Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,76
run the estate with the King’s help. It’s going to take a great deal of hard work but if anyone can do it, he can.”
“And if he still won’t take it? He is the most stubborn, pigheaded, irrational man I’ve ever met.”
“It sounds to me as though you care for my brother.”
Before she could decide one way or another which answer to give, a banging started on Daemon’s door and then it flew open to reveal Blake. A very, very angry Blake. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this cozy?”
Sophie and Daemon stood at the same time, as though they’d been caught in the throes of passion. “What is the meaning of this, Blake?” Her voice came out much higher than she’d intended.
“I warned you not to meddle in my affairs,” he roared as he stepped closer.
“You will not talk to her like that, brother.”
Sophie almost sighed with relief when Blake’s penetrating gaze switched from her own face to Daemon’s.
“What did you tell her?” he demanded.
“Nothing she didn’t already know,” Daemon replied. He half stepped in front of Sophie so she was protected from Blake if things got out of hand. But Sophie didn’t need that kind of protection, she never had.
She placed an arm on Daemon’s shoulder and pushed until he once again stood beside her. “Get angry, Blake. Stomp and shout and accuse everyone else, but at the end, when the fury runs out and there’s only the truth of the matter left, you’ll see what a coward you are being.”
He came at her, his nose level with her nose, his finger pointed at her chest, and she quailed. “I am the coward? You are the one who ran from here as fast as your legs could carry you and not once did you look back. Why do you care now? What do you care what happens to any of us when you won’t be here to endure the outcome?”
“This used to be my home. One day it will be again. My brother lives here and my niece or nephew will too. How many times could you have helped the villagers with their problems? How many times could you have made life easier for your friends? My family? And I didn’t run from you. You pushed me away like you do with anyone who gets close enough.”
“This will never be your home! Even now after living with us and creating the illusion of making friends, you still do not belong and you never will.”
“Why do I not belong? Why did I run in the first place, Blake? If you had the power of being Blakiston’s heir, perhaps you could have saved me. Perhaps I would have stayed here for you had you any way to play the knight to my distress. But you didn’t. You hide behind your cowardice and blame dead men for all of your troubles.”
“And you don’t? You flout the story that your father was going to sell you to cover for the fact that even then you were an ambitious slut. Me. I would have saved you, Sophie. I would have killed that man had there been one ounce of truth to your fears.”
For a second she saw red. Her hand lifted, drew back, and then let loose, her palm connecting with his stubbled cheek with an echoing crack. But he didn’t cower, he didn’t show shame or remorse. His face was so close, she could see the raindrops that dripped from his clothes and hair and reminded her of their night of stupidity. How could she ever have thought he would make a difference? He could. But he wouldn’t. Not in her life and not in anyone else’s. “Fuck you,” she breathed.
“You already did, Duchess. Did you smell the hint of possibility and decide to throw a free bedding my way just in case?”
She staggered back, her hand on her chest, stinging with the urge to slap him again. Or worse.
“You mongrel,” Daemon yelled as he came at Blake, fists swinging as the two went down. She’d almost forgotten he was even there.
She should have seen that sleeping with a man who thought her no better than the mud he traipsed through would come back to haunt her. His derision went so much deeper than she could ever imagine possible. To think he claimed to have once loved her.
Skirting the edge of the room, the two men pummeling each other, she gathered up her shawl and fled the inn. She needed to get out of