Behind the Courtesan(25)

She did not enjoy Blakiston. He was relatively nice, on the outside, but on the inside, there was something not quite right. She had hoped talking about Daemon and the chores constantly that he would give up on her and leave, but that never happened. She could not risk making a most powerful enemy by turning him bluntly away.

And so she found herself pouring tea, talking of the weather and wishing her gown rose all the way to her neck rather than just above her décolletage. It didn’t matter what she wore, the duke always looked at her as though she were naked.

“What have you planned for this evening?” he asked with his customary lecherous grin on Friday morning.

“Oh, this and that. You know how it is when you are running a business.” Every chance she had, she reminded him that she worked. Whether it was the tavern or her life as a courtesan, she worked. Hard.

“Why are you running this business still? Surely with your...capabilities?” He paused, drew out the moment until Sophia wanted to grab it in her hand and shove it down his throat, and then finally he continued. “This is so beneath you.”

Sophia shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what station you are born to, Your Grace, when a friend is in dire need, you offer your hand and help.”

“But this? What would St. Ives say?”

She nearly bit the end of her tongue off to stop the reply she longed to slap him with. She was her own woman. St. Ives had never owned her. “He would roll up his sleeves and lend a hand, I’m sure.” Another lie.

“Hmm,” he mumbled, picking his tea cup up and sipping loudly. He had the table manners of a pig.

“What are your plans, Your Grace?”

“There is a barn dance this evening that I thought to attend, but if you won’t be there, I mightn’t bother.”

“Do you usually attend such events?” she asked as though it should have been beneath him. She would bet her favorite bonnet barn dances were not his thing.

“Every now and then the people must see me as a person. They have to think me their friend otherwise their loyalties will start to slide.”

“Slide where?”

“It doesn’t matter where. An estate is not productive if the inhabitants do not have the proper respect and fear of their leader.”

She almost choked on her tea. Fear yes. Respect? Never. She’d heard the ‘inhabitants’ of the village talk about their duke and none of it was nice.

“You don’t agree?” he asked.

“Of course, Your Grace, what would I know about the internal mechanics of village life?”

“Well, you did used to reside here, did you not?”

“That was a long time ago. I am much more accustomed to city life now.”

“So you’re not back to stay?”

“Only one more week, hopefully.” Which was a lie but she didn’t want to give Blakiston an accounting of her movements. The baby could come tomorrow or it could come in three weeks. But then what? For the moment Matthew wanted her there, but what about after the birth? It’s not as if Matthew or Violet would need her. Blake, however, did. He still couldn’t lift a pot or chop fire wood or make beds. But even her usefulness at the inn would come to end when he was healed.

“St. Ives will be thrilled to have you back, I’m sure.”

The statement held more questions than any other Blakiston had uttered so far and she wondered whether to answer or feign innocence.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry or be impertinent.”

She almost snorted.

“You have to understand I’m curious to know what he thinks of his lady love rusticating in the country while he stalks around the city on his own.”

“I hardly think one such as St. Ives stalks, Your Grace. As to our understanding, that’s none of your business or anyone else’s.” Even though most of the ton thought it theirs. Her name had been mentioned so many times in the gossip pages, she’d given up writing angry letters to the editor. She was very happy the columnists hadn’t yet heard the news that she and St. Ives had parted ways. She had a feeling Blakiston would have been so much more dogged in his pursuit of her if he had been armed with the knowledge.

“I understand. I’m sorry to pry. Please say you’ll accompany me to the dance.”

“Too late, Blakiston. Sophie has agreed to accompany me to the dance.”

Blake stepped into the room without knocking on the closed door first. “I have?” she asked.

“Provided you finish the chores. We can’t have you enjoying yourself too much.”

Her jaw dropped and she just stared. Was he serious or was he baiting the duke to rise to her aid?

The duke didn’t bother standing, just looked Blake up and down and twisted his lips. “You don’t look injured at all.”

“And you don’t look like a barn dancer.”

Blakiston shrugged. “A man can change his habits, especially when there is a beautiful woman involved.”

“Perhaps,” Blake mused.

He looked as if he would speak again, but Sophia beat him to it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. There are chores to be done if I’m to dance this evening.”

Over her dead body. She would drag out the chores until the rooster crowed on Sunday if she had to.

Barn dances and public engagements with women and children were not places she wanted to be. Blake and Blakiston fighting over her as though she were a trophy to be had and men staring at her would only add to her discomfort. She would probably trip over her own feet and break her neck. There would be no dancing for her. Not with a tavern owner or a duke.





Chapter Thirteen



“I think I left something on the stove, we had better turn around and check.” Words Sophia had never thought to utter under usual circumstances. Her knees almost knocked together beneath her dull gray gown, she was so frightened.

“You did not leave anything on the stove. You didn’t leave the axe anywhere near the path where someone could fall over it in the dark and for the last time, the piglets will not starve if you are not there.”

Sophia grimaced. She was out of excuses but so far none of them had worked anyway.

In the end, she’d dressed in her plainest gown, tied her hair back in a simple knot, squared her shoulders and stepped from her room.

When she considered how terrified she was on the carriage ride to Blakiston, how she feared a pitchfork-bearing, stone-throwing crowd, this was worse. Far worse. Even though Blake had only just handed her down from the cart, Sophia already felt the eyes of the judgmental, the frowns of the disapproving and the sharp sting of rejection.

She inhaled until she felt it all the way to her stomach and then exhaled slowly.

“You will be fine. You are Sophie Martin. If you remember that, you will be more than fine.” Blake squeezed her hand and towed her toward a barn where music, laughter and light spilled out into the wet night. As much as she didn’t want to go inside, they couldn’t stand there waiting for it to rain. Even the elements worked against her.

“I can’t do this, Blake.”

“Can’t go into a room full of people enjoying themselves? Or can’t be Sophie Martin?”

She bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t Sophie Martin anymore and they both knew it. She was, however, no longer Sophia Martin either. She hovered somewhere in the middle of an e and an a.

Of one fact she was most certain. She wasn’t a frightened mouse. She was a woman who had fled her domineering, greedy father to start her life anew still bleeding and battered from the ordeal. She was a woman who stood on her own two feet and didn’t let anyone or anything concern her. Least of all a silly little barn dance.

Her heart skipped a beat.

It didn’t matter how many times she told herself, she couldn’t quite believe the words.

As Blake pulled her through the wide doorway, Sophie tried to pull back, tried to come up with a plan, another excuse, anything, but by then it was too late.

It seemed every face in the room turned toward her, her breath hitched, her mouth dried and she actually flinched, hiding her face behind Blake’s shoulder.

Before she had a chance to process what happened, why no stone bit her skin, why no nasty whispers reached her ears, she was folded into the embrace of more women than she could count. Men kissed her cheeks, ladies squeezed her hand and a whole village thanked her for being there for Blake when he needed help. Some thanked her for keeping Blake out of the kitchen, some thanked her for cooking delicious meals and others thanked her for a friendly smile over a soup bowl. Even Annie smiled in her direction.

Finally, after being passed around the room, she ended up next to her brother.

“Did you do this?” Sophie asked.

“I had nothing to do with any of it.”

“It must have been Blake then?”