Behind the Courtesan(13)

Blake could well believe she didn’t want to know her real identity. It might scare her into doing something drastic. In her society world where the sun shone every day on her happiness, had she lost sight of what it felt to be a real person? He wondered how long it had taken to talk herself into this level of veritable blindness. He wondered at the necessity for such an illusion.

There was a moment in her past that created that fear. He saw it in her eyes, in the tense line of her body, especially in the way she hesitated before getting close to him. Even before climbing on the bench with him in the cart, she’d eyed him warily as if to measure the chances he would grow a second head and attack her once they were out of town. But fear was nowhere to be found now as she tended to his injuries.

These tiny flashes of fear filled him with sadness, another factor that made her Sophia. Another stone of guilt to add to the pile that dragged at his shoulders. It was partly his fault that she’d run away. Not in any literal sense, no. His guilt came from her not knowing how deeply he felt about her all those years ago. Perhaps if she’d known the full extent of his love—that he would have laid down his own life for hers—she would have come to him, told him of her father’s plans. He would have run away with her. He would have taken her all the way to freedom and safety if it meant she hadn’t been alone.

A shiver worked its way through his body as the sun dropped lower behind the clouds. It was going to be a cold night.

Blake struggled to get to his feet. When he put his left hand on the damp ground, his ribs screamed in pain and he had to bite his tongue against crying out. He tried with his right. When there was only a slight pull from his grazed skin, he pushed up until he was back on his feet. For a moment the countryside swayed around him, black spots swam in his eyes, but then the horizon settled and he took first one step, then another, putting his ruined shirt back on as he went. His body would be sore come morning.

Ensuring he made enough noise that she would know he was there, Blake approached Sophia where she perched on the end of the buckboard. He held out his right hand. “Truce?”

She sighed, lifted her watery blue eyes to meet his.

“Do you think we can call a truce?” he asked.

She shook her head and jumped from the cart as a blush tinged her cheeks. “All we do is fight. Do you think we are capable of a ceasefire?”

“I think we have to try to get along better. It’s likely we’ll be stuck here all night and—”

“I beg your pardon?” The tension that usually held her rigid returned as she arched her neck and looked down her nose at him.

“No one will even know there is something wrong until morning. Even then, they might assume we were delayed and decided to stay in Sheffield for the night. Dominic knows what to do if we don’t return on time.”

Misty knew her way back to the tavern and the warm barn. If she arrived without the cart strapped to her back, a search party would be organized, but they wouldn’t be able to set out until morning. The dangers were too high to blindly grope about in the dark. Especially on a road that hadn’t seen a repair in years. Damn Blakiston’s laziness.

“We’ll have to build a fire against the cold and a shelter in case it rains.”

“We can’t...” she stuttered. “I can’t stay here all night.” She whirled around and started to walk. “If we go now, we’ll make it in a few hours.”

“Sophie,” he called after her. “It’ll be at least three hours until you reach Blakiston on foot and full night in less than one. There are dangers in traipsing about the countryside in the dark.” He didn’t want to add to her anxiety, but nor could he walk back to the inn in his current state.

She stopped, turned back to glare her haughty glare. “You will protect me. Now come along.”

He shook his head, ignored her imperious command. “I’m not walking anywhere. I hurt, I’ve lost too much blood and I know ’tis pure folly. I’m going to find wood for a fire. You may do as you wish.” As he turned his back, he knew she debated ignoring him and forging on, but he guessed it would have been a very long time since she’d been alone in the wilds of England. By day the pastures and fields may look innocent enough, but by night foxes prowled for their dinner, wild dogs, bats and more he didn’t even want to think about, foraged. At least with a fire and the protection of the cart, they stood half a chance.

He stepped over the ditch at the side of the road but lost his balance and fell to his knees with a strangled cry of pain.

In the time it took for the agony to subside and his vision to clear, Sophie was instantly at his side, her small hands around his shoulders. He was more hurt than he had planned to let on.

“You shouldn’t have moved so quickly,” she admonished, her gaze snapping this way and that, presumably searching for a suitable place to push him back on his arse.

“I’m fine.” But the way he hissed the words through his teeth once again belied any conviction.

“You most certainly are not fine. You will sit and I will collect wood for a fire.”

“What?”

“I do know how to find sticks to start a fire, Blake. I have not forgotten everything from my childhood.”

You could have fooled me. He bit his tongue on the smart retort. He knew she would worry less if she was kept busy, so he inclined his head and let her lead him to the back of the cart. He was then forced to watch as she stepped off the road, scouring the ground as she went.

In no time, she found kindling to get started and then went back for larger pieces. By the time she returned again, Blake had dug three blankets from beneath the softer fruit—cushioned so as not to spoil and bruise with every bump in the road—and draped one over Monster’s back. One he wrapped about his own shoulders and the other he placed in his lap to warm for Sophie. They would have to spend the night leaning against the dead horse but what remained of his warmth would keep their teeth from rattling when the cold set in.

When finally she sat next to him, the fire a warm glow against her pale skin, Blake knew she must be exhausted and freezing. He placed the blanket on her shoulders, felt the stiffness of her back as he smoothed it over her arms and tucked it around the edges of her skirts. “Now is not an ideal time for maidenly sensibilities, Sophie.”

She relaxed a fraction, her hands outstretched over the small flames, and let him come closer. They would have to rely on each other this night to stay comfortable. Though the way she bit on her bottom lip in consternation worried him. He didn’t break the silence. Let her be the one to vent what was on her mind. For sure as he drew breath, she had something to say.

“Do you really think we can have that truce?” she asked into the darkness, her head turned away so he couldn’t accurately read her eyes.

“Only if we can agree to be civil.”

“Agreed,” she said as she turned her face back to the fire.

Awkward silence descended once again until Blake felt compelled to take advantage of their unexpected isolation. Perhaps this was the time he needed to discover who she had become. The faces she let everyone see were not hers. They were all masks and he desperately wanted to pull them away so he could see her.

“Tell me more about your infirmary,” he prompted.

She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture that was so much more Little Sophie and a lot less Sophia than he’d seen from her in the past three days. “I was very ill not long after I arrived in London and I had no money for a doctor. My friends took me to the infirmary where I was nursed back to health. As I got better, I helped where I could and now I give back to those who helped me.”

“But you aren’t a doctor or a nurse.”

“No, but I can bandage, stitch wounds, play with children who are sick and in need of more than their parents or guardians can offer. You have no idea what it’s like in London. People lie down on the side of the road and never get back up again in the poor quarters. No one should ever have to be that alone.”

“I’m shocked.” And that was an understatement. He could picture her in a white apron bent over a child with a skinned knee crooning words of comfort more easily than he could picture her in a ball gown laughing with a lord.

Was this the her he wanted to find out about or was it yet another front to make her decisions easier to live with?

* * *

Sophia smiled for the first time in hours. She was glad to shock him. Every time she tried to convince him there was more to her than her courtesan status, he mocked or huffed or openly disbelieved. He didn’t know the half of it. She wouldn’t label herself a philanthropist, but she did help as much as she was able. What more could she do? Sit back and watch as children died because the most basic aid couldn’t be found? Mothers lost babies because they didn’t know the difference between a fever and a disease. Men lost their lives because they were too stubborn or poor to seek help. The infirmary had saved so many. They had saved her when the pregnancy she had tried so desperately to hide in those early days had gone terribly wrong and nearly killed her. The memories of her first miscarriage, the fever that followed and the fear that even after everything she had already gone through, she was going to die anyway, would stay with her forever.