Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,65
Blake enter the yard with Matthew. Even with the distance, it was impossible to mistake the hard lines of his face, the tension in his shoulders and the disapproval in his eyes. He must certainly now think her lower than a whore. Not that she cared. He’d done nothing but belittle her since she arrived. To think that their truce could have survived intimacy had been a mistake on her part. One of many to add to the still growing list. She wondered if he would have acted differently had he known she’d cut her ties with St. Ives before traveling to Blakiston.
She pulled out of the duke’s embrace to put some air between them.
“Sophie, it’s great to see you, but what are you doing here? I thought you were off to the seaside with your friends. You are supposed to be resting.”
That’s the story she’d told him. She’d thought the small white lie acceptable. The truth hadn’t been. “I lied. I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
He didn’t seem angry and for that, the guilt deepened. “I didn’t want you to know where I was really going. What I was really doing.”
St. Ives sat in the worn chair before the fire—the same chair Blake had sat in last night—an expectant look on his handsome face. “What are you really doing?”
She nodded, braced herself. “I was running.”
“From me?”
“From everything. After I lost the baby, I just couldn’t face any of it. I’ve done it before and it’s a living nightmare.”
“Done it before? You’re not making any sense. Are you sure you’re all right?”
She nodded again. She could trust him with her story and should have before now. She told him about being held against her will, but not about the rape. She left out the early years in London and the past twenty or so hours as well. But the rest she told him. About leaving her family in the dead of the night, about the babies she had lost over the years she had sold her body.
She should have known relief at the unburdening, but she was still a common liar. Even with sympathy etched all over Daemon’s face, Sophie still couldn’t tell him the whole truth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked when she was finally done with the sordid tale.
“I didn’t want anyone to know about my family, about my past. There had to be somewhere safe I could return to when the time came.”
“Is that what you are doing? Are you going to stay in Blakiston?”
She shook her head and moved to the corner of the room where the cradle was still hidden under a blanket. She ran a finger along its crimson edge, but made no move to unveil it. “My brother is to have a baby. He asked me to be here for the birth, to be her godmother if I choose. After that, I haven’t yet decided.”
“A blessed event for your brother and his wife, to have you here.”
“Do you know my brother?”
“Of course I know him. I’ve been coming out here for more years than I care to recall.”
There was a thoughtful look on his face that made Sophie fearful she’d missed something. “Why do you come out here? Are you friends with Blakiston? Why are you here now?” She had a thousand questions and as each one bounced into her mind like a child’s toy, her anxiety grew.
“I would rather lick a chamber pot than be in the same room as the current Duke of Blakiston, but he has something I want.”
“What is it?” Her interest was piqued. Daemon only ever got that particular look of determination when he planned to win. Nothing would stop him now, whatever it was.
“It’s a long story and not mine to tell.” He stood and moved toward the connecting door leading to the room he would stay in for his brief visit. “I’ll see you at luncheon? Shall we dine in the private parlor?”
“There’s something else I haven’t told you.”
St. Ives stopped and turned back to face her. He wasn’t a man who looked capable of violence, but he also wasn’t a man to be crossed. She still was not ready to tell him everything that had transpired since her arrival, but there was one very important detail he would find out soon enough if she didn’t tell him first.
“We may have to dine a little late.”
“Why is that? Do you have an engagement? I can eat by myself.”