Chapter 25 #2
“I’m not the sort of—lightskirt who’ll run off to be your convenient. I suppose this cannot even be called a carte blanche, for you have nothing to offer me—but it is still unkind.”
“That isn’t—I didn’t mean that at all. And I’m fairly flush in the pocket, for your information.”
Sophia frowned in disbelief, and his easy confidence slipped for a moment.
His good-looks were enhanced by a moment of vulnerability.
“Dash it, I’m making a mull of this. I never thought to propose—particularly not in a job-carriage surrounded by officers of the British army!
—but here it is.” He took her hand again, as if he couldn’t help it.
“I have lain in that terrible ship for the last week, thinking that you were willing to see me hanged to save yourself—and I was still worried about you! It’s the most ridiculous thing and not at all like me.
I’m afraid that I’ve gone and fallen in love with you.
I’m not—as I already revealed to you—as young or as innocent as I try to appear, but you make my heart pound like a schoolboy.
You play cards like a Faro’s daughter, and I want to pick up your discards only because you tap them against your lips.
I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but I—I know we would be the most consummate team. ”
Sophia’s traitorous heart pounded in shock and delight. “But I—I betrayed you. I could’ve gotten you hanged.”
“I know,” he said with that inviting laugh that had called to her so often on the ship and which had made her behave with such a lack of caution.
“It’s quite mad. But the thing is that I don’t trust anyone else to keep you safe—or to make you smile—and that has become rather important to me.
I certainly don’t trust the British bureaucracy, as kind and loving as it is.
So, that is why I say—Sophy, come with me.
We can be married here in Lisbon, and then we can disappear to Nice or Barcelona or even Rome—my Italian is better than my Portuguese—and never think of the Marstons again. ”
She could picture it, a wild adventure with a friend by her side, someone who would face both success and difficulty with cheer and good humor. Someone with broad shoulders who would protect her from the worst of it when he could…
She couldn’t deny a love of adventure within herself—but hadn’t she already seen what catastrophe that could lead to? “This is nonsense. We can’t elope. And we would be penniless, on the run, without home or security. I’ve done that before, and I won’t—I can’t do it again.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Then your objections are only logistical? If you could marry me—would you?”
Sophia smiled sadly at him. “I cannot, so it is pointless to persist.”
“If I could overcome the obstacles, however—would you trust me? You do feel what I do, Sophy, don’t you?
That we have something in common, something untouchable and unexpected.
I can’t pretend that I’ll offer you a perfect life.
I’m an adventurer and a scoundrel, yes, but I’m good at it.
” His smile was broad. “I can take care of you, if you give me the chance.”
Sophia pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks.
“I can’t. I do trust you, yes—how could I do otherwise when you were willing to take the blame I thrust upon you?
When you jumped overboard to save me instead of running away?
—but we can’t. It wouldn’t work. Where would we get married?
How would we live—it’s an air castle you’ve built, you must see that. ”
A peremptory knock on the carriage door warned them just before the captain jerked it open. Sophia spun to the corner to regain her composure.
“Right now, out then,” said Captain Smythe, apparently unaware he had interrupted anything. “They’ve cleared the officers’ parlor to question you both.”
Mr. Belvedere clambered out, not forgetting his cane and satchel, and offered her his hand to descend. His fingers pressed with meaningful force on hers, and he gave her a quick, burning glance that had her pulse trembling. What did he plan now?
The consulate was a tidy structure of only two floors, but it was rather deceptively large. It extended from the front street—the Calcada, if she heard the men aright—all the way to the next block.
Something important seemed to be happening, for several messengers ran through the rooms ahead of them. There was an air of suppressed concern in the officers who stood in twos and threes, speaking in low tones in the great hall on the lowest floor. She heard exclamations farther away.
“What’s toward?” Captain Smythe asked one of the whiskered officers.
“Why, you’ve heard that the Beau has trounced the French at Vitoria? We’re rejoicing, but we are just receiving the first casualty lists. We heard it was heavy.”
His fellow officer shook his head. “Painful but necessary. This could push the French out of Spain for good if he can hold it.”
Captain Smythe let them into a small, empty parlor, with a few London papers left unrolled on the floral fabric of the settee, as if someone had been reading here, but then rushed out.
Captain Smythe sighed, as one whose work is never done. “I had best make sure someone takes charge of you.” He stuck his head in the hall. “Oi—you there. I’m looking for Mr. Howard. I’ve got the two as is mixed up with this Marston business.”
“I thought he took them away?”
“No—the other two. The lady that is a companion and the man who—er—faked his credentials.”
“Sorry, who?” he repeated.
“Just tell me where Mr. Howard has gone!”
“I’ll thank you to speak respectfully, sir. Mr. Howard has a great deal to do—”
Captain Smythe looked back at them with a tired glare, taking in the narrow windows and single door. “I’ll be back directly.”
Mr. Belvedere waited only a moment before striding to the door and sticking his head into the passageway, then looked back at Sophia. “How do you feel about fainting?”