifteen minutes, they can consider their employment terminated. I’m going to find out who poisoned Sophia.”

Dr. Maddox gripped Nathan’s arm. “Scarsdale,” he began, pausing when Nathan glanced at the man’s hand clutching his arm. Dr. Maddox released his hold before continuing. “I didn’t mean to imply someone had
purposely
poisoned your wife. I selected my words without proper thought. I’m sure she simply ate or drank something bad. I cannot tell you how many cases I see every week of people violently ill from consuming tainted meat.”

Nathan wasn’t convinced it was a simple case of tainted meat, but to avoid having to explain his doubts, he said, “Then I will find out which of my servants was so careless as to serve such meat, and they will be let go.” Dr. Maddox didn’t need to know that Nathan might also be looking for an accomplice to his attempted murder. “Go summon them, Mary Margaret.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Dr. Maddox made to follow the lady’s maid out, but he stopped at the door. “I’ll come by tomorrow to check on Her Grace, but I suspect she will sleep soundly. I gave her a fairly strong tonic to help her sleep, and the herbs eventually did the trick in calming her stomach. If she should happen to worsen, then I suggest we bleed her tomorrow to rid her body of the poison. Might I suggest you have her lady’s maid sit by her side tonight?”

“I’ll sit with her,” he replied, his voice gruff. He didn’t want to rely on anyone else to do the job. Besides, he’d never sleep wondering if she was still doing all right or if she had taken a turn for the worse.

“Very good, Your Grace,” Dr. Maddox agreed and left.

Nathan sat down beside Sophia and steepled his hands in front of him. Who held such a grudge against him that they wanted him dead? It could be Lord Peabody, he realized. Nathan considered the fool and his anger over his mistress comparing their performances in the bedchamber. He supposed men had killed for less, but the idea seemed somewhat absurd. Still, he’d keep Peabody on the list.

Then it hit him. The most likely candidate and the one person he knew for a fact hated him and had the bollocks to try to kill him was Peyton Ravensdale. Nathan didn’t like to think back to the time in his life he’d almost destroyed himself, but he cast his mind there now out of necessity.

His spiral into darkness had started after the carriage accident that had killed his parents and had left him with a severely broken right arm. The physician had given him laudanum for the pain, but Nathan had become addicted to the stuff. It had been a nice little way to forget the real pain that was in his heart. His parents’ deaths had unleashed memories of the love he’d never felt from his mother and the disappointment he’d felt in his father for forgetting about him, and nothing Nathan had done could quiet the memories.

But the laudanum did, for a time. Eventually, it wasn’t enough, so he mixed the laudanum with alcohol. When Nathan became so nasty and difficult to be around, and he destroyed all his other friendships, Ravensdale seemed to be the last friend standing, though up until that time he and Nathan had been more acquaintances than friends. When Ravensdale offered to get Nathan into the Order of the Dark Lords, a club known for its accessibility to all sorts of promising drugs, Nathan had eagerly accepted.

He spent the next several years in a haze, until the morning he awoke in Marguerite’s bed with laudanum covering his face. His only memories of the previous night had been shocking ones of things he and Marguerite had done and a vague recollection of Ravensdale, who had been a Bow Street Runner at the time, putting on a hood that matched that of the Hooded Robber, who’d been robbing the
ton
in their carriages at night. And the next night, when Nathan had seen Ravensdale hiding a hood and an emerald necklace, Nathan had confronted him, but Ravensdale had denied it.

Nathan had fallen so far, he was sure he could not climb out of the personal hell he’d created, but that moment had made him realize he’d lost his honor, and he’d slowly and painfully gone about the business of putting the pieces of his life back together. Nathan had even gone to the authorities and told them what he suspected. Of course, he had no proof, and they’d been unable to find any evidence that Ravensdale was the robber. Yet, Nathan was a duke, though a fallen one, and his word still held some weight. Ravensdale lost his position as a Bow Street Runner and a great deal more. Yes, if anyone had a reason to want him dead, it was Ravensdale.

He stared for a long time at Sophia. What would she think of him if she knew how utterly wicked he’d really been? He shoved the useless pondering away, rose, and made his way downstairs. His aunt was turning the corner as he came into the main hall, and her pinched face alerted him to her anger.

“Am I to assume you also want me in the courtyard, Scarsdale?”

Nathan started to shake his head but then paused. “Did you know that Sophia was drinking a glass of wine at night?”

“Yes. I instructed the butler to ensure there was a glass of Madeira by her bedside every night,” his aunt replied. “I put myself in her place, coming to a town I do not know, marrying a man I just met, enduring the humiliation of my reputation having been ruined, having no mother to guide me through my days before my wedding, and I thought how nervous I would be, how nervous
she
must be. Was it so wrong?”