Sophia stopped kicking, and her grip loosened on his shirt. Given she was upside down, the blood had already rushed to her head, but there was no denying the way her cheeks heated at his words. Not with guilt, exactly—she’d long since decided guilt was a waste of time—but perhaps shedidfeel a touch of regret.
But under the circumstances, regret was unacceptable, and she wouldn’t indulge it. She opened her mouth to remind him she was under no obligation to please him, but what came out instead was, “I didn’t mean to…”
What? Hurt his feelings? Well, it was the truth, wasn’t it? When she’d fled his bedchamber this morning, she’d assumed she was only hurting herself.
“Didn’t mean towhat,Miss Monmouth? Sneak offlike a thief?”
She swallowed. “I thought it best for both ofus if I went.”
“Why?” He bit out, his shoulder tensingunderneath her.
Without realizing she did it, she was running her hands soothingly over his back. He was wearing only the shirt and breeches he’d tossed aside last night, and she could feel his warm skin through the thin linen. “You can’t be saying you don’t agree it was for the best. Wasn’t there a part of you that was relieved tofind me gone?”
“No.” His growl was so low she almost didn’t hear it, but she felt the vibration of it against her palms. “What did I do to make you think I wanted you to go? For God’s sake, I begged you to stay last night, and I don’t beg for anything, Sophia.”
Sophia stilled, her head spinning. In truth, he hadn’t said or done a single thing. Just the opposite, in fact. He’d given her more pleasure than she’d ever thought a man could offer, then he’d gathered her against him, wrapped his arms around her, and fallen asleep with his face buried in her hair.
“It wasn’t what you said. I just thought…can we have this discussion with me on my feet, please? This is ridiculous, Tristan. Put me down.”
“No. Not until I’m sure you can’t run away from me again.” He paused in front of a door on the other end of the mews and banged his fist on the wood.
There was a shuffling on the other side of the door, and the next moment it flew open, and Sophia heard a scolding voice say, “Why, who do you think you are, pounding on Lord Gray’s door like some kind of savage—”
The voice broke off in a shocked gasp, and Sophia felt Tristan chuckle. “I think I’m Lord Gray. I beg your pardon for the intrusion, Mrs. Beeson. I would have opened the door myself, but as you can see, I havemy hands full.”
Whoever Mrs. Beeson was, she recovered quickly. “Indeed, I can, my lord. Perhaps your…friend would care for a cup of tea,or chocolate?”
The door creaked, and Tristan strode forward into a warm, bright kitchen. He tipped Sophia forward into his arms, then lowered her into a chair at a scrubbedkitchen table.
Sophia took one look around, and her cheeks burst into flames. Half a dozen servants were seated around it, all of them staring at her with identical shocked expressions.
“We were just finishing our breakfast, my lord.” Mrs. Beeson scurried around the table, snatching up dishes and teacups and nudging people out of their chairs.
Tristan eyed his startled servants. “There’s no need to—”
“Nonsense, my lord.” Mrs. Beeson clucked her tongue. “This lot has plenty to keep them busy today. David, you’re meant to be helping Tribble in the wine cellar this morning, and Anne and Matilda, you’d best get on with polishing the grand chandelier in the entrance hall. Go on then, get on with all of you.” Mrs. Beeson flapped the tea towel at the loiterers until she’d driven the last servant outof the kitchen.
“Er…thank you, Mrs. Beeson.” Tristan watched the last straggler scurry out the door. “Miss Monmouth here has had a trying morning, and might like some refreshment to calm her nerves. Miss Monmouth, this is my cook, Mrs. Beeson.”
Sophia, who thought Tristan’s cook had every right to throw the tea towel in her face, raised a wary gaze to Mrs. Beeson, half-afraid of what she’d find.
Mrs. Beeson was not, thankfully, anything like Lord Everly’s cook. She was a plump, ruddy-cheeked lady of middle age, with brown hair pulled back in a tidy bun, and kind blue eyes with deep laugh lines in the crease. “How do you do, Miss Monmouth? Dear me, you do look as if you could usea restorative.”
Sophia wouldn’t have thought it possible, but those kind blue eyes made her flush deepen. Mrs. Beeson put her in mind of Winnie Browning, the Clifford School’s housekeeper, and Sophia knew very well what Winnie would think of a young lady who arrived in her kitchen in the arms of an uppity lord. “Oh, no, please don’t go to any troubleon my account.”
“No trouble at all, Miss Monmouth.” Mrs. Beeson bustled toward a tray resting on one end of the table. She poured Sophia a cup from a pretty white and blue china teapot, put it on the table in front of her, then set the tray with sugar, milk, and a half-dozen warm biscuits at Sophia’s elbow. “There we are. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lord Gray, I’m off to the fish market.”
Tristan waited until Mrs. Beeson had caught up her basket and left the kitchen before sitting down at the table across from Sophia. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? What the devil are you up to, wandering about the mews dressedas a milkmaid?”
Sophia pressed her lips together. “What makes you think I’m up to anything? Did it occur to you I might simply be delivering the milk?” It was, after all, the most logical explanation.
He leaned over the table, his gaze holding hers. “Not for one single, blessed second.”
* * * *
Tristan had never found it fascinating to watch a woman eat a biscuit before. He couldn’t have said whether watching Sophia Monmouth eat one was a truly fascinating event, or if he’d become so foolish over her, he was entranced with everything she did.
Lyndon would say itwas the latter.
