Romancing the Rogue (14 page)

Except the orange light of a cigar. Her eyes adjusted, and she discerned the shadowed outline of Sir Vorlay, standing on the terrace outside the drawing room, watching her.

Her instincts shrieked in alarm, and Sophia let etiquette fly to the wind as she called for Fritz. The furry prince
—
he arrived in record time, but leaping about and appearing far too jolly when she needed a menacing guard dog. At least Vorlay would understand her message.

Sophia shivered with discomfort and made a point of locking the bolt on the door when she reached the bathhouse after sending Fritz out to patrol. She set the lamp on a bench and made certain the curtains had been drawn closed over the front windows.

Scrubbing “rotting corpse”-scented whiskey from her skin could have taken all night, but she dared linger what seemed like only a quarter hour. Sophia bundled her toweling and toiletries. When she rounded the corner of the last partition, she halted and swallowed a cry of shock. Sir Vorlay stood before her, blocking the door to the bathhouse. With a twisted smirk on his face, he dangled a key in his fingers.

Reacting first on instinct, she yelled to the dogs as loudly as she could the commands, “
Wächter, kommt! Gefahr!
”
Guardians, come!
Danger!

Vorlay grimaced at her shouting then gloated. “Miss Duncombe. I have a message from your father.”

He stalked toward her, and Sophia’s heart sank as she felt the cold marble wall at her back.
Not again,
she vowed, anger boiling in her veins. Not again!

Sophia could already hear barking in the distance and knew she only had to stall Vorlay. She drew a breath to shout the commands again, but Vorlay sprang at her, dragging her to the ground. He tore at her robe. She lashed out with her hands and managed to scratch his face, drawing blood. Vorlay roared and snatched her wrists with one hand while he pummeled her jaw and shoulders with his other fist. Sophia screamed, and he slapped her on the mouth.

Through numbed lips she shouted,
“Kommt! Jetzt angreifen!”
Enter! Attack now!

Vorlay grabbed her by the throat. Each beat of her pulse fought against suffocating pressure. She felt Vorlay’s knees slam into her torso and part her legs, and her mind roiled in panic. The strong half of her conscience shrieked at herself to fight, to resist to the death. The other half merely ceased to function, transporting her to that night at the Eastleigh hothouse. One and the same, she recognized with detached horror.

On the edge of consciousness, she heard the welcome sound of shattering glass and a deafening chorus of barking and snarling. Vorlay lurched forward and released his grip on her throat as the dogs attacked from behind. She rolled away, gasping, her head spinning. The familiar sight of blood dripping onto the floor jerked her back to her senses.

Sophia coughed, and it made her throat feel as though it had been shredded by fork tines, which made her cough more and wheeze for breath. She concentrated on inhaling air, on pulling herself up to stand. Searing bolts of pain shot through her torso, nearly doubling her over. She wanted to curl into a ball until the flaming rays of nervy aching subsided, but she had to escape. A stinging pain in her side punished her with each shallow breath. Sophia shuffled to the door and wrestled it open when it seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, her ribs screaming under the strain.

She registered the gruesome spectacle of the dogs having their way with Vorlay. All four had answered her summons; Wilhelm had trained them well. Only seconds passed while she made a decision. Impossible to think clearly with her head throbbing and rage clouding her judgment, but she finally decided not to let the dogs kill Vorlay. One pinned him by the throat while the others mangled his limbs. He flailed and let out shocked gasps as the dogs bit and tore at him, tossing him about like a child’s toy. They’d smelled his malice and her fear and reacted with a frenzy.

She called to them in a gravelly voice,
“
Genug!
Haltet an!
”
Enough! Desist!

Somehow they heard her; the noise ceased, save for a few frustrated growls.

“
Hier ins Glied treten!
”
Form ranks here.
She coughed again then rasped, “
Folgen Sie und schützen.
”
Follow and protect.
The four guard dogs executed the orders with the precision of soldiers, making a diamond formation around her with Fritz at her right. She looked to see Vorlay groaning and bloodied, struggling to sit up. She turned in disgust and hobbled away from the bathhouse, one arm supported gingerly by Fritz’s tall neck.

She thought she would never reach the house. At the east door she paused to catch her breath and commanded three of the dogs to patrol. With the help of Fritz’s strong back, she made her way through the empty east wing of the house.

Faint chattering voices and clinking glasses came from the drawing room party. Wilhelm had probably gone down to host. At the moment, he was what she wanted most and least, a paradox she couldn’t process. She had to get to her room — the only task she could handle now. She was losing her composure, and next she would lose her mind. At her door, she pulled the lever and Fritz pushed it open. Sophia was grateful she hadn’t locked it, because she had no idea where she’d dropped her keys.

Her thoughts scattered. She fought panic, trying to regain control of her mind. She knew she needed to pack her things and flee Rougemont, but she couldn’t force a rational thought. A tiny voice in her mind ordered her to bolt her door. It was her last act of sanity.

She collapsed on the bed and allowed Fritz to join her. She tried to remain calm, but a year’s worth of pent-up terror washed over her. Her father had found her. He’d used one of Lord Devon’s friends to hunt and punish her. The devil himself could not be far behind.

She coaxed Fritz with words of praise in a shaky voice, and he let her hug his neck far too tightly. A small victory — no tears breached her eyelids, which were sealed shut. Sophia had already shed her last tear for Lord Chauncey. Her energy would be far better spent planning her escape. Plotting revenge would be even better.

She would go. Tomorrow.

On The Fallacy of Provoking Lord Devon’s Wrath

Wilhelm drummed his
fingers on the desk. So many matters out of place. The sum of them nagged his mind, his instincts prompting him something was amiss. His instincts had never been wrong.

Sir Vorlay behaved suspiciously. He’d left the drawing room early the previous evening but hadn’t returned. That morning the guards reported a vandal had broken a bathhouse window. As Wilhelm had investigated, he thought he smelled stale blood. Three of the dogs lumbered around, whining. Where was the fourth dog? If the pack had raised alarm over the intruder, Wilhelm hadn’t heard it, and that struck him as odd, too.

Twice he bolted from the room then forced himself back. He had to be sure. Agitated, he fingered the small set of keys he’d found under a bench in the bathhouse. Definitely Rougemont keys, but they could have been dropped days or weeks ago. Martin could try all of the bedroom doors until he found a match, but only a footman or housemaid would carry such a set, so why bother?

Sophia had yet to come down, missing breakfast and now luncheon. She had spoken through the door, saying her condition was severe today and she wanted to rest. She’d never been so ill before, and the timing seemed random. He knew little of such matters, but were a woman’s courses not monthly? She had refused to open the door. “
Go away, you insufferable man,”
had been quite clear.

Moments ago Sir Vorlay had requested his coach be brought to the east entrance, making his sudden illness the excuse. The
east
door
—
sneaking off. Wilhelm knew he only had minutes to solve this before Vorlay got away but couldn’t rush out like a madman, making vague accusations he had no proof of.

To hell with it.

Wilhelm jumped out of his seat, striking his knee on the desk and toppling the chair. He ran from his office, shouting down the hall for Martin. He remembered how Vorlay had provoked him over Sophia before. Vorlay had arrived unannounced and leered at her all evening long. Wilhelm had assumed Vorlay was still sore over Wilhelm losing his temper in front of the Crimean officers, but perhaps it was worse than that.

He barked at Martin to fetch Philip, who had just returned from London. The blood smell in the bathhouse, Sophia feigning illness —
No!
He cursed then silently pled with every variation of deity on every continent.
Oh, please not that!
He quit pacing and squeezed his temples between his hands. When he could bear the pressure no longer, he turned and smashed the clock hanging on the wall. He tried desperately to keep from imagining the worst, praying he was wrong. Not likely.

He must have looked rabid, because Philip chased him down the hall shouting, “What? What is it, Wil?”

He could barely form words over the heat of fury creeping over him. “I will kill him. Tear him to pieces.” Wilhelm stormed in the direction of Vorlay’s quarters.

“Who? Wil, what in blazes is going on?” Philip darted ahead and blocked the hallway. Wilhelm almost slugged him before he shook his head, grasping for clarity. He hated how his anger incinerated his control. Insanity. Yes, he was definitely unsound. “Phil, I need your help. I suspect Vorlay attacked So
—
Rosalie.”

Philip cursed a word Wilhelm had never heard him utter, raking his hands through his hair. Wilhelm charged forward then turned, uncertain if he should see to Vorlay or Sophia first.

Sophia. Right.

“By any means necessary delay his carriage. Bar the door, bind him to a chair, knock him unconscious — whatever. But don’t kill him. Vorlay is mine.”

~~~~

“Sophia, there is
no time for this. Let me in, or I shall ram through the door.” Silence. “This is merely a courtesy. I never bluff.” Shoulders squared, legs spread in a stance, deep breath in
—
Finally the bolt slid free.

Sophia cracked the door open and whispered, “I told you, I am unwell, my lord. Forgive
—
”

She started to close the door, and he forced it open.

Wilhelm gasped when he saw her. His stomach turned. Even though he’d instinctively known he would find such a sight, his knees went weak. Denial, utter travesty, sacrilege. Marks like this only had one cause. He went blind with fury, feeling it flush from head to toe in dark bloodlust.
Don’t frighten her.
He had to be the man she could trust. A source of calm and strength.

“
Why did you not come to me?
” He shut the door. Hands shaking with restraint, he pried away the fingers holding her robe shut at the neck. She made no resistance, paralyzed except for the fragile trembling in her hands. He worried with one wrong word or rough motion she would shatter. Had she been in such a dire state, alone, since the night before?

He moved slowly and muttered soothing nonsense as he would to a spooked horse. Finally she let him drop the robe to the floor, and she stood shivering in her shift, staring with hollow eyes. He brushed her hair over a shoulder and carefully tilted her jaw to examine the telltale finger-shaped bruises.

His vision flashed between black and red.
Oh yes, Vorlay was a dead man.

Only years of battlefield discipline kept his curses silent and his teeth clenched when his every instinct urged him into a rage.
He would take the bastard apart, piece by bloody piece, beginning with his stunted, putrid cock. Wilhelm would feed it to Vorlay, then do his worst.

Wilhelm shook himself and focused on her eyes. Pain. Anger. Exhaustion, fear, desolation. Tears welled, he saw her war with the urge to break down, a reaction to the trauma, now that she’d confronted it with him. He knew the process but feared she would sink into despair and not come out.

Strength,
he urged her silently, stroking down her temple.
Hold fast a little longer.
She seemed to understand, blinking back the tears and holding her chin higher.

He nodded his intention as he pushed the straps of her shift aside and examined the bruises pooling in black and maroon under her delicate skin.
Fists, like the marks on her jaw and cheek
.
Even worse, the shallow cuts on the edges of her cheekbones, jaw, and collar
—
her flesh split
from being smashed with the points of large knuckles
.
Thick swollen welts spaced evenly from her collar down onto the slopes of her breasts.
Claw marks. Her clothes had been ripped off.

Breathing in jagged gusts, he gently fingered her ribs over the fabric of her shift. She whimpered as he probed the right side but reacted with a sharp sob as he found where her ribs were cracked on the left side. He found he simply couldn’t venture any lower even though he was burning to know.

He couldn’t bear it. Wilhelm stepped back, shaking from the inside out. He could see what had happened to her, every excruciating detail.
How had this happened on his watch?
Wilhelm dropped to his knees and buried his face in her lap, clutching the folds of her shift. He moaned her name, he might have muttered something he would regret, but she didn’t react. He drew on her calm presence to ground himself, but his blood hammered a war cry. He wanted Vorlay’s head.

“Sophia, I am going to kill him.”

“No, Wilhelm, you are not.” Her body shuddered, but her voice came even and sure. He was compelled to listen through the fury pounding in his brain. Hearing his name on her lips was the fresh breeze of reason. He would do anything to hear it again. “This is not your fault.”

A growl roiled in his throat, but she silenced him with her fingers in his hair, raking gently along his scalp and teasing the nerves in his head. Luckily he was already on his knees; her simple show of affection moved the earth under him.

“There will not be any trouble, my lord. I promise. I will go away quietly, no one ever need know
—
”

That jolted him into action. “What? Oh, no. You are coming with me, right away.”

He whisked her robe from the floor and carefully arranged it over her shoulders. Sophia resisted his attempt to lead her by the arm. He heard a low snarl building and noticed the fourth dog, hackles raised, blocking the door.

“Hör auf,”
Desist.
Wilhelm growled back
. The dog danced on its paws, whining in protest. Damned thing was more loyal to Sophia than its master. Then where had it been last night?

“He saved me.” Her voice sounded scratchy. “I called the pack. They dashed through the window and attacked Sir Vorlay. Those German commands — they work.” She tried to smile but winced as it pulled on her split lip.

“Good to know.” So the sodding dog acted as her hero, while he had been floating his eyeballs in cognac.
I will go hang myself now.

“It could have been so much worse, Wilhelm.” She finally looked him in the eye
—
one swollen half shut, but still he saw her earnestness.

Could have been worse,
meaning she had been spared rape, or she was merely grateful to have survived? Until she offered the tale, he would never ask. Wilhelm closed his eyes, metered his breath, and waited for relief to cool his bloodlust. None came.

“My father sent him.”

“
What
?”

“Vorlay knew my name. He said my father sent him to deliver a message.”

Months of work — espionage, baiting, posturing, undone in an instant by a betrayal he had not seen coming. He would deal with that later, he reminded himself, forcing his calm façade into place. “And the message?”

“This
is
the message.” She gestured vaguely, sweeping down her body to indicate the gruesome beating she’d taken from Vorlay and winced again, probably having aggravated her poor cracked ribs. “Last time — the attack at home before I ran away, my father told Lowdry if he could get a brat on me, he could have me. I imagine he told Vorlay the same. If I fail to produce an heir for Eastleigh…” she trailed, grimacing.

Wilhelm already knew Chauncey had gambled away money tied up in the estate. A son by Sophia would break the entailment, giving Chauncey legal authority to liquidate the assets. Apparently Chauncey wanted an heir — and thereby the money — at all costs. What kind of a man did that, farmed out his daughter for breeding like a common mare? Plotted to steal the inheritance from his own grandson?

“I will handle your father later.” Temper heating, Wilhelm’s mouth went bitter with disgust.
Patience.
“Vorlay’s crime against you is unforgivable. He must be dealt with.”

She furrowed her brows then gasped. “No! Oh, Wilhelm, please, that isn’t
—
”

“All right. For you, I promise to have mercy on the bastard.” He folded her in his arms, pressing her gently against his chest, mindful of her injured side. She didn’t seem to notice his omission of not defining
mercy.
He cradled her head in one hand and brushed down her back with the other. She fell to pieces, sobbing with a sound like heartbreak.

Wilhelm carried her to the rumpled bed and sat with her in his lap. Long minutes while she wept and he did his best to comfort her.

“Just let me go.”

“Never.”

“I want it to all go away.” She muttered
Never again,
over and over, then clutched his shirt in tight fists and struck her forehead against his chest, angry.

It spiked his own anger. He had justice to serve. He reached to pull the cord and summoned Martin to fetch Philip. Sophia shouldn’t be left alone.

Philip strode through the doorway, took one look at Sophia, and cursed. “Bloody hell.”

Wilhelm caught his eye and warned him to silence, gesturing for Philip to take his place. Sophia was in a fragile state.

On impulse he went back to kiss her forehead, praying the Sophia made of fire and steel, the woman he had come to adore, was not lost to him. No inferno in hell would burn hot enough for both Vorlay and Chauncey if Sophia had been broken. He couldn’t bear it.

He gave Philip a curt nod and Philip nodded back, communicating he understood Wilhelm’s intentions. The dog whimpered again, anxious.
“Folge,”
Follow,
Wilhelm ordered, deciding the guard dog could have its turn with Vorlay. It had earned the right. The dog, as well as Philip, accepted what Sophia was either too frightened or too charitable to comprehend: an enemy so evil, once thwarted, would never rest until he exacted revenge. Wilhelm had to act first. It was the only way she would ever be safe from harm.

The long walk to Vorlay’s quarters allowed time for his cold assassin’s mien to engulf him completely. His vision saw only black and white, necessity and truth. He would try his utmost to take no satisfaction in this, but what was one more ghost among the crowd?

Wilhelm found the door and threw it open, striding in heavy steps with the dog flanking him in an attack stance. Vorlay had experienced Philip’s nautical handiwork with rope, bound immobile to a chair. A spindly old man, presumably Vorlay’s valet, frantically worked at the knots with a penknife, unaware of the company.

Vorlay wriggled an arm free and swatted the man aside. “Devon! What a relief. You would not believe what I have been through. That Cavendish nephew of yours
—
”

Wilhelm interrupted, pointing to the valet. “You, man. Your name.”

Vorlay seemed puzzled by the cold, flat tone of Wilhelm’s voice.

The valet wrung his hands. “H-Hanson, my lord.”

“Hanson. You will now depart in Vorlay’s carriage and deliver a message to Chauncey.”

Both men startled at the mention of Sophia’s father.

Wilhelm paced casually around the chair, palming a blade against his thigh. In a move so swift the others flinched, he sliced off Vorlay’s index finger, signet ring and all. Vorlay screamed like a woman, rolling his eyes as though he might pass out.

Placing the stump in the valet’s vest pocket, Wilhelm added blandly, “Inform Chauncey the rest of Vorlay will arrive shortly.”

The man blinked, stuttered, and Wilhelm barked, “Go!”

Hanson abandoned Vorlay, who writhed in horror, gaping at his bloody hand. Wilhelm nudged the door shut with his foot. He allowed a full minute of silence for Vorlay to contemplate his end. No need for theatrics — Vorlay knew what Wilhelm was capable of. The dog growled, riled by the scent of Vorlay’s blood, provoked by his obvious show of fear.

“You are stark raving
mad
, Devon!” He jerked against the ropes. “Let me out, and I shall forgive the matter of
—
”

“Did I ever tell you how the Russians perform an execution? Pouring liquid metal down the throat is my personal favorite, but I remember you once told me you deal in
quid pro quo
. You deserve no less.” Wilhelm twirled the knife in his fingers as he spoke, spattering Vorlay’s face with his own blood.

Vorlay seemed to swallow his tongue before blurting, “This is preposterous! I am a baronet and an officer! You have no right.”

Wilhelm laughed in low, emotionless chuckles. He used the same knife to cut through the ropes one by one until Vorlay shook off the coils and clambered out of the chair. Wilhelm tossed him a loaded pistol and stepped back ten paces, leaving Vorlay puzzled and bleeding all over the gun. The fool didn’t see a duel coming when it hit him over the head.

“You know I’m above the law, Vorlay, and I can make you disappear.”

Vorlay wet his lips and begged, “Old friend, brother
—
”

“I might have forgiven your betrayal to Chauncey, but the moment you laid a hand on my woman, you signed your own death warrant.”

“But he said
—
”

“For her sake it will be swift. Contemplate that as you burn in hell.” Wilhelm looked down at Vorlay, studying the man’s eyes, but Vorlay couldn’t stand to hold his gaze. Guilt, but no remorse. Fear. Contempt. He would try to shoot any moment now. “Your move, Vorlay. Strike first. I gave you the only pistol.”

“You have no idea what you are trifling with, Devon. He will have your head. Then the little whelp will wish she had me, after what
he
has in store. Chauncey is
—
”

Vorlay raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger in a poor attempt at a surprise attack. Wilhelm threw the knife with a small flick of his wrist, lodging it in Vorlay’s throat before he pulled the trigger all the way back. He sank to his knees, eyes wide with shock.

“A dead man,” Wilhelm finished.

He left the blade where it lodged and muttered a command to the dog, allowing it to finish the task. Fritz dove for Vorlay’s neck in a torrent of growls, ripping and yanking as he’d been trained to do with an enemy. Once Vorlay’s foot quit twitching, Wilhelm called off the dog, wiped his hands on Vorlay’s coat, and left the room. Martin would handle the rest, another old brother-at-arms and one of the few souls who knew all about Wilhelm’s sordid government activities. Martin would not be pleased, however, with the blood pooled on the carpet and spattered on the walls.

Wilhelm retreated to his office, threw open the window, and vomited. Justice might prevail, but it always took its toll. This time it was worse, because it was personal. He couldn’t seem to cloak his mind in oblivion. When had the ice in his veins melted? And while he could find no satisfaction in the deed, neither could he feel regret. Only the familiar taint of bloodshed. He looked at his hands clutching the window sill, disgusted with the smeared blood.

How could he ever touch her again?

A travesty, since his next task was to go upstairs and convince Sophia she had to marry him, today. If he were a man to fear God, he might beg forgiveness. Alas, his penance would be to pass every day atoning for it.

If he made Sophia happy in some way, it would be enough.