Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sophie slumped against Max, her lungs feeling as though they were on fire, her ribs aching.
“Sophie,” Max growled. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“My…my back.”
She heard the distant sound of her dress tearing, but she was focused on breathing in and out. With each breath, the pain receded a bit more. That’s when the cool air fanned her shoulders. She burrowed down deeper into Max’s lap, her face once again, nestled into the crook of his neck.
“Sophie,” he said, his voice achingly gentle. “I’m just going to move you so that I can look at your back.”
“It doesn’t hurt so much,” she said into the collar of his shirt. “I think I’m all right.”
With his arm curled around her body, his other hand searched her skin. He stopped when she winced in pain, her skin clearly cut. “But…”
Next, he was pulling at the fabric of her bodice. “What the hell is in this thing?”
“Coin,” she answered. “Everything I’ve been able to save.”
“Christ,” he muttered, twisting the bodice in his hand. “I think the bullet caught a coin.”
“What?” she sat up then. “I was shot?”
That made him chuckle. “Technically, no.” He wrapped both arms around her, squeezing her tightly to his chest.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, the inside of her biceps brushing the stubble of his chin. The rough skin felt delicious, and she pressed her cheek to the other side of his jaw, rubbing her face against him.
“Sophie?” Abigail asked, her voice wobbling with her fear.
“Come here, love,” Sophie crooned, and then, somehow, Abigail wormed her way between them, pressing into the middle of their embrace.
For a moment, Sophie wondered how Max might respond to a child joining their embrace. He’d already saved Abigail, she didn’t expect him to give the child affection. However, he kept his arms around them both, holding them tightly. Sophie’s heart swelled in her chest. What would she give to call a man like this her own? Had she really thought him frightening? He was the best man she’d ever met.
She curled around Abigail, resting her forehead on his collarbone. “Max?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Duke of Ironheart’s home.”
“Who is he?”
“A friend,” he said, grimacing. “With an army of footmen and the social sway to stay an earl.”
“I don’t think Lord Whitehouse follows normal rules,” she whispered. None of these men did. Max had removed her from an earl’s home without much bother. Much as she’d like to think she was safe now, what was stopping the earl from stealing her right back?
Max seemed to understand. “I’ll get you out of London as soon as I know where to take you. Lady Tabetha is searching for relatives now.”
“Tabbie helped you?” Her heart swelled to think of having friends who’d come to her aid.
“Yes.”
She heard the creaking swing of large metal gates as the carriage slowed. They moved through the gates, the metal clanking behind them as the gate closed again.
She swallowed down a lump. She wasn’t certain she wanted to go anywhere that Max wasn’t. “You’re certain that Ironheart can be trusted?”
“Yes.” He gave her another squeeze. “But I’ll stay too.”
“Thank goodness.” She sighed. She didn’t say more because she felt him stiffen underneath her.
Had she given away too much? Put some sort of pressure on him? She was a woman with no social connection, little money, and no family other than a child who needed to be cared for. In the best of circumstances, Max would never be hers. She hadn’t meant it like that. She just felt safe with him nearby.
The carriage came to a stop as they attempted to untangle themselves from the floor of the carriage. Once they’d all managed to climb out, Sophie realized the bodice of her gown was hanging off one shoulder, completely in tatters.
Her face flamed as they walked past several assembled servants, but Max looked completely at ease. “Doctor,” he said to the most matronly of the women, likely the housekeeper.
“Yes, my lord.” She curtseyed. “Right away.”
“My lord,” a man stepped forward. “What happened?”
“Bullet,” Max said, pointing toward her back. In the carriage, he’d spoken full, unbroken sentences.
Now, while he wasn’t stuttering, he only spoke a word at a time.
The butler stepped around her, assessing her skin. “A scratch.”
“Feel…her…dress,” Max said the three words slowly.
The butler pulled the fabric away from her skin and she heard him gasp as he tugged, dislodging a bullet and a coin. He dropped them both into her hand.
She shook her head. She’d sewn the coins into the gown for protection. She’d just never considered that it would be that kind of protection. “Unbelievable.”
Max pulled her close again, his arms wrapping around her in front of the entire staff. Then he whispered in her ear. “I still want you to be seen by a doctor.”
She swallowed. “All right.”
“Let me show you to your rooms,” a maid said as she bobbed a curtsy. “The child must be tired. Or is she hungry?”
“Just tired,” Sophie answered, but then she touched Max’s arm. “Will you be close?”
“I’ll be close.”
An hour later, Sophie had been seen by a doctor, and she’d settled Abigail into a large canopied bed. A second had been brought in, smaller, likely meant for Abigail, but Sophie knew she’d sleep with her sister in her arms tonight. She was relieved to know that Max had been placed in the connecting room. It was surely meant for married guests, but tonight she couldn’t give a fig about propriety. She just wanted to be safe.
Max opened the door between the rooms. “Everything all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, getting up from the spot on the bed to cross to him. She wore one of Ironheart’s dressing gowns, her body swimming in the folds. “You?”
“Good,” he answered, his eyes sliding down her body as he frowned. “Worried about you.”
“I’m good,” she said, stopping in front of him. “I’m no longer at the mercy of my uncle or Lord Whitehouse.”
“He isn’t your uncle.”
Sophie blinked several times. “I beg your pardon?”
Max reached out and pulled her into his arms. “He isn’t your uncle. His name is Plimpton, and he’s been part of Whitehouse’s organization for many years.”
“That can’t be true. He was at my uncle’s address, he…”
“I have no idea what happened to your real uncle. I’ve only been investigating Whitehouse for a few months, but at some point, Plimpton moved into the house and assumed your uncle’s identity.”
Details began to click into place in her mind, but she still wasn’t certain she wanted to believe it. The very fact that she’d placed her and Abigail’s care into the hands of an imposter jolted her. “If you’ve only been investigating for a few months, how do you know he’s not my uncle?” Her breath was coming out in rapid little huffs as her blood rushed in her ears.
Max gently pulled her closer. “I knew Plimpton before. He and I traveled in the same circle.”
“What circle?”
Max’s face spasmed as he looked away. “I don’t think it’s important…”
“I want to know.” She tapped his shoulder. “Tell me everything.
* * *
Telling long stories was not exactly his specialty. He said more to Sophie than he’d spoken to anyone else in actual years. But this was different. First, it would all frighten her. Even worse, if his stutter didn’t frighten her off, his past certainly would, or perhaps, that was his present.
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“At the beginning.”
They might as well sit. Lifting her into his arms, he started for the armchair that sat in the corner near the fire. Settling in, he held her in his lap. “My father and I don’t like each other. He hated my stutter, and I hated him.”
Sophie frowned, her large eyes holding his. “How awful.”
“When I was of age, he sent me to the military. I hated it. He thought the discipline would cure me, but it only made me angrier, and more reserved. That’s where I met Plimpton.”
“That explains his anger that first night at the ball. He knew you’d recognize him.”
“I’m sure.” Max sighed. “Rather than staying in the military, I came home and started a life outside my father’s influence.”
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
He frowned. “The position I took was for a group of titled lords who run a secret club. Only I know their identities, and only I know every detail of the group. Which is how I know that Lord Whitehouse is responsible for the death of two of our members and that his son is among our roster.”
“Death?” Her hands tightened on his biceps. “Why?”
“I’m still working on that. I know that Lord Whitehouse’s men move a great deal of goods that have not been taxed. He uses the funds to support his cause of making England a more m-moral…” He tripped on that one word. He’d heard it often as a child. His father had been convinced that if Max were pure of soul, he’d not be so damaged.
“He wants to make England more moral by killing people?” Sophie snorted. “How ridiculous.”
He relaxed. “He thinks our club is what’s wrong with England. Powerful men behaving badly.”
Sophie shook her head. “Few know better than me who is really the villain of this story.”
He spread his hands over her back, wishing he could strip Ironheart’s dressing coat off her. She should be wearing his clothing, not some other man’s. He shook off the thought as he focused on the story.
“Regardless, because our ranks are secret, I couldn’t just go to the police. So, I exposed myself to Whitehouse to try and bait him into action. I’ve put myself in his direct line of fire.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh. I see.”
She didn’t see it all. Not yet. “I’ll have to send you somewhere, Sophie. You’re not safe with me.”
“What?”
“I’ve made myself the bait.”
“No,” she shook her head, her hands sliding up his neck. “I am safest with you, Max.”
His lips pressed together, Tabbie’s words coming back to him. Sophie was the kind of woman who’d give all of herself to him without reservation. No qualifications. Why did he have to meet her now?
He dropped his forehead down to hers. “I want you to stay too. I care about you, Sophie, which is why…” She needed to go.
Her hands fluttered from his neck to his jaw, her small fingers holding onto him like he was a lifeline.
Tipping her chin up to his, he pressed his mouth to hers, her mouth just as soft as the rest of her. He pulled back for a moment, drinking in the sight of her eyes closed, a blush upon her cheeks, her lips softly parted before he kissed her again. And again, deeper, longer. He couldn’t remember kissing a woman like this. It wasn’t just lust, and he had no reservations. What he’d not realized was that the connection between them grew stronger in an instant.
He tightened his arms about her, needing her closer still as he kissed her over and over. Sophie belonged in his arms, in the circle of his protection, and that’s where she was going to stay.
He needed a plan. He’d gone too far in baiting Whitehouse to back out now. So whatever plan he chose, he knew one thing for certain.
He had to win.