“You know as well as I that they did not give us a time frame because they did not know.” Maman picked up the discardedbit of embroidery and studied it with a loving smile. “Your needlework skills have improved. Somewhat.”
“You are being kind.” She wasn’t a fool. Maman was attempting to placate her. “I could have gone with them. I have ridden under worse conditions.”
“I do not consider the painful cramping of womanly courses a worse condition than the bruising and wounds you possess. Marie described their current state to me only this morning, and Dr. MacMaddenly insists you might very well have fractured bones he is unaware of. He does not advise that you ride for a few more weeks, and you know it.”
Her mother’s tone did not recommend continuing the current line of conversation, but Sophie couldn’t resist. “You have ridden under worse conditions than the injury I have or a bout of painful courses. You rode after being shot.”
“Sophia Davidia Redwell Bromley.I tire of this subject, and you will change it immediately.”
A heavy sigh escaped her. Even at the somewhat mature age of five and twenty, Maman’s use of her full name still stung. She offered her mother a contrite nod. “Yes, Maman.”
“Write to Frannie,” her mother continued. “She would love to hear from you. After all, even though she adores her new babies, I am quite certain she feels removed from everything with the isolation of her lying in.”
“I wrote to her yesterday. Another letter this week would smack of desperation.”
“Review the ledgers? It is nearly the end of the quarter.”
“I did that earlier,” Sophie said as she moved to the window and peered through the sheer panels of lace hanging between heavier damask draperies in a bright shade of blue that matched the poor, ruined bluebirds of her embroidery. Across the way, in the narrow space between Hasterton House and the townhouse next to it, the shadows seemed to move. She eased back a bitto make herself less visible but kept her gaze locked on that particular spot. “Maman, did we bring my archery equipment from Calais? I cannot seem to recall.”
Her mother joined her and stood just behind her, aligning her viewpoint with Sophie’s. “Direct me to the spot, child. I see nothing that warrants shooting.”
“The shadows. Between the buildings. Wait.” Sophie moved forward the slightest bit, baiting the brazen scoundrel to move again. “Nash mentioned having the house watched over while he was away, and Mr. Wethersby said he had a pair of men he trusted for the job.”
“Well, if that is one of them, I daresay they are out of range to offer much protection.” Maman’s tone suggested Mr. Wethersby’s men had sorely failed to impress her. “They should be on this side of the street, their backs to our walls, and ready to spring into action should a trespasser approach.”
“Perhaps that is the trespasser.” Sophie itched to coax whoever it was out into the open. It had been a long while since she last played a rousing game of cat and mouse. “It is a lovely day. Do you not agree?”
“It is not lovely enough for you to traipse up and down Curzon Street and try to be attacked merely because you are bored.” Maman snagged hold of her arm and tugged her away from the window. “Come. Higher ground might provide us with a better view and help us identify the creature.” Her smile took on a decidedly wicked slant. “Or at least ease our boredom for a time.”
They scurried upstairs to Sophie’s private sitting room like a pair of children intent on naughtiness. No, nothersitting room, she reminded herself—herandNash’s. Not that she had forgotten she was married. How could she when every night, except for the last two because he was traveling, her handsome yet fickle husband joined her in bed yet refused to touch heruntil she was completely healed? Completely healed, indeed. If he insisted on behaving as if he actually cared before showing his true colors and taking a mistress, the least he could do was treat her to more of the breathtaking pleasures he had shown her on their wedding day. But no. Much to her dismay, the cruel man had chosen chivalry over passion. She had yet to figure out the plot behind his tactics, but she would. Persistence was key. She refused to allow her heart to be caught off guard again.
“I see him,” Maman said soft and low while peering out the window. She eased to one side so Sophie could join her.
Sophie held her breath as she watched the man furtively peek out, glance up and down the street, then sink back into the shadows between the buildings. “I cannot decide if he is nervous, indecisive, or simply cowardly.”
“I do not thinkcowardly.” Her mother squinted as though sighting a target on the questionable person below. “Note his expression when he emerges again. Like a rat that cannot decide if it is safe to come out or not. I believe he is merely cautious.”
“It would take no time at all for me to slip around the houses and come up behind him in the alley. This black bombazine and crepe might actually prove useful and enable me to easier blend into the shadows.” Sophie cracked her knuckles at the exciting prospect, her heart beating faster.
Her mother swatted both her hands and shoved in between her and the window, completely blocking the view. “You will do no such thing, and how many times have we discussed that annoying habit? If you persist, your fingers will surely become misshapen. Do you wish your hands to become as knobby as roots of an ancient tree?”
Resisting the childish impulse to hide her hands behind her back, Sophie took a defiant stance. “I am going out there. I can tuck my throwing knives into the front of this dreadful corset and keep at a safe distance to withdraw unscathed if need be.”
“As your husband, I forbid it,” Nash said from the doorway.
She jumped and nearly choked as her heart leapt to her throat. “Good heavens! When did you get home?”
“Only moments ago. Apparently, just in time to prevent you from doing something quite foolhardy.” Jaw clenched and eyes flashing, he strode toward her with such force that she almost backed up a step before giving herself a hard shake and holding her ground.
“I shall leave the two of you to it.” Maman dismissed herself with a smug tip of her head in Nash’s direction.
Sophie swallowed hard, determined not to flinch or look away from her husband’s displeased glare. “There is a lurker across the way, and I am fully capable of investigating my environment rather than cowering in the parlor and waiting for you to charge home on your mighty steed and save me.”
He took her by the shoulders and gently but firmly set her away from the window, then peered outside. “Where across the way?”
“The alley to the left of Hasterton House.”
“I see no one.”
