Ryder took his leave after luncheon. He kissed Sophie lightly on her mouth, ran his fingertips over her eyebrows, studied her face, but saw nothing he could interpret. There was so much to be done, so many decisions to be made. He had to see Tom Lynch in ten minutes, a farmer of intelligence and sound common sense. Ryder sighed and took his leave and hoped doing nothing was what she needed right now.
As for Sinjun, she was quick to absent herself, saying only that she was going to play with the children.
At precisely three o'clock, Sophie pulled Opal to a halt beneath the elm tree, whose trunk was so thick and gnarly that it looked far older than the surrounding hills, probably older than all the goblins that supposedly lived burrowed under those hills.
She hadn't long to wait. Lord David rode up looking as arrogant and self-assured as he always had. An angel's face with a devil's heart.
She didn't say anything, merely waited.
"You lied to me," he said in a very pleasant voice.
"What a novel thing to say, considering the man who's saying it."
"You told me you had (the pox. You said you wouldn't be my mistress anymore because you didn't want to infect me. You lied. You don't have the pox else you wouldn't have married Ryder Sherbrooke. You just wanted to be rid of me."
"That's true."
"But that's absurd! Truly ridiculous. You not want me anymore?"
"It's true nonetheless."
"Ah, so you wanted Ryder Sherbrooke, and you knew you had to get rid of me else he could have found out about me, and if he had, why then, he would never have believed that you preferred him over me. Yes, if he'd known about me, he would have realized that you knew what a real man was like and wouldn't be taken in by the likes of him."
Sophie stared at him, wondering silently at the workings of his mind. "You think like no one I know," she said finally. "Besides, why do you care now? You told me you were going to wed an heiress. I can't imagine that you would want your betrothed to know about what you believe happened between us on Jamaica. Surely you cannot believe that I would say anything. You want this marriage to go forth, do you not?"
"I spoke to Charles Grammond. We've come to a decision."
She felt a frisson of uncertainty for the first time. Lord David was possessed of a mind that ran in onl
y one direction; it was probably the key to his success at gambling. He couldn't be diverted or sidetracked or brought about to see another point of view. His voice had lowered, deepened, and in that instant, she saw him naked, standing in front of her, and he was laughing and drinking the rum punch, becoming sodden, becoming ready for Dahlia, thank God.
"What do you want, David?"
His back straightened and he threw back his head like a little king. "I am Lord David to a whore like you."
"What you are is a pathetic, corrupt, filthy-minded little bastard."
He raised his arm then lowered it. "No, I wouldn't want to bruise that lovely face of yours. Your husband would surely notice and Ryder Sherbrooke is a man I won't wish to have as an enemy."
Sophie supposed that she, as a woman, would never be accounted as an enemy worthy of notice. Well, she would tell him the truth and let him stew on it.
"I will tell you something else, Lord David. I never slept with you. Such a thought frankly turns my stomach. I never slept with any of the men. It was Dahlia, a girl you perhaps met in Montego Bay, always Dahlia at the cottage who came to see to you after you'd drunk yourself silly."
He looked startled, then laughed. "Don't tell me that is the tale you tried to pass off on Ryder Sherbrooke."
"It was all my uncle's idea. He forced me to pretend to take you all for lovers so he could gain what he wanted for himself. The rum punch all of you drank with great enthusiasm was, quite simply, drugged. You being the way you are, most men being the way they are, why, it was very easy."
"Oh? And what did your uncle want from me?"
"He wanted you to ruin Charles Grammond so he would have to sell his plantation, which he did, to my uncle. Then, after you'd done what he wished you to do, he told me to dismiss you. The pox infection was his idea and it worked quite well. I remember you turned positively white with fear."
"You're lying. You will tell me no more lies. Your uncle was a gentleman who was distraught over your whoring ways. No one believed that you didn't mur-der him, even when Cole had it said about that your uncle was garroted by Thomas. And that damned Sherbrooke helped you escape Jamaica and punishment. Now you're blaming him! Jesus, a lady wouldn't even know what the pox is. You're no lady. You're nothing but a cheap little whore and both Charles and I have decided that we enjoyed you enough so that we'll continue our little trysts."
"As I said, you're pathetic and if you think I would ever allow you near me—"
"I'm near you now and I fully plan to get nearer."
"Ah, rape?"