Behind the Courtesan(22)

“Wealth does not buy you manners,” she snapped.

“Did he say something bad? Sophie, did the duke do something to upset you?” He waited to the tune of his own thumping heart while his hands curled into fists. He’d always known the current duke was a blackguard. Thunder shook the walls as though it agreed with his thoughts.

“It’s nothing he did.”

He calmed a fraction but even with his ribs still hurting like the devil, he wouldn’t hesitate showing Charles what he really thought of him. He schooled his face to a gentler emotion and followed Sophie from the kitchen back into the now empty common room.

He watched as she fidgeted with chairs and cleaned imaginary crumbs from the tops of already clean tables before he spoke again. “What is really worrying you?”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Another thing I won’t understand?” He said the words softly but couldn’t keep the hurt from them. “There was a time when we could tell each other anything.”

“Those days are long past.”

“They don’t have to be.” He stepped to her side, caught her wrist in his hand when she made to walk away. “I hate this distance between us, Sophie. You can tell me what’s on your mind. I promise I won’t judge.”

She shook her head, her gaze on the floor.

Blake crowded her against the wall until she was forced to look up at him. Her blue eyes sparkled with tears and she bit her lip until the normally pink bow turned pale.

“What is it?”

“Yesterday...”

God, she was trembling. He let go of her wrist so he could pull her close and wrap his arms around her. The shock from their accident must only just be settling in and because of his injury and his convalescence, she hadn’t had even a moment to herself all day. “I’m sorry. You’re working so hard and caring about everyone else, but no one is caring for you.”

“It’s not that,” she sobbed.

He tightened his embrace and tried to swallow past the unfamiliar lump in his throat. Did he push her too hard? Let her do too much? In the back of his mind he knew he still punished her for leaving. He would never say it out loud, but he wouldn’t let her continue to do his work if she was going to fall apart. He wouldn’t be held responsible for that.

She pushed against his chest and met his eyes with her own. “You could have died.”

Thump-thump went his heart against his ribs again. What?

“You could have died and the last words we shared were nasty and hateful and I would never have had the chance to take them back.” By the time the words were out, she cried in earnest.

“Died? It was just a little accident, Sophie.”

“It was not,” she cried.

“Sshhh. I’m right here.” He gathered her back into his arms.

“I know.” She sniffed against his collarbone. “But what if you weren’t?”

“You don’t even like me.”

She leaned back again, shock written all over her beautiful face. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

He could understand that. “Could we start again? Could you forget that I’m a pigheaded oaf and just be my friend again?”

“Can you forget who I am?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her once again who she really was, but it wasn’t the time. “I’ll never forget who you are.” When she made as if to wrench herself from his grip, he softened his tone, pulled her closer again so they were nose to nose. “You’re the woman who saved my life, who gathered firewood and kept me warm. You fixed me when you should have kicked me and left me on the road to die. I know who you are and I’ll never forget that. Neither should you.”

This time when she pulled free, she didn’t turn and stomp away. She didn’t slap him or shout abuse. She raised her hands and placed them on his cheeks and whispered, “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

And then the damndest thing happened. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe or blink or have time to react before Sophie pressed her lips to his. If it was comfort she sought, he would ensure she received it.

When she melted against him, smooth, liquid honey in his hands, Blake put his arms back around her and pressed his body to hers. When she angled her head, he deepened the kiss, and coaxed her lips apart so he could truly taste her. With the gentlest of pressure, he walked her back a step until the dining room wall brushed his forearms. She threaded her hands into his hair and moved against him until all he could think of was her. He could smell her, taste her, feel her and he wanted more. So much more.

His lids were only half closed when the darkened room around them lit with the power of lightning and thunder shook the walls a scant second after. The booming sound of it made Sophia jump with a gasp, stealing the air from his lungs, her blue eyes wide, her breathing heavy.

He looked from those sparkling eyes to her swollen lips and back again, his hands running the lengths of her arms from her fingers to her shoulders as though he could calm her sudden skittishness.

She stared at him for half a second longer and then with a muttered, “Oh my God,” stepped from his embrace and turned her back.

“Sophia?”

“That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

Of course it should have happened. “Why not?”

“I... I’m so sorry, I can’t do this.”

Blake didn’t say a word. He let her run up the stairs, her door slamming just before thunder once again shook the inn.

He shook his head and looked heavenward. What had he done?





Chapter Twelve



All night Sophia castigated and tossed and turned and called herself ten different kinds of fool. Why had she kissed him? Why did he have to be nice to her right when all she wanted to do was fight? At least if they were fighting, she wouldn’t think of his strength and safety. His half-naked chest, his comfort when she’d needed it the most, his cheeky grin and smug shrugs.

Damn her traitorous body! It really wasn’t her fault that she craved human contact once in a while. It had been months since she’d been held intimately. When Blake had wrapped her in his arms, the feeling was so much like coming home. Then the events of the past few days had caught up to her and she couldn’t stem the flow of emotion. What had started as her needing comfort had ended with her hands in his hair and her back against the wall.

In the early hours of the morning, when she beat the stuffing around in her pillow in an attempt to get comfortable, she blamed her vulnerability on him. It was all Blake’s fault that he made her feel. Why couldn’t he tease and taunt and fire her fury? It was a better alternative to this!

Sophia had learned very early in her career as a courtesan that feelings were simply not the done thing in London. If she was happy she had to look nonchalant. If she was sad or angry or homesick, she had to appear nonchalant, bored even. Overeagerness would lessen her value and seeming not eager enough would cast her as coy. Even here, a place she should be able to express her emotions, she could not. She wondered if perhaps all the years of switching them off had somehow broken them. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t decipher her own mind?

By breakfast her eyes were scratchy and swollen. She’d slept barely a wink. She’d given up and risen early to see to the animals in the barn, gather the eggs and cut enough bacon for the morning meal and the pie she had to prepare for lunch.

After returning the rest of the bacon to the icebox, she chopped wood for twenty minutes until her muscles burned and her breath came in short pants. But even looking over her shoulder constantly, even with the distraction of waiting for someone like Roger to amble along, she still couldn’t get the taste of Blake from her mouth. She couldn’t forget how he’d filled her senses and scrambled her thoughts. How could she face him over coffee? How would she work when he sat there in the corner of the kitchen watching her every move? It was impossibly complicated. She thought about hiding. A headache or some other feminine malady would help her avoid the whole damned situation. But she had meals to make and at some stage over the day, she would have to get close enough to check his wounds and change his dressings since the doctor had been called away.

With a deep sigh, she dropped the axe, picked up the poorly hacked timber and carried it to the kitchens through the washroom door.

Surprise filled her when she finally gathered the courage to look toward the chair perched in the corner. It was empty. All day yesterday, Blake had sat in that chair and stared at her. His gaze had drilled into her shoulder blades until she’d wanted to scream and send him to bed.

Her cheeks warmed at the vision of Blake in bed.

Sophia pinched the skin on the inside of her wrist to snap herself out of the sudden breathlessness that claimed her. To blame it on anxiety would be lying to herself.