Behind the Courtesan(24)

Once the tea was served and the general atmosphere less hostile, she retrieved her basket of medical supplies and went in search of Blake. Regardless of how she felt about being close to him, his health had to take precedence over her embarrassment. Perhaps after their moment in the yard, he would have forgotten the previous night’s lack of self-control on her part.

Raised voices from his office indicated he wasn’t alone.

“You have to do something about that bridge,” a male voice complained.

Sophia paused in the corridor, eager to hear what Blake’s reply would be.

“There’s nothing I can do about the bridge and you know it. We had this conversation last summer and the autumn before that and still the bridge stands.”

“It’s different this time. The creek turns into a river with every passing hour and the footings are under pressure from debris from farther up stream. If something happens, half the town would be cut off.”

“Only four properties line that side of the river and I’m sure they’re all more than prepared for a few weeks without access to the village. The ground’s higher over there than it is here, Fred. We should be more worried about the river bursting the banks and taking out our crops and us with it.”

“The duke will be furious if we can’t provide him with his vegetables.”

“Fuck the duke,” came Blake’s reply. “He should have had that bridge rebuilt. If we lose, then so should he.”

“A couple of the men have been talking about digging a few extra trenches for runoff in case, you know...”

Blake’s sigh reached her ears. Whoever the man was, he wouldn’t leave without knowing what Blake thought their next move should be.

“If the rain keeps falling, we’d all be better off moving valuables to higher ground. If that river goes, nothing will stop it, not trenches, not anything.”

While the days had been relatively clear since Sophia’s arrival, every evening the steady tattoo against the tavern’s roof sounded well into the night.

Thank the Lord the night they’d spent by the side of the road had been only freezing and not miserably wet as well.

To save Blake another question, Sophia thumped her feet against the floor boards to feign arrival and pushed the door wide.

“Oh.” She stopped short and forced surprise to her face. “I didn’t realize you were with someone.”

“Sophie, this is Fred Thurgood. Fred, this is Sophie Martin.”

Sophia summoned her brightest smile and shook the hand Fred held out for her. “A pleasure to meet you, Fred.” She didn’t bother correcting Blake or telling Fred that her name was Sophia.

“And you. I’ve heard a lot about you and your skills in the kitchen, little lady. Reckon I might stay on for lunch.”

The next smile she gave Fred she didn’t have to force at all. “Then stay and eat. But you must tell me what you think of the pie. I tried something new.”

Blake’s attention snapped to her. “New?”

She nodded and dropped her basket on his desk, her confidence returned. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t like surprises, Sophie.”

“You don’t like anything, Blake.”

Fred laughed and left the office with no more questions of compromised bridges or rain, but that left Sophia and Blake alone. Alone in a space that suddenly seemed far too small to hold both of their temperaments.

“You don’t need to check my ribs anymore. I’m feeling much better.”

“You are not a good liar,” she told him as she laid out a fresh bandage and the salve the doctor had given her for his cuts and grazes. The fact it stung until Blake hissed through his teeth gave her a small measure of satisfaction.

He harrumphed, but took his shirt off when she gestured. Her breath caught and for a few moments, she forgot to breathe again.

“Does it still look so bad?” Blake asked, trying to twist his body so he could see halfway around his own back.

Sophia shook her head. It certainly wasn’t his healing ribs that made heat pool in her middle when she touched his warm skin. The man was built for hard labor and it showed in every inch of his muscular frame, tight skin and tanned arms.

She was in trouble.

“Is it safe to ask what you’re thinking?” Blake said quietly.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, passing the bandage from one hand to the other. The deep breath she inhaled was full of Blake’s scent and it didn’t give her the space she needed to come up with a good lie. “Uh, the bridge.”

“The bridge?”

“I was wondering why Fred comes to you about the bridge and not the duke.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Sophie. He comes to me because I’ve lived here forever.”

“He values your opinion more than that of a fellow villager.”

“He, much the same as the others, couldn’t make a decision if the answers were written in stone before their very eyes.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, unconvinced.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You need to work on your lying skills.”

“Not a trait I would like to become known for,” he commented. “Do you lie very often?”

“It’s almost a prerequisite for living in the city. And yes, I know when to fabricate, when to reveal and when to bluff.”

“You sound like the perfect card player.”

“Life in London is a gamble.”

“I thought it was oh-so-glamorous.”

“Those were your words, not mine.”

“You truly do enjoy it, don’t you?”

“It?” Her hands stilled, the beat of her heart was the only sound to fill her ears.

“Living in the city.”

She exhaled in a whoosh accompanied by a shaky laugh.

“What did you think I was asking you about?” Blake said, a wounded hint to his tone.

Sophia lifted her eyes to his and half shrugged.

It took a moment, but then full realization filled his eyes and he edged out of her reach. “Oh, good God, no. That I do not want to know about. Daemon is my, uh, friend of sorts. You are my... Please don’t say any more words.”

You are my... What? What was she? Their awkward truce and close proximity meant that their friendship might be back on track, but full friends? The way they used to be? Sophia wasn’t even sure that was possible. The fact that she wanted to jump into his lap each time he took his shirt off was bad news. Add to that, the fact that his smell and taste still lingered in all her senses.

She had to think of something else. Perhaps provoke him into another fight, go back to the way things were before the accident. She certainly had to see less of his naked body and find a way to keep her hands to herself. She should have told him about Daemon then and there, but it was neither the time nor the place nor any of his business.

“I thought you said you barely knew the Duke of St. Ives?” At least that’s how she remembered that conversation. She had just hit her head and had the fright of her life when the subject had been broached.

“He has stayed at the inn a time or two.”

“Why?” In the few years they’d been intimate, Daemon had never mentioned traveling to Blakiston or business with either duke, current or previous.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know what goes on between one duke or another.”

“You could at least try to be convincing.” She chuckled. She doubted a thing happened within ten miles that Blake didn’t hear of eventually. She would have to ask Daemon about his connection to the area. He didn’t have to tell her everything, but she didn’t like surprises and coincidences ranked even lower.

“If we’re done here, I have the books to go over.”

With her head in the clouds, she’d almost forgotten he sat without his shirt. She had to stop doing it to herself. Had to stop the feast for her visual senses. Perhaps keeping busy, finding something else to do with her hands, would help.

If only there was an easy way to turn off her thoughts.

* * *

By day seven of their agreement, Sophia had the kitchen running smoother than ever with the help of Dominic’s sister, Maria. Despite what the townsfolk had previously thought of a courtesan cooking their dinner, her confrontation with the women seemed to have significantly thawed most attitudes. Offers for help flowed from all quarters of the village.

If only they didn’t flow from the Duke of Blakiston. He was an ever-present thorn in her side. Every day he’d come and every day she’d taken tea with him, chatted, exchanged niceties until her cheeks hurt from the effort of forcing smiles. She should have tried harder to discourage him, to make it plain she didn’t wish for his company, or his sly questions and barely concealed innuendo. In the back of her mind she knew she only did it because Blake hated his attention to her. The moment Blakiston stepped into the tavern, Blake turned surly, childish, angry, and for some reason, Sophia enjoyed baiting him.