Authors: Heather Cullman
“Oh?” She braced her hands on her hips, eyeing him with violent dislike. “And if there are no such things as bogles, then what, pray tell, attacked me? I can assure you most heartily that it wasn’t a badger or a hare.” Another flash of annoyingly straight teeth. “Why don’t we look and find out?” Still laughing, Lyndhurst strode over and retrieved the extinguished lantern. After relighting it, he returned to the site of the alleged bogle attack.
“Shall we?” He indicated the hedge with a sweep of his hand. Without awaiting her reply, he began sifting through the shrubbery, pausing now and again to shine the light through its branches.
Still unconvinced as to the mythical nature of bogles, Sophie hung back, watching from what she prayed was a safe distance.
After several moments during which he searched the thicket from top to bottom, he dropped to his knees, crowing, “Aha!” Setting the lantern on the ground next to him, he examined something — what, she couldn’t see — then softly commanded, “Come and take a look at your bogle, Miss Barrington.”
“What is it?” she asked, reluctant to move nearer. What if it truly was a bogle? Or something just as bad, like a snake or a bat?
He made an impatient noise. “I already told you, your bogle.”
“But you said — “
“I said that you are to come here,” he interjected brusquely. “Need I remind you that you are a servant to the Somerville family, and thus subject to my commands? If you wish to keep your position, I suggest that you obey me posthaste.”
Keep her position? Sophie’s jaw dropped as she gaped at him, utterly taken aback. Her belief in bogles aside, did he think her a complete ninny? Keep her position indeed! No doubt his words were a ruse to lure her back to the manor so he could lock her up and send her back to London in chains.
“Sophie?” His irritation was unmistakable.
Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she retorted, “No, I shan’t obey you. Why should I? I know perfectly well that you despise me, and that you have no intention of letting me remain at Hawksbury. Contrary to your belief, I’m not an utter goose.”
Slowly he rose to his feet, straightening to the uppermost inch of his lofty, and admittedly alarming, height. “Indeed?”
“Indeed,” she countered with a sniff. “And I understand with absolute clarity why you hunted me down.”
“Oh? Well, then, pray do tell.”
“For revenge, of course. You despise me and wish revenge for the way I disgraced you in front of the
ton.
You intend to soothe your pride and even the score by hauling me off to prison.”
He acknowledged her response with a curt nod. “You are correct on two counts, Miss Barrington: I do despise you. And yes, I most definitely desire revenge. You are, however, incorrect as to the mode in which I wish to exact it.”
She frowned, taken aback by that last. “Are you saying that you shan’t drag me back to Town and turn me over to my creditors?”
“That, my dear, is entirely up to you,” he replied, stalking toward her.
There was something ominous about the low, purring timbre of his voice, something that sent icy chills up her spine. And when he stopped before her, his eyes glittering in the shadowed murk of his face, it was all she could do not to step away.
Firmly commanding her feet to stay put, she forced her gaze to meet his. “Oh? And exactly what do you mean when you say that it is up to me?” Was that really her voice, so thin and hoarse?
“I mean that you have a choice.”
“A … choice?”
“Yes. A choice.” He inched his face nearer to hers. “You can remain in service at Hawksbury, doing as I command for however long I say, after which time you shall be free to go where you wish. Or I can take you to King’s Bench Prison in the morning.” His face was so close now, she could see his grim expression … and his scar.
Unnerved by both, she ducked her head and shied back a step. “I-If you despise me, w-why do you want me at Hawksbury? I should th-think that you would wish me far from your s-sight,” she stammered, hating her voice for faltering so.
There was a tense moment of silence, then he grasped her chin and jerked her face to his again. “Maybe I wish you near so I can torment you with the hideous spectacle of my face,” he snarled.
Sophie gasped, shocked to be confronted with her own careless words. How vicious they sounded echoing from his lips, how very cruel she was to have voiced them in the first place.
He snorted and released her chin. “Ah, yes, my dear Miss Barrington. I know all about your horror of my face. How could I not? It’s all the talk of the ton. That, and your complaint of my arrogance. Oh, and let us not forget the prime gossip regarding my soporific dullness and my grotesque size.”
Sophie bowed her head again, this time from shame rather than to escape the sight of his scar. Not knowing what to say, but compelled to say something, she murmured, “Lyndhurst — “
He cut her off with another snort. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not asking you to deny your words, nor do I wish to hear that you’ve had a change of heart. Indeed, what is the opinion of an ill-bred little goosecap to me? Nothing!” He more spat than said the last word.
“Ill-bred?” Sophie tossed aside her guilt to embrace her affront. “I may be a goosecap at times, but I am most certainly not ill-bred. Lest you’ve forgotten, my mother was the daughter of an earl.”
“And your father was a common cloth merchant,” he sneered.
“There was nothing whatsoever common about my father,” she shot back, her foot itching to kick him. “He was the noblest, handsomest, most genteel man in all of England. Everyone who knew him says so!”
He made a derisive noise. “If what you say is indeed true, then how did he come to spawn such a vulgar daughter? One can only assume that — “
Wham
—
th-whap!
Her foot relieved its itch against his shin.
“O-w-w! What the — “
“How dare you!” she hissed. “How dare you utter such wretched lies. I am not vulgar, and you know it.” When she made to kick him again, he grabbed her arms and hauled her body against his, trapping her flailing foot between his legs as he did so.
Pinning her struggling form firmly against his unyielding one, he gritted out, “Oh? And what would you call a chit who goes to a man’s bachelor quarters and begs him to wed her?”
Sophie froze amid pounding his chest, stunned by her pain at his reminder of Julian and his betrayal. Slowly the fight seeped from her body. “I would call that poor chit a girl in love,” she whispered, “one too innocent to know the false nature of men.”
“And I would call her vulgar for acting upon her
love
in the manner of a whore desperate for a keeper,” he flung back.
“Why … why…” Her fight returned with her anger. “Why, you low-minded cur! It wasn’t like that at all. Lord Oxley led me to believe that he loved and wanted to marry me. I was simply following my heart when I went to him.” She tipped her head back and fixed him with a look of utter contempt. “Not, of course, that I expect you to understand the purity of what I felt for him. I doubt you’ve ever felt anything for another person save disdain and a smug sense of superiority.”
For a long moment his gleaming gaze bore into hers, then he ejected a scornful noise and looked away. “You haven’t a damn clue as to what I or anyone else feels. You’re far too vain and selfish to notice anything or anyone else, unless, of course, you see some personal benefit in doing so. Even then — “
“Why you — “
“Enough!” So forceful and decisive was his command, that she instantly obeyed. “I have no intention of standing here all night arguing with you, Miss Barrington. Just make your damn choice and be done with it.”
Though Sophie had thought to choose Hawksbury, she was no longer convinced that it would be the better choice. Not after what had just passed between them. That he preferred his own brand of punishment to that which she’d receive in prison spoke volumes of the horrors he had planned for her should she remain. With growing alarm, she wondered if Hawksbury had a torture chamber.
“Well, Miss Barrington?” His grip tightened on her arms as if he expected her to bolt.
With visions of racks and iron maidens dancing in her mind, she croaked, “How can I make a decision when you have yet to tell me what I shall suffer should I remain? Whatever it is, it must be very terrible for you to consider it worse than imprisonment.”
He tipped his head down to study her face, a slow and altogether disturbing smile curving his lips. “Ah, but you misunderstand me, Miss Barrington. The revenge I have in mind isn’t worse than prison, just more satisfying.”
Satisfying? Whatever could he mean by —
Oh, mercy! Her cheeks burned with outrage and embarrassment as she remembered the references to satisfaction Lydia’s brother had peppered throughout his explanation of the ways between men and women. Did Lyndhurst wish to keep her as a servant so he could command her to share his bed?
Her visions of torture instruments were promptly supplanted by those of feathers, daisies, and custard. Even more disturbed by the latter, she blurted out, “I shan’t share your bed!”
“Share my bed?” After a beat he released a snort of laughter and shoved her away. “My desire is to punish you, not myself, and I can think of no worse punishment for a man than having to bed an ice princess like you. Indeed, my sex would most probably be smite with frostbite should I enter you.”
He shook his head, ignoring her squawk of indignation. “Never fear, Miss Barrington. Sharing my bed is the one thing I shall never demand of you. Despite your low opinion of me, there are plenty of women eager to do so. Witty, clever women, I might add, who shan’t bore me between the sheets as you undoubtedly would.” “Why — ” She stamped her foot. “O-o-o! I’ll have you know that dozens of men have expressed desire for me and would be thrilled to have me in their bed.” Why she felt compelled to set him straight about the highly indecent and mortifying matter, she didn’t know. All she knew was that her pride commanded her to do so.
“Oh, I don’t deny that it would be thrilling to see you lying in my bed, clothed in nothing but your glorious hair. For you are a most lovely creature. Beauty, however, isn’t everything. Indeed, it is less than nothing when compared to attributes such as goodness, loyalty, and intelligence.”
“I’ll have you know that I — “
He silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Since your desirability has nothing to do with the matter in question, I see no reason to continue this discussion. As for the sort of satisfaction I seek, it is that which I shall derive from humbling your pride, and crushing your vanity and conceit. So be warned, Miss Barrington, should you choose Hawksbury, be prepared to be taken down a few pegs.” He chuckled dryly. “Perhaps you might do better to opt for prison after all.”
If he meant his words as a challenge, she was more than primed to accept. Humble her indeed! Ha! It would take more than scrubbing his chamber pot and floors to do that. Indeed, the beast could make her scrub his feet, and she wouldn’t feel so much as a tinge of shame. Just resentment, the deep, burning kind, which was exactly what she felt now.
Thus resolved to enter the contest, she snapped, “I shall take Hawksbury and gladly.”
“Fine. Then obey my command to view your bogle so that we may return to the house. Oh, and be prepared to tell me how you came to be there on the ride back. I am most curious to learn your logic in choosing Hawksbury as a place of refuge.” With that, he stalked back to where the lantern marked the bogle sighting.
For several long moments he stood looking around him, then he exclaimed, “Ah! There you are,” and fell to his knees. Indicating with a jerk of his head that she was to approach, he picked something up.
Her fear banished by anger, she lifted her shabby skirt and marched over to him. Bracing herself to see something truly hideous, she glanced at the object cradled in his gloved hands.
It was a ball, one of thick dark fur and wicked-looking quills. Ah. She hadn’t been bitten but pricked. No wonder she’d imagined a monster with a hundred teeth. Kneeling down for a closer look, she murmured, “What is it?”
Making soothing noises between his teeth, he eased one hand beneath the ball and tickled it. A few seconds later the ball unrolled and out popped a pointy face with bright eyes. In spite of its oddness, there was something rather charming about the little creature.
“Why, whatever is it?” she inquired, deciding that she quite liked it.
Chuckling, he held the animal up for her inspection and said, “Miss Sophie Barrington, meet Mr. Hedgehog, your deadly bogle.”
Chapter 10
“Nigglin‘ old fury. Made me polish every bleedin‘ bit of brass in the guest chambers, even the door keys,” Fancy groused, stalking into the kitchen. “All this pish, pother, and fuss, and for what, I ask you? Some piddlin‘ viscount and his whelp! Why, you’d think the friggin‘ king hisself was cornin‘ to visit the way the Pixie’s dingin‘ on about everything bein‘ perfect.”
John Wilford, the stately first footman, broke from his consultation with the cook to frown at the carping chambermaid. His voice as starchy as it was genteel, he reproved, “We do not utter the word ‘frigging’ in this household, girl, and most certainly not in association with the king.”