“The voices are the same these days, echoing inside my head.”
Dev nodded. “If she isn’t the one, then she isn’t the one. But don’t blame it on Prescott. You’re your own man. You’re nobody’s puppet.”
At these words, a devious gleam lit St. John’s eyes. “I’m currently being diverted by a particularly long-legged redhead. One with whom the constraints of Society do not apply. God knows, I’m in no hurry to curtail such activities. And why rush into setting up a nursery? My father is hale and healthy, as is yours. We bachelors must stick together, Dev. I don’t see you lining up with the latest crop of insipid debutantes.”
They both took a few drinks, neither apparently willing to extend the subject at hand. And then St. John turned to him. “Do you think it’s possible that Harold actually bedded his pretty little wife? Mother is convinced, and I’ve never been one to question the information she obtains, nor her opinion on such matters. What a godsend that would be. Little Miss Babineaux would be worth her weight in gold if there is any truth in it.”
“Harold’s pretty little wife and her activities in the bedroom,”Dev wanted to say,“were not a matter for discussion.”And as to her value, he would grab St. John by the collar most convincingly and assert that it could never be measured against silver or gold.
Instead, he stared into his half-full glass. “I haven’t the faintest. For your mother’s sake, though,” he said half-heartedly, “we can only hope.”
He’d be with Sophia this moment if it were possible. God, it felt as though he were missing an arm, a leg, a part of his heart to have her taken away from London, away from him today.
“My own flesh and blood,” St. John took another sip of the strong amber liquid. “I’d give my life for him, and yet, he sickens me. He could have so easily put all of this to rest. No decency at all. No self-control.”
Ah, yes, the family shame. Dev did not understand Harold’s manner of loving; he would not pretend to admit that he did. But he did know that this was not something Harold had given into easily. He’d fought it. On one occasion, Harold had told him after the fact, he’d been tempted to take his own life over the matter.
No, it was not about decency, and it was not about self-control.
Poor Harold.
Yes, poor Harold, miles away with Dev’s own lovely Sophia.
Devlin would complete his tasks and go to her as soon as humanly possible.
It Had Been Five Days
It wasn’t until their second night on the road that Sophia began to wonder that her maid was not so much a gossip as a spy.
Because as she went to descend the staircase before supper, Sophia overheard her maid speaking directly below her to the innkeeper.
She wished to send a missive to the Duchess of Prescott.
Sophia had not even been aware that Penny could read and write.
But listening to her speak with such authority and direction, she realized that the maid was not at all what she seemed.
Sophia considered this new information carefully and then noisily cleared her throat and continued her descent.
Penny glanced up with a start, but Sophia merely smiled. Let the girl believe her mistress was a birdwitted ninny-hammer. “Did you see which way my husband went, Penny? We’re to dine together in the private room.”
It was the innkeeper who answered. Stepping out from behind the counter, he was all excellent manners and obsequiousness. “My lady, yes, right this way. A special meal has been prepared for my very special guests.” He led her down a short corridor and into a private room. “Lord Harold awaits you.” He bowed slightly and backed away.
Oh, good Lord, Sophia thought. Even he would cover for the maid — who worked directly for the duke and duchess — who would pay the innkeeper’s bill. Of course.
This was how all of this worked. How naïve she’d been! It had been the same with Mr. Scofield. She and her mother had never really known independence.
Harold rose to his feet as she entered the room and walked around the table to take her hand in his. “My lovely wife,” he said. “I was beginning to miss you already.”
He performed magnificently. Almost too well. She imagined he’d had many occasions to practice similar deceit.
Sophia lowered her eyes and curtsied demurely. “And I, you.”
They waited for the footman to finish serving them before saying anything further.
Once alone, Sophia worried at their lack of real privacy. Feeling as though they were being watched, she collected her plate and walked around to Harold’s side of the table. Let them believe she merely had a desire to be near him. He looked a little surprised but made room for her utensils helpfully.
“I think my maid is a spy for your mother.” She leaned into him and whispered. “I’ve just overheard her sending a letter, although she does not know that I know.”
