Chapter Fourteen
“I believe Miss Appleton’s qualifications are superior,” Edith said cheerfully. “She is the best candidate we have spoken to so far.”
Hayden raked a hand through his hair. He and Edith had been interviewing for Celia’s governess, cloistered in his study throughout most of the day. The dark mahogany paneling was closing in on him.
“Are we in agreement, Hayden?”
He drummed a quick staccato with his fingers on the desk while glaring at the door beyond his sister’s shoulder.
Edith twisted around in her chair, following his gaze, then turned back to him. She pursed her lips. “Hayden, do you hear me?”
Where was Sophia? Had she decided not to come? Did she regret last night? His gut clenched.
“Hayden?” Edith repeated.
“Yes?”
Edith made a disgruntled noise.
“Forgive me, Edith. What?”
“Miss Appleton, dear. What did you think of her?”
Appleton? Ah, yes, the one fluent in a multitude of languages. He recalled her florid, pinched face and ginger hair. She reminded him of a Derbyshire Redcap hen who was quick to peck. “I found her unsuitable. Too stern. I fear she’d stifle any creativity Celia might exhibit.”
Edith tapped a finger to her chin and nodded. “Yes. Yes, a bit austere for Celia.”
A bit? Miss Appleton appeared so inflexible, he’d feared she would splinter when she’d sat. He opened his mouth to reply, but a knock on the door halted his words.
Sophia. He sprung from his chair, sending several sheets of paper skittering to the floor. “Come in.”
Hawthorne entered. “Lord Adler is here and wishes to know if you are in, my lord.”
Hayden collapsed back into his seat. “Tell him Lady Prescott and I have not completed the interviews for Celia’s governess.”
“But surely you can spare your oldest and dearest chum a moment?” a deep voice said only seconds before the man himself appeared.
Edith cast Adler a disapproving glower. His sister didn’t approve of Hayden’s friendship with his closest chum. She’d thought Simon a bad influence ever since a school prank at Eton, which involved their housemaster, two flaming burlap bags of horse manure, and a large pail of water.
“Lady Prescott,” Simon said amiably, “how wonderful to see your smiling face.”
“Adler,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Hayden, the next candidate is not due for another half hour. I will be in the nursery taking tea and visiting with Celia should you need me.” She stood and exited the room as though the air within had become unpleasant.
“As always, Lady Prescott, a grand pleasure to see you again,” Simon called after her. “Why, Hayden, I believe your sister is coming around splendidly. I think she actually smiled at me today.” Grinning, he unbuttoned his coat and sat in the chair Edith had vacated. “Well, old boy, you won’t believe whom I saw this morning.”
Hayden leaned back in his chair and arched an eyebrow.
“You, arriving home before cockcrow by way of hackney.”
Hayden forced his expression to remain complacent. “I’ve heard that men who repeatedly engage in tipping the muffs of whores are destined to become blind. Alas, Simon, your sexual deviances have taken a toll upon you. You are mistaken. I assure you I retired early last night.”
Simon laughed. “My eyesight is flawless, and as far as my deviances, I have yet to tip a buttered bun. Beyond the pale even for me.” Bracing his hands behind his head, Simon stretched out his legs. “I shall not dispute your claim to having retired early; I only wish to know with whom?”
Hayden scowled. He’d not reveal where he’d been. Avoiding the question he asked, “What reason did you have for being on Brook Street so bloody early?”
“I returned that pup Boswitch to his suite at Claridge’s. You do recall that fine establishment is located up the road?”
God, he’d forgotten about Boswitch. “You returned him safe and sound?”
“Yes, and grinning like a fox that’s just raided a henhouse. Now back to you, my friend.” Simon tapped a finger to his lips. “Let’s see who might have caught your fancy.... Ah, that flower seller down at Drury Lane. I hear she carries a knife in her boot, and once attempted to carve her initials into a thief’s hand when he tried to pilfer a bouquet of violets. Definitely your type of woman.”
Hayden took a deep breath. Simon would never let him live down his foolish decision to engage in a dalliance with Adele. The muscles in Hayden’s back knotted. Sophia’s small, delicate hands would know how to ease the tightness, and her lovely smile would relieve the heaviness in his soul. He rolled his shoulders. Where was she?
* * *
A half hour after entering the kitchen, Sophia made her way up the servants’ stairs, wondering, with each step she took, whether she should turn and run. She’d spent the whole of her life living properly, and now she was what?
A wanton?
Indeed.
Upon reaching the ground floor, she peered down the long central corridor. Surely, she couldn’t wander about looking for Hayden like some trollop in search of her next romp. She glanced toward the entryway, hoping to espy Hawthorne. She needed the butler to announce her. She took a silent step down the hall and froze when masculine voices drifted from Hayden’s study.
“By God, I’ve got it!” an unfamiliar voice exclaimed, sounding exceedingly pleased with himself. “I know who it was. You sly rascal! Mark me a fool for not figuring it out sooner. That nurse, Miss Camden. You bedded her, didn’t you? Why you unscrupulous roué, I knew you couldn’t resist my dare, especially when it entailed such an exotic bird.”
Dare? The word echoed in Sophia’s head like a perverse taunt.
Oh God, what have I done? She clasped her hand over her mouth and stepped backward until the wall pressed against her shoulders. Hayden’s voice clamored to the foreground of her mind. “It would be a grave error on your part, Miss Camden, to dare me. I have a terrible weakness for them.”
“I told you, Simon. I have no interest in the woman,” Hayden snapped, pulling her back to his conversation.
“Yes. Yes, I know. What was it you said about her? Ah, I remember. Stick your tongue in her mouth and you’ll find yourself mute.” The man laughed.
The vile words and the pounding of her heart filled her ears. She grabbed the handrail. As she descended the steps, they waved oddly, rising and falling as though she’d inhaled some noxious gas that caused one to hallucinate. She nearly stumbled. Tightening her hand around the rail, she slowed her pace, and tried to master some semblance of gentility and grace. As she entered the kitchen, Alice glanced up from the napkins she folded.
“Miss Camden?” The maid’s expression reflected her puzzlement at Sophia’s quick return.
She forced herself to smile at Alice, then Elsie, who was polishing a soup tureen. “His lordship is presently engaged. He no longer requires my services.” How she spoke without babbling like a lunatic was beyond her. Thank God, the intuitive Monsieur Laurent was not about.
Alice grinned. “Did you see Lord Adler? I saw his carriage pull up a short time ago. He’s a fine-looking gent even with that scar on his face.”
“I think his scar makes him look like a pirate,” Elsie added.
Lord Adler? So that was who’d dared Hayden. The man’s scandalous reputation made him the perfect cohort for Westfield. They were both immoral rakehells. What had she been thinking to allow such a man in her bed?
“No, I didn’t,” Sophia replied, then hastily said her good-byes.
Outside dark clouds hovered. Had the weather turned, or had she been blind to the gray sky? She tipped her head downward and shielded her face from the badgering wind chafing at her skin. Tears rolled down her cheeks. What a senseless woman she was to even contemplate a member of the peerage might want to court her.
Great-Uncle Charles’s voice echoed in her head. “Silly girl, your desire to work only confirms you are not worthy of a gentleman of means or good sensibility. Why would a man want you when he could choose a woman who knows her place in society? A proper English miss.”
She swiped at the tears trailing down her cheek and wished she’d never laid eyes on Lord Hayden Westfield. She squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t cry over him. She’d forget his wicked touch, false words, and never speak his Christian name again. Westfield was nothing more than an unscrupulous rogue and manipulator who couldn’t be trusted.
A thunderclap split open the sky, punctuating her pronouncement as if it were God’s own decree.
* * *
Hayden gritted his teeth. Damnation. Did Simon truly think him capable of bedding Sophia for the sake of winning a dare? God, he’d sunk low, but not that low. “I told you I had no interest in your dare.”
Simon chuckled.
“What do you find so humorous?”
“Wright has an opera singer for a mistress, McGrath a dancer, and you wish to have a nurse. I can completely understand. A savior to have around if you find yourself at the wrong end of a pistol again.”
“I don’t wish her to be my mistress.” He realized he desired something more permanent. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got several more candidates to interview.”
Simon grinned, but didn’t shift from his recumbent position. “Well, old chum, if you’re not interested in the woman, perhaps I should lure her away from Trimble’s employ. I have a position I’d like to hire her for.” Simon winked. “Several new positions, if she’s limber enough.”
Hayden would have sworn someone threw pitch in his eyes, for the room turned dark. When his vision cleared, Simon lay sprawled on the carpet, and Hayden stood over him, fist clenched.
A grin spread across Simon’s face. “Ah, you wish for a bout, do you?” Standing, the man shrugged out of his coat.
Simon, like himself, had always enjoyed a good bare-knuckled brawl more than those tedious rounds of boxing where one was held to the Queensberry rules. They’d not engaged each other in fisticuffs since boyhood. But Sophia had not shown up and he felt like hitting something, and his friend appeared as anxious. Hayden tossed his coat to the floor and rolled up his sleeves.
They circled each other. A right undercut to Simon’s chin sent the man stumbling back against a tall bookcase. Several tomes fell to the floor with a heavy thud. The man’s grin widened, and he loosened his neckcloth.
Hayden motioned him closer with his hands. “Come on, let’s see what you’ve got—”
A left jab to Hayden’s jaw halted his sentence. His head twisted, straining his neck’s muscles. Flashes of light danced before his eyes. Christ, the southpaw had the best left he’d ever had the misfortune to come across. But it didn’t douse the fire burning in Hayden’s belly.
He hit Simon with a solid blow to his face; his friend’s head jerked backward. But if he thought that would end the fight, he was mistaken. The man counterpunched him soundly in the gut. Hayden’s breath exploded from his lungs. Undeterred, he delivered a jab to Simon’s jaw.
Simon shook his head as though trying to clear his vision, then stepped closer and drew back his fist.
A feminine scream pierced the air.
They froze.
Hayden turned toward the sound.
Edith stood at the study’s threshold, her complexion wan, her eyes as round as a full moon. “I cannot believe such behavior. You two act no better than thugs. You’re foolish sods.” Edith tossed them both a scowl, gathered her skirts, and flounced from the room, slamming the door in her wake.
Both he and Simon stood staring at the door, mouths gaping.
Hayden rubbed his hand across his tender jaw and contemplated Simon’s superior left jab, his saintly sister’s use of such a vulgar word, and his own burst of anger. In retrospect, it had been utterly foolish to drag his oldest friend out of his chair and plant a facer on him like a raving madman.
“I didn’t know your sister had such an extensive vocabulary,” Simon finally said, falling into a chair, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs.
“Nor did I.” Hayden leaned against the edge of the desk and scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair.
Gingerly Simon ran his forefinger and thumb over the bridge of his nose. “Hayden, don’t you realize I was baiting you? I’m quite aware you are taken with your little nurse, though I never realized to what extent.”
After scooping up his discarded coat, Hayden jammed his arms through the sleeves. “Is it that obvious?”
“Blatantly. You’ve been exceedingly morose since she left.”
Hayden sat in his chair, reached into the carved wooden box on the desk, and extracted a cigar. He tossed it to Simon and opened his mouth, intent on apologizing, but Simon raised his hand.
“No need, old fellow. I enjoyed that immensely.” Standing, Simon clamped the cigar between his teeth. “In fact, I think I’ll head down to Clapton’s Boxing Club and find myself a sparring partner.” He picked up his discarded clothes. “If you truly haven’t seen Miss Camden since she left your employ, Hayden, I suggest you call upon her soon.”
Yes, if she didn’t show up, he would go to her Chelsea residence this evening after interviewing for Celia’s governess. He shook his head, tried to silence the voice that kept whispering, She’s not coming. Only a fool would marry a man branded such a heartless rogue.
And Sophia was far from a fool.
* * *
As dusk settled, Hayden walked Edith to her awaiting carriage.
“So, do you have a favorite candidate for Celia’s governess?” Edith asked. Light from a streetlamp illuminated her face.
No, not a single one had impressed him. He wished he could’ve asked Sophia her opinion, but she’d not shown up. He grimaced.
“Is your leg hurting you, dear?”
He smoothed out his expression and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. “No. Perhaps we should interview another round of candidates.”
“More?” Edith sighed. “It feels as if we interviewed an army of them today.”
None right for the position. Too rigid. Too stern-faced. Too . . . Oh, blast it, who was he kidding? The problem was none of them made him think of Sophia—her caring nature, quick wit, her smile.
“If you insist, I’ll set up more interviews,” Edith said.
“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.
Edith climbed inside and Hayden closed the carriage door. “Drive on,” he told the coachman.
The man tipped his hat, and the carriage moved up the dim street.
Hayden hobbled back into his residence. Hawthorne stood in the entry hall. “Your dinner will be ready shortly, my lord.”
He had no time for eating. He intended to call on Sophia. “Have my carriage sent around.”
A short time later, Hayden found himself staring disbelievingly at Sophia’s housekeeper as she informed him her mistress didn’t wish to see him.
She’d had a change of heart. He’d known it was possible. The life he’d led since returning to London after Celia’s birth made him a sad prospect for a husband. But he needed to speak with Sophia. He wouldn’t admit the truth about Celia’s parentage—he couldn’t cast that shame on the child—but perhaps if Sophia were in the room, he could convince her of his feelings.
He brushed past the housekeeper and walked to the steps. “Tell your mistress I’m waiting for her.” He spoke loud, hoping if Sophia skulked at the top of the stairs she’d realize he wouldn’t leave until they spoke.
Mrs. MacLean twisted her hands in her white apron. “I believe Dr. Trimble will be asking for her hand in marriage.”
The thought of her with any other man made his jaw clench. He narrowed his eyes at the harridan.
The woman stepped back. “Dr. Trimble cherishes her. He’ll give her a family she will be able to love and care for.” She tipped her chin up. “What will happen to her when ye tire of her?”
“Is that what you think, Mrs. MacLean, that my intentions are not honorable?” Hard to blame the woman for thinking otherwise. The gossip columns tossed his name around like a shuttlecock during a badminton game.
“Are they?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Milord, I’ve known the lass a long while. She has a pure heart. Better than most, but ’tis fragile. She has lost everyone she’s ever loved. After her niece died, she suffered a dire case of the blue devils. Aye, the good doctor saved her, he did. Told her he needed her help with his patients. He’s not only good to her. He’s good for her.”
Silently Hayden damned the old witch to hell. She didn’t fight fair. Somehow, she comprehended his fears. Knew he was haunted over having failed Laura and worried he’d fail Sophia as well, yet he’d not leave until he spoke with her. He opened the double doors and stepped inside the drawing room.
As if he was a recalcitrant puppy fond of piddling on the carpet, Mrs. MacLean followed him into the room.
“Tell her if she doesn’t come down here, I shall go up,” he said.
The woman’s eyes grew round. She darted out of the room and up the stairs. Her feet moved up the treads at a speed which seemed to defy her advanced years.
The sound of footfalls descending the stairs perked up his ears.
He took a deep breath, shoved his hands in his pockets, and then took them out.
Sophia stepped into the room. Unlike last night, she was dressed in one of her serviceable navy gowns, her hair pinned into a tight chignon, and her expression as tight as a clergyman’s giving a eulogy.
“Sophia.”
“Lord Westfield.”
So she would not call him by his given name. Yes, he was right. She’d had a change of heart. Everything in her demeanor conveyed that.
He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “May we speak?”
“It appears I have little choice in the matter.” She glanced at the housekeeper, now standing at the threshold, and the woman moved away from the doorway. “I would offer you a seat, but I’m rather tired, my lord, so I hope our conversation will be brief.”
He stepped toward her.
She held up her hands. “You should pat yourself on the back. You really are quite adept at winning. Did you add a wager on this dare as well? Tell me, my lord, what value did you place on my virginity? A shilling? Five pounds? A bottle of wine?”
The muscles in his shoulders tightened. “You believe I bet someone I could bed you?”
“Lord Simon Adler, to be specific.”
“The devil take him. Did he tell you that?”
“No, I overheard you, so please do not deny it.”
“Overheard?”
“When I called on you today.”
“You called at my residence? Hawthorne never informed me.”
“He didn’t see me. I came up the servants’ stairs from the kitchen. That’s when I heard you and your vile friend talking about his dare to bed me.”
“Believe me when I say, I didn’t accept Lord Adler’s foolish dare. Do you really have such a low opinion of me?”
Her hesitation, along with the way she averted her gaze, answered the question. Her eyes centered on him again. “I believe you are a master manipulator who clearly knows what to say to achieve what you want.”
Good Lord, she thought him no better than a snake in the grass. He’d earned his reputation with his fast and scandalous life, but he’d thought . . . What had he thought? That she’d seen through all of his tomfoolery? Thought him someone worthy of her tender companionship? Her love?
Obviously not. He should go. The housekeeper was right. Trimble would give Sophia a stable life with a man she could trust. She deserved that and more.
“Since you have me all figured out, we have little to discuss.” He walked to the door. “Good night, Sophia.”