Behind the Courtesan(9)

She couldn’t tell from his reaction, but Sophia had the feeling she had bested him once again. As she retrieved her dinner and skipped up the stairs, she didn’t feel weary. She felt she had gained another point in their imaginary tally.

Sophia—two. Blake—zero.

* * *

Contrary to Miss High and Mighty’s belief, Sophie had won nothing. Blake had been determined to ignore her siren’s call, but as usual when it came to Sophie, he was an unarmed man. The first time she turned to him with the creamy expanse of her chest showing, his heart had quite honestly thumped against his ribs so hard, it was a wonder the next county hadn’t heard the sound. Did she not know what that skin would do to the town’s men already enflamed by her presence?

When he imagined her dining in the tap or even walking through the common room, his blood boiled and he thought of nothing other than violence, but for fourteen years she had looked out for herself. Blake doubted to the soles of his boots that she would welcome any interference from him.

It was why he had set the table in the back room. Dining with her would have been a torture, but he would have endured. He would have martyred himself if it meant keeping her from the prying eyes of his patrons.

Dominic had already warned him they were filled to the brim with punters come to get a glimpse of the famous London harlot. His fists had curled at his sides, but he’d bitten his tongue. He would not have Sophie turned into a public spectacle. Not only for her sake but for Matthew’s and Violet’s also. Once Sophie went back to her grand life, they would be the ones left to deal with the whispers over her visit. It would be Violet who would bear the gossip just for marrying into the Martin family and it wasn’t fair to such a naive slip of a girl. As it was, they had tried to keep Sophie’s improbable return as quiet as they could in the silent hope she wouldn’t actually come.

Well, he had silently hoped.

So there he had sat, Dominic’s statement about the men who waited for just one glimpse of Sophie heavy on his shoulders. He’d done the only thing he could. He set a trap and she’d walked straight in and predictably fought him, resulting in her eating in her room. He was beginning to see a pattern where she refused everything he asked of her if it meant they would be close to each other.

But what about tomorrow when the men came back? And the day after that? He couldn’t trick her into staying in her room forever. How would he keep her out of sight? He did have to make a trip to Sheffield to purchase a few items that were hard to find around Blakiston, but he had intended to wait for a quieter day.

His shoulders lifted with a sigh. He would have to make the journey soon and convince Sophie to go with him. It hadn’t occurred to him when he’d challenged her to walk in his shoes that she would have to step where he stepped and do what he did. Now he had an obligation to shield her.

This is why he should have taken the time to think before throwing down the challenge in the first place. There were loopholes and pitfalls in every action of his and hers. Would she see the Sheffield trip for what it was or would she wonder if the challenge wasn’t all that important to him after all?

Why did everything have to be so complicated? This is what she had been doing to him since he was old enough to have an interest in her.

When she wasn’t there, he wondered about her safety and happiness and when she was there, he worried even more. Why was it that whenever Sophie was involved, he had the feeling he would always emerge the loser?





Chapter Five



When Blake knocked on Sophie’s door the next morning, he expected to find her in that nightgown that hid nothing, her dark curls in disarray over her shoulders, and still half-asleep. But when she answered his first knock bright eyed, dressed and wearing a vibrant smile, he wanted to close the door, knock again, hope she answered the way he’d wanted her to.

“Good morning, Blake.”

“Good morning, Sophie. Are you ready to start the day?” he asked with a smile. This was one instance where he didn’t want to spark her anger and cause her to do the opposite just to spite him. If he told her he needed to go to Sheffield and she declined to go with him, then he would look the fool and she would instantly know he staged the day.

Instead of walking through the kitchens and out to the barn, Blake put a hand on her shoulder and steered in the direction of the private parlor.

“What...” The softly spoken word died on her lips as eggs, ham and fresh bread came into view.

“I thought we could break our fast early today. We have to get the chores done and then hitch the wagon to make a trip to Sheffield.”

“No milking cows and collecting eggs today then?” she asked with a heavy amount of suspicion.

“I was going to wait until next week but my...churner broke and I need to replace it. Don’t worry, Dominic can handle the work for today, tomorrow it will be back to cows and chickens for us.”

She didn’t appear as though she believed a word he stuttered, but she didn’t argue. Merely inclined her head and ate her breakfast as though it was to be her last meal ever.

When she flicked a glance in his direction, he couldn’t help but keep staring.

With an odd look, she ran her tongue over her teeth, wiped her mouth with a linen and then stared back. “Do I have something on my face?”

Blake shook his head. “I haven’t before seen a grown woman eat like you.”

One dark brow lifted and he wished he didn’t now raise her suspicion in every inconsequential comment. As a girl, she’d never been a particularly fussy eater. Those in the country couldn’t afford to be. But he’d served many a titled gentlewoman in his private parlor, and more often than not, there were complaints about his menu options. As though he should have served only the finest of foods.

“I am hungry.”

“That you are,” he said with a laugh, trying not to think of her as a fancy lady.

“If I am hungry, I eat. After yesterday’s deprivation of breakfast and lunch, I thought to take advantage now.”

And there it was again. Even though they didn’t exchange insults, she was still mad. He was trying his hardest to be a gentleman now, but with retorts like that, it would be very difficult indeed.

Moving about the kitchen after breakfast, he washed the few pans and pots used to make a meal fit for a duchess and let his mind wander to the events of the day and their journey to Sheffield.

He planned to be his most charming self no matter her half remarks and reminders of the day before. He would let her chat away, listen when she talked, murmur the appropriate phrases when she drew breath and generally play the role of gentleman. It was the only weapon he had left now. Not in the sense of hurting her. No. He was beyond that. Seeing the hurt in her eyes did things to his heart that didn’t feel comfortable.

Hanging his wet dish rag on a hook by the hearth, he took one last look around his kitchen with pride. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Each pot had a shelf or hook, each plate, spoon, fork and bowl had been earned and lovingly cared for. He’d worked hard for every item his gaze roamed over. His was a good life, but he wished it had turned out differently.

When he was just five years old, his mother had left him on the doorstep of this tavern. She hadn’t left a note. No explanation. Nothing. But his uncle had known why he’d gained an extra mouth to feed. A woman couldn’t live alone with a child and not earn scorn and derision from her friends and neighbors unless she was a widow. It would have been so much easier for them all if she had been.

The only problem he’d seen through the eyes of a five-year-old child was that she’d abandoned him to a fate worse than derision or tomato target practice in the street. It had only taken twelve short months for Blake to become intimate with pain and humiliation. To dodge and duck the fists and slaps meant for his head and back. He’d missed his mother madly and held hope for a long time that she would come back and save him. That she would miss him so much, realize life was better when they were together and come back. After a few years, he’d forgotten the color of her eyes, how she looked when she smiled, the sound of her laughter. Resentment eventually had a way of shadowing the good times and turning them all bad.

His reprieve from the nightmare his life had become came in the form of Matthew Martin and a few years later his little sister.

Little Sophie who wasn’t afraid of anything. Not even Blake’s violent uncle.

But then just like his mother, she’d fled. Disappeared without a trace, without a goodbye or trail to mark the route she took. Slowly the days grew dull again, his uncle’s beatings took their toll and he hardened himself to any kind of emotion that required he invest more than a kind word or smile.

It didn’t mean he didn’t long for a family or children, a wife to wake next to, to share his secrets with, the toll of the days or the happiness of a good harvest. He just didn’t want them bad enough to put his soul on the line. Not again.

Never again.