Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (21 page)

She would realise, of course, thought Clay. However he tried to
account for it, when he disposed of the Town house and let the servants
go, she would be bound to worry. Still—it was better than Debtors
Prison, praise God! "I am well satisfied, Sophia. You just look after
your harum-scarum idiot in there, and do not worry your pretty head
with my problems."

She rose and, looking down at him gravely, took the bank draft from her pocket and handed it to him.

"Oh, Lord!" gasped Clay. "
You
asked Vaille, too?"

"No, dear. I took out a loan on some property."

"I see." With a doubtful frown, he passed it back to her. "Whitt know?"

She pushed the draft back into his hand. "You can repay us when you come into your inheritance, coz. So there's—"

"
I can what
?" he growled, his eyes kindling.

Five minutes later Sophia sat with her handkerchief pressed to her
lips and sniffed realistically while observing him with a shrewd and
tearless gaze. Clay stared down at the draft. Twelve thousand pounds!
What a magnificent difference that could make! He found Sophia watching
him and flushed painfully. Before he could utter any more
protestations, she leaned forward. "Marcus, I wish you will be kind. I
can endure no more grief, and you don't want me having the vapours all
over the floor?" A faint smile lit his eyes, and she pressed her
advantage at once. "You can pay us lots and lots of interest if it will
please you. You really have not the right to refuse, you know. The baby
and Douglas depend on you, as well as dear Esther! And, in Christian
charity, Marcus—I've enough to keep me awake at night without fretting
about your little family!"

He stood, seized her hands, pulled her to her feet, and embraced her
with such fervour that she gasped for mercy. "You are the very dearest
girl," he proclaimed. "But—what of you and Stephen?"

She assured him they would be perfectly comfortable, for she still
had the emerald, she thought, if things became really grim. "If nothing
else, this visit has paved the way to several invitations. Stephen and
I are asked to visit Vaille House, to say nothing of spending a week or
so with Miss Hilby. And I have an open invitation to Feather's
Viewpark, besides—"

Mrs. Hatters came into the room with an agitated expression on her
narrow features. Sophia's thought that she had heard Horatio in action
was confirmed.

"It's your valet, sir. Rid all through the rain he done. Something very urgent, he says, Major."

Clay cast a scared glance at Sophia, excused himself, and strode
out. Begging Mrs. Hatters to remain, Sophia waited. Clay returned in a
few minutes, looking pale, and she went to him with considerable
apprehension. "Not—Esther?"

"No. It's Douglas. That idiotic Nanny let him play in the rain,
although he had a cold. You know how frail the little fellow is!
Sophia—I'm most devilish sorry, but I must go at once!"

"Oh, Marcus! Do they know what it is?"

"No. But it don't sound too good," he said distractedly. "What a
beast of a coil! You alone here! Ain't proper at all! Shall I send word
for Feather to return?"

"I wish you will not. She doesn't like this place above half.
Besides, Stephen is looking much better. Tomorrow, if Lord Phineas
sends the big coach for us, as you said he would, we shall doubtless be
able to join him."

"He'll be in transports," Clay nodded. "And Damon's gone out on
business, thank God! He won't be back tonight and,— Oh, excuse me, Mrs.
Hatters! I only meant… cousin… unchaperoned, y'know."

"Yes, Major," said the housekeeper, nodding at his flushed face. "Which is why his lordship went to Pudding Park."

Sophia shot a startled glance at her, then urged her cousin to leave
at once. "And do not worry. Mrs. Hatters will bear me very proper
company."

When Clay had gone, and Mrs. Hatters was preparing a room for
herself across the hall, Sophia went over to the windows. The sky was
black as pitch, rain lashing the glass. She thought she heard a shout
and swung the lattice wide. The wind blew out the candles at once; in
the sudden darkness, she saw a glow approaching around the corner of
the house. She thought at first it must be Clay but doubted he'd yet
had sufficient time to be outside. Puzzled, she watched. A man's dark
shape hove into view. A man wearing a long, many-caped coat that blew
in the wind. He was tall, and even in the bulky coat, she could see
that he was slender and walked with a pronounced limp. He turned away,
raising the lantern and, as Clay's voice was raised in a shout to his
groom somewhere, drew back swiftly, as if afraid to be seen. Sophia
gave a gasp of terror. The lantern was extinguished, but just before it
died, she saw a steely blue glint in the man's other hand. The long,
deadly barrel of a pistol!

Sophia's mind seemed so beset with troubles she was sure she would
get very little sleep that night, but she slept deeply, her slumbers
undisturbed by dreams, and awoke shortly after eight o'clock, feeling
refreshed and able to cope with whatever might befall her. She had left
the connecting door open so as to hear Stephen in case he called and,
glancing that way, was surprised to find it shut tight. Perhaps Mrs.
Gaffney had returned. She pulled on her dressing gown and hurried to
the door. It was locked! How could anyone have been so stupid? She
rattled the handle, but the sound was lost as the Marquis thundered,
"You will damned well do no such thing!" Sophia's mouth fell open a
little. The monster had come home very early and was losing no time in
berating Stephen—even when he was so very ill! With her fist upraised
to pound on the door, she paused as Whitthurst's voice rang out,
equally angry. "I shall, by God! What the devil d'you take me for? A
damned dog in the manger? You gave me your word, Cam! Of all the
cork-brained starts!"

Delighted to hear her brother in such a fine fettle, Sophia gave a
contemptuous snort. The word of the Marquis of Damon was likely as
worthless as the rest of his treacherous person. Stephen should have
known him better than to rely on any promise he made!

"Keep your blasted voice down," snarled Damon. "D'you want her to hear?"

"She might as well! She'll hear the whole curst thing as soon as she wakens at all events!"

"The hell she will! I want you out of here, Whitt! And I want that
shrewish termagant of a sister of yours out! God knows my life has been
hell on earth since she arrived!"

Sophia's eyes glazed. 'Shrewish! Termagant? Hell on earth?' Well,
Stephen would wipe the floor with him now— arm or no arm! Waiting
smugly for the sound of a blow or, better yet, a shot, she gasped as
her brother gave a smothered shout of laughter. "Ran into that fiery
temper of hers, did you? Gad, but I'd love to have seen it!"

"You would! So far—nephew—she's put my staff into a state of shock
by taking over my kitchen. I've had exploding chickens, cheese souffle
with custard— Stop laughing, blast you! To say nothing of a trifle
topped with white sauce and so damned laced with cognac—yes,
cognac
!
that Ridgley was in his cups before the meal was done!" Here, despite
herself, memory and the sound of Stephen's hilarity conspired to bring
a smile to Sophia. "On top of all that," the Marquis continued
aggrievedly, "your confounded sister informed me in no uncertain terms
that I'm the blackest villain since Lucifer and slapped me so damned
hard I've two loose teeth, I vow!"

Sophia tensed. Stephen would challenge him for that! Instead,
Whitthurst sounded reduced to a state of near imbecility. It was quite
a few seconds before he was sufficiently recovered to gasp out
something comparatively mild, to which Damon replied, "Never! Take her
out of here, Whitt. In truth, I count the minutes!"

Counted the minutes, did he? Well, wait until he had his confounded investors meeting! She'd give him some minutes to count!

The conversation became calmer and harder to follow. With her ear
pressed to the door, she heard Stephen say something about a "filthy
damned mess" and Damon respond hotly that he didn't need to be taken to
task by a maggot-witted young loose screw! Stephen, his temper
obviously warming, started to retaliate, only to burst into a siege of
coughing. Fear seized Sophia, and she pounded on the door; receiving no
instant response, she kicked at it angrily, succeeding only in stubbing
her toe. She was bent over, clutching at her foot when the door opened
and the Marquis enquired, "Morning exercises, ma'am?"

She cast him a glance that should have scorched those raised
eyebrows and swept past to her brother, who looked pale but gave her a
loving smile. "Dearest," she said, bending to kiss him. "Thank heaven
you're better. I am so sorry you had to be"—and here she glared at
Damon—"so upset!"

"What the deuce," demanded Whitthurst, "are you doing here?"

"I followed you, of course," she replied, more than a little put out
by this attitude after all she had endured for his sake. "And might,"
she added, "ask you the very same thing. Really, Steve, of all the
foolishness, to go rushing off like that! You know you are not strong
enough to undertake so long and arduous a journey."

Damon strolled to the window and gazed out in silence. The Viscount
slanted an uncomfortable look at those broad shoulders and muttered,
"I'm sorry if you were put about, Chicky, I had no—" He stopped, seeing
the shocked roundness of his sister's eyes. "Oh," he said unhappily.
"Egad!"

Damon, turning from the window, quizzing glass raised, scanned the
furiously embarrassed Sophia with amused eyes, then excused himself and
left them. The door had scarcely closed, and Sophia's mouth was just
opening to chastise her brother for his use of that childish nickname,
when the Marquis stuck his head back in again. He levelled a meaningful
glare at Whitthurst. "Have a care, nephew! You will regret it if you
cross me in this—I warn you!"

"That villain!" cried Sophia as the door closed. "How
dare
he threaten you?" Her brother offered nothing more substantial than a
frown, and, a thought striking her, she asked a dismayed
"Stephen—you're not—?"

"Afraid of him?" he finished with a faint smile. "No. But— I never
missed my arm so badly! By God! I'd give all I have to have it back!"

"Of course, you would, love," she said sadly.

Still glaring at the door, Whitthurst went on as if she'd not spoken, "So I could knock that top lofty devil down!"

Mrs. Gaffney returned, pronounced the Viscount much improved, and
gave her sanction for the journey to Bodwin Hall, so long as they did
not depart until afternoon, and Lord Whitthurst rest after the drive.
Sophia was urged to go downstairs, have a decent breakfast, and then
get some sunshine. "For in truth, my lady, you look positively hagged!"
To the accompaniment of a hoot of laughter from Whitthurst, she took
this kind advice and made her way downstairs.

She found the Marquis alone in the breakfast room. He was slumped
back in his chair, coffee cup in one hand, the newspaper folded beside
his plate. It was a small fold, and she thought it should take him only
a few seconds to digest the information it contained, but he was either
a very slow reader or not reading at all because he made no movement,
continuing to stare downward, head bowed.

Sophia had donned her prettiest morning dress. Of white India
muslin, it had a low-cut bodice laced with violet ribands over a
pale-lilac placket. Puff sleeves were also laced from the shoulder, and
a straight skirt fell softly from beneath the high bustline. Damon
looked up as she entered, and she received a momentary impression of
unutterable weariness before he sprang to his feet, ushering her to a
chair.

"I have come—" she began as she sat down.

"Obviously," he said dryly. "Shall Whitthurst be joining us, ma'am?"

At once irritated, she was thrown off stride and blinked up into his
cold eyes. "Of course not! Mrs. Gaffney says he must rest this morning."

"A thousand pardons." He waited as she rejected the eggs, cold beef,
or haddock Thompson came in to offer and, when the butler had poured
her coffee and left the room, said, "I imagine you are anxious to make
your announcement."

Guilt caused Sophia to buckle her toast and spread jam on her thumb. "A-announcement?" she gasped, whitening.

He shrugged. "Your engagement to Hartwell."

At first inexpressibly relieved and then just as annoyed, she
stabbed butter onto her second piece of toast and said a frigid "I am
betrothed to no man, my lord."

"Really?" He had the gall to look astonished. "But—surely he's a
good catch for you, ma'am? Very flush in the pockets, I understand."
His thick lashes dropped after this insult, but the infuriated Sophia
knew somehow that he was still watching her and realized suddenly that
the provocation was deliberate. Shocked by that knowledge, she then
felt a new power and, smiling sadly, admitted, "True. But I am, you
see, a very foolish fool. I mean to wait until I meet the man I can…
love." The last word was very hard to speak. Especially looking
straight at him.

In an offhand fashion, he enquired, "And what if your— love—has no funds?"

Before, she would have lusted to scratch him for that. Now she
merely said meekly, "Why, then I must needs learn to sew and mend and
clean. And"—she darted a glance at him and finished with a dimple—"and
cook."

Damon stooped hurriedly to retrieve the serviette he contrived to
drop. When he straightened, he said a wooden "What a dismal prospect."

"Less dismal than being so vastly rich it is necessary to employ armed guards."

The hand that had been reaching toward a muffin checked briefly. The eyes that were turned upon her were totally blank. "Ma'am?"

"You have no need to dissemble. I saw one of your men last evening.
I must allow I was startled until Mrs. Hatters explained that you have
been bothered by thieves and vandals. Horrid. And you have quite
spoiled your muffin, sir."