Chapter 19
“As long as the aristocracy continues to preserve their power on the backs of labourers, remaining utterly indifferent to the welfare of the nation so long as their jewels remain sparkling and their carriages gilded, I will uphold my opinion that the entire concept of hereditary peerage is poison.” Oliver punctuated his tirade by chomping into a hefty mouthful of roast beef.
At least he seemed to have his appetite back. Sofia had no recollection of how they’d ended up here, but she was desperately seeking an exit to the conversation. She glanced at the duke, who had remained silent some minutes now, but he only nodded in agreement. Doubtless as stunned as she at Northam’s unexpected support, Oliver looked as if he had taken a bite of Cornish hen only to discover fruit pie in his mouth.
Violet, busy stacking her roasted potatoes into a tower, glanced up, then back to her culinary engineering. “Oh, I hope Gabriel hasn’t ruined your fun. He does that. Takes the wind right out of your sails just when you think you might have goaded him into a proper argument. Horrible trait.” She sent the duke a soft smile across the table. “I’m afraid you’ve stumbled upon one of the few British peers who won’t acquire more Hoby boots than a centipede could wear while his tenant farmers toil in the fields garbed in shoes worn through the soles. He owns more shoes than my sheep could wear”—she shrugged—“but I only have two sheep. Furthermore, his footwear is purchased from the proceeds of ethically sound investments. The tenants’ rent and harvest money is funnelled back into their land and pockets. And into roads, schools, and other improvements and equipment that translate into shorter workdays and a better quality of life. I can personally attest to his unerring sense of fairness, as I was a tenant farmer on his land and never once wore shoes with less than acceptable tread.”
Sofia cast her gaze helplessly to Christopher, but he only grinned in response. Clearly, she was the only one at this table with an ounce of sense. Nothing good could come from this.
Oliver had apparently reclaimed his equilibrium and was preparing to sink his claws in with a second swipe. “But still you remain content at the top of the food chain, surrounded by other predators who won’t notice that they’ve gobbled every animal beneath them until their stomachs are empty.”
Gabriel appeared unperturbed, considering Oliver’s question as he took a swallow of water.
“Do you play chess, Mr Lioni?”
“Badly,” Sofia responded for her brother.
Gabriel smiled at that. “The House of Lords is very like a chess game. Make brash, obvious moves, and you grant your opponent the opportunity to counter your strategy. Winning requires a longer, sometimes frustrating strategy as you await your moment. It is painful to watch your pawns captured without taking immediate recourse, but that is how you win the game. With clear-headed calculation. Or to put it in terms of cricket, if that’s more your game, swing at every ball and you’ll be finished before you ever make contact.”
Oliver’s face twisted in a scowl. “So you stand there, rooted in apathy, with a perfectly good bat in your hand. Yet you watch the slightly imperfect balls sail by.”
“Yes. And sometimes I wonder, as it whizzes past my head, if I should have swung. If that might have been the opportunity I’d been waiting for to bring some of my players to safety. But we need solid contact, Mr Lioni. Free education, factory legislation, slum clearances, women’s property rights… I want it all, and I’m not prepared to throw my weight at a crooked ball that offers relief for one group while further stamping out another.” Gabriel sighed and nudged his fork against a pile of turnips on his plate, looking like a man who saw all that needed to be done, catalogued all the impossible challenges, and felt they were all his responsibility alone.
Sofia was certain Oliver would take notice of Gabriel’s resigned expression and capitalise on the duke’s frustration as another vulnerability to attack, but he remained silent, watching his brother. Gabriel’s gaze rose almost reluctantly, as if he too were awaiting the next blow. Identical brown eyes clashed across the expanse of the wide oak table. She would have given almost anything to know what Oliver was thinking in that moment.
The duke rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “I can never truly understand what life is like for them, Mr Lioni. But don’t mistake a lack of practical experience with a shortage of empathy.”
Nora rescued the conversation from its death rattles. “Will you be taking part in our game of calcio storico, Mr Lioni? We’re having a picnic and a game on Sunday.”
Oliver’s eyebrows shot up, and he lowered his fork. “Calcio storico is not a game for aristocratic children, Lady Nora.” Rather than looking at Nora, his eyes bore down on Gabriel as if chastising the duke for his permissive parenting.
“Afraid I’m too wily and fast for you?” Nora asked with impish delight.
“Afraid I might discover exactly how many pieces one petite ragazza can splinter into. Difficult to say, as I’ve never been that clever at fractions, but worrisome.” Still, his eyes did not flicker from Gabriel’s face. Knowing the familial connection as she did, Sofia warmed at her brother’s concern. She was reluctant to step in and put his mind at ease.
Violet, who appeared ready to fall asleep at the table using her untouched roast beef as a feather pillow, blinked a few times, then took up defending her husband. “We’re playing a gentler version of the game, Mr Lioni, wherein a tap on the shoulder will signal an end to control over the ball.”
Gabriel’s gaze caught and held on his wife, concern surfacing in his expression as he stood and crossed to her. “It’s been a long day, and it’s getting late.”
It wasn’t. It was scarcely eight o’clock, but the duke had not missed the exhaustion on his normally energetic wife’s face. “I hope you won’t think me rude, Mr Lioni, if I beg off dessert and after-dinner entertainment. You will join us for the picnic?” Even as Gabriel spoke to Oliver, his attention remained on his wife, whose shoulders were drooping beneath the gentle stroke of his fingers across her collarbone.
Zach, who had been uncomfortable with the unfamiliar company, excused himself. Nora bobbed a curtsy and straggled behind, stopping at the door to clarify, “I am wily and fast.”
Oliver’s face split with a grin, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “I have no doubt you are fierce, especially with my sister as your teacher.” He winked at Sofi. “I think I will retire for the night as well. All this food makes me sleepy.” He yawned.
Sofi looked at Christopher, who wore an expression of disappointment that matched her own. Neither was prepared for an unexpectedly premature end to the evening.
Oliver smirked. “Don’t worry, Christopher. I have no intention of leaving you at the mercy of my sister, alone and defenceless. You’re coming with me. I’m feeling the sudden desire for a glass of scotch that can only be thwarted with your unique brand of attention.”
He felt no such thing, the interfering rat. Sofia glared her indignation at her brother’s high-handedness but Christopher stood, capitulating too easily, which only caused Sofia’s spine to straighten further. Christopher glanced at Sofia, then back to Oliver. “I think my virtue can tolerate seeing your sister to her door.”
“This side of the door, amico. Not the opposing side. Lady Nora isn’t the only wily one, and I fear my sister may ‘accidentally’ mistake your prick for the doorknob.”
Before this conversation could escalate further, Sofia grabbed Christopher’s hand and all but dragged him from the room.
“He should be more respectful.” Christopher’s expression had gone tense.
“I am just happy to see my brother again, crass as that person may be.” She looped her arm through Christopher’s as they made their way up the stairs.
“Uncouth jests aside, Oliver is right.” He stopped in the hallway and turned to Sofia. “I want more of you than just a quick interlude in the billiards room.” The tips of his ears began to tinge pink. “And it wouldn’t be fair to place complicated decisions on your shoulders while you still worry for Oliver. The more time I spend alone with you, the harder it is to keep my head on straight.” He stepped closer, a shy smile playing at his lips. “I want you in every room, in every way, on every day, Sofia. Laughing at my absurdity, sharing your concerns, coming apart in my arms. I want all of you, love. And I’m afraid I cannot help but spend every second we’re alone campaigning for that place in your life. My brain would have me act honourably, but the rest of me has less-than-gentlemanly notions of how to convince you to be mine.”
Sofia shook her head and inched away, but every part of her wanted to sink into his arms, absorbing his words like sunshine on her skin.
“Don’t.” He filled the space she had vacated in her retreat. “Don’t answer a question that hasn’t been asked. You haven’t allowed me time to enact the whole of my wicked plan.”
She relaxed at the return of his humour. “You’re about as wicked as a fluffy rabbit.”
“No one ever suspects the fluffy rabbit,” he growled, then leaned in and took her mouth with his. More predator than prey, but still laced with restraint and care. “Do you want to hear the steps of my wicked plan?” he murmured against her lips.
Sofia sunk her fingers into his hair, breathing in the scent of him. Revelling in his closeness and the way her body had come to anticipate his touch. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a wicked plan?”
“I don’t keep secrets from you.” He nipped at her lower lip as if to punish her for even considering the notion. What had begun months ago as guilt felt increasingly more like despair. It gathered in her stomach like a boulder.
“Besides, prior knowledge of my wicked plan won’t protect you from falling helplessly into place.”
She slid her hands beneath his coat only to find her arms trapped in place between his body and surprisingly strong triceps.
“None of that now, love.”
She trailed one tantalising finger down his back and felt his muscles quiver in response. She leaned closer. “But you want me to touch you. And I want to touch you.”
“Nonsense. I’m only ticklish.” He grinned through his lie.
“All right. Let’s hear this plan, Christopher.” She tipped her voice low and seductive, her fingers continuing their path across the starched material of his shirt.
“My plan…” His throat worked with a swallow as he visibly struggled to unscramble his thoughts. Shaking his head, he retrieved her busy fingers from his back and trapped them flat against his chest beneath his palms. He drew in a breath and pinned her with a serious gaze. “My plan is to remain beside you, Sofia. To follow you wherever you go because being apart from you doesn’t feel like an option anymore. And because it’s the one thing that you need—have always needed—but never asked for. I will be present. Attentive. Breathing the same air that fills your lungs. Listening quietly to your worries. Laughing at the same quips that coax your smile. Until one day the empty space you maintain around your heart feels like it was waiting all those years to be filled by me.”
Sofia’s heart squeezed in her chest, desperate for her to accept the extraordinary fairytale he was weaving. Countless times in her childhood games, she had imagined the pirate who would steal her away from isolation. But never had she expected that fantasy to come to life, nor dreamed that she might hide from her pirate when he came.
Christopher’s hand was warm where he pressed her palm to his heart, and the affection in his eyes was more than she could bear. Her gaze dropped to the floor to hide the deception that she knew would be present in her own.
And he was wrong. She had asked people to stay, people who had every reason to comply. But familial loyalty was not enough. She was not enough, and she knew better than to hope that Christopher would be any different if the truth were revealed. She wanted to believe in him. Wanted to believe that what he felt for her would outweigh her deception. That he would understand her heart well enough to know, without question, that she’d resisted Oliver’s plan from the start. But Sofia was no good at lying to herself, and she was exceedingly good at basic mathematics. What she offered would never add up to enough.
“That’s a terrible plan.” She pushed the insult through her too-tight throat and looked into his eyes as she waited for her words to wound. Instead, he smiled that carefree, boyish grin that made her want to crush her mouth against his.
“See? We’re right on track for my plan.” There was no forced joviality; he was entirely unperturbed by her ruthlessness.
She quirked an eyebrow. “The first step of your wicked plan was to watch me spit upon it?” she asked, incredulity thick in her voice.
Christopher’s nose wrinkled. “I admit, the projection of bodily fluids was not part of my plan, but the basic sentiment is accurate.” His thumb stroked small circles along the back of her hand. “If I thought that a simple heartfelt declaration was enough to sway you, why would I have bothered with a multistep plan? Really Sofia, you are supposed to be a governess. Where is your sense of logic?”
And then he kissed her so soundly that every argument faded away. She wanted him to keep kissing her. To kiss her until she forgot everything but the feel of his mouth slanting against hers, until her conscience was silenced, until the only awareness that remained was centred on him—them—and how perfectly right they felt together. “Come back. After you see Oliver home, come back,” Sofia whispered against his lips.
“Sofia,” he groaned, and she heard as much reluctance as desire in the drawn-out syllables. “I cannot debauch my best friend’s governess in his home.” He apologised with kisses. Soft, pleading kisses that felt like a handful of buttercups from a repentant child. They were undiluted sincerity and sweetness. “And if I came to you tonight…” His eyes slammed shut, whether to steel himself against the temptation of her offer or to fully immerse himself in the fantasies in his head, she wasn’t certain.
She wondered at what he saw behind closed lids, his lips parted. She would very much like to take part in whatever erotic scene was unfurling in the privacy of his mind. Her body swayed closer. “What are you thinking about?”
“Complicated cravat knots. To bed with you. Now.”
“Stubborn English arse,” she grumbled, then kissed his cheek.
Christopher watchedSofia’s door close soundlessly, then stared at the heavy wood that separated them for long minutes after. He imagined the burrow of his fingers into her restrained curls. He’d pluck one pin after another until an anarchy of spirals tumbled free. In his mind, he could see her pupils dilate, could hear her breaths grow faster in cadence with his own, could feel her body respond to his own unchecked arousal. His cock thickened in his trousers and he forced his mind in another direction to avoid embarrassment.
Oliver. He needed to rejoin Oliver. First, he returned to the dining room, discovering it empty save for a few maids who paused in their work to smile at him. He checked the drawing room and music room and found them equally quiet. Oliver would not return to the cabin on his own if that meant leaving Keene unchaperoned with Sofia. Then another thought occurred to him. Increasing his pace, Christopher made for Gabriel’s study, where the sideboard offered an abundance of beverage options.
Passing by a pair of footmen and brushing off their invitation to play cards, Christopher identified the queasy feeling in his gut as worry. Not irritation at having to play warden to an escapee or even unease at the thought of Sofia’s reaction to her brother’s lapse. Damn it all, he had actually come to like the man.
Sure enough, Oliver stood in profile near the unlit fireplace. He held a gold pocket watch that Christopher recognised as Gabriel’s. Oddly, Christopher was more relieved to find the sideboard untouched than he was alarmed to find Oliver teetering on the brink of theft.
“I was going to take it,” Oliver said in a sanguine tone.
“Yes, that’s what it looks like from over here.” Christopher leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms.
“But my hand doesn’t seem to want to cooperate.”
A long silence passed. Oliver idly stroked his finger over the watch.
“I’m in trouble, Christopher.”
Christopher filled two snifters with water, offering one to Oliver.
“The men who roughed me up… I ran up a debt, gambling for… well, you know what. I didn’t think they would find me here, but one of my old drinking acquaintances showed up at the cabin this afternoon. Told me that Simms—that’s one of the men who beat me—knows where I am. That’s why I brought the duchess home. I didn’t want her tangled in the middle of my mess. I was going to take this to pay Simms off. Figured the duke has one to match every waistcoat anyway. But I can’t.” He drank the water down in several long gulps. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Run, I suppose.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You aren’t going to run. Sofia needs you.” Christopher took Oliver’s empty glass and set it on the sideboard.
Oliver’s gaze dropped to his boots. “She doesn’t need me. Truth is, I’ve been nothing but a burden. She’s better off without me. I can’t look at her without seeing all the damage I’ve done, and I don’t even remember most of it. But I can see it in her eyes—fear, disappointment, resentment.”
“I don’t know whose eyes you’re looking into because that’s not what’s in Sofi’s eyes at all. She’s hopeful, Oliver. She wants to trust you.”
“She shouldn’t trust me. I’m not better. Christ, just look at me. I’m failing her now and I’m not even drunk. And don’t think for a second that I don’t want to be.” His gaze fell to the sideboard. Lingered there. “There isn’t enough good left in me for her to love.”
“And now you’re being a self-deprecating idiot.” Christopher whisked the pocket watch from Oliver’s hand and dropped it onto the table. “Come on.”
Christopher ignored Oliver’s questions as he led the way down the hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into his room. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a box, unlocked it with a key from his pocket, and flipped open the lid. “How much do you need?”
“Fucking hell, that’s a lot of money!”
“Yes, well, I am exceptionally good at brushing out formal wear. How much money do you need?” he repeated with an impatient glare.
“Thirty-seven pounds,” Oliver begrudgingly replied. “But I can’t take your money.”
“Yes, you bloody well will take my money.” Christopher counted out the relatively small amount and thrust the bills toward Oliver’s chest, waggling his hand when Oliver remained still. “Take it. Gabriel’s brilliant with investments and I’ve spent twenty years taking his advice. I’m not going to miss thirty-seven pounds, but Sofia will miss her brother. So you will take it, pay your debts, and that will be the end of this conversation.”
After a tense moment between them, Oliver accepted the money, shaking his head, then shoved the notes into his pocket. He looked stunned.
“I’ve been nothing but a pain in your arse. Why not use this as an opportunity to be rid of me?”
“Because I love your sister. And because she does need you. Not broken and bloody because of a mistake you made. She needs the brother you were, the one who filled the void left by her parents’ apathy, who cared more for his little sister’s fragile heart than his own adolescent amusements. And don’t try to tell me that man is gone because you are as soft for Sofia as you ever were. You just lost the ability to be that person for a little while. But I see him, and I’m not going to stand by and let you forget what it is to be him. Not ever. So take the fucking money and stop arguing with me.”
“Christopher.”
“Yes?”
“If you fell off your horse into the river, I think I might just jump in so you wouldn’t be the only idiot riding home sopping wet.”
Christopher grinned. “Yes, yes, I rather like you too. Come on. It’s late and I have a pint-sized lumpy settee calling my name.”