Behind the Courtesan(16)

He heard the door of the conveyance open, boots hit the earth and the traces jangle as the horses shifted.

“And who might you be?” Frustration seemed to be replaced by curiosity.

Blake rose to his feet, worried about the black spots swimming before his eyes. Taking the few steps toward Sophie, Blake saw who stopped to offer them aid and swore.

* * *

Sophia itched to march over to the bone-head and kick him. What kind of man welcomed their rescuer with a string of vile, offensive curses? Did he think she wanted to stay on the side of the road with him?

Not likely!

Dropping a deep curtsey, Sophia tried her best to appear every inch the lady. If this man knew her status by birth, he would probably beat her out of the way with the ivory-handled walking stick he held. “My name is Sophia Martin, Your Grace.” She hadn’t missed the title the driver had so carelessly thrown about.

“And what kind of trouble have you come across?” The question was asked as the duke assessed first Blake, then their broken cart and then her. His gaze started at her toes and traveled slowly, insolently up, pausing at her chest, and then finally meeting her eyes.

Sophia remembered when Blake made much the same perusal. She narrowed her gaze in his direction before turning back to the duke. “I’m afraid one of the horses went lame and the other ran off. After spending the night on the road, I find myself eager for a warm bath and a glass of wine.” Sophia knew what she was doing perfectly well. The inflection she put on the word bath, implied she wished for company. She played with the devil not knowing whom she addressed, but faced with two evils, she would choose a stranger over Blake’s nearness any day.

“Oh, dear lady, of course I will offer you the sanctuary of my carriage. I expect the ambience will be improved with your presence.”

Sophia tittered. “Your Grace, you are too kind.”

“Ah, but you must call me Blakiston if we are to be traveling companions.”

Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. Resisting the urge to let her jaw fall open in shock, or to look to Blake to seek confirmation, she merely inclined her head. The presence at her back told her Blake had finally pulled himself from the ground.

“You needn’t risk the mud to your leather, Blakiston. Sophie will be quite fine here with me until the search party arrives.”

Ooh. Her foot itched again, only this time she would do more than kick his shins.

Blakiston didn’t give her the chance. “I’m sure the lady would rather join me than stay here in the cold with you.” His tone challenged, condescended.

“And I’m sure our searchers will be along any moment now, so you needn’t bother yourself. Why don’t you get back in your carriage and be on your way.”

The duke’s face turned a rather unbecoming shade of red, his lips tightened to a thin line and Sophia swore she heard his teeth grind together in his mouth. But then he closed the distance, his hand held out to her. “I believe the choice is yours, milady. Stay here in the cold with a barkeep or join me in my warm carriage for a glass of French brandy. I will have you back to your lodgings and in that hot bath before the lunch gong sounds.”

Oh, she played with fire. The way Blakiston’s charm oozed from his handsome mouth worried her, but she would surely kill Blake if she had the chance to have him alone right now.

“I would be eternally grateful, Your Grace.”

As she stepped toward the duke with the feeling akin to entering a snake pit, Blake’s hand shot out and gripped her arm hard. “Sophie, you can’t go with him.”

“And why not?” she asked through teeth gritted against a frustrated shriek.

“He is nothing more than a slimy worm. You are better than this.”

Sophia’s cheeks heated and before she knew what she was about, her free arm swung, her palm flat, and for the second time, Sophia slapped Blake’s face with all the anger he made her feel. Did he think she would perform sexual acts with a duke in his carriage for the pleasure of a comfortable seat back to the tavern? His tone implied that was exactly it.

Wrenching her arm from his hold, she turned to Blakiston, placed her fingers in his hand as if nothing had happened and let him lead her to his carriage and the promise of spirits. She could certainly use something to calm her nerves and her fury.





Chapter Nine



Sophia fumed. If she’d been elsewhere, she would have paced, she would have thrown her arms in the air and ranted like a lunatic. But she was here. Instead she had to keep the smile on her lips and charm the current Duke of Blakiston all the way back to the inn.

She clasped her hands around her bare arms in an effort to get warm and shake the melancholy that threatened.

“Are you cold, m’dear?” Blakiston asked, his voice charming, his manner not in the least bit threatening.

So why did she feel such a deep sense of impending doom?

“A little, Your Grace.” She watched as he stood, stooped and lifted the top of the bench seat he sat upon. He pulled out a blanket of rich maroon wool large enough to warm her entire body if she wrapped it around herself.

“Here you go.” The duke placed the blanket on her lap and tucked the edges beneath her legs. He was so close she could smell his cologne—an off-putting scent filled with enough sandalwood to make her nose itch—and his touch evoked yet more shivers, but this time of revulsion. Even though Charles was a very distant relative to the previous duke, the same blood flowed through his veins. Through all men of the Blakiston line.

Blake included.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I only hope my gown doesn’t soil the fine wool.” The mud had dried from her ruined dress, but sand and dirt still fell with only the slightest of movement. She didn’t like to think of the picture she made, blood and mud and dirt combined.

“Nonsense,” he replied with a wave of his bejeweled hand. “Can’t have you freeze to death just to save my linen.”

The intent catlike gaze he turned on her after he sat made Sophia squirm and pull the warm blanket to her chin.

“Would you like to tell me what you were doing there with that oaf?” he asked.

Sophia thought about her reply for a moment before deciding a lie would be far better than the truth. “I had heard of a milliner in Sheffield that I thought to visit, so Blake accompanied me. It wouldn’t do to travel about alone.”

“What of your carriage?”

Yes, why hadn’t she thought of that? “Blake had to collect supplies and they wouldn’t have fit in my small conveyance.”

“Pardon my ignorance, but are you good friends with the innkeeper?”

Sophia laughed out loud. “Friends, Your Grace? I would hardly count Blake a friend. I am staying at his inn for a short time is all.”

“So you hail from this part of the country then?”

“I grew up close to here if that is your question, Your Grace.”

“You don’t have to ‘Your Grace’ me, Sophia. You can call me Blakiston.”

She would rather not, but under the circumstances it was better than him offering his Christian name, so she inclined her head.

“What lures you from the comforts of London? I imagine the delights there are far more interesting than any you will find hereabouts.”

“Daemon is out of the city on business and my brother invited me to attend the birth of his child.”

“Your brother?”

“Matthew Martin.” She gave the name, but then wished she hadn’t.

“You’re that Sophia Martin?”

She swallowed hard. “I am.”

Blakiston reclined farther into his seat unknowing of the damage she had just caused. The village of Blakiston was the only place in the world she could hide herself from the eyes of London, but no more.

“Does St. Ives know you are visiting?” Blakiston asked, a small smile on his pale lips. She would have believed he merely passed the time and made conversation except for the smugness about him.

“He is not my keeper in all aspects, Your Grace. I do not have to inform him of my every movement.”

“If you were mine, I would want to know your whereabouts at all times.”

“Oh?” The sick feeling multiplied in the pit of her stomach.

Blakiston reached across the carriage and put his hand on her knee. She suddenly had the urge to kick a second man.

“I would want to know if I had to challenge any man who tried to steal you away.”

Sophia let out a strangled laugh, the lump in her throat made it hard to draw breath. “Daemon knows I can’t be stolen easily, Your Grace.”

He shrugged, removed his hand and reclined once again. “Perhaps there are those out there who don’t fight fair, who enjoy the thrill of a challenge?”

“Then there will be those out there who will be disappointed,” she replied, hoping that would be the end of it.