Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,81

her squeeze until the worst had once again passed. It took only minutes to gather the supplies Violet told her to get, linens from the chest upstairs and hot water from a kettle on the corner of the stove, but the time that passed felt like years. Silently she prayed to whoever listened that this birth would be uncomplicated and easy for her sister-in-law. She prayed for a miracle.

Chapter Nineteen

Blake had had more than enough of the rain. He’d had enough of Daemon’s smug, superior grins of victory and he’d definitely had enough of Matthew’s scowls. Admitting that he’d slept with his best friend’s sister wasn’t the smartest move. Not that any of his actions in the previous week could boast of intelligence or even a glimmer of cleverness.

The villagers showed the illusion of happiness and prosperity, but the truth was unattractive. He’d known it all along, but he didn’t want to believe it anymore now than he had two weeks, a year, even ten years ago. Sometimes the lies helped you sleep at night, helped you put one foot in front of the other. What other choice did they have?

Just like Sophie.

But perhaps in his anger at the world, at his parents and at Sophie, maybe he’d missed the point of everything. His mother had run to save her life and he’d thought her selfish when he looked back at his abandonment. Rather the truth was that she was ill and scared for her life and couldn’t drag her child into the unknown with her. His father had never claimed him. Even on his deathbed and before, the old duke had tried to destroy his supposedly illegitimate child. Probably because the truth could do so much more damage than their lies ever could.

Then there was Sophie. Her betrayal had hurt more than the others because he believed her to be his salvation. Life with her would have brightened every dark day that had gone before. Or maybe that was the ultimate lie.

They could have been happy or they could have been miserable. Who knows? But he had to go to her. He had to find her and have it out with her once and for all. She had to know what was in his mind before he lost his head again. Words always seemed to come out wrong when she raised his temper to a boiling point. He used to be rational.

Perhaps he could gag her so she couldn’t argue? It was a warming thought as he climbed the stairs to her room.

He knocked lightly on the door. If she was still furious with him, he would have to tread very carefully. “Sophie?” he called.

No answer.

“Please don’t do this. I want to speak to you, apologize, explain what happened.”

Still no answer.

Blake’s anger began to grow and he took a deep calming breath before grabbing hold of the handle and throwing the door wide.

His next words fell out in a rush. “I know you don’t want to see me but I have to explain. There are things you need to understa—” She wasn’t there.

Cursing beneath his breath, he left the room and went back down the stairs. Maybe she was in the barn? She seemed to enjoy it there. As he stomped through the tap to the kitchen, Matthew called out to him, breathless and obviously worried.

“Sophie is gone. We found your horse and her carriage out by the bridge, but she wasn’t there.”

“Did you look for her? She probably went to find you. Did you check your house?”

Matthew shook his head. “The bridge is gone, I couldn’t get across.”

Blake didn’t have to be a mind reader to know the possibilities Matthew considered.

Sophie could have been on the bridge when it washed away. She could have got there too late and done something reckless—she was certainly angry enough when she left—like swim across. “She wouldn’t do that, would she? She wouldn’t try to cross the river if the bridge was out.”

“She could be anywhere,” Matthew said. “She may have tried to go around, but why would she do that on foot? She knows the way back to London but we don’t know which way she went all those years ago. And the landscape has changed around here. With all the flooding and shifting soil, she could be in real danger.”

Damn Charles and his tightfistedness. If only the cur had fixed the bridge.

You could have fixed it.

And damn his own conscience too!

“You take the east and I’ll take the west and

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