Seduction

EIGHTEEN

"You went to the old witch, just as Elizabeth did, didn't you? There is only one reason a woman would seek her out." Waycott's tone was eerily conversational as he set Sophy on her feet and pulled the cloak away from her face. He watched her with an unnatural brightness in his eyes as he slowly removed his mask. "I am quite pleased, my dear. I will be able to give Ravenwood the coup de grace when I tell him his new Countess was determined to rid herself of his heir, just as his first Countess did."

"Good evening, my lord." Sophy inclined her head graciously, just as if she were meeting him in a London drawing room. She was still bound in the cloak but she pretended to ignore that fact. She had not spent the past weeks learning to conduct herself as befit a Countess for nothing. "Imagine meeting you here. Rather an unusual location, is it not? I have always found this place very picturesque."

Sophy gazed around the small stone chamber and tried to conceal a shudder of fear. She hated this place. He had brought her to the old Norman ruin she had loved to sketch until the day she had decided it was the scene of her sister's seduction.

The ramshackle old castle, which had always looked so charmingly scenic, now appeared like something out of a nightmare to her. Late afternoon shadows were falling outside and the narrow slits of windows allowed very little light inside. The bare stones of the ceiling and walls were darkened with traces of old smoke from the massive hearth. The place was disturbingly dank and gloomy.

A fire had been laid on the hearth and there was a kettle and some provisions in a basket. The most disturbing thing of all about the room, however, was the sleeping pallet that had been arranged against one wall.

"You are familiar with my little trysting place? Excellent. You may find it very useful in the future when you begin betraying your husband on a regular basis. I am delighted I shall be the one to introduce you to the pleasures of the sport." Waycott walked over to a corner of the room and dropped the mask onto the floor. He turned to smile at Sophy from the shadows. "Elizabeth liked to come here on occasion. It made a pleasant change, she said."

A dark premonition swept over Sophy. "And was she the only one you brought here, Lord Waycott?"

Waycott glanced down at the mask on the floor and his face hardened. "Oh, no, I used it occasionally to entertain myself with a pretty little piece from the village when Elizabeth was occupied with her own strange fancies."

Rage surged through Sophy. It had a strengthening effect, she discovered. "Who was this pretty little piece you brought here, my lord? What was her name?"

"I told you, she was just a village whore. No one important. As I said, I only used her when Elizabeth was in one of her moods." Waycott looked up from his contemplation of the mask, clearly anxious for Sophy to understand. "Elizabeth's moods never lasted long, you know. But while they were upon her, she was not herself. There were… other men at times. I could not tolerate watching her flirt with them and then invite them to her bedchamber. Sometimes she wanted me to join them there. I could not abide that."

"So you came here. With an innocent young woman from the village." Sophy was light-headed with her anger but she struggled desperately to conceal it. Her fate, she sensed, hinged on keeping a tight rein on her emotions.

Waycott chuckled reminiscently. "She did not remain innocent for long, I assure you. I am accounted a most excellent lover, Sophy, as you will soon discover." His eyes narrowed suddenly. "But that reminds me, my dear, I must ask you how you came by the ring."

"Yes. The ring. Where and when did you lose it, my lord?"

"I am not certain." Waycott frowned. "But it is possible the village girl stole it. She always claimed she was a member of the gentry but I knew better. She was the offspring of some village merchant. Yes, I have often wondered if she stole the ring from me while I slept. She was always after me, demanding some symbol of my love. Stupid chit. But how did the ring get into your hands?"

"I told you the night of the masquerade ball. May I inquire how you knew I was wearing the gypsy costume?"

"What? Oh, that. It was simple enough to have one of my footmen ask one of your maids what Lady Ravenwood planned to wear that evening. It was easy to find you in the crowd. But the ring was a surprise. Now I recall you said that you had acquired it from a friend of yours." Waycott pursed his lips. "But how does it happen that a lady of your class becomes friends with a tradesman's daughter? Did she work for your family?"

"As it happens," Sophy forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly, "we knew each other rather well."

"But she did not tell you about me, did she? You showed no signs of knowing me when we met in London."

"No, she never confided the name of her lover." Sophy looked directly at him. "She is dead now, my lord. Along with your babe. She took an overdose of laudanum."

"Stupid wench." He shrugged the issue aside with an elegant movement of his shoulders. "I am afraid I shall have to ask you to return the ring to me. It cannot be terribly important to you."

"But it is to you?"

"I am rather fond of it." Waycott's smile was taunting. "It symbolizes certain victories, past and present."

"I no longer have the ring," Sophy said calmly. "I gave it to Ravenwood a few days ago."

Waycott's eyes burned for an instant. "Why the devil did you give it to him?"

"He was curious about it." She wondered if that would alarm Waycott.

"He can discover nothing about it. All who wear the ring are bound to silence. Nevertheless, I intend to have it returned to me. Soon, my dear, you will get it back from Ravenwood."

"It is not easy to take anything away from my husband that he does not choose to relinquish."

"You are wrong," Waycott said triumphantly. "I have helped myself to Ravenwood's possessions before and I will do so again."

"You are referring to Elizabeth, I suppose?"

"Elizabeth was never his. I am referring to these." He crossed the chamber and bent over the basket on the hearth. When he straightened he was holding a handful of green fire. "I brought them along because I thought you might find them interesting. Ravenwood cannot give them to you, my dear. But I can."

"The emeralds," Sophy breathed, genuinely astounded. She stared at the cascade of green stones and then jerked her eyes back to Waycott's fever bright gaze. "You've had them all along?"

"Since the night my beautiful Elizabeth died. Ravenwood never guessed, of course. He searched the house for them and sent word to all the jewelers in London that if anyone came into possession of the gems, he would willingly double the asking price. Word has it that one or two unscrupulous merchants tried to produce copies of the originals in order to claim the doubled price but Ravenwood was unfortunately not deceived. A pity. That would have been the final irony, would it not? Think of Ravenwood saddled with false stones as well as two false wives."

Sophy straightened her shoulders, unable to resist the taunt, even though she knew it would be better if she kept silent. "I am Ravenwood's true wife and I will not play him false."

"Yes, my dear, you will. And what's more, you will do so wearing these emeralds." He let the necklace stream from palm to palm. He seemed hypnotized by the shimmering green waterfall. "Elizabeth always enjoyed it that way. It gave her a special pleasure to put on the emeralds before she got into bed with me. She would make such sweet love to me while wearing these stones." Waycott looked up suddenly. "You will like doing it that way, too."

"Will I?" Sophy's palms were damp. She must not say anything more that would goad him further she told herself. She must let him think she was his helpless victim, a meek rabbit who would not give him any resistance.

"Later, Sophy," Waycott promised. "Later, I will show you how beautiful the Ravenwood emeralds look on a false Ravenwood bride. You will see how the firelight makes them glow against your skin. Elizabeth was molten gold when she wore these."

Sophy looked away from his strange eyes, concentrating on the basket of provisions. "I assume we have a long night ahead of us, my lord. Would you mind if I had something to eat and a cup of tea? I am feeling quite weak."

"But, of course, my dear." He swept a hand toward the hearth. "As you can see, I have taken pains to ensure your every comfort. I had a meal prepared for us at a nearby inn. Elizabeth and I often picnicked here before we made love. I want everything to be just as it was with her. Everything."

"I see."

Was he as mad as Elizabeth had been, she wondered. Or simply crazed with jealousy and the effects of lost love? Either way, Sophy told herself that her only hope lay in keeping Waycott calm and unalarmed.

"You are not as beautiful as she was," Waycott observed, studying her.

"No, I realize that. She was very lovely."

"But the emeralds will help you look more like her when the time comes." He dropped the jewels into the basket.

"About the food, my lord," Sophy said tentatively. "Would you mind if I prepared us a small picnic now?"

Waycott looked out through the open door. "It's getting dark, isn't it?"

"Quite dark."

"I will build us a fire." He smiled, looking pleased with himself for having come up with the idea.

"An excellent thought. It will soon be quite chilly in here. If you would remove this cloak and the ropes that bind me I would be able to prepare the meal."

"Untie you? I don't think that is such a good idea, my dear. Not yet. I believe you are still far too likely to dash out into the woods at the first opportunity and I simply cannot allow that."

"Please, my lord." Sophy lowered her eyes, doing her best to appear weary and lacking in spirit. "I want nothing more than to prepare us a cup of tea and a bit of bread and cheese."

"I think we can manage something."

Sophy tensed as Waycott came toward her. But she stood still as he untied the ropes that secured the cloak. When the last of them came free, she inhaled a deep sigh [of relief but she made no sudden move.

"Thank you, my lord," she said meekly. She took a step toward the hearth, eyeing the open doorway.

"Not so fast, my dear." Waycott went down on one knee, reached beneath the hem of her heavy riding skirt and grasped her ankle. Quickly he tied one end of the rope above her half boot. Then he got to his feet, the other end of the rope dangling from his hand. "There, now I have you secured like a bitch on a lead. Go about your business, Sophy. I will enjoy having Ravenwood's woman serve me tea."

Sophy took a few tentative steps toward the hearth, wondering if Waycott would think it a pleasant game to yank her tied foot out from under her. But he merely went over to the hearth and lit the fire. After he had a blaze going he sat down on the pallet, the end of the rope in his hand and leaned his chin on his fist.

She could feel his eyes on her as she began investigating the provisions in the basket. She held her breath as she lifted the kettle and then exhaled in relief as she discovered it was full of water.

The shadows outside the door were very heavy now. Chilled evening air flowed into the room. Sophy brushed her hands against the folds of her skirts and tried to think which pocket contained the herbs she needed. She jumped when she felt the rope twitch around her ankle.

"I believe it is time to shut the door," Waycott said as he got up from the pallet and moved across the room. "We would not want you to get cold."

"No." As the door to freedom swung shut, Sophy fought back a wave of terror. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the flames to hide her expression. This was the man who was responsible for her sister's death. She would not allow fear to incapacitate her. Her first goal was escape. Then she would find a way to exact revenge.

"Feeling faint, my dear?" Waycott sounded amused.

Sophy opened her eyes again and stared down into the flames. "A little, my lord."

"Elizabeth would not have been quivering like a rabbit. She would have found it all a wonderful game. Elizabeth loved her little games."

Sophy ignored that as she turned her back on her captor and busied herself with the small packet of tea that had been packed in the basket. She thanked heaven for the voluminous folds of her riding habit. They acted as a screen for her hands when she retrieved a small pouch of herbs from a pocket.

Panic shot through her when she glanced down and saw that she had retrieved violet leaves instead of the herbs she needed. Hurriedly she stuffed the leaves back into a pocket.

"Why did you not sell the emeralds?" she asked, trying to distract Waycott's attention. She sat down on a stool in front of the hearth and made a production out of adjusting her skirts. Her fingers closed around another small packet.

"That would have been difficult to do. I told you, every good jeweler in London was watching for the emeralds to appear on the market. Even if I had sold them stone, by stone, I would have been at risk. They are very uniquely cut gems and would have been easily recognized. But in all truth, Sophy, I had no desire to sell them."

"I understand. You liked knowing that you had stolen them from the Earl of Ravenwood." She fumbled with the second packet of herbs, opening it cautiously and combining the contents with the tea leaves. Then she fussed with the kettle and teapot.

"You are very perceptive, Sophy. It is odd, but I have often felt that you and you alone, truly understood me. You are wasted on Ravenwood, just as Elizabeth was."

Sophy poured the boiling water into the pot and prayed she had used a sufficient quantity of the sleeping herbs. Then she sat tensely on the stool, waiting for the brew to steep. The final product would be bitter, she realized. She would have to find some way to conceal the taste.

"Do not forget the cheese and bread, Sophy," Waycott admonished.

"Yes, of course." Sophy reached into the basket and removed a loaf of coarse bread. Then she spotted the small container of sugar. Her trembling fingers brushed the glittering emeralds as she picked up the sugar. "There is no knife for the bread, my lord."

"I am not so foolish as to put a blade in your hands, Sophy. Tear the bread apart."

She bent her head and did as he had instructed. Then she carefully arranged the fragments of bread and chunks of strong cheese on a plate. When she was finished she poured the tea into two cups. "All is ready, Lord Waycott. Do you wish to eat by the fire?"

"Bring the food over here. I would have you serve me the way you do your husband. Pretend we are in the drawing room of Ravenwood Abbey. Show me what a gracious hostess you can be."

Calling on every ounce of composure she possessed, Sophy carried the food across the room and placed the cup in his hand. "I fear I may have added a bit too much sugar to the tea. I hope it is not too sweet for your taste."

"I like my tea quite sweet." He watched her with anticipation as she put the food in front of him. "Sit down and join me, my dear. You will need your strength later. I have plans for us."

Sophy sat down slowly on the pallet, trying to keep as much distance as possible between herself and Waycott. "Tell me, Lord Waycott, are you not afraid of what Ravenwood will do when he discovers you have abused me?"

"He will do nothing. No man in his right mind would cross Ravenwood at cards or cheat him in business but everyone knows Ravenwood will never again bestir himself to risk his neck over a woman. He has made it clear he no longer thinks enough of any woman to take a bullet for her." Waycott bit off a chunk of cheese and a swallow of tea. He grimaced. "The tea is a bit strong."

Sophy closed her eyes for a moment. "I always make it that way for Ravenwood."

"Do you? Well, in that case, I will have it the same way."

"Why do you doubt that my husband would challenge you? He fought a duel over Elizabeth, did he not?"

"Two of them. Or so legend would have it. But he engaged in those appointments during the first months of his marriage when he still believed Elizabeth loved him. After the second dawn meeting he must have realized he could neither control my sweet Elizabeth's spirit nor terrorize every man in the country so he abandoned all efforts to avenge his honor where a woman is involved."

"And that is why you do not fear him. You know he will not challenge you because of me?"

Waycott took another swallow of tea, his eyes focused intently on the fire. "Why would he challenge me over the issue of your honor when he did not bother to do so over Elizabeth's?"

Sophy sensed a thread of uncertainty in Waycott's voice.

He was trying to convince himself as well as her that he had nothing to fear from Julian. "An interesting question, my lord," she said softly. "Why would he bother, indeed?"

"You are not half so beautiful as Elizabeth."

"We have already agreed upon that." Sophy watched, her stomach knotted with tension as Waycott took another sip of tea. He drank mechanically, his mind on the past.

"Nor do you have her style or charm."

"Quite true."

"He could not possibly want you as badly as he wanted Elizabeth. No, he will not bother to call me out over you." Waycott smiled slowly above the rim of his cup. "But he may very well murder you the way he murdered her. Yes, I think that is exactly what he will do when he finds out what has occurred here today."

Sophy kept silent as Waycott took the last swallow of tea. Her own cup was still full. She held it cradled in her palms and waited.

"The tea was excellent, my dear. Now I should like some of the bread and cheese. You will serve it to me."

"Yes, my lord." Sophy got to her feet.

"But first," Waycott drawled slowly, "you will undress and put the Ravenwood emeralds around your throat. That was the way Elizabeth always did it."

Sophy went very still, searching his eyes for some signs of the herb's effect. "I do not intend to undress for you, Lord Waycott."

"But you will." From out of nowhere Waycott produced a palm-size pocket pistol. "You will do exactly as I say." He smiled his too brilliant smile. "And you will do it exactly as Elizabeth did it. I will guide you every step of the way. I will show you precisely how to spread your thighs for me, madam."

"You are as mad as she was," Sophy whispered. She took a step back toward the fire. When Waycott did nothing, she took another and another.

He allowed her to retreat nearly the length of the room and then with casual brutality he yanked on the rope that bound her ankle.

Sophy gasped as she tumbled awkwardly to the hard stone floor. She lay there for a moment, trying to steady herself and then she looked fearfully at Waycott. He was still smiling but there was a dazed quality in his eyes now.

"You must do as I say Sophy, or I will be obliged to hurt you."

She sat up cautiously. "As you hurt Elizabeth that night by the pond? Ravenwood did not kill her, did he? You killed her. Will you murder me as you did your beautiful, faithless Elizabeth?"

"What are you talking about? I did nothing to her. Ravenwood killed her. I told you that."

"No, my lord. You have tried to convince yourself all these years that Ravenwood was responsible for her death because you do not wish to admit you were the one who killed the woman you loved. But you did. You followed her the night she went to visit Old Bess. You waited by the pond for her to return. When you realized where she had gone and what she had done, you were angry with her. Angrier than you had ever been."

Waycott staggered to his feet, his handsome face contorted with violence. "She went to the old witch to ask for a potion to get rid of the babe, just as you did today."

"And the babe was yours, was it not?"

"Yes, it was mine. And she taunted me, saying she no more wanted my child than she had wanted Ravenwood's." Waycott took two unsteady steps toward Sophy. The pocket pistol waved erratically in his hand. "But she had always claimed she loved me. How could she wish to get rid of my babe if she loved me?"

"Elizabeth was incapable of loving anyone. She married Ravenwood to secure a good position and all the money she needed." Sophy edged away from him on her hands and knees. She dared not rise to her feet for fear Waycott would pull the rope again. "She kept you dangling on her puppet strings because you amused her. Nothing more."

"That's not true, damn you. I was the best lover she'd ever taken to her bed. She told me so." Waycott lurched to one side and stopped. He dropped the rope and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his free hand. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong, my lord."

"Something is wrong. I don't feel right." His hand dropped from his eyes and he tried to focus on her. "What did you do to me, you bitch?"

"Nothing, my lord."

"You poisoned me. You put something in my tea, didn't you? I'll kill you for this."

He lunged at Sophy who leapt to her feet and stumbled blindly out of his path. Waycott fetched up against the stone wall near the hearth. The pistol fell, unnoticed from his hand and landed with a small clinking sound in the basket that had held the food.

Waycott turned his head to locate Sophy, his eyes wild with fury and the inevitable effects of the drug.

"I'll kill you. Just as I killed Elizabeth. You deserve to die, just as she did. Oh, God, Elizabeth." He leaned against the stone wall, shaking his head in a vain effort to clear it. "Elizabeth, how could you do this to me? You loved me." Waycott began to slide slowly down the wall, sobbing. "You always said you loved me."

Sophy watched with horrified fascination as Waycott cried himself into a deep slumber.

"Murderer," she breathed, her pulse leaping with rage. "You killed my sister. As surely as if you had put a gun to her head, you killed her."

Her eyes flew to the basket on the hearth. She knew how to use a pistol and Waycott deserved to die. With an anguished sob she ran to the basket and looked down. The pistol lay atop the glittering emeralds. Sophy leaned over and scooped up the small weapon.

Holding it in both hands she whirled about to point the pistol at the unconscious Waycott.

"You deserve to die," she repeated aloud and released the pistol from its half-cocked position. The trigger, which was designed to fit into a small recess for safety's sake, dropped into firing position and Sophy's finger closed hungrily around it.

She stepped closer to Waycott, her mind summoning up the image of Amelia lying on her bed, an empty bottle of laudanum on the table beside her.

"I will kill you, Waycott. This is simple justice."

For an endless moment Sophy hovered on the brink, willing herself to pull the trigger. But it was no good. She could not find the courage to do it. With a wrenching cry of despair she lowered the pistol, returning it to the half-cocked position. "Dear God, why am I so weak?"

She put the pistol back into the basket and knelt to fumble with the rope around her ankle. Her fingers shook but she managed to free herself. She could not take the emeralds or the pistol back to Ravenwood. There would be no way to explain them.

Without a backward glance she opened the door and ran out into the night. Waycott's horse nickered softly as she approached.

"Easy, my friend. I have no time to put a saddle on you," Sophy whispered as she fitted the bridle onto the gelding. "We must hurry. Everyone will be frantic at the Abbey."

She led the gelding over to a pile of rubble that had once been a fortified wall. Standing on the heap of stones, she adjusted her skirts above her knees and scrambled up onto the horse's back. The animal snorted and danced and then accepted her unfamiliar presence.

"Do not worry, friend, I know the route to the Abbey." Sophy urged the horse into a walk and then into a gentle canter.

As she rode, she tried to think. She had to have an explanation ready for the worried staff who would be waiting for her. She remembered the sound of her mare's hoof beats disappearing into the distance when Waycott had kidnapped her. Her horse had apparently run off and would undoubtedly have gone straight home.

A riderless horse returning to Ravenwood Abbey would mean only one thing to the stable lads. They would assume Sophy had been thrown and, perhaps, injured. Search parties would have been combing the woods around the Abbey all afternoon and evening.

It was as good a story as any, Sophy decided as she guided Waycott's horse around the pond. She certainly could not tell anyone she had been kidnapped and held captive by the Viscount Waycott.

She dared not even tell Julian the full story for she knew that Waycott had been wrong when he claimed the Earl would not engage in another duel over a woman. Julian would call Waycott out if he discovered what the Viscount had done.

Damn. I should have killed Waycott myself when I had the chance. Now there is no telling what lies ahead. And I shall be forced to lie to Julian.

She was so dreadfully inept at lying, Sophy thought fearfully. But at least she would have time to prepare her tale and learn it by heart. Julian was still safely away in London.

It was not until she saw the lights of the Abbey through the trees that Sophy realized she would have to abandon Waycott's gelding. If she was going to claim she had struggled home on foot after a riding accident she could not show up on a strange horse.

Dear heaven, there was a lot to be considered once one started conjuring tales. One thing led to another.

Reluctantly, because she still had a long walk ahead of her, Sophy slid to the ground and turned the gelding loose. A slap on the rump sent it cantering off down the path.

Sophy picked up the hem of her riding habit and started walking quickly toward Ravenwood Abbey. Every step of the way she cudgeled her brain, trying to put a believable story together for the waiting servants. She must have every bit of the tale in place or she would surely trip herself up.

But as she stepped out of the woods that surrounded the great house, Sophy realized she had a much bigger task ahead of her than she had anticipated.

Light spilled from the open doors of the front hall. Footmen and stable lads scurried about readying torches and in the moonlight Sophy saw that several saddled horses were being led from the stables.

A familiar dark-haired figure in riding boots and stained breeches stood halfway up the left staircase. Julian was issuing orders in a cold, clear voice to those around him.

It was obvious he had just arrived which meant he had left London before dawn.

Sophy knew real panic in that moment. She had been finding it difficult enough to organize a story for the servants who would be bound to believe anything she told them. But she was very much afraid she was in no condition to lie convincingly to her husband.

And Julian had always claimed he would be able to tell if she tried to deceive him.

She had no choice but to make the attempt, Sophy told herself bracingly as she started forward again. She could not allow Julian to risk his life in a duel over her honor.

"There she be, my lord."

"Aye, thank the good God, 'tis safe she is."

"My lord, my lord, look, over there at the edge of the woods. It be my lady and she's safe."

The loud cries of heartfelt relief brought everyone around to the front of the house as Sophy walked out of the woods. She wondered with a sort of wretched amusement how much of the relief her staff felt was occasioned by the fact that they had been forced to explain her absence to Julian.

The Earl of Ravenwood swung his gaze instantly toward the trees and saw Sophy in the moonlight. Without a word he loped down the stone staircase and crossed the cobbled yard to catch her roughly in his arms.

"Sophy. By God, you have nearly killed me with worry. Where the devil have you been? Are you all right? Are you hurt? I could thrash you for terrifying me so. What happened to you?"

Even as she reminded herself of the ordeal that lay ahead of her, a tumultuous sense of relief poured through Sophy. Julian was here and she was safe. Nothing else mattered just then. Instinctively she huddled into his strong embrace, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her arms tightened convulsively around his waist. He smelled of sweat and she knew he had driven himself as hard as he must have driven Angel.

"I was so afraid, Julian."

"Not nearly so afraid as I was when I arrived a few minutes ago to be told your horse had returned late this afternoon without you. The servants have been searching for you all evening. I was preparing to send them out again. Where have you been?"

"It… it was all my own fault, Julian. I was on my way home from Old Bess's cottage. My poor mare was startled by something in the trees and I was not paying attention. She must have tossed me off. I hit my head and quite lost my senses for some time. I do not remember much until a short time ago." Dear God, she was rambling. Talking much too fast. She had to get hold of herself.

"Does your head still pain you?" Julian thrust his fingers gently into her tousled curls, feeling for a wound or bump. "Were there any other injuries?"

Sophy realized she had lost her riding hat somewhere along the way. "Uh, no, no, Julian, I am fine. That is to say, I have a headache but nothing to worry about. And… and the babe is fine," she added quickly, thinking that would take his attention off her nonexistent injuries.

"Ah, yes. The babe. I am glad to hear all is well in that regard. You will not ride again during your pregnancy, Sophy." Julian stepped back, his eyes searching her face in the moonlight. "You are quite certain you are all right?"

Sophy was too relieved that he appeared to believe her to worry just then about arguing for her right to ride again. She tried a reassuring smile and was horrified when she felt her lips quiver. She blinked quickly. "I am really quite all right, my lord. But what are you doing here? I thought you would be in London for a few more days. We had no word you would be returning this soon."

Julian studied her for a long moment and then he took her hand in his and led her back toward the anxious crowd of servants. "I had a change of plans. Come along, Sophy. I will turn you over to your maid who will see to your bath and get you something to eat. When you are yourself again, we will talk."

"About what, my lord?"

"Why, about what really happened to you today, Sophy."