Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (15 page)

Anthony raised his eyebrows. "I had no such intention," he responded with complete honesty. "I am breathless with anticipation to view your reaction." He reached out and brought her hand to his arm. "This is your first cockfight, is it not?"

Her laugh sounded a bit forced, and for a moment, he thought she would lie to him. Then she shook her head. "This is indeed my first fight, but I have been anxious to view one since I overheard Geoffrey after attending his first. He was most enthusiastic."

"Most young men are," he responded dryly as he stepped toward the door. "You are quite sure you do not wish to change your gown?" he repeated. "That rose is wonderfully attractive, but it is also..." He paused a moment, searching for the right words. "Your beauty makes you somewhat conspicuous."

She turned to him, and he distinctly saw a twinkle of mischief in her eye. "Do you wish me to wear something brown, nondescript, perhaps rather shapeless, and overly large, so as to disguise my appearance?"

"That would be the, uh, more prudent course," he answered. "The women who attend these affairs are not at all... of your sort."

"What would you know of my sort?" she responded archly. "I am a spinster now. I can go wherever I wish."

"As long as you are unmarried," he responded softly, "you shall never have the freedom you crave. You shall always require an escort, especially if you intend to frequent events such as this one."

She turned abruptly, and he saw anger in her eyes, but he could not tell if her ill humor was directed at him or her situation. They both knew that even as a spinster, she had restrictions on her behavior.

"A lady can always find an escort," she finally said.

"Can she also find a child to hold or something to fill the hours other than meaningless and coarse distractions?"

Sophia did not respond except to turn her back on him and walk regally to his waiting curricle.

Anthony watched her go, frustration making his shoulders heavy and his leg ache. She had done it again. He had resolved to be urbane and civilized, agreeing to whatever she wished without so much as a blink of his eye. Yet, despite his much vaunted self-control, they were already at daggers drawn.

Very well, he decided. He would exercise his self-mastery. He could afford to be patient. He would take her to the cockfight. When she ran sick from the sight, then he would have his victory. She would know her country diversions were as meaningless as the civilized ones of London. In the end, she would turn to him.

She would.

With a sigh that felt like a call to arms, he jammed his hat on his head and moved to join her on the curricle seat.

* * *

Sophia could hardly keep from squirming, unsure whether she should feel elated or humiliated. When she had first conceived of attending the cockfight, it seemed the perfect choice. Not only was it a scandalous thing to do, but she truly wished to attend such an event.

But planning to fly in the face of social convention was entirely different from actually doing it. As more than one gentleman lifted his quizzing glass to inspect her, Sophia was hard put to sit still. Suddenly she wished she had indeed put on a shapeless brown cloak as the major had suggested. But there was nothing for it now except to brazen her way through.

The major brought their curricle within distant sight of the center area while Sophia occupied herself by looking about, trying to see everything except the haughty stares of other attendees. There were vehicles of every sort, from flashy carriages to dirty, broken-down wagons. She recognized gentlemen who frequented
haut ton
ballrooms next to tradesmen and footmen. They all made their way to the tiered seating surrounding a sand pit. And though Sophia could see the wealthier patrons sneer behind their gloves at the lower classes, she saw the same eagerness on everyone's face.

And the same shock as the major pulled his curricle into place.

"They are all staring at me," she whispered to him.

"I did try to tell you that ladies, even spinsters, do not attend cockfights."

Sophia mustered a polite smile for an elderly gentleman who had courted her in her second Season, but her words were for the major. "I have noticed women of all classes enjoy vulgar amusements," she said more tartly than she had intended. "Think of all the
ton
who attend hangings."

He turned to her, and suddenly, Sophia felt the weight of his keen gray eyes. "Have you ever had the desire to attend a hanging?"

She could not repress a shudder. "No. Absolutely not."

His smile was slow in coming, but it relaxed his entire body, showing her how truly handsome he was. And how fully sure of himself, for in that moment, Sophia realized her mistake. By coming here, she had meant to show him that she was vulgar and uncouth, but her response showed him all too clearly what she thought of most bloody sport.

Sophia ground her teeth in frustration. Why could she not guard her tongue around this man?

"Shall we find our seats?" she asked coolly.

"If you wish."

"Of course." And with that she allowed him to assist her out of the curricle.

His hands were warm where they touched her, but Sophia refused to think of it. She was attending her first cockfight, she reminded herself sternly. Now was not the time to think of how large and strong Major Wyclyff's hands felt where they held her arm.

They crossed the field together, coming to the tiered benches in good time. But as the major helped her to a seat, Sophia could not help but notice how those around her seemed to react to her presence. The men were outraged, some even muttering curses under their breath. As for the women, they were too intent on attracting the men to do more than glare occasionally at her.

To add discomfort to humiliation, the major settled close beside her, his manner protective. "We may leave, if you like. I understand there is a lovely drive along the creek."

She stiffened, feigning surprise, though inside she was tempted. "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"Because I can see you are uncomfortable, and I have no wish to ruin our afternoon together because of this nonsense."

Sophia shifted, turning to face him so that his body did not press so closely against hers. "I have told you, I will not be ordered by society or by you. I have chosen to attend this event, and stay I shall."

His sigh was heartfelt, and Sophia felt his broad shoulders move with the sound. She was being willful and stubborn, she knew, but he would just have to accept that. This was the new Sophia Rathburn. And she attended cockfights.

The event began with little preamble. The butcher, who apparently owned most of the roosters, walked into the center of the sand pit. After a brief introduction, he began listing the bloodlines of the first two opponents, who were being carried into the ring in the arms of their handlers.

The butcher continued, his voice ranging easily over the noise of betting, while the two handlers turned their backs on each other, rocking back and forth as the heads of their huge roosters stuck out from beneath their arms.

"Why do they do that?" she whispered, leaning into the major to be heard.

He shifted, allowing her to settle closer to him, and she was too interested in his answer to keep herself from pressing into his solid form. "To excite the birds," he said into her ear. "See how they eye each other?"

Indeed, the birds seemed to be glaring at each other even as they were swung closer and closer.

"Set your birds!" called the butcher, now safely out of the pit.

The handlers dropped the roosters, then rapidly scrambled out of the arena. At the pit's center, the fowl began circling, eyeing each other with murderous intensity. All around, the crowd cheered and yelled, goading the animals on.

"This is exhilarating," Sophia gasped, leaning forward in her seat to see more. "They are such stately creatures. I had not thought how proud they could look." Sophia watched with rapt attention, the crowd's excitement stirring her blood. The noise, the tension, even the heated press of bodies—the major seemed closer than ever—intensified the atmosphere.

Suddenly one bird lunged at the other, and, as if on cue, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of noise. Nearer to the ring, betting seemed to increase a hundredfold, as the birds, those beautiful, stately creatures, suddenly attacked each other in a mindless fury of violence.

"Oh, my word," she whispered, her eyes widening as she took in the sight. Feathers. And blood. All surrounded by cheering, sweaty, bellowing men.

The stands swayed beneath her, but Sophia barely noticed. She was too mesmerized, too horrified to turn away. One bird lunged, gouging deep into the gullet of the other. Blood poured out of the open neck wound. Yet the wounded bird continued to attack, aiming for the head of his opponent. With a fierce peck, the cock lost an eye, a bloom of red appearing on his stately feathers. And all around her men cheered for more.

Sophia pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to keep her nausea at bay. Then she felt Anthony press nearer beside her, firmly twisting her, drawing her face from the sight.

Suddenly, she was gripping his arm, screaming into his face. "Major, they... they are fighting!"

"Yes, Sophia. I know." His voice was gentle, but it was no cure for the sight she had just seen.

"Anthony, they are tearing each other apart! And the men are cheering."

"Yes, I know."

How could he be so calm? He must not truly comprehend what was occurring. She clutched his lapels, shaking him as she tried to make him understand. "But they will kill each other!"

"Likely only one will die, Sophia."

"Anthony!" she cried, but the weak sound simply merged with the screams all around her.

The major pulled her close, drawing her into his arms as he spoke softly into her ear. "What did you think a cockfight was?"

"I did not think..." Sophia swallowed, struggling against his chest. She was no match for his steady warmth, and with a shudder, she finally surrendered. "I guess I had not thought too thoroughly through what it would be like—only that it was scandalous, and I had never been." She took a deep breath. "It is a horrible, brutish sport."

"Yes."

"These men are savages to watch such a thing."

She felt his shrug, but he did not disagree with her. After a moment he rose, clambered down, then pulled her out of the seating and down against his side. "We will take that drive now." It was not a question.

Sophia walked with him, silently matching his measured tread. Her emotions had settled somewhat, but the sound of the cocks screaming and the men cheering still pounded in her head. It was not right. Those beautiful animals should not have been forced into such barbarity.

Lord, it was almost like London, where Society took sweet young girls and threw them into the vipers' nest of the
haut ton
. Before long, the girls either became vicious fighters, meting out social death to their competitors, or they became victims. It was not right here, and it was not right there, either.

It had to be stopped. Sweet, beautiful creatures should not be forced to brutalize one another. It was hideous, and it had to be stopped.

But how?

She glanced sideways, watching the major. She could appeal to him, but likely he would not help her. He was a man, after all, and she had only to look around to see what men thought. And he'd only shrugged at seeing her horror. Still, she thought perhaps to ask.

"Major..." she began.

He turned immediately to her, his expression attentive.

"Shouldn't we try to, um, stop this somehow?"

He frowned down at her, his expression gentle. "I know you are upset, but truly, roosters are dumb creatures, bred for this. And if it amuses these men, keeping them from other bloody sport, what harm is there in it?"

Sophia stiffened. "Harm? Why, harm to those beautiful birds!"

The major chuckled, tucking her more tightly against his side as they navigated past a heavily laden wagon. "They are roosters, Sophia. Chickens. The same birds you have eaten at table."

Sophia pressed her lips together, realizing the futility of arguing. He was seeing things logically, refusing to censure something that entertained his fellow men. But this was not killing animals for food, for sustenance to strengthen the bodies and minds of families or children; this was killing for sport, and she detested it.

He was watching her closely, no doubt waiting to see if she accepted his pronouncement. She smiled at him, simply to reassure his mind. Unfortunately, he was not satisfied and continued to eye her suspiciously. But he could not watch her all the time, and so she waited patiently for her opportunity as they headed back to the major's curricle.

She knew just what to do. Indeed, she had decided upon it long before, perhaps the very moment she saw those imperial birds first lunge at one another. She would save the poor creatures whatever the cost.

She got her opportunity quickly.

In front of them, two curricles were set very close together in a long line of conveyances. The only way through was in single file. In short, the major had to release his proprietary hold upon her arm. Smiling, he gestured for her to go first, and for a moment, she hesitated, wondering at the wisdom of her choice. He would be very angry with her when it was all over.