Chapter 2
Honestly, of all the cheek! The man had just embarrassed her in front of servants and now he was ignoring both her and the servants and letting her tell them what to do.
“Please, just put them on that table at the fireplace.”
The butler did as he was told, followed by the woman, whom Sophia assumed was the cook. She thanked them, dismissed them and turned to her… Captor? Saviour? Whatever he was.
“Lord Rose-Reid, would you like some tea?”
“I would prefer brandy but I really cannot be bothered going downstairs for it so tea will suffice.” He threw himself down in the chair opposite. She glanced over at Oscar who was in the middle of the bed, his eyes beginning to droop. Then she looked at her companion after pouring his tea. “How do you take it?”
“Milk and one sugar.”
No manners it seemed.
She handed him the tea and poured her own, then took a sandwich and bit into it.
“Mmm!” She was hungry. He scowled more ferociously at her. Was Whitsnow down on his luck? Did this friend of his object to her eating his food?
“I have coin. I can pay for the food.” That made his frown lines deepen further.
“Whitsnow is hardly penniless. Those of us in the north of England did much better last summer than our friends down South. So much better that he helped your friend and her new husband out with food for their people.”
So he knew about Emily’s marriage, but did not recognise Sophia as Lord Beattie’s sister yet. Good.
“Then why do you scowl when I eat a sandwich as though you begrudge it, my lord?”
“I begrudge you nothing. What do you want with Whitsnow?”
“That is between me and the Earl.”
“I still do not trust you not to be trying to pass off your offspring as his bye blow.”
“My lord, my acquaintance with Lord Whitsnow is merely that—an acquaintance. I can hardly have produced his bye blow, now can I? Besides, my son has his own title and money. He does not need the paltry handouts that the bye blow of an earl might garner.”
The gentleman’s eyebrows rose at that little nugget of information. She had piqued his interest. She licked her lips and picked a cake from the plate cook had brought in. Lord Rose-Reid, made a grumbling sound and crossed his leg over his knee.
She dipped her finger in the icing and brought it to her lips, sucking her finger into her mouth. He licked his lips and closed his eyes.
Oh good God. He was aroused. She had seldom ever had that effect on her husband. They’d had a very perfunctory relationship in the bedchamber, but once or twice he had been overcome with passion for her and had tumbled her in the study. Actually, it had happened on precisely two occasions in their four-year marriage. Octavius had worn that almost pained expression then too. Her brother had that expression around Emily constantly and that was a little disconcerting.
She dropped the cake to her plate and placed it on the table, aware only too late that it would mean him seeing more of her décolletage than she would like.
“Your husband died, you said?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
“When?”
“February.”
He leaned on to his fingers, his face a mask of concentration. Sophia closed her eyes. He would be able to work out who she was. What if he was a friend of Mr Benson? She started to rise, to collect her son, run out into the snow if she had to.
“Rutherford’s widow?”
And then she spotted it. On the mantel lay a knife. She stood slowly, wiping imaginary crumbs from her dress and smiled at him, then licked her lips. His gaze was transfixed on her face. “Indeed.”
Her fingers found the weapon and curled around its handle. She slowly stepped back bringing the knife out in front of her.
Lord Rose-Reid got to his feet, his lips pursed and his gaze wary, as if trying to work out how to tame a skittish horse.
“What is the meaning of this, Lady Rutherford?”
“Nigel Benson, my husband’s nephew is in pursuit of us. He wants us dead. You say you are a friend of Lord Whitsnow, yet I have not seen him. You have me trapped in this house with these fellow captors. You may be in league with Benson for all I know.”
He nodded as if he understood her dilemma. The fact he did not laugh unsettled her.
“Everything I have told you is the truth, my lady. Robert, Lord Whitsnow shall be back soon. I know of Benson. He is a scoundrel. Why does he want you dead?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Oscar is the new Viscount. Had I had a girl or had the babe and I died in child bed, then he would have gained Octavius’ wealth and the estate and, of course, the title. But Oscar was male and he stands between Mr Benson and a title, land and wealth. Is that not what all men kill for? Power, wealth and coin?”
“Not all men kill, my lady. Many of us would stand in your defence and protect you.”
“Does it not wholly depend what is in it for you?”
“No, my lady. It does not. For some of us, it is a matter of what is right and what is wrong. That child is Viscount Rutherford and at present is too young to protect himself and his mother. So I am taking you under my protection for now.”
“How do I know I can trust you not to hand me over to Benson?”
“Benson is a snivelling little fool. I despise the creature. I have seen him on the edges of the ton, trying to ingratiate himself with mamas and young ladies. He is friends with the likes of Cedric Onslow and that set. No one pays them any attention.”
“I was hoping for Lord Whitsnow’s protection.”
“Well, my lady, looking at the weather, you shall have the protection of both of us until there is a thaw. Then I shall take you to my father’s estate. The Rutherford estate is close by, is it not?”
“Six miles away.”
“Aye, well, you are far too close to home.”
“I cannot travel with you, my lord. What will people think?”
“That Mr and Mrs Reid and their new babe are travelling to Yorkshire.”
“But I do not know you.”
“From what you said, you do not know Lord Whitsnow well either.”
“But I know his sister and she assures me he is an honourable gentleman, even if he is a bit of a beast to her. But my brother could be the same way me when I was younger too, so perhaps he is not too bad.”
“A bit of a beast, hmm?”
“Well, obviously I would not tell him that.”
“Obviously,” he said wryly. “Perhaps you may want to put the knife down and stop waving it at me. It is sweet that you think you could defend yourself against me, my lady, but I have defended myself against worse padfoots than you in the streets of London at night. I could disarm you in seconds.”
“No you could not.”
“Yes, I could. Now hand me the knife. There’s a good girl.”
“I am no girl,” she protested. His gaze did a slow meander up her body, resting for just a second too long on her décolletage. Sophia wondered if the fire had too many logs on it.
“You are definitely no girl, my lady. Now give me the knife before one of us gets hurt. I am a gentleman. You have my word you shall come to no harm.”
“And Oscar?”
“He is perfectly safe. He outranks me.”
She smothered a laugh.
“But he is a baby.”
“He still outranks me. I have honour. Just because your nephew by marriage is a scoundrel, does not mean all men are.”
She turned the knife so the blade was in her hand and offered him the handle. He took it gently, careful not to cut her. Then, surprisingly, he put it back up on the mantelpiece from where she had grabbed it.
He gestured for her to sit and she did so. He sat, his legs apart and his blue gaze resting on her as if he was looking at a very interesting specimen. When she glanced to the bed to check on her son, his gaze followed.
“He is asleep,” he observed.
“Babies sleep a lot,” she explained. She had a feeling that Lord Rose-Reid knew nothing about babies or children.
“Why?”
“Because they are babies. I know not why. It is just how they are. Baby animals sleep a lot too.”
“That is true. So, were you happily married?”
He had steepled his fingers in front of him and looked as though he was interested in the answer, rather than just making polite conversation. She lifted her chin defiantly.
“I was.”
“Rutherford was an old man.”
“Not so old.”
“Old enough.”
“Older than… you?”
“Yes. And much older than you.”
“He was interesting.”
“Is that how you would describe it?”
“Our marriage? Yes.”
“Yes, your marriage was what I was thinking of.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but he gave her a wide-eyed innocent expression.
Just then, the slam of the door being closed downstairs made her jump.
“Ah Whitsnow is home. Good-oh,” said Lord Rose-Reid. “Come, I shall introduce you.”
She snatched the baby up from the bed and was halfway down the stairs when she realised that she must look a terrible fright. She began to try to push curls back into her coiffure.
“Worry not, he shall see you and feel pity for you in your bedraggled state,” said her companion. She huffed out a noise of disgust and as he turned his head, she was sure she saw him smother a smile. He was baiting her. Well, she would not rise to it.
He led her into a small but beautiful drawing room where a rather austere looking gentleman was standing rubbing his hands next to the fire.
“Reid, the damned house is a wreck on the top floor. It will cost a bloody fortune to mend.” He turned around and saw Sophia standing there and his eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Where the Devil did you come from?”
Were all the gentlemen in England rude? Honestly.
“Rutherford Estate, my lord. I am Lady Rutherford. I came here to ask for your protection.”
“You did? Why?”
“Nigel Benson, my nephew by marriage is intent on killing my son, the new Viscount Rutherford. If my son dies, the title falls to him.”
“Not if he’s hanging by the neck from the gallows, it does not.”
Sophia shut her eyes and sent up a very short prayer for patience. Emily had been right. Her brother was a beast.
“My lord, you are in the privileged position to not only be titled but of the male gender. I am merely the widow of an old man with a title. Who do you think is going to listen to a hysterical female squawking about her husband’s nephew killing her son? Thousands of babes die in their mother’s arms every year. I have seen people grieving. They blame everyone. People would think I was blaming Nigel because I could not deal with my own grief. They would not think someone would really kill a child for a title. It would be too obvious. Yet, do you not see? It is the perfect crime.”
Whitsnow had listened to her diatribe with his lips pursed and his brow furrowed.
“That is not the most ridiculous theory I have ever heard,” said a voice from behind her.
“Nay, it is not,” agreed Whitsnow.
“He told me himself when he met me in the street in London just before the New Year.”
“I see. And where is Beattie?”
“London.”
“Why did you come here instead of remaining in Town where you were safe with your brother?”
“It did not feel safe. I did not think Mr Benson would follow me to Cumberland. Not with all the snow.”
“You miscalculated, my lady.”
“Thank you, my lord. I noticed when his carriage came thundering up my private road and I had to escape on horseback through the woods with my baby strapped to my torso.” She was getting a little short with Lord Whitsnow now and she needed to rein in her temper. It would not do to upset him. She needed his help.
“I like a woman with fire in her belly,” remarked Whitsnow, grinning.
“I thought you liked dark haired ladies,” growled Lord Rose-Reid. Whitsnow’s grin dissolved.
“Uh, yes, generally. And red-heads”
“So you just arrived at the dower house? Please, take a seat. I shall organise tea.”
“No, Lord Rose-Reid found me collapsed in the snow. He brought me here and… well, looked after the baby until I awoke.”
“You, Reid… You looked after a baby?”
“Well I would not have had to if you had not taken all the dashed servants to the manor house. Why did you not leave a couple of maids here?”
“It never occurred to me you would be rescuing damsels and their progeny from the snow.”
“Aye, well, next time, consider it as a possibility. He soiled himself and I had to change him with a ripped-up nightshirt.”
“You changed a baby?”
“Aye. What of it?”
“It just seems a little… domesticated for a confirmed bachelor.”
“I am not a confirmed bachelor. I planned to marry last Season until… well, let us not discuss that.”
“Oh, I remember now. I do recognise you.” She should have recognised his name. He had been cuckolded by that young debutante who had run off with some Indian fellow.
Lord Rose-Reid gave her a withering look and she closed her mouth.
“He hates discussing it,” said Lord Whitsnow.
A thought suddenly occurred to her as she patted her baby’s bottom as she rocked him. “My lord what did you do with his clout?”
“His clout?”
“The covering for his bottom which was soiled.”
“I threw it out the window.”
“Oh I see. Well the snow will harden it and make it easier to remove, I suppose,” she said, trying not to laugh.
“What was I supposed to do with it?”
“Give it to a servant to wash.”
“It stunk.”
“I am sure, so does what comes out of your derriere, but some poor servant empties your chamber pot, does he not?”
“She has a point, old chap,” put in Whitsnow.
“Keep out of this, Robert.”
“Good God, I am getting my Sunday name. Things must be bad.”
“You shall be getting a facer if you are not careful.”
“Gentlemen, please.”
“I apologise, Lady Rutherford. Reid is not used to female company. Not of the genteel type anyway.”
“Says the man who has been holed up in Cumberland for over a year seeing no one but his runaway sister.”
“Talking of my sister, Lady Rutherford, do you know, is she well?”
“She is. Has she told you any recent news?”
“No. Is she increasing yet?”
Sophia bit her lip. She knew Emily was increasing but did not want to tell Emily’s brother if the mother-to-be had not seen fit to write a missive yet.
“I…”
“Ah good. A child should keep her out of trouble. As long as she doesn’t drop the poor thing on its head. You know how clumsy she is.”
“I thought you, my brother and she discussed you calling her clumsy.”
“Well yes. It is only a little teasing.”
“Not to Emily it is not, Lord Whitsnow. She gets very upset.”
He sighed wearily. “I know. It is habit.”
“One you must break.”
He looked chagrined and she felt guilty for scolding him. “I agree. I will try harder, my lady.”
“I apologise. I should not scold you, my lord. It is not my place.”
“It is. You are Emily’s friend. She speaks very highly of you.”
“I think very highly of your sister too. She is a wonderful person and I am so pleased that she and Gideon have found a love match.”
“You did not have a love match with your husband?” She turned to Lord Rose-Reid who had asked the question and gave him a stony look.
“That is none of your concern, my lord.”
“Are you two going to bicker all of the time? If I was a betting man, I would lay my fortune on you wanting to tumble each other. I am going upstairs to change. Dinner is in one hour. Reid, you can show Lady Rutherford to the chamber next to yours. We shall fashion something to make-do as a crib until I can send a couple of servants tomorrow to bring things from the nursery. Lady Rutherford, it has been a pleasure.”
He bowed and exited the room.
“Does he always leave so abruptly?” she asked Lord Rose-Reid.
“That was not abrupt for Whitsnow. Usually you get an ‘I’m off’ sort of grunt and he is gone.”
“I see. And what did he mean when he said we want to tumble each other?”
“My lady, Whitsnow does not speak in riddles. He is plain-spoken. Much like his sister of whom he makes much fun. He means…” He stood and walked over to her using one finger under her chin to draw her to her feet. He was standing so close to her, if you ignored the baby in between them. He bowed his head so that his lips were almost touching hers. His breath feathered across her skin. “…we are attracted to each other and we want to be naked and in my bed.”
“Why your bed and not mine?”
He smiled. “Because you have not seen your bed yet, so you cannot yet imagine us there.”
The wail that erupted from Oscar at that moment made Sophia start and try to take a step back, but the chaise she had been sitting on was right behind her and she started to stumble backwards. Lord Rose-Reid’s hand was at her back steadying her and his concerned gaze comforted her as he made sure she was fine.
She gave him a weak smile.
“Come, I shall show you to your bed… chamber,” he said in a low, husky voice.
She could not stay here. She had to think of an alternative plan. But what?
She would concoct something after dinner. She could stay here one night. They were gentlemen. She was not in any danger. It was just that Lord Rose-Reid was… well he was dangerous in a different way. She could easily fall in love with him. Those blue eyes had such a strong pull for her. And he smelled delicious. As she lay her baby on the bed, she gave him a little sniff. He had on Lord Rose-Reid’s cologne. It was very endearing.
∞ ∞ ∞
A knock came at the door and a maid entered.
“My lady, Lord Whitsnow suggested that you may want a bath and has ordered one for you. I have been assigned to you as a lady’s maid, if you wish. My name is Maggie.”
“Thank you, Maggie. A bath would be lovely and I would appreciate your help as my lady’s maid.” She wondered if the girl had ever been a lady’s maid before. She wrung her hands nervously. Sophia would not be here for long, so it mattered not and her hair could be styled simply this evening.
However, by the end of her bath and once she was dressed, Sophia was extremely happy with Maggie’s work. She had even changed the baby and promised to arrange some bread and milk if he had to be fed during dinner. She was sure they could find an acceptable bowl downstairs. Cook and she had discussed how to feed a baby before she had come up, and cook seemed to know exactly what was required.
Maggie would do well for the time being.