Chapter Twenty-Five
Perched on a seat inside Stanwyck’s sleek carriage, Sophie curled her fingers around the edge of the cushion, bracing herself as the conveyance jostled along the route. Had there always been so many ruts on the road, or had the driver’s mad dash to the Stanwyck country estate accentuated the bumps and sways? Dash it all, Bertram certainly enjoyed daring the devil each time he took the reins. At this rate, her bottom and nearly all the other parts of her would be numb by the time they arrived at what Stanwyck’s father had dubbed Hunter’s Folly.
Not that she didn’t understand the need to make short work of the miles between London and the Yorkshire countryside. Stanwyck had made it clear they needed to arrive at the estate by sunset. Traveling by moonlight was a risky proposition in the best of circumstances, and if there were any chance they had been followed, they’d be far safer behind sturdy walls than exposed on a remote road.
Sophie closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her head back against the cushion, willing herself to relax. A show of nerves would not do, especially with Campbell’s no-nonsense, exceedingly devoted secretary seated across from her. Sophie dug her nails into the cushion a bit deeper, feeling the woman’s eyes on her at that very moment, observing her every move. Was Miss Beddingham experiencing a twinge or two of apprehension? It would be only natural given the circumstances. Plucked out of the safe confines of the editor’s office at the Herald, Rebecca Beddingham had traded her usual duties for her first assignment in the field.
More likely than not, they would spend their days filling time rather than facing down some sinister menace. But the potential for danger could not be denied. Still, holing away like a fox chased by hounds went against Sophie’s every instinct. At least in the city, she might’ve slipped away from her exile to pursue an inquiry or two. Surely, the villain who’d seen to Trask’s death would not be so bold as to attack her on a crowded street in the light of day.
Now, she’d be penned up in what amounted to a spacious prison—and with Stanwyck, no less.
Gavin would not allow himself to consider that she did not need his protection. The man’s thick skull was likely as impenetrable as Hunter’s Folly’s stone walls. Quite ironic, that. She’d had to do the rescuing the last time the curs had reared their heads. Of course, Jack and Reggie had employed the element of surprise in their favor. But that scarcely signified. She was a trained operative. She knew how to use a gun and an assortment of other less conventional devices that would bring an assailant to his knees. She neither wanted nor needed Stanwyck to play the white knight.
The carriage jolted. Behind them, Bertram’s brother Fitzhugh drove a second coach carrying Gavin, his assistant, and supplies to see them through at least a week. Sophie smiled to herself, envisioning Gavin and Henry enduring the same jaw-rattling pace. Undoubtedly, the men would’ve preferred to ride their own mounts to the estate, but to travel unprotected in full view posed far too great a risk.
“Blast these ruts! We’ll be fortunate if Bertram does not manage to jar loose every tooth in our heads by the time we cross onto the grounds of the estate.”
Seated on the padded bench across from her, Miss Beddingham nodded in agreement as she gripped the edge of the seat with white-knuckled hands. Jennie had insisted Sophie be accompanied by another female, if only to provide a sense of camaraderie and propriety in what would likely be an exercise in isolation.
Not that Sophie gave a fig for what was proper and what was not. What did it matter? After all was said and done, she and Gavin would go their separate ways. It wasn’t as if a passionate indulgence or two would irreparably alter the course of her life.
Sophie glanced from the window, watching as the greens and golds of the countryside seemed to speed past. She wanted to deny the effect Gavin Stanwyck had upon her, the way her heart sped ever so slightly at the very sight of him, the way her mouth went dry with longing when he spoke her name in that husky rasp of his. Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She’d indulged her hunger for his touch, only to discover there was no sating the need he’d kindled deep within her. How was she to avoid that particular temptation while under the same roof with the man, even if that roof was atop a castle?
Did Jennie suspect she’d developed a taste for Gavin Stanwyck’s kiss? She had not expressed as much, but she had made it clear he proved a distraction.
Sophie smiled to herself. Her mentor was certainly well-versed in that very subject, wasn’t she? After all, her beloved Matthew had once been at the center of her investigation into a vicious criminal organization. Seeing the man of integrity beneath the brutal façade, she’d fallen for the supposed sinister inspector. In the process, their lives had been forever changed.
Of course, Gavin Stanwyck had little in common with Matthew Colton—other than his courage. And his clever mind. And his stubborn intention to make a play at chivalry.
Dash it all, she didn’t want to like the man. It would be far easier to simply desire his lean, hard-muscled body and indulge in a spot of pleasure or two…or three…without craving his spontaneous smile, his biting wit, and his all-too-infuriating arrogance.
“My, I’ve never been on an assignment. It’s all so very exciting,” Rebecca said, her blue eyes radiant with enthusiasm. The soft-spoken comment provided Sophie a welcome escape from her thoughts.
Perhaps a year or two older than Sophie, Rebecca managed MacAllister Campbell’s office with an exacting efficiency. Despite her obvious discomfort at being tossed about like a stone inside a tumbler, her excitement at being chosen for this mission overruled her chattering teeth.
Sophie braced herself against another rut in the road. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but I suspect this may well be a rather dull experience.”
Rebecca’s mouth curved in a subtle smile. “In any case, it’s bound to be more intriguing than fiddling about with Mr. Campbell’s correspondence and his oh-so-precise files.”
“Undoubtedly,” Sophie agreed. “He is fortunate to have your assistance.”
She gave a little sniff. “At times, I feel the fern on my desk receives more recognition.”
So, Mac Campbell’s devoted secretary was not quite as selflessly devoted as she appeared. Interesting. Could it be that Miss Beddingham had developed a rogue feeling or two for the Herald’s inscrutable editor and the agency’s third-in-command?
“He’s a hard man to know,” Sophie said. “I doubt even Jennie can read him at times.”
“Indeed. I sometimes find myself wondering about him…about how he came to be so reticent. He’s scarcely a decade older than myself, but he carries himself as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.”
“He’s quite protective,” Sophie said. “I’m positive he values your contributions more than he has expressed.”
Rebecca nodded. “It is refreshing to have a change of duties. Finally, someone has realized I can do something other than ferry messages and attend to the daily post.”
They passed an hour or so making light conversation before the carriage turned onto a gravel-paved lane, and Sophie took in her first view of Hunter’s Folly.
My heavens, Stanwyck had not exaggerated when he’d described his father’s country house as a fortress. The residence, if indeed that was the correct term for the massive structure, was an actual castle, built of stone and mortar that had withstood centuries of wind and rain.
“Well, it certainly looks secure,” Rebecca said. “I cannot imagine anyone could breach those walls.”
Sophie sighed. “If one can tolerate being cloistered within them.”
Rebecca’s brows formed an upside-down vee. “Surely we will be able to explore the grounds. The foliage is magnificent.”
“Soon enough. Colton’s agents are on the trail of the men who attacked Stanwyck. It won’t be long until the source of the threat is identified and apprehended.”
The coach wheels clicked over the small stones as Bertram reined the horses to a stop. Sophie peered from the window, spotting the man at the reins of the second carriage. Fitzhugh had introduced himself as Bertram’s brother—younger by nine months, proudly in possession of three-fourths of his teeth, and evidently, still fancying himself a charmer with the ladies. He bounded from the driver’s bench with abundant energy as the door opened, the steps unfolded, and Gavin and Henry stepped from the coach.
Moments later, Bertram opened their door, stepping aside as the younger men escorted them from the compartment.
Gavin gestured to the castle. “As you can see, my father never did anything in a modest fashion.”
“It seems a fascinating place,” Sophie said. “I trust your father had an interest in medieval history.”
“No. Not at all.” Gavin smiled. “In truth, I believe he purchased it to irk my mother. She referred to it as ‘the monstrosity.’”
“Well, I find it intriguing.” Sophie peered up at the north tower. “Exploring this structure shall be a grand adventure.”
“Indeed,” Rebecca agreed. “I can well imagine a knight charging up to this castle on a fine Arabian.”
Henry fixed his gaze on her. Was that a smile threatening to brighten his dour expression? “Shall I take yer bag, miss?”
Rebecca flashed the handsome Scot a coy smile. So, the prim Miss Beddingham wasn’t quite so stuffy, after all. “I would be in your debt.”
“No trouble at all.” Henry’s lips thinned as she motioned him past the tapestry bag in her hand to a sizable trunk at the rear of the coach. His shoulder and biceps muscles flexing against its weight, he hoisted the container onto his shoulder. “I see you’ve come prepared for a lengthy stay.”
“One must be prepared for any eventuality.”
“I’d say you’ve accomplished that.” His voice had taken on a tone of good humor, so very different from the agitated concern he’d displayed that morning.
Gavin placed a hand on her sleeve, silently drawing her aside. “Was I ever so gullible? One crook of Miss Beddingham’s dainty finger and he’s off to do her bidding.”
“I must admit I am surprised. I’d felt rather sure she carried a tendre for another man.”
He cocked his head, observing the pair. “It would seem she’s decided to pursue a more promising interest. Henry seems to be quite taken with her.”
“Perhaps,” Sophie said. “For the record, I am quite capable of carrying my own traveling bag.”
Gavin’s attention dropped to the leather satchel in her hand. “Is there a trunk still on the coach?”
Sophie shook her head. “I prefer to travel without the burden of too many possessions.”
He reached for the bag. “In that case, I have no qualms about demonstrating that I am a gentleman.”
“Ah, chivalry is not dead,” she said, handing him the traveling case. “With any luck, neither you nor Mr. MacIntyre will have further cause to demonstrate that trait while we are here.”
He gave a shrug. “I’ve no doubt you will be able to count on Henry should a crisis arise.”
“And what about you? I’ve seen your courage in action.”
“As for me, my dear Sophie, I intend to find a secret passage in the dungeon and cower within it if we should come under attack.”
He affected a serious demeanor, but he could not hide the mischief in his eyes. Bloody unsporting, really, employing his charm at precisely the time when she needed to guard against any undue emotion. This was not the time to indulge her decidedly irrational feelings for Gavin Stanwyck.
“You have a dungeon?” she questioned, if only to focus her thoughts on something other than the subtle, spicy scent of his shaving soap.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Not at all. There is a chamber that served as a dungeon in its time. If you’d like, I can find out where I might acquire the proper equipment. I’d imagine a rack might be just the thing to ease the tension in my back.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“I must confess that is a relief. I can bloody well imagine how the tongues would wag if I went in search of such a thing.”
“A place like this is full of secrets. I am already intrigued.”
The amusement left his gaze. “Tell me, Sophie. What would it take for a man to learn your secrets?”
His question triggered a silent alarm. She’d already revealed far too much. And yet, he did not even know her full name. Revealing that essential truth had been far too risky to consider. In the event she would need to put an ocean between England and herself, she could not chance anyone tracking her down. Even she did not know when she would once again become Sophie Atherton.
She affected a light tone. “I’d say you’ve already learned quite enough. A woman must maintain some element of mystery, if she is to avoid becoming an awful bore.”
“I don’t give a farthing about mystery, Sophie. I want to know you. In and out of my bed.”
Oh, dear. His bold words knocked her ever so slightly off-kilter. She hadn’t seen that coming now, had she? Blast it, had her knees gone wobbly, just a bit?
She pulled in a bracing breath. “That would be unwise. After all, we are not here in search of pleasure.”
His hand curved over hers, large, warm, and powerful. The very recent memory of his fingers exploring her body washed over her. Beneath her starched white blouse, her nipples pebbled, yearning for the tenderness of his touch, as a sweet, molten desire pooled in her core.
He drew nearer, leaning in to her. His warm breath brushed her ear. “Whatever you desire, you’ve only to ask. Remember this, Sophie. If you come to my room tonight, your wish is my command.”
…
Wanting Sophie would drive him mad. Of that, Gavin was bloody certain.
Every time he touched her, his cock overruled what little was left of his logic. The most fleeting contact with her warmth and he wanted to strip her bare and love her tempting body. Every time he thought of her, of her soft, pliant mouth and those breasts that fit his hands so damned perfectly, he went hard as the heavy stone walls of the castle.
The soft curve of her hips and narrow waist attracted his gaze with a magnetic pull he couldn’t will himself to resist. When he held her, he’d never been so close to abandoning all his doubts. Sophie challenged him in a way no woman ever had. The daring glint in her dark eyes intrigued him. She fascinated him. But he knew better than to trust her.
Bloody hell, he still didn’t even know her name. Not with any certainty. He knew what he’d been told, but he’d no reason to believe she had not omitted a detail or two or twenty along the way. When Henry had confronted her with the revelation of S. Adams, her reporter’s pseudonym, she’d nibbled her lower lip. Was that an indication that she’d lied, or at the least, withheld some aspect of the truth?
But when she was in his arms, those confounding doubts evaporated into the ether. When he’d kissed her in his study, she’d melted into him, her softness cradling his erection, teasing and tempting him with the promise to be found in her arms. Their bodies had been made to pleasure the other. He was a logical man. The intense attraction that made him crave her more with each passing day was an inborn hunger that ensured the survival of the species, nothing more. Any connection beyond physical desire was bloody well not meant to be.
Damnable shame he couldn’t entirely convince himself of that fact. If he’d retained a single shred of common sense, he’d keep away from her. In this monstrosity of a fortress, he could conceivably go for days without laying eyes on her.
What was it about the woman that made him want to protect her, even from himself? Whatever the true motives of her quest, he doubted she’d been motivated by greed or self-interest. She’d certainly proved her courage, risking herself to save his life.
If he thought he could bring her some lasting happiness, he’d entertain the fantasy of a life with Sophie. She deserved a man who would give her a stable, peaceful existence, not days and weeks waiting for his return from some dig or another. Someday, when she’d tired of her cloak-and-dagger inquiries, she’d want a man who would love her every night and hold her tenderly until she drifted to sleep in his arms.
Bollocks. At this rate, he’d be reciting Byron and Shelley and penning syrupy verse. How bloody ironic that a man who’d spent the better part of his adult life digging in tombs and carousing with merry widows now stood blindsided by emotions he’d never thought to possess.
He’d been a selfish fool to bring her here. Not that Hunter’s Folly didn’t offer a safe haven. Few outside his inner circle knew of its existence. Fewer still would consider he’d retreat to this place, the cold fortress he’d long despised.
Would it have been better if she’d taken refuge in some hideaway, far from London—far from him? Leaving him behind. Tearing a gash in his soul.
The question was moot. She’d trusted him to shelter her. He would protect her. Or he’d die trying.
And if she came to him tonight, he would deny her nothing.