“Howick isn’t here. He’s gone to ah, see his friend. He sent word to let you know Sophie’s whereabouts. She is safe, for now, but he insists you and your men join her there.
“Where? Where is she?” Arnaud’s thin thread of patience snapped.
Lady Howick faced him, hands on hips. “She went to the only place she feels is her own. Howick’s friend, Mrs. Winters, purchased Paolo Brancelli’s old home for her, on Edwardes Square in Kensington. She’s safe for now,” she added, handing him a card with the address neatly printed on the face. “Howick has guards watching over her from the street and square.”
“I’ll take my men to make sure no harm comes to her.”
She placed a frail hand over his arm. “Please, stop before you race over there and think. Right now, she is in more danger fromyouthan anyone else.”
Arnaud stepped back as if she’d struck him.
“I’m sure she believes she does not need to marry. Her father’s publisher agreed this week to purchase her latest collection of poems. She’s sent word to her uncle she will forfeit her grandmother’s inheritance if he abandons his campaign to destroy you, your men, and everyone she loves.
“She gave up everything for you. She’s willing to struggle on her own to make sure you’re safe. If you intend to continue to insist you cannot marry her, then go back to your precious ship and leave her in peace.” Lady Howick sank onto a settee as if drained by her speech.
“Milady, I am sorry, but I have to leave…” Arnaud bowed slightly, his face burning with embarrassment.
She waved him out, and added, “Howick said to take his carriage. You have a lot to accomplish before tomorrow.”
Arnaud strode the length of Howick House and out through the back gardens toward the mews before Lady Howick’s last words struck him. What did she mean by “tomorrow”?
Sophie stepped out of her bath and wrapped a long drying cloth around her. She rubbed her skin until it glowed in an attempt to obliterate the memories of her time on the ship. She moved close to the white nightdress Lydia had sent over with the rest of her things.
Now that the wrinkles had been steamed out by the heat of her bath, she took a long look at the fine, thin muslin. This wasnotthe old nightdress she’d slept in at Howick House. Swaths of elaborate lace trim formed froths of ruffles along the neckline and down the sleeves. Where had Lydia found such a creation? She could not remember her friend ever venturing into bed in such luxury, either.
She pulled her simple chemise over her head before gingerly working her way into the lacy white confection. Even with the chemise beneath, the mysterious night wear left nothing to one’s speculation. Thank the gods no one else would ever see her this way. After wrapping herself in her warm shawl, she made her way to the front parlor and cautiously opened the front window curtain a tiny sliver. Lord Howick’s men were still there all along the street.
She worried about the poor staff stuck out in the night to protect her, but Sergeant Randall had been adamant. They would stay until the threat was over. She had no idea how that would be determined or when, since her uncle was nearly invincible. And besides, she was tired to the core of her aching bones. But, somehow, she doubted sleep would come easily this night.
She spied a row of her father’s books on a low bookshelf and smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Arnaud focusedon the scenery change as they passed from the streets of Mayfair, further and further west. The roads passed more rural scenes now, and the regularly spaced street lights of town became more and more infrequent. Most of the illumination shone from the lanterns on the Howick carriage and the faint shine of the cloud-plagued moon.
At his feet, Sophie’s naughty little dog woofed and gave sharp barks each time the carriage passed occasional farm animals being herded back to the barns dotting the fields. His men had piled into the carriage with him so they could fill in for Howick’s men throughout the night. They would use the carriage for shelter as they worked their way through guard shifts.
When Arnaud first realized Sophie had battered her way off the Jamaica-bound ship, he couldn’t decide whether to rage at her foolhardiness or acknowledge awe and pride in how she’d outwitted a ship full of tough sailors. Now he had no idea how he, a simple, battle-hardened sea captain, would manage to deal with this stubborn woman. When he hove into view on her front stoop, for all he knew she might attack him with kitchen crockery.
His men had become unnaturally quiet. He looked back inside the carriage. “What?” They all stared.
Cullen was the first to speak. “What are you going to do, Captain?”
Arnaud wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “What do you mean? We’re going to help Howick’s men protect the impossible, prickly Miss Brancelli.”
“No,” Cullen said. “What areyougoing to do?”
“I’m going to go to the house, knock on the door, make sure she’s all right, return her fidgety dog, and then we’ll parley with Sergeant Randall.”
“Right,” his men said as one, and turned away from him, nodding their heads in feigned sleep.
Sophie rocked in the old chair still in the shabby front parlor and read from her father’s poetry in the fluttering light of a fat candle. She’d picked the volume he’d written during their time in Venice and could almost see his exuberant grin and hear his impassioned tales of his life there as a young man.
At a brisk tap at the door, her heart jumped up nearly to her throat. She rose and opened the front curtain again to make sure the visitor was one of Sergeant Randall’s men.
Arnaud.Drat. The very person her silly heart had hoped for and the very last one the remaining practical scrap of her mind wanted to see. She stood, indecisive, for a hiccup of time and then told her pragmatic side that of course he would want to see for himself she was safe, so that he could go away and never have to deal with her again. Her crazy little dog, though, apparently suffered no doubts. He raced around the man’s ankles, yipping for attention.
When she finally opened the door, Howick’s guards were still positioned along the street, and now Arnaud’s men were taking up vantage points in front of and behind the row of townhouses. More importantly, the most stubborn man she’d ever known stood in front of her, shifting from one boot to the other, clearing his throat, and refusing to step inside.
