For Love Alone (37 page)

“Don't,” he said softly, reaching out to run a caressing finger down her cheek, “denigrate yourself. Edward was a selfish bastard and your mother may have been a thoughtless, even callous young woman, but you are nothing like either one of them. You are brave, loyal, and caring. To tell the truth, I find it hard to believe that you have Scoville blood coursing your veins.”

Sophy's breath caught, thoughts of the ruby cravat pin and catching Edward's murderer vanishing instantly from her mind. It was the first time since she had accused him of marrying her to avenge his brother's death that they had even remotely touched upon the subject, but she knew that it had not been forgotten by either one of them. It lay between them like a festering canker, and she was painfully aware that she would give much to tear down at least one of the barriers that stood between them.

Searchingly, she stared up into his dark, fiercely hewn features, her heart aching and yet hopeful. They had been forced to marry. She knew that he did not love her; his need for an heir had been well-known. But what he felt for her she could not even guess. Kindness, certainly. Passion, definitely. But what of his brother's suicide? And her mother's part in it?
Had
the desire for revenge played a part in his offer of marriage?

Suddenly she had to know, and blurted out, “Did you agree to marry me to extract some sort of revenge for what happened to your brother?”

An infinitely tender smile played at the corners of Ives's shapely mouth. He shook his head slowly, and said huskily, “I swear to you, sweetheart, on my honor as a gentleman and on everything I hold dear, that neither Robert nor your mother's part in his death had
anything
to do with the reasons I married you.”

She should have been satisfied with his answer, but his words left her feeling oddly bereft. Of course his brother's suicide had nothing to do with their marriage, she told herself stoutly. She had been a fool to believe it in the first place. She knew precisely why he had married her—he had, one might almost say gallantly, married her to protect her from scandal and to, in time, gain an heir.

She forced a smile. “Thank you. I would not like to think that I was to be punished for something I did not do.”

“Is that how you view our marriage?” Ives asked whimsically. “As punishment?”

A lump grew in Sophy's throat. She shook her golden curls. “No, my lord. Not punishment.”

Ives waited a moment longer, wishing she would say more, hoping desperately that she would give him some clue as to what was going on in that lovely head of hers.

Uneasy with his silence, Sophy cleared her throat, and muttered, “You have been very kind to me and my family. I am exceedingly grateful to you.”

Ives made a face, disappointment crashing through him. Gratitude was not what he wanted from her. Turning away he said lightly, “Then I must be satisfied. I would not want you to be unhappy.”

Miserably Sophy watched him, the urge to demand what he
did
want of her almost painful in its intensity. But she kept her mouth shut. Life with Simon had taught her some bitter truths, and she had learned, to her cost, that sometimes knowing the truth destroyed all illusions and left one with absolutely no hope at all. As it was, she might not know how Ives felt about her and their marriage, but she could still dream that one day he might love her. She could still hope that more bound them together than merely his need for an heir.

Unwilling to dwell upon the state of her marriage, she picked up her cup and took another swallow of tea, wrinkling her nose at its coolness. Setting the cup down decisively, she glanced across at Ives where he had reseated himself, and said determinedly, “I believe that if you think it over you will agree that it would be best for me to be the one to approach Grimshaw.”

When Ives scowled at her, she went on hastily, “If you consider it honestly, you will know that I am right. Simon, Edward, and I are all connected, and he
knows
how I feel about him. He won't give my actions a second thought.”

There was too much truth in what she said for Ives to brush her words aside, which was exactly what he wanted to do—violently. Though it galled him to admit it, she was the far more logical choice to carry out the scheme.

Even admitting that, Ives was still against the idea of her coming anywhere near the man who might be the Fox. “There is much to your argument,” he conceded reluctantly, “but dammit, Sophy! There are too many things that could go wrong.”

His green eyes full of anxiety, he stared across the brief space that divided them. Huskily, he said, “I would not, for the world, have anything happen to you.”

Her heart leaping in her breast, Sophy thought she would melt for love of him. It was not a declaration of love, but it was enough, and it would do for now. Oh, yes, it would do very well for now, she thought mistily.

The future ahead suddenly seemed much brighter, and beaming foolishly across at him, she said softly, “Nothing will happen to me because you will not let it, will you?”

“God, no!” he swore, wanting to catch her up in his arms and whisk her away from even the thought of danger.

“Then we are decided?” she asked carefully.
“I
shall be the one to seek out Grimshaw.”

Knowing he had lost the argument, but unwilling to concede defeat, Ives growled, “I must discuss it with my godfather first. We shall see what he has to say.”

If Sophy thought it strange that Ives seemed to need his godfather's advice before proceeding, she kept it to herself. But she was very thoughtful when they left Ives's study a few minutes later and walked up the stairs to their bedchambers.

The Duke of Roxbury seemed to frequently intrude into their lives of late, she realized. Ives had never struck her as a man who relied on others to make up his mind for him, and yet, it seemed he was always rushing off to confer with Roxbury—if the duke wasn't appearing on their doorstep.

Of course, Roxbury
was
Ives's godfather, but ... Now what was it about Roxbury that nagged at her? Some gossip? Some old scandal?

Her thoughts busy with trying to remember what it was she had heard about Roxbury, Sophy absently bid her husband good night and entered her own room. She was very quiet as Peggy helped her undress. Garbed in only her chemise, she dismissed Peggy with a vague smile and slipped out of the chemise before putting on a nightgown of gossamer silk. Unaware of her image in the mirror before her, she brushed out the earlier expert work of Peggy's nimble fingers and very soon her thick, heavy hair was lying in a shining golden mantle around her slim shoulders.

Roxbury, Roxbury.
What was it that she had heard about him? Something about, despite his great wealth and position, he dabbled in the government? But how did that affect Ives?

She gasped, sitting up straighter. Roxbury was some sort of master spy, wasn't that what she had overheard Simon say years ago? He had been talking to Edward, she remembered, and when he had finished speaking, he had laughed in that nasty way of his, almost as if he had somehow managed to push Roxbury's nose in a pile of manure. Edward had laughed, too....

Her thoughts went flying when she heard the door open behind her. Spinning around on the green-satin stool of her dressing table, she looked across the width of the room to where Ives stood in the connecting door between their chambers.

He was wearing a black robe and, with a curling twist in her loins, Sophy knew he was naked underneath the garment. He seemed very large, very male, as he stood there regarding her. And very dear.

He said nothing for a moment. Then strolling coolly into the room, he remarked, “The door was unlocked.”

Sophy nodded. “I know,” she said softly, rising slowly to her feet, excitement coiling almost painfully throughout her body. “I did not wish to overwork the carpenter.”

He smiled crookedly as he reached her. Pulling her gently into his arms, he teased both of them by faintly brushing his lips against hers. “And that was the only reason? Consideration for the carpenter?”

Her lips parted invitingly, her eyes luminous pools of pure gold, Sophy shook her head. “Oh, no, not the only reason.”

Ives groaned and crushed her to him, his mouth settling hungrily on hers and Sophy gave up coherent thought for a long time, a very long time....

 

Bright sunlight was streaming into her room and Peggy had just placed a tray of tea and toast on the table beside her bed, when Sophy once more rejoined the world. Pushing back a thick strand of gold hair, she sat up and winced slightly. A dreamy smile curved her full mouth. Ives had been voracious last night. And she had reveled in it, understanding for the first time that sometimes passion was not always gentle. But, oh, always sweet.

As she took a sip of her tea, Peggy said, “The master has already risen and gone out, but he asked that I inquire if you would care to accompany him to visit his godfather this afternoon. He informed me that he will return around two o'clock for your answer.”

Sophy smiled to herself. This afternoon, she decided, was going to be most interesting. To Peggy she said, “Of course I shall go with him. In fact, I am looking forward to it.”

 

Ives was
not
looking forward to it at all. He had the uneasy feeling that events were spiraling wildly out of his control—not, he reminded himself savagely, that he had ever
been
in control.

The meeting between Roxbury, Forrest, and himself had gone rather well this morning, and if Roxbury was annoyed by Ives's abrupt commandeering of his time, he gave no sign of it. Actually, he seemed pleased that Ives had finally brought Forrest into the fold.

At first, Percival had been highly incensed that he had not been included in the chase from the beginning, his bright blue eyes burning with indignation, but he had quickly calmed down and become excited at the prospect of grappling with the elusive Fox.

When shown the ruby cravat pin and enlightened as to its history and what they suspected about it, he had frowned in concentration as he had stared at the sparkling jewel. Shaking his head, he muttered, “I know that I have seen this before, but I cannot tell you where or when.” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps I will remember eventually, but for now, I am afraid that I am no help to you.”

Ives was disappointed, but not overly so; it had been an outside chance anyway that Forrest would recognize it. The three men continued to discuss the situation for several more minutes before Forrest took his leave. He had left Roxbury's town house full of enthusiasm for the chase and swearing fervently to be of service in any way that he could. He was, he told Ives happily, going to enjoy himself for the first time since he had sold out and returned to England.

After Forrest departed, Roxbury glanced across at Ives. “You do not,” he said, “seem to be particularly happy this morning. Surely, you have no doubts about the wisdom of bringing Forrest into our midst?”

Ives shook his head. “No—I trust Percival implicitly, and in a dangerous confrontation, I could not ask for a better man at my side.” Ives took a turn around the elegant green-and-gold room, still not convinced that he was doing the wise,
safe
thing by allowing Sophy to take part in the hunt for the Fox.

Aware of Roxbury's eyes upon him, still uncertain of his path, he said carefully, “Sophy has come up with a plan to approach the person she thinks may have been the target of Edward's blackmail.”

Roxbury frowned, and his displeasure was evident in his tone of voice. “I realize,” he said sharply, “that she was the one who found the cravat pin, but do you think it wise to allow her to continue to meddle in something so fraught with danger? This is
none
of her business, and you should not be discussing it with her.”

He shot Ives a black look. “You know that I am adamantly opposed to her involvement in this affair—I have told you so repeatedly. Allowing Forrest to learn of the Fox is one thing, but your wife? Might as well place a notice in the
Times.
It is preposterous.”

Ives smiled bleakly. “I know precisely how you feel about her involvement—it is the reason she currently thinks she has married her first husband's twin.”

Roxbury had the grace to look uncomfortable.
“I
am sorry, my boy, that this affair has caused you such ...” he began apologetically, then caught himself up and scowled fiercely. “May I remind you that I was against the marriage right from the beginning? And didn't I warn you that it would be trouble? If you find yourself in difficulties with your wife, it is your own fault, you know. You should not have married the lady while you were in the middle of trying to catch someone like the Fox.”

“I agree, but if you remember, I had little choice. She was suspected of murder.”

“Piffle! She might have suffered a few unpleasant months and endured some nasty gossip, but once the Fox was caught, you then could have proceeded with your courtship and set wagging tongues to rest.” His scowl deepened. “Do not try to make me feel guilty because of something you did. Against my expressed wishes, I might add.”

Ives suddenly grinned. “Do you ever feel guilty about anything, my lord?”

Roxbury cast him a baleful look. “Don't be a damned fool! Of course, I do—frequently! Which has nothing to do with what we are discussing.”

“Naturally,” Ives replied. Leaving the unprofitable subject behind, he proceeded to lay out the various schemes he had concocted to find the owner of the cravat pin, ending with the plan to try his hand at blackmail.

Roxbury mulled over Ives's facts, asking occasionally to have a particular point explained. Slowly nodding, he finally murmured, “Excellent notion—if your assumption is correct and the Fox and Edward's proposed blackmail victim are one and the same. And I agree, if he were to learn that you possessed the pin and were trying to identify the owner, he might very well bolt for the Continent.” Roxbury looked thoughtful. “It would have been so much simpler if someone we trusted could identify the pin.” He sighed. “Shame that Forrest did not recognize it.”