Of course, that was the difficulty. She had a small amount of money—Maddy had given it to her with strict instructions before she took off in search of her pirate. It would be enough for a ride on the public coach to London, though she had no idea what she’d do when she got there. She could follow Maddy to Devonport, just outside of Plymouth, but if Maddy was working as a housemaid she could scarcely bring her sister in. Besides, Sophie had absolutely no intention of scrubbing and sweeping and making beds. Cooking was one thing—it was a glorious task for the senses. Any tedium could be passed along to Prunella or one of the kitchen maids, though in truth nothing felt tedious in the kitchen. The cutting of vegetables, the kneading of dough—they were among the many routines that were balm for the soul.
Perhaps Mrs. Griffiths would be interested in bribing her to leave. For some reason the old woman didn’t want her here, and for the proper financial remuneration Sophie should be able to go. She wasn’t equipped to sort through papers and discover some heinous plot. She was a creature of emotion and passion, given to listening to her instincts when it came to people. She wasn’t made to fathom complicated plots and obscure motives. There was no reason for Alexander to kill her father. To be sure, he gained ownership of this house, but it was an expensive house to maintain, and the previous viscount had gambled away all the money before he finally parted with the place.
And yet the new viscount, coming from an obscure background to the north, somehow managed to support this grand house and more servants than her father had ever hired, plus pay for unnecessary refurbishing. Not to mention the fact that rooting up the rose garden and putting in a reflecting pool would have been an absurd expense.
Unless, of course, he’d wound up with the majority of the assets of Russell Shipping, assets that had disappeared without a trace.
She closed her eyes, trying to picture him with a sardonic smile on his face, but instead she saw him as she’d first seen him, in his smalls as he’d climbed from the pool, water dripping off every inch of bronzed, muscled skin, glinting in the afternoon sunlight like some kind of golden god.
The sudden, distressed noise startled her, even though it had come from her own mouth. This was not good, not good at all. She had always prided he
rself on being a pragmatic creature, and first of all she had to protect herself. If he kissed her again she might not be able to stop him from doing more, and she knew full well what “more” would be. She knew, because for the first time in her life she felt the same kind of longing, in her chest, her belly, between her legs. She wanted to touch and taste that skin, and self-discipline had never been her strong suit. She needed to get out of there, fast.
There was no need to panic—he was gone for at least the night. Plenty of time to take off in the morning. She stretched her kinked muscles and removed the starched cap and apron. She’d already dispensed with her shoes the moment she’d sat down in the chair, much to Dickens’s shock and disapproval, but after a day on her feet in front of a hot stove she needed to be barefoot.
In fact, she needed to be outside. She’d discovered an unexpected love for the outdoors once she’d moved in with Nanny. In the past she’d always remained in the country house, playing card games or charades or amateur theatricals with her sisters. The other two tended to ride and walk, but Sophie preferred to keep her porcelain complexion unblemished by the sun.
But once in the cramped quarters of Nanny’s cottage she’d had no choice but to escape, and she’d discovered there was nothing she liked better than hiking up the hills that surrounded Renwick.
If she’d stayed put in the cottage she never would have seen Alexander Griffiths swimming, and much as she’d like to believe otherwise, she knew that was a major reason she’d chosen to come to Renwick.
Then again, her sisters had distrusted him as one of the three major suspects in their father’s death. But Bryony had married the first of the suspects, presumably exonerating him, and Maddy had been off investigating Eustace Russell’s privateer captain for so long Sophie suspected she’d not only decided the ancient mariner was innocent, but she’d probably fallen in love with someone as well.
Not for one moment did she consider that Maddy might be in trouble herself. Maddy was indomitable—she let nothing get in her way. If the old sea dog turned out to be nefarious then Maddy would simply deal with it, Maddy-style. The fact that she hadn’t returned, hadn’t been heard of in almost a month, didn’t bother Sophie. If there was one person who could take care of herself it was Maddy.
It wasn’t fair. Her sisters were off, having adventures, falling in love, and Sophie was . . .
Doing the same thing. Oh, not the love part, absolutely not. Not ever. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of falling in love—women did very foolish things for love. No, she was going to be completely ruthless, marry whomever made the most advantageous offer, and live like a queen in the very best part of London. The Dark Viscount could marry a simpering female and stay out here and she’d never think of him again.
Oh, well, maybe she would. When she was on her back, doing her duty for Queen and Country, with some anonymous, pleasant gentleman laboring away, she might just close her eyes and dwell on the very wicked thought of Alexander Griffiths doing such shameful things to her, and no one need ever know.
Bugger! She was doing it again. She had to leave here before she became totally besotted. She was falling in love with him, and it made no sense. It wasn’t simply the undeniable attraction of his face and body; it wasn’t just his decadent kisses. He was cynical, inexplicable, and he was all she could think about. She could only hope that once away from him she could forget all about him and the unnerving way he made her feel.
At times his odd conversation convinced her he was half-mad. It didn’t matter. She knew, deep in her heart, that she was falling in love with him, emotions rampaging through her that she’d never felt before. She had to get out of here before it was too late.
Loving someone was a dire mistake. She’d seen what happened to Maddy, and Sophie’s heart had broken for her, despite their constant bickering. She never wanted that to happen to her, and the only way to avoid it was to never fall in love. Men were too powerful as it was. If she were so weak as to fall in love, she’d have no defenses left. The wolves would eat her alive.
No, Alexander wasn’t the man for her. Someday she’d look back on him as a temporary weakness, and she’d wonder, what if . . . ? But that was as close as she was getting to his bed, no matter how much fear and desire were warring within her. She needed someone amenable, someone she could control. Not a wild heart like the one she knew beat beneath Alexander’s cool exterior.
She started up the winding stairs to the ground floor of the house, her bare feet silent on the wooden treads. She would have had a hard time seeing if it weren’t for the brightness of the full moon sending mullioned shadows through the uncurtained windows. A delicious little shiver ran through her. People did foolish things on the night of the full moon. They danced around bonfires and celebrated pagan rituals. She paused to look out the French doors that led onto the terrace and the pool beyond. The water glimmered in the bright moonlight, and she was tempted, so tempted to go out, to dance barefoot in the moonlight, to slip into the cool, silken water. What harm would it do? She wasn’t going to find out a thing from shuffling through Alexander’s books, and he’d probably notice someone had been snooping. And she certainly wasn’t about to search his bedroom. The very last place she wanted to go was near his bed. She was better off not knowing which room it was in.
She looked up into the sky. The moon was so bright she could barely see the stars, though a few clouds reflected the silvery light. She would be leaving this beautiful place, back to the city where you never looked at the sky, presuming you could even see it through the smoke and haze, and she felt a sudden clarity settle over her. She had to leave, much as she hated to, leave before Alexander could return and tempt her once more. But for her last night she would go out and enjoy herself in the night air.
The door was locked, which amused her. They’d never locked the doors when they’d lived here. There were enough strong servants around to repel any intruder, and besides, this was the country, safe and peaceful.
She unlocked it and slipped outside, then stood still, breathing in the night air. And it was warm, unusually so, with a soft breeze that carried with it the scent of apple blossoms and newly turned earth, and Sophie let out a soft laugh of pure joy as she turned her face up to the moon. Tonight, with no one to watch her, she’d be a pagan. Tomorrow she’d be on her way to London and find her way from there.
She moved into the first part of the complex garden layout. The pool was just beyond, gleaming in the moonlight, but she took an abrupt turn to the right, still distressed about the destruction of Bryony’s roses. A familiar scent drifted to her, and she walked ahead into what had once been a cutting garden, and stopped, momentarily stunned by her discovery.
There were the roses, everywhere, the early ones blooming and adding a delicious flavor to the night air, the masses of later varieties leafing out and getting ready to bud. They had all been carefully transplanted, thriving in their new setting instead of lost forever.
Sophie felt tears sting her eyes, and she fought them back. She never cried. Never ever ever, not when word came that their father had died, not when they’d been evicted with only the clothes on their backs. Not when Bryony had come up with this harebrained scheme to become servants to find out what had happened to their father and she’d sent them off to stay with Nanny Gruen. Not when Maddy had left her as well.
But the scent of roses on the warm night air ripped away her last defenses, and she wanted to weep with the sheer beauty of it, and the loss of so much.
It only lasted a moment. She rubbed her eyes with stern hands, then reached back and released her hair from its tight coils, stuffing the tortoiseshell pins in her pocket. She shook the mass free, and another weight lifted from her as it rippled down her back. She plucked a fragrant pink rose—one of her favorites, though she forgot the fancy name Bryony had given it—carefully picked off its thorns, and stuck it behind her ear, letting the scent surround her. This was her last night here. Tomorrow she would take her carefull
y hoarded money and leave this place, questions unanswered, heart intact.