Never Marry a Viscount

  “You’re up, miss,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you or I would have had your bath drawn already. It won’t take but a moment. And I’ll have a tray sent up, shall I? It’s gone past three and you must be famished.”

  “Three?” Sophie said, and then stopped with shock at the raw sound that came from her throat. She cleared it, and tried again. “As in three in the afternoon?” It was a little better, but not much.

  “Yes, miss. You were that tired, and his lordship said no one was to bother you until you woke on your own.”

  Sophie took a deep breath. “And where is his lordship?”

  “Dunno, miss. He went out early this morning and hasn’t come back. He doesn’t tend to tell the servants where he goes or when he returns. Mr. Griffiths said I was to tell you not to worry if his lordship doesn’t come back. He’ll make sure you’re looked after.”

  The words were like a stone in Sophie’s heart. She sank down in a chair as the girl disappeared.

  She deliberately straightened her back. Food and a bath would go a long way toward making her feel human again. Until then she shouldn’t rush into any decisions. She should try not to think at all, because life at that moment was too overwhelming.

  Her curtains were pulled, and it was an overcast day. It always seemed to rain more in London, which was so unfair, given that in London one’s clothes had to be smarter, one’s hair had to be more elaborate, and no umbrella was big enough to protect the intricacies of proper dress. She wouldn’t have to be worrying about such things in the future, which was a mixed blessing. She’d always liked dressing up.

  There were drawbacks as well. She wouldn’t be able to walk in the countryside, of course, unless she found a position away from London. Indeed, that would be the smartest thing, far away from people and places she’d known. But she would need a place fast, and London was her only option, at least until her sisters reappeared, and she couldn’t count on them for rescue. She had to make her own way. The three of them had faced disaster, and each of them had to find her own way through.

  The bath was a heavenly respite from her muddled thoughts. Once the girl, Gemma, had left her, Sophie leaned back and opened her legs, letting the water soothe her. The girl had put some sort of herbs in the bath as well, and the effect was wonderfully soothing, so blessed that Sophie refused to get out until the water grew cold around her.

  Gemma must have been sitting outside the bathing room door, listening, for the moment she rose from the tub the girl knocked and slipped inside, taking a large towel and wrapping it around her. “I thought you were going to shrivel up like a prune, miss, you were in there so long. You’ve got a tray of cold meats and cheese waiting for you in the room, and I’ve set out some clothes for you to approve. I hope you don’t mind. I’m just an upstairs maid, not really a lady’s maid, but I was told to look after you until they could find someone permanent, and I’ll do my best.”

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. If life were different, if she were going to stay, she’d be happy to have Gemma as her permanent maid, a step up in the servant hierarchy for the girl. But she wasn’t.

  Gemma’s instincts had been unerring—the outfit she’d chosen had been one Sophie had worn to make afternoon calls. The skirt was gathered in the back and flat in the front, the blouse pleated and ruffled and laced, with a fitted jacket that had a slight military flair. It was neither too fancy nor too plain, and it would suit her.

  “And these, miss,” Gemma said, holding in her hand a pair of shoes.

  “Where did you get those?” Sophie demanded, shocked. They were one of her favorite pairs, left behind when they’d been evicted with only the clothes on their backs. She could walk for miles in those shoes.

  “His lordship told me to make certain you had them.”

  His lordship had sent them? His lordship, who had disappeared without a word and might not be back for days? For a moment, in the bath, she had considered facing him, explaining why she couldn’t marry him.

  But she could hardly have told him the dismal truth. That she wouldn’t marry him because he didn’t love her. He would laugh at that, at her, and she didn’t think she could bear it.

  It was no longer an option. He’d given her the shoes and disappeared. That was message enough.

  “Mrs. Griffiths asked to see you,” Gemma said once the shoes were buttoned. “I told her you were having a nap, but she said ‘wake her.’ Which I wouldn’t do, not ever, but I thought I should pass it along, because that old witch, if you’ll pardon my language, would just as likely climb the stairs and barge in here if she wants to. You’d probably be better off if you saw her.”

  “Mrs. Griffiths?” Sophie pictured the ghastly woman with her tiny eyes and thin mouth beneath the mounds of maquillage. “When did she arrive?”

  “A few hours after his lordship left,” Gemma said, shattering Sophie’s errant hope that it was his stepmother who’d driven him out. “I think she’s here to stay.”

  “Oh, of course. She wanted to see her son.”

  “And quite the reunion it was, miss, with her wailing and sobbing and Mr. Rufus looking like a little boy. And then they went into his lordship’s study and were very quiet for a long, long time.”

  Sophie managed a wry smile. “I don’t suppose someone tried to eavesdrop?”

  “Oh, no, miss!” Gemma said, but Sophie had her doubts. “But then Mr. Rufus went out, and she demanded to see you.”

  She could refuse, but Gemma was right. Mrs. Griffiths was someone who didn’t take no for an answer. “Do you think we could put her off for a bit?”

  “No, miss. And she’s really quite insistent.”

  “I know how difficult she can be for the staff,” Sophie said, rising, remembering the demands the old woman had made. “Where is she?”

  “Still in the master’s library. He hates it when anyone goes in there, but Mrs. Griffiths doesn’t pay that no mind. There’ll be hell to pay if he comes back while she’s still here. He doesn’t even want her in the house, much less his library.”

  And who could blame him, she thought. “Will she be staying here?”

  “It depends on whether his lordship returns today or not. He’s given orders that she’s not to be allowed in here, but there’s not really much the staff can do, particularly with Mr. Rufus here.”

  Sophie nodded. Mrs. Griffiths was a force of nature, and she had no choice but to face her.

  She found the woman ensconced behind Alexander’s desk, riffling through his papers. She didn’t rise when Sophie entered, but as an older woman she didn’t have to, though the gesture would have been polite. “You wished to see me, Mrs. Griffiths.” Sophie summoned all her best behavior.

  It didn’t do her any good. The old woman looked up at her with acute dislike. “I did. I wanted to look at the creature who lied and tricked her way into my stepson’s bed.”

  Sophie simply stood there, unmoved. Mrs. Griffiths’s nasty streak was the least of her worries.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” the old woman prodded, her eyes dark and vicious.

  “Is there anything in particular you wish me to say?” Her voice was cool and calm, a far cry from Mrs. Griffiths’s raging tones.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she spat. “Oh, I know all about you. Just because you’re the daughter of a shipbuilder you think you’re some highborn lady, when in truth you’re nothing.”

  Better than the daughter of a butcher, Sophie thought, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

  “If I were you I would be too ashamed to show my face,” the woman continued. “You should . . .”

  “Mama!” Rufus appeared in the doorway, his too-pretty face lined with concern, that errant, deliberate curl ruffled. “You mustn’t talk like that. This is not Sophie’s fault.”

  Sophie looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t thought she’d have a champion in Alexander’s brother, particularly since Rufus had been so attentive to him the previous night and faintly
malicious toward her.

  “Then whose fault is it?” Mrs. Griffiths snapped.

  “You know Alexander has his weaknesses. It’s happened time and time again. He grows infatuated with someone, insists on marrying the most inappropriate of females, and then abandons them for me to get rid of. Don’t you remember the actress?”

  Sophie refused to let a flicker of reaction cross her face, even though her heart seemed to have suddenly contracted into a dark ball of pain.

  “Of course. I remember them all,” Mrs. Griffiths said in a calmer voice, albeit laced with contempt. “I’m tired of my son having to clean up his messes, especially after all you’ve been through.”

  “There’s no need to berate the poor girl,” he said, coming forward and taking Sophie’s arm gently. She didn’t resist. “This is not her fault. I’ll see to her. We all know he would never marry her, and he’s unlikely to return for days until he’s sure I’ve taken care of things. You should go up and rest. You know travel always makes you bilious.”

  Sophie would have smiled at that, if she had any emotion other than pain available to her. She felt frozen. She was being a fool, she tried to tell herself. She’d already determined to leave, hadn’t she? Or had she been hoping he’d return and take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her, that he’d never let her go?

  She didn’t believe in fairy tales. In fact, she never had, and the only reason Alexander had for marrying her was for the sake of his reputation, something he’d always said he didn’t give a fig for. And she’d been a fool, to let dreams creep into her heart when she wasn’t looking.

  She let Rufus gently tug her away, but at the last moment she turned back to glance at the horrible woman who had taken over Alexander’s desk. Mrs. Griffiths had a smile of supreme satisfaction on her face. Of course she did—she’d won.

  It made no sense, but Sophie didn’t care. She simply let Rufus lead her, up the stairs to the second-floor salon, settling her down in a comfortable chair as if she were an invalid. “I’m so sorry about my mother,” he said with an anxious expression. “She has a tendency to speak her mind, but she’s unaware of the details of Alexander’s . . . tendencies.”

  “Tendencies?” she echoed dully. She felt lost, broken. She really didn’t want to listen to Rufus’s malicious gossip. She simply wanted him to leave her so she could escape.

  “I’m afraid he’s done this time and time again. In fact, there has been an occasion or two when I haven’t been able to intervene in time. The results were . . . tragic.”

  She roused herself enough to look at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d rather not go into details. The problem is, if you simply disappeared there’d be too many people looking for you. It would be a different matter from a young companion or an actress.”

  “Are you saying he killed them?” Her voice sounded flat and strange to her ears.

  “Of course I’m not,” he said quickly. “Don’t ever tell anyone I suggested such a thing—I’ll deny it. It’s just that . . . for your own safety I think it would be best if you left as soon as possible.”

  “I have every intention of doing so.” She pulled the cold blanket of nothingness around her. “In fact, I’ll leave immediately.”

  “It’s a little more difficult than that. The servants have been ordered to keep guard on you, not let you go anywhere. If you tried to walk out the front door someone would stop you, and you’d end up locked in a room he keeps for that purpose.”

  This was unbelievable. The picture Rufus was painting, of an unbalanced madman seducing and then disposing of women, was absurd. If he didn’t want her there, why would he tell the servants to guard her? None of this was making any sense.

  But Rufus continued. “I think there’s just something wrong with him. I don’t know what caused it, but it happened when he was about twenty, and all conscience seemed to leave him. His poor wife was the first victim of his . . . problem. I just couldn’t bear it if there were any others.”

  He sounded so earnest, so worried for her. She still didn’t trust him, but she couldn’t even trust her own heart. She had to get away from this place so that she could think clearly. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

  “Are you afraid of heights?”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  “Then there’s an easy path over rooftops. I used to take it all the time when I was young and wanted to escape supervision. I still use it when I don’t want people spying on me. You would have no trouble.”

  She glanced out the window at the rooftops of London. Some were peaked, some were flat, some were adorned with ridiculous gargoyles, while still others had windows positioned to let in light. There were chimney pots all about, and she wondered how in heaven’s name she would manage to navigate such a treacherous terrain. It didn’t matter. She had to get away from here.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  He blinked. “I’m not, I’m afraid. I need to make certain my mother is comfortably settled, and then I’ll show you the way.”

  “I thought your mother wasn’t allowed here?”

  “Alexander won’t return for days. He’s always hated my mother, but he doesn’t mind if he’s not around.”

  She didn’t bother to question it. Rufus’s lies were none of her business. “Just tell me the way to go. I don’t need you to show me.”

  “I couldn’t let you try it alone. I’ve worked out the path after many attempts, and one wrong move could send you tumbling to your death. I feel duty-bound to see you safely from this house.”

  Duty again, she thought. She despised the very word.

  “Promise me you’ll stay here until I check on Mother. No one else will trouble you and I’m determined to keep you safe. Please.”

  She had already made promises that had gotten her into nothing but trouble, but this one was easy enough. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but she wasn’t madly enamored of them. The cliff at the edge of the tor had been more than enough for her. She could wait until Rufus showed her the way.

  She had enough sense to know that altruism wasn’t his sole motivation. He didn’t want the scandal, and she suspected he didn’t want Alexander having a wife or even a mistress. Not that either of those seemed a real option, not when he’d gone off somewhere. But Rufus was driven by self-concern as much as anything else, and for that reason alone she trusted him to get her out safely. No matter what tales he was spinning—and they were, on the face of it, ridiculous—it reminded her that she needed to be gone from here. If for some reason the servants were watching, then she’d climb the Alps to get away.

  “Promise me,” Rufus said earnestly, and she believed him. Almost.

  “I promise,” she said.

  Rufus gave her his flashing smile and pressed her hand meaningfully. “You won’t regret it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “SHE’S WHERE?” BRYONY’S USUALLY calm voice was just short of a shriek, and Maddy lifted her head in surprise. Luca and Kilmartyn had just returned from some mysterious visit to the East End of London, and she was staring at the men in shock.

  “Why are you so surprised, Bryony?” Maddy said from her comfortable spot on the sofa, catching her husband’s eye and smiling at him before turning to her sister. “Sophie’s just been waiting to kick up her heels. We should have known she’d go after the viscount.”

  “Are you sure?” Bryony said. “Are you absolutely positive?”

  Luca strolled over to Maddy and gave her a kiss, and she reached up and smoothed his long hair away from his face. She hated staying behind, but Bryony had been too edgy to be left alone, and the four of them could hardly traipse through the London slums.

  Luca turned and looked at his sister-in-law. “The Wart never fails me,” he said.

  “And exactly who is this Wart?” Bryony’s eyebrows rose.

  “One of the captain’s criminal confederates, my darling,” said Kilmartyn, leaning lazily against the door. “I’m sorry you couldn??
?t come with us down to Seven Dials—it was fascinating. Depressing as all hell, but fascinating. It appears Mr. Dickens’s novels are closer to the truth than we realized.”

  “Right now all I care about is my sister,” Bryony said firmly, and Maddy had to admire her. In the past few weeks Bryony had blossomed from a quiet, shy recluse into a strong and secure woman, and Maddy supposed she could thank Kilmartyn for it. She held herself like a woman who was loved.

  “Of course you do,” Luca said soothingly, moving near Kilmartyn, and Maddy stifled a groan. The two of them got on far too well, and if it ever came to an argument between the women and the men they would be well matched.

  But in this case it was their sister, and it was up to Maddy and Bryony to see to things. “She pretended to be a cook, and now she’s in Griffiths’s house over in St. John’s Wood, with no chaperone, under her own name. She’s ruined,” Bryony said.

  “It was your idea that we enter service,” Maddy pointed out, perhaps unfairly.

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Bryony said miserably. “We have to get her out of there. That’s the most important thing. Then we have to find out if she wants to marry him. If she does, that will be up to Adrian and the captain to ensure it happens.”

  “My pleasure, love,” Kilmartyn drawled, and Luca nodded. Maddy could almost be sorry for Sophie’s Dark Viscount. Did she still think of him that way? Maddy could only hope he’d turned out to be a prince in disguise.

  “The one thing I can’t imagine is Sophie actually working for a living,” Bryony said. “She detested any kind of work or exercise.”

  “Actually, she changed,” Maddy said. “She suddenly started taking long walks, disappearing for hours, when she’d always hated the outdoors. And her cooking was ridiculously good.”

  “I don’t think it’s her cooking that the viscount is interested in,” Kilmartyn said dryly.

  Bryony rose. “The longer we wait, the more difficult this is going to be. We need to go get her.”