Behind the Courtesan(17)

He shrugged again. “You are in love with St. Ives then?”

Hers was an easy answer. She may no longer share his bed, but St. Ives was her friend no matter their relationship status or station difference and she owed him everything she had left. “I would give my life to him if he so chose it.”

“Such loyalty,” he muttered with a shake of his head. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back against the squabs.

Sophia quietly exhaled the breath she hadn’t known she’d held and relaxed a fraction. So many lies told in such a small amount of time. She often wondered what the devil would do to her for her thousands of untruths when her time came to answer for her sins. But it was part of her existence.

It had been four long months since she had enjoyed a man’s touch, since she had enjoyed Daemon’s protection. Now she was on her own. With a little bit of luck Violet would soon have her baby and give Sophia a reason to back out of her ridiculous bargain with Blake. Then she could begin to consider the rest of her life. Contrary to what the ton believed, it had been she who had separated from Daemon. Discovering that she was pregnant had quickly put an end to their affair and given her the hope of a new beginning. He’d handed her a very large sum of money and extracted a promise to be kept up to date with the child’s progress.

But then the worst came about and she was forced to creep back into his life. Offering him his money back days after losing the baby had nearly destroyed her mind. It probably would have had he been a lesser man and reclaimed the money. Instead, he had folded her into his arms and held her as she’d cried, promising her that things could be different for her now. She was wealthy enough to be independent. To never have to rely on her charms to put food on the table or a roof over her head.

She had never before been in that situation and had had no idea where to start. It was why she had sought the comfort of her old home, of her brother, while she sorted out her mind.

As she peeked at her companion beneath her lashes, she was mightily glad of St. Ives. If men like Blakiston were to be options, she would have become a chambermaid long ago. Luckily she was adept at handling unwanted advances. It helped that her reputation had been upheld by St. Ives. According to the papers, she’d managed to land the Earl of Whitcombe on his back with only one hand after he pawed her. The real truth was that St. Ives hit him, but unless Whitcombe wanted to be hit again, he would leave the truth alone and let the lies do their work. Her career was based on lies, her friends having put it out that she had more experience than most practiced courtesans. It was a large gamble and her first protector, Noah, had seen through the fabrication at their first “meeting.” But after she risked all and poured her story out to him, he took her in and showed her what it was like to truly be touched, to feel passion, to try to let go of some of the scars and move on.

It didn’t happen often to women like her, but she had been cared for. After Noah, she’d had her pick of fine but lonely gentlemen. If she treated them right, they treated her to houses to live in, money and gifts of jewels and trinkets. She couldn’t say it was an ideal life but she had lived. Survived to fight another day.

No thanks to Blake’s ancient horses and a road not fit to walk on, let alone drive a carriage or cart. She could have broken her neck in the accident. They both could have.

The man’s insults did nothing to blunt the desire she felt when close to him, when watching the dance of his muscles, the mischievousness in his grin, the tilt of his jaw.

But Blake had more erratic mood swings than a fishwife.

Sophia shook her head and bit down on the end of the tongue. Why did her mind always come back to him? Why couldn’t she see him for the bitter man he was, take his insults for what they were and flee back to London?

Because Matthew needs you.

She barely contained a snort. No one needed her. Violet certainly didn’t need her help. Matthew wanted her there, but he didn’t need her. Daemon didn’t need her. Blake didn’t want her. That much was blatantly obvious in the way he looked at her, as if disgusted by her even sleeping in his inn. She was yet another problem to be dealt with. She wasn’t sure if it was a man thing or a Blake thing.

There she went again. Thinking of Blake.

She knew all his faculties weren’t straight this morning when they’d woken. The startled look in his eyes and his jerky movements showed he hadn’t meant his actions even though they’d caused him pain. She really hadn’t even been angry with him, she’d been furious with herself for reacting to his touch. A touch that made her burn. But it had felt so good. He had felt so good.

Even the roughness of his hands provoked sensations she hadn’t experienced. Each and every callus on his fingers and palm had scratched at her skin, sending pleasure shooting right to her sex.

Damn him! Damn him for making her enjoy his touch, for making her want him to touch her again. For if the truth were told, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel the texture of his unshaven face against her cheek, across her stomach, the inside of her thigh.

“You’re looking a little flushed, m’dear.” Blakiston’s voice startled her out of her reverie.

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling quite the thing right now, Your Grace.”

“Not surprising. It must have been rather cold and lonely out there last night.”

The implication in his tone sent a shiver up her spine. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

She was saved from any further conversation when the driver slowed the horses and announced they had arrived at the inn. Sophia looked out at the mud-covered ground and sighed. Her gown and shoes were already ruined. But Blakiston had his own agenda.

“Allow me, Sophia.” He climbed down from the carriage with surprising speed, bowed and then held his arms out for her and all before his driver had even jumped down.

“Your Grace, I can’t... You can’t. I’m filthy.”

“Nonsense.” He stepped closer. “And I asked you to call me Blakiston.”

Had his voice risen a notch? Perhaps it was her imagination or simply fatigue that made her see more in his gallant action than was actually there.

“Thank you.” She let the man pick her up as though she weighed no more than a picnic hamper. Each slow step he took through the drying mud made his arms tighten around her until she was positively crushed to his chest.

The door to the tavern burst open and Matthew’s brooding face appeared in the early morning light. Sophia couldn’t have been happier to see him or his anger at that moment.

Blakiston stepped over the threshold and released her legs, causing her body to slide against his on purpose. Involuntarily her arms tightened about his neck to keep her balance. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she stepped away and mumbled her thanks, eyes downcast.

“Any time you are in need of assistance, Sophia, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Blakiston, I shall keep that in mind.”

From the corner of her eye she noted Matthew watching the exchange. His expression went from brooding to furious at the use of her Christian name and the almost pleasant way she responded. Sophia barely held her groan in check. There was going to be a lot of explaining to do.

“I’m very grateful for your assistance, but now I think it is time I retired.” She turned from the knowing grin on the duke’s lips to her brother’s obvious concern. “Matthew, Blake is still out on the road with the broken cart, he needs a rescue party of his own.”

“The wagon’s hitched and ready to go. I believe thanks are required, Your Grace, but I’ll take care of my sister now.”

Blakiston raised his thin brows, flourished yet another of his overdone bows and retreated to his carriage.

Sophia sagged and fell heavily into the nearest chair. Suddenly her head ached abominably and her stomach felt hollow and sick.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell happened? Why were you with Blakiston at this time of the morning and what happened to Blake? Where were you last night?”

“One question at a time, Matthew, I have the most horrendous headache.”

Once the words passed her lips, the events of the night and morning caught up with her and her bottom lip trembled. Hot tears pricked her eyes but she willed them back. She was made of sterner stuff than to cry when she was whole and healthy and safe.

“One of the horses went lame and we had to shoot him. The other horse ran off, so we were stranded.”

“Why didn’t you walk back?” Matthew asked, suspicion still front and center in his eyes.

“I think Blake may have broken his ribs and he lost a lot of blood.”

“Christ! Are you all right?” Matthew finally took in her ragged appearance, the nasty gash on her head, how pale she must appear.

She nodded. Nothing a bath, sleep and a new coat of dignity wouldn’t repair.

“How could you leave Blake out there?” There was no question of why he hadn’t come back with her and Blakiston. There was no way Blake would get in that man’s carriage even if his life depended on it. Rot him anyway, she thought. It would do his ego good to think about his situation and his treatment of her. Never mind that being alone would also give his temper time to heighten and burn out.