Behind the Courtesan(21)

“But making supper?”

Sophia shrugged and placed both plates on the table. “The pie only needed heating and the bread didn’t turn out, so what I did do, I did poorly.”

“You shouldn’t have been forced to do it in the first place. I shall send one of my cooks over so you don’t have to do it again. A woman with your delicate nature shouldn’t be reduced to kitchen work.”

To delay her next words, to choose those words carefully, Sophia sat and made a show of organizing her floury skirts about her tired ankles. “You are very kind, Your Grace, but you needn’t bother yourself or your cook. We will get along, I’m sure.”

“That blackguard is probably just fine. He uses you to do his work.”

“His injuries speak clearly enough and I am happy to do it. After all, I was born in this village, I suppose that makes me a villager.” What she really wanted to do was take his snide attitude and choke him with it, but for the moment she would have to settle for reminding His High and Mightiness that she was a commoner. Even though she also hated to remind him of her ties to the town, perhaps that would be enough to keep him from returning to plague her with his presence.

The duke’s responding words told her she fought a losing battle. “Don’t be silly, you could never be compared to the likes of peasants.”

Biting her tongue on a sharp retort, she inclined her head and lifted a forkful of pie to her mouth. She needed to eat and then leave.

The duke had other plans. “How long ago did you leave this godforsaken place?”

“I have been away fourteen years.”

“So you knew my uncle then?”

Sophia almost choked. Knew him? God, how she wish she didn’t. How differently her life would have turned out. “Only in passing, Your Grace.”

“I asked you to call me Blakiston.”

“Of course.” Sophia couldn’t eat fast enough. She had to get out of there. Blakiston had barely touched his dinner. Instead he leaned back in his chair and regarded her with an interest that made her skin crawl.

“What made you leave?”

A change of subject was required. Yet swallowing was almost impossible as terror seized her limbs and heart.

“Would you live in this tiny village? Anyway, it’s a long and boring story and I would rather hear more about you. When did you take the title?”

A sigh of relief escaped her as he launched into a monologue about his life before inheriting and how mean his uncle had been before his death, but Sophia barely heard any of it. Her heart raced and her fingers grew so clammy, she nearly couldn’t hold her fork up any longer. It was bound to come up again, but the real story was only known by two other people and they were both dead.

And the truth would never come from her mouth.

* * *

Within hours of Blake’s forced convalescence, he was bored out of his mind. Within twenty-four hours, he was more than ready to end his own life rather than be still for one more minute. Forced to endure the sight of Sophia doing his chores from the corner of the kitchen where he sat. Forced to watch her carry water for the dishes and firewood to heat the water. It made his arms ache to relieve her burden. Sure, she protested that she was up to the task, but when her brow creased and she had to bite her lip from exertion, he would stand to help and she would stop him in his tracks with one raised-brow glare.

There was a difference between being stubborn and being stupid, and she didn’t seem to know where the line was drawn. He couldn’t even get away from her by spending time outdoors, since a thunderstorm raged around them.

“Damn pot,” she mumbled beneath her breath while scrubbing vigorously, delicate sleeves pulled past her tiny elbows as lightning lit the room through the open back door.

He’d had much time to study her over the course of the day. He’d never before noticed just how fragile she appeared. Her fingers and hands were dainty and elegant to the point where he was surprised she didn’t break bones doing the most menial chores. She may adamantly insist upon being up to the responsibility and in her mind she probably was, but physically, there were jobs she would have trouble doing.

“Did you muck out the pig pen today, Sophia?”

She must have forgotten he was there; her head snapped up and she pinned him with a glare. “Of course I did.”

“And the chicken coop?”

“Yes, Blake.” She puffed a lock of hair from in front of her eyes. “I did everything on the list.”

He smiled. There was no way she could have done everything. “What about greasing the wagon wheel? Did the rain make the job harder?” It was partly her fault that he couldn’t get about since she had sided with the doctor and he planned to make her squirm.

“All done. The rain was no hindrance. It did stop for a spell today.” She turned back to the large pot and continued to scrub.

Blake rose from his chair in the corner of the kitchen and hobbled over to her. “How did you do it?”

Her hands stilled for a moment, but then the scrubbing became more furious. “I had help.”

“Oh?” The flush on her cheeks betrayed that there was more to the story. “Who helped you?”

“Ah... Mr. McFarlane, Matthew, some lads from the village and Dominic. It was easier than I thought with so many hands.”

Blake gritted his teeth. “What were all of those men doing hanging around?”

“You underestimate the strength of your friendship with the villagers. I don’t think there’s one person who hasn’t raised their hand to help you. It’s one of the aspects of village life I’d forgotten.”

When she’d finished scrubbing almost clear through the bottom of the pot, she placed it upside down to drain and then reached for the next one, but Blake caught her hand mid-air. “And the firewood you chopped in record time?” He pulled her closer and turned her wet hand palm up to inspect her skin. “With nary a callus or blister or splinter?”

She went pink again and snatched her hand from his grip.

“What about the vegetables you pulled for the meal? Your hands or someone else’s?”

“Someone else’s.”

“I don’t want them hanging around you.”

She hung her head for a moment and sighed. “I thought we established that I can take care of myself, though you flatter me if you think they only stay for my presence.”

“You haven’t seen the way they look at you.”

She dropped the pot in the suds and turned on him. “You think I am blind? Deaf? Stupid? I know that the deWinter wife came here last night looking for her husband. I know she spat in the portion of pie he hadn’t yet finished and dragged him from the room by his ear. I know how the men look at me. I also know how the wives see me. Words do not hurt me anymore, Blake. If they did, I would be a bedlamite.”

He didn’t have a response for that. Words did hurt her. Or at least his had.

She must have taken his silence for anger as she forged on. “You have to understand that I just didn’t have time to do this without help. I did the pig pen first, gathered the eggs and fed the animals and then it was almost noon. I had to start the meals. Without their help, you would be starving as well as ornery.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I am not ornery, but I am thankful not to be starving. I don’t blame you for asking for help.” He did blame the ones doing the helping.

She sighed and reached for the last pot, but Blake stopped her again. “Leave that one to soak. You’re tired and you need to rest.”

“I’m fine, really.” But then her stomach growled loudly in the quiet space.

Blake’s brows rose as he stared at her. “Did you eat?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t have time.”

“I don’t believe that. You could have sat for a moment. I would have.”

When she turned from him and crossed the expanse of the kitchen to replace a ladle on its hook on the wall, Blake worried. Why hadn’t she risen to his jibe? He’d deliberately put it out there to test the strength of her bite, but all she did was walk away?

“What is it? If you’ve had enough, we can end this. I won’t hold it against you.”

“It’s not that. I wasn’t even thinking of your silly challenge.”

“What were you thinking about?” He wanted to ask what had suddenly put the sadness in her eyes and made her shoulders droop, yet he didn’t think she’d appreciate him voicing his concerns aloud. Even if his concern was for her.

“Blakiston.”

Anger rose pure and swift at the mention of his enemy. “You seemed quite taken with him last night after dinner.”

“Did I? Appearances don’t always tell the full story. You should know that.”

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy his company? He is a powerful and wealthy duke.”