“You are not my husband yet, and might I ask why you called me afractious swan? The fractious part is self-explanatory, but the reference to a swan bewilders me. You have done it more than once now, and I wish you to define it so I might know whether to be insulted.”
A daunting look flashed in his eyes, like ripples of lightning warning of a coming storm. She found it both seductive and disconcerting. She was out of her element here. Men were not her expertise.
“Well?” she prodded.
The smile he gave her not only brimmed with mischief but was also dark and dangerously delicious. It sent a series of shivers through her. “Even though I am sure it will nettle you, since everything I say does, I will tell you.”
She adopted an aloofness, determined to never allow him to see how he still affected her even after all these years. “Go on.”
“All those years ago, you reminded me of an awkward duckling just at the point of getting its feathers. Not ugly, but clumsy and determined for everyone to believe you were grownand ready to fly.” He paused and took in a deep breath, possibly bracing himself for a well-deserved slap. “But when I first saw you in the queen’s cottage, you took my breath away. The gangly young thing always squawking and causing trouble had transformed into a stunningly beautiful swan who behaved with such regal grace, I struggled not to kneel at your feet.”
The awkward duckling, as he had so ungraciously called her, longed to treasure his words about becoming the beautiful swan, as if they were priceless gems mined only for her. But she knew better. She might not be experienced when it came to men, but she was with this one. Never would she believe any compliment falling from his lips. She gave him an unimpressed look. “You should write poetry. Or perhaps romantic stories for ladies to enjoy reading on rainy afternoons.”
A knock at the door interrupted them.
“Come in,” she called out, noting Nash’s irritated expression with no small amount of smug satisfaction.
Thornton entered with a silver tray that contained a decanter of brandy and a pair of glasses. As he set it on the low table in front of them, he proffered a polite nod her way. “Shall I pour, my lady?”
“No, thank you. That will be all.”
With the soundless steps of the perfect servant, Thornton left the room and closed the door behind him.
“I know you declined before,” she said to Nash, “but would you not care for a drink after all?”
“Yes—and do not be stingy with the pour, my lady.”
Chapter Four
He had underestimatedwinning her over but would not err in that estimation again. Nash accepted the glass of brandy with a polite nod and relaxed back into the settee, whose delicate design had never been intended for a man his size. It crackled and groaned every time he moved. If the thing didn’t collapse into a pile of yellow damask cushions and splintered mahogany kindling, he would be surprised.
The rich, fruity aroma of the drink warned him the spirits were more than likely the highest quality of brandy his modest palate had ever enjoyed. Possibly even cognac, but he was not an expert on such indulgences. He held it on his tongue and breathed it in to savor the flavor while plotting the next skirmish of words with his lovely swan. She might assume she had won the battle, but the lady would do well to realize he intended to win the war.
“Your mother informed me about your placing marked banknotes in the ransoms you paid so far,” he said. The reason for his calling her swan had failed to impress her or soften her resolve against him. It was time for another tactic. “Quite brilliant of you.”
Sophie acknowledged the compliment with the barest tip of her head, clearly conveying she was not the vain sort who hungered for any form of flattery. “It is not brilliant until it trapsour enemy. As of yesterday, no one has attempted to cash them out.”
“Were each of the payoffs made at the same place?”
“No.” She sipped her brandy while staring off into the distance. “Four different addresses with no similarities at all. The only thing the five letters seem to share is the author.”
“I don’t suppose the handwriting is familiar to you?” As another sip of brandy warmed his tongue, he feasted his eyes on the delightful flush of color rising along the curve of the lady’s lovely throat and across her high cheekbones. The one or two sips of brandy she had taken so far were hardly enough to warrant such a warming to her fair skin. She must have partaken in a drink or two while visiting the Duchess of Hasterton. Lady Rydleshire had also apprised him of Sophie’s close friendship with Her Grace.
When she didn’t answer, he stretched out his long legs, crossed them at the ankles, and openly stared at her. His swan appeared quite bemused as she gazed off into space with her glass partially lifted to her lips. “Lady Sophie? Have you thought of something?”
“All the letters were sent from a location fifty miles from here. Thornton specifically reported each of them cost the same to receive. The postage was two shillings and fourpence.” She blinked and looked at him as if suddenly remembering he was there. “And no, I do not recognize the handwriting. Nor can I discern if the author is male or female.”
“So, no suspects?”
“No. And the nature of the beastly thing cripples my resources, and the blackmailer knows it. I cannot very well make use of the Bow Street Runners or any of my private investigators. They all believe my fictitious brother Solomon is quite real.”
“Solomon?”
Sophie huffed a humorless laugh that made his heart go out to her. “My father’s name was David, so Maman felt the nameSolomonquite fitting.” She set her glass on the table and frowned down at it. “After my father’s death, Maman became quite pious. I believe she can still quote several chapters of the Old Testament word for word. Especially the ones about King David.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and bowed her head. “I really am quite tired, Sir Nash. Might we continue this conversation at another time?”
He shifted to rise from the settee, but the thing gave way with a groaning crash, just as he had feared it might. “Bloody hell!” He slammed to the floor atop the cushions that had thankfully protected his arse from any sharp stabs of broken wood.
Sophie snorted with laughter. “Oh my heavens, are you all right?”
