Behind the Courtesan(18)

“His injuries are not life threatening and someone needed to get word to you.”

Matthew raked a hand through his hair and then pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. “I was worried about you.”

For a moment, she stiffened and wanted to push him away, and then in a moment of pure exhaustion and vulnerability, she melted into him and hugged him back. “You needn’t worry over me,” she whispered. But never had the words sounded so hollow in her life. For once, just once, she was glad someone worried for her. Maybe there was a person in the world who loved her still.

* * *

Blake scowled when he saw Matthew’s wagon approach. It was obvious he hadn’t hurried out to find him. Damn Sophia and her tears. She probably got back and spun a fine story about how he pawed her and shouted and drove her to get in a carriage with that slimy weasel. Her lips would have trembled and a fine show would have been witnessed by all.

His scowl was accompanied by a growl.

“You took your sweet time,” he called when the wagon neared. Two old nags trailed behind while Matthew and the bar hand, Dominic, rode up front.

“I can go back and leave you here if you want,” came Matthew’s laughing reply.

Laughing? Why wasn’t he facing him down with a pistol in his hands over his sister’s honor? “Damned if I want to spend another night like this.” His ribs were on fire and the multiple cuts and scrapes pulled at his skin to remind him how much of a sorry state he was in.

“You should have come back with Blakiston.”

“Is Sophia all right?” Blake asked despite knowing he shouldn’t care what went on between her and the Duke of Slime.

“Sophia it is now? I thought you were only going to call her Sophie?”

He shrugged. “Slip of the tongue. Is she all right?”

Matthew nodded and set to work untying one the nags from the lead ropes. Dominic was already at work on the other. There wasn’t much he could say when the boy was there too. He would not give yet more fodder to the gossips by talking about Sophie behind her back.

It took a good half an hour for Matthew and Dominic to move Monster’s body far from the road. They shouldn’t just leave him there, but dragging the once majestic horse back to the inn would be of no use to anyone. Blake was forced to watch as they pulled on ropes tied to his body and the harness he still wore. Once he was far enough from the roadway, Blake said his final goodbyes to the old boy, then went back to his wagon.

Dominic sat on the driver’s bench with the two horses already crudely hooked up and ready to be gone. Blake checked that the makeshift preparations would hold and then went to climb up beside him.

“You ride with me,” Matthew called.

“I’ll ride with the boy,” Blake called in return as he gritted his teeth against the pain that would come once he grabbed a hold of the cart.

A warm, firm hand came down on his shoulder, stopped him from jumping up.

“You can’t seriously mean to be jostled around on that seat all the way back?”

Blake turned to Matthew and knew by the look in the other man’s eyes that this was a battle he’d already lost. He didn’t have the energy to protest. All he really wanted to do was lie back down on the ground and sleep for a day or more.

“I suppose not.” He let Matthew help him into the back of the wagon, where a makeshift bed had been thrown down on the timber boards. He would have put up a fight at being treated like an invalid, but it felt so good to finally relax. How had he thought sitting on a driver’s seat a good idea?

Matthew chuckled again and climbed up. He took the reins and rolled on slowly as the pair set their own speed.

“You never answered my question,” Blake reminded him after a few minutes.

“She’s fine. Blakiston made quite a show of carrying her into the inn, which should set tongues wagging for a while to come. Apart from the dirt and that scrape on her head, she says she’s fine.”

Blake tensed. He wanted to meet Matthew’s eyes, but couldn’t quite raise himself to his elbow. “Blakiston’s not there with her now, is he?”

“So what if he is? The two of them obviously know one another.”

“They do not.”

“He called her Sophia and she called him Blakiston.”

“I knew I should have stopped her.”

“Yes, you should have,” Matthew said as the first hints of anger crept into his voice.

“And how would you have stopped her?”

“Any way I could have. Blakiston is a toad—”

“Worse than a toad,” Blake interrupted.

“Worse than a toad. He is going to come back to see her.”

“Did he say that?”

“He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes as he stared at her, he’ll be back. I’d bet my baby on it.”

“You don’t have to go that far.” Blake laughed in spite of his anger. Some of the finely wrought tension left his body but the motion stung his side so he had to pause before drawing his next breath to continue. “Sophie can look after herself.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Matthew said, the line of his back sitting up straighter.

Blake remembered the way her palm had cracked his cheek, the shock wave it had sent through his body. The little minx would be fine even in a fight to the death. “She has slapped me a few times since her arrival.” If she kept it up, he’d have a permanent imprint.

Matthew laughed loud and long, slapping a hand to his thigh. “Did you deserve it?”

Blake smiled and closed his eyes, remembering the fury that fired those slaps. “Of course I did.”

“Sophia isn’t as tough or as strong as she makes out,” Matthew said, sobering in an instant.

Blake knew that too.

He just wished she did.





Chapter Ten



“I’m coming!” Matthew’s voice yelled from beyond the kitchen.

The sudden sound made Sophia jump and she only just managed to suppress a shriek as she stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the tap. When he came into view, Sophia cleared her throat to let him know she was there since he walked with his head down, eyes on the floor.

“Ah, there you are.”

“Here I am.” She didn’t know what else to say. Had Blake told his side of the story yet? She knew the longer she hid, the worse the situation would become, but she was a coward and it had taken a nap and a bath before she had the courage to show her face. Seems she needn’t have bothered. There wasn’t a soul around. Where were the patrons? Where was Blake?

Bang, bang, bang, bang came from the closed door leading into the tavern. She hadn’t heard the thumps when coming down the stairs, but Matthew must have.

“Where is everyone?”

“Blake is in his office with the doctor. Could you please go and try to talk some sense into him while I tell the village dinner will not be served.”

“Why?”

“Blake refuses to see just how injured he is and wants to go about business.”

Sophia stepped forward. “No, I meant why will dinner not be served?”

“Sophia, he may have broken ribs and he certainly has a head injury that affects his balance. Blake couldn’t walk a straight line, let alone prepare a meal.”

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“What?”

Bang, bang, followed by, “Open the door!”

“I will cook the meal.”

“Don’t be silly, Sophia. You can’t do it.”

“And why not?” She tried to hold her foot still but her traitorous toes tapped and gave away her frustration.

“Don’t give me that look. I know what you think you can do, but it was a long night for you too. You need to rest and so does Blake.”

She touched her fingertips gingerly to her hairline. “You have no idea what happened out there.” If he did, he wouldn’t stand and argue.

“We can talk about this later. Wait there and I’ll tell these men to go home and eat their wives’ cooking for a change.”

She didn’t wait to hear what Matthew said next, didn’t wait to hear the villager’s responses, angry or sympathetic, over Blake’s convalescence. This perception they all clutched to so tightly that she was useless grated on her nerves and made her furious in more ways than Blake’s insults alone.

Bursting into his office, she was about to tell him exactly that but then she stopped dead, the breath stalled in her lungs.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” the doctor assured her in a rough Scottish accent.

“Don’t tell her that,” Blake said with a frown.

A multitude of black, blue and purple bruises covered his side, back and shoulders and what Sophia had at first assumed a graze must have been deep enough to be stitched, the thread almost camouflaged by discolored skin on all sides. The fact he sat with only a blanket over his lap, hairy legs swinging from the edge of the desk, barely registered as she took another step into the room. She couldn’t take her eyes off his torso, not because of the injury or his nakedness but because she didn’t want to meet his eyes.