Behind the Courtesan(20)

When she finally made it into the warm, safe confines of the kitchen, she leaned against the bench and took several deep breaths.

Dominic entered the kitchen with Mr. McFarlane not far behind him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I am. Thank you.”

Mr. McFarlane sighed and dropped the load of wood he held. “He didn’t... Well, he didn’t do anything did he?”

“Roger? No. I really am grateful that you came along. Thank you.”

“You should not be outside on your own.”

She smiled at the kind man. “I will remember that.”

“Sophia?” Dominic was tense as he also dropped firewood into the box by the hearth. “His Grace just arrived. He says he won’t leave until he sees for himself that you are ‘unharmed from your nightmarish ordeal.’ But if you aren’t up to it, I’ll tell him to leave off.”

Sophia groaned. Dominic laughed.

Only five hours had passed since she had rolled her sleeves up and dived into flour and herbs, but it felt like ten or even twenty. The hair on the back of her neck was plastered to the skin there and itched abominably. She longed to lay her aching head down on a pillow and sleep.

What was the Duke of Blakiston doing back again anyway? She needed to rest. At least that’s what she’d told Dominic to tell His Grace if he asked after her, because they both knew he wasn’t there to quench his thirst with bitter ale.

“I can’t let him see me like this.”

“Why not,” Dominic asked with a shrug. “Perhaps if he sees you with flour on your face and suds on your dress, he’ll be disgusted and leave you alone.”

If only it were that easy.

“He’s in the dining room and has ordered supper and a glass of brandy.” The way he turned his nose up as he said brandy made Sophia chuckle.

They had reached an easy camaraderie, she and Dominic. He’d warned her when the men heard she was in charge for the night, none had left. In fact more had arrived and she doubted it was her skill with bread that kept them so late. Her first meeting with the men the day of her arrival had gone badly enough for her to not wish to repeat it and the incident just now told her she should probably stay in the tap.

She almost wished Blake was there now to send the duke away. But then she was being silly. She didn’t want his kind of protection. The kind that would see her stay in her room and never venture out.

Blakiston was still under the assumption that St. Ives was the one doing the protecting and while he was, she would be relatively safe. Only she had a feeling he was going to ruin her night completely. If she didn’t talk to him, he might deign to come looking for her and if one man did, what would stop any other from the notion? Roger had obviously thought it all right to seek her out.

Her stomach chose that moment to growl. She did have to eat and she owed the duke her thanks for bringing her home that morning. She went to the bench where her flat bread lay and cut two thick slices from it, making far more mess with the flour than was necessary until the front of her once burgundy gown was almost white.

Memories of another time a messy appearance had saved her came to mind. She had only been accosted on the streets of London a handful of times and had actually been thankful that she had been at the infirmary tending a head wound earlier in the evening.

When the much bigger man had approached her on the street, he suddenly dragged her into an alley and threw her on the ground. All the kicking and screaming in the world hadn’t helped her. Fear held her immobile as he’d torn the front of her coat open, buttons popping and fabric tearing. Here was another man who wanted to take what she hadn’t freely given. When he reached her bloody gown he’d paused, his own hands now tinged pink. It was long enough for her to retain her wits as he stared. Long enough for her to grope around until she found a solid lump next to her hip. She still wasn’t sure what she’d hit her attacker with as she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her. But whatever it was had at least temporarily laid him low. From that day, she spent the coin on hacks and didn’t wander the streets. Perhaps she would arm herself with a heavy object next time she had to collect firewood?

Or perhaps she could hit the duke in the head with a plate if his behavior stepped over any lines.

Satisfied with her appearance, and that Blakiston would be suitably horrified that she looked more like a scullery maid than a courtesan, she left the safety of the kitchen and approached the dining room.

“Sophie?” Blake’s voice stopped her when she walked past his office. He was supposed to be resting in his bed. God, she hoped Dominic hadn’t already told him about Roger. He was like a mother hen when he thought any man got too close.

She considered pretending she hadn’t heard Blake speak, but their truce was still fragile. “Yes?” she replied as she stopped in the doorway but made no move to enter.

“How are things in the kitchen?”

“Things are just fine, you needn’t worry.”

He began to chuckle, but then hissed in a breath through clenched teeth, and muttered something that sounded like a curse.

“Can I bring you something?”

“New ribs?”

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “I’m afraid that is not on the list of my talents.”

His gaze narrowed but not with anger or suspicion, more curiosity. “I have to admit your list of talents is growing.” So Dominic hadn’t told him anything? She breathed a sigh of relief.

“No, it isn’t. When I told you I could do it, I wasn’t talking with my ego. I truly thought I could.”

“And you have.”

“A few days hardly counts.”

“All the same, I owe you my thanks.”

Her cheeks warmed as she broke eye contact and stared down at the tray in her hands. What could she say to that? His praise wasn’t unfounded, she had done a good job tonight, but all the same, it was unexpected and he shocked her with his open honesty.

“Is that my supper?” he pointed to the tray.

“Blakiston is here to check on my welfare.”

All was silent for a long moment forcing Sophia to look into Blake’s stormy gray eyes. She didn’t like what she saw.

“He will see I am fine, I shall do my duty and share a meal with him and then he’ll leave.”

“And then he’ll come back again and again.”

“No he won’t. I’ll make it clear that he can’t.”

Blake snorted. “You can try but I’ll wager this inn he won’t listen.”

“Careful, Blake, you seem to be in danger of paying me another compliment.”

“A fool would have to be blind to miss your beauty, Sophie, and the duke may be an ass, but he is no fool.”

When her cheeks warmed this time it had nothing to do with the compliment, more to do with embarrassment that they would speak so openly. “What will it take for you to believe that I can look after myself when it comes to men?” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

His lips pressed together in a thin line, but he didn’t answer.

“If that is all, I’ll take His Grace his dinner and then get back to the kitchen to tidy up.”

“Be careful.”

“I always am,” she replied before turning from the threshold. What she should have said was that she always would be from then on.

“Sophie?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“I know you can look after yourself, but if you do need assistance, scream.”

“I will.”

She didn’t have to look back to know he would be happy with her answer, but she had no intention of screaming for help. She’d done that before, for three long days until her voice was hoarse. It hadn’t helped her then.

Outside the dining room, Sophia paused and shook her head free of thoughts of the past. It took some effort to lift the edges of her lips into a smile, but she did so before knocking softly and entering.

“Sophia.” He rose from his chair. “You look... Well, you look...”

“Filthy, Your Grace? I am sorry to have to greet you thus, but I didn’t have time to freshen up.” Only half a lie but the duke was still fixated on her floury gown.

“What on earth have you been doing?”

“Preparing the evening meal.” She almost smiled when his lip curled with distaste.

He sputtered for a moment before asking, “Why?”

“Blake is on bed rest for the remainder of the week and couldn’t do it himself.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Someone must and he is my friend.”

“I thought you said you weren’t close.” His expression was full of suspicion, of disgust.

Hmm, she had said exactly that. “It is my fault that we were on the road yesterday and my conscience was rather loud about making some recompense.”