Behind the Courtesan(36)
He wasn’t the kind of man who slept with his friend’s paramour. He certainly wasn’t the type of man to sleep with his brother’s woman. But Sophie had been his first. Not in the flesh, but he had loved her long before St. Ives had “saved” her. Blake snorted and dropped the axe once more, the sharp crack only just distinguishable above the steady patter of rain.
If the old duke had asked Blake to find the woman he’d wronged, Blake would have brought her home. He wouldn’t have offered her a position in his bed. Not as his mistress anyway.
He leaned over and hefted half a tree branch, resting it between two stumps. As he lifted and dropped the axe, rendering the useless limb down to kindling, he kept thinking what it would have been like to have Sophie by his side all these years. Even if he became a duke now, he couldn’t have her. Despite Daemon having offered her marriage, they both knew it took more than even love for a duke to marry his mistress and certainly not a courtesan. It had been done but Sophie would be whispered about and the title would be eternally plunged into scandal. Generations of his future family would be tainted.
But what of her? What of Sophie? There was nothing he could do for her.
It wasn’t him. A duke wasn’t who he was. He was the boy delivered to his uncle as a child and beaten into a man. He was the boy who had been told so many times how useless he was that he almost believed it.
When next Blake picked up another log, water dripped from his fingertips, mixing with the sweat he would be covered in if it weren’t for the still falling rain. He wished the droplets would wash away his troubles. But nothing could eliminate the truth. No matter how hard he denied it, he preferred instead the safe life he’d built.
That’s what she did.
He supposed, but it was different. At least his safe illusion didn’t hurt anyone. Hers hurt her family, her friends, the woman she could have become.
Blake shook his head and tipped it back, cold rain washing over his closed eyelids. Damn her and how she made him think.
“I’ve been looking for you,” a voice called from his left.
“I’ve been right here.” Blake shrugged, then swung the axe with more power than he truly felt.
“Sophie told me some interesting tales this afternoon.”
Blake swallowed, dropped the axe and turned to his oldest friend. “Oh?”
Matthew returned his gaze—wary, hesitant, unsure of how to proceed. Blake’s stomach dropped. Well, here it was, the lecture he’d waited to receive, that he needed to have in order to bring him back to reality. Funny that it should be Matthew and not Daemon.
“She told me you are Blakiston’s real heir, not Charles.”
His head snapped up so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t fall over. “What did you say?” Matthew should have said, “How dare you sleep with my sister and then treat her like that!” or something along those lines. He should call him out, punch him in the nose or throw him in the dirt. Not this.
Matthew stepped forward. “You were supposed to be the Duke of Blakiston. How could you not tell me?”
Lie, his subconscious breathed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t give me that rot. I asked you to be the godfather to my child because you are an honest, trustworthy man, who would make an excellent role model. I didn’t know then that the deception went so deep. How could you never tell me any of this?”
Blake flinched from the anger in Matthew’s voice. “I didn’t tell you because it isn’t true. Where did Sophie hear this?”
“She heard you with your brother. Don’t cover your lies with more lies. Now would be the time to tell the truth, Blake, and hope to God that this village doesn’t turn its back on the one man who could have made life so much better all these years.”
“It’s not as easy as that.” But that was also a lie.
“Tell me you aren’t Blakiston’s legitimate son. Tell me you were truly born on the wrong side of the blanket and I’ll tell Sophie she was wrong.”
He heaved great lungfuls of frigid air as his hands fisted at his sides. How dare she? From the moment she’d stepped foot in his yard, she’d tried to ruin his life. How could he even for one moment think she could be his other half?
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Matthew before turning on his heel in the mud and storming toward the kitchens. He had to make sure Sophie kept her mouth shut and her meddling to herself.
* * *
“How could you never have breathed a word about your relationship with Blake?” Sophie decided the direct approach was the only way she would have the answers she needed to complete the puzzle.
“Blake and I are friends, but I have a feeling that’s not what motivates your question.”
Sophie wandered around Daemon’s room and folded the towel he’d left draped over a chair. What a perfect picture of domesticity they made.
“I overheard you and him talking this morning.” She didn’t have to look in his direction to know he’d frozen to the spot.
“What exactly did you hear?”
“Enough to know that Blake and you are brothers and that he is indeed the heir to the dukedom.”
“You heard all that?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “What are you going to do with this new information?”
“No, Daemon. What are you going to do with the information? Why are you really here and why did you purchase almost every one of Blakiston’s horses?”
Daemon dropped into the chair before the cold hearth and beckoned for her to sit as well. She did so, even though her anxiety rocketed higher with each and every question that sprang to mind. There were so many.
“Charles is in deep to some very nasty men. The auction was the quickest way he could acquire the funds to flee England.”
“I don’t understand. Why does he not ask the Crown for help, or his friends? Surely a loan would put him back on the straight and narrow?”
“He has no friends in funds and the King has already helped as much as he is prepared to. Charles owes money to so many men, even if the estate and title could be sold, it wouldn’t even be a drop in the ocean to his creditors.”
“But what has this got to do with Blake? Why do you bring it all up now?”
“We’ve known who we are to each other for about a decade. My mother considered herself in love with the old duke until he showed his true colors and almost ruined her life. St. Ives paid no heed to her in the early days of their marriage and didn’t particularly care when one of his oldest friends did. Discreetly of course. Discretion is the middle name of the ton. If it weren’t for the secretiveness of the upper echelon, duels would have wiped half the aristocracy from the country.”
“And you wouldn’t be in the position you are now.”
“Heard that too did you, minx?”
“Why aren’t you angry with me?” He should have been furious, but instead he sat with his ankle on his knee, his hands steepled before his chest and a thoughtful look on his face.
Daemon shook his head, leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. “I’m not angry with you, because it is a wasted emotion. It is you who should be upset with me.”
Sophie covered their clasped hands with her free one with a sinking stomach. She wouldn’t pretend she didn’t understand the tone in his voice. “I could never be upset with you. You have given me more than I deserved, more than I would have thought to ask for.”
“What will you do now?” he asked.
“I’ll wait for my niece or nephew to be born and then I’ll go back to the city and pack my things. I don’t belong there anymore and I suddenly find I want more than can be found in London.”
“What about your friends and the infirmary. You enjoy working there.”
Sophie shook her head. “In a way I always thought the clinic needed me but they only need my money. Well, our money. I can donate from anywhere in the country. I think in truth it was me who needed them. A way to stay connected with both the lives I lost. As for my friends, they only need to know that I’m safe and happy.” Safe and happy in Blakiston? She wondered if that were truly possible.
“But will it be enough for you? Rotting away in the country?”
Sophie laughed at the irony, at him using her own words. It felt like a lifetime ago since she’d spoken them, so much had changed. “I believe I shall cope. Violet will need help with the baby and if she lets me, I should like to be a real aunt, perhaps even a friend.”
“I think she would like that.”
“What about you? What will you do about Blake?”
“I intend to set to rights the wrongs we have all wrought.”
“How are you going to do that, when he so adamantly refuses to take the title?”
“He can reject the name and title as much as he wants, but he will have to make an official decision. He isn’t aware of it yet, but he is already a duke. The King stripped Charles of the title last week, and is only giving him the time to flee. It’s why I purchased the horses with Crown money. Charles will have the funds to start again somewhere new rather than board a ship for his sins. Blake will have the means to save the Blakiston name and build the fortune he’ll need to run the estate with the King’s help. It’s going to take a great deal of hard work but if anyone can do it, he can.”