My Seductive Innocent (34 page)

“Stop!” she shouted, not giving a fig about how she must appear.

The man turned, and his bushy white eyebrows shot upward. “I beg your pardon?”

She rushed to him and gripped his arm. “Are you Sir Richard?”

“I am,” the man replied in a deep, gruff voice.

“Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “Did you bring news of my husband?”

The man’s eyes widened, and as his gaze swept over her, disbelief registered on his face. “
You
are the Duchess of Scarsdale?”

She nodded with impatience.

“Wouldn’t you care to have your family with you while we discuss such matters?”

The misery etching each of his words ripped at Sophia. She clenched her fists at her sides as a low ringing started in her ears.
“What?”

“Your family,” he stated again. The timber of his voice dropped, and his eyes took on a regretful gleam.

Suddenly, the room seemed to be swaying, and someone’s hand gripped her elbow.

“Sophia, come sit down,” Amelia urged.

Half stumbling and half walking, Sophia followed Amelia to one of two mahogany, red velvet armchairs that lined the marble wall. She remembered how lovely she had thought they were when she first saw them. Now the red color only served to make her think of death. She caught a glimpse of herself in the gilded mirror that hung above the marble commode. Her blue eyes stood in stark contrast to her snowy skin, and her hair was in wild disarray. Turning away, she lowered herself into the seat and gripped the armrests as if they were lifelines.

She glanced up, surprised to see the Duke of Aversley and Ellison standing there. Where had they come from? She moved a questioning gaze to Amelia, whose red eyes and nose caused Sophia’s heart to falter. Whatever information Sir Richard had found, it could not be good.
No...
She didn’t want to know anymore. She shoved toward the wall, determined to get away, but there was nowhere to go. No escaping the horror.

Nathan would expect her to be brave. And calm. And regal. She took a shuddering breath and locked her gaze on Sir Richard. “Tell me,” she commanded, albeit hoarsely.

He glanced to the Duke of Aversley for confirmation, and she watched, through an invisible fog, as Nathan’s friend nodded. Sir Richard placed the other chair so it was facing her, and indicated to Amelia, who shook her head and instead kneeled beside Sophia to grasp her hand. Sir Richard sat and swiped a hand across his face. The prickling sound of beard growth rubbing against his palm tickled her sensitive ears.

“As you likely know, the Duke of Aversley hired me to find your husband.”

She forced herself to nod.

“I was working in conjunction with the Bow Street Runners.”

Another nod, though it was harder this time.

“Three days ago, a seaman called Mr. Stephens arrived at the London Docks, conveyed there by an English privateer by the name of Lord Worthington, who as it happened, went to university with your husband and the Duke of Aversley.”

Sophia glanced at the duke, and he nodded.

Sir Richard let out a long breath before continuing. “Worthington was in Saint-Malo last week, hired by the king to track down and capture Ravensdale, a renegade privateer accused of kidnapping some nobility traveling at sea and selling them on the slave market. It seems Worthington had a lead that Ravensdale would be going to Saint-Malo, so he took his ship and hid in a cove to ambush Ravensdale’s ship.”

Sophia digested the information slowly, finding that concentrating was terribly difficult. “Where is Saint-Malo?” she asked in a whisper.

“In France,” Sir Richard supplied. “Shall I continue?”

Must you?
her mind screamed, yet she inclined her head for him to do so.

“Mr. Stephens, who worked for your husband on board his ship
Woodwind
, was kidnapped at the London Docks, along with your husband, the night the duke was last seen. Ravensdale intended to sell your husband on the slave market in Algiers, and Mr. Stephens tried to save your husband and was taken for his efforts.”

Without thinking, Sophia bounded out of her chair, almost knocking Amelia over. “This is wonderful,” she exclaimed. But as she looked at the people around her and saw jaws going slack and brows furrowing, she giggled nervously. “Don’t you see? If this Mr. Stephens escaped, Nathan might have, too. Or if not, I’m sure Mr. Stephens can tell us what ship to look for, and we now know where they are likely going.”

Amelia rose and slid her arm around Sophia’s waist. “Dearest, he’s not finished. Please. Sit down.”

Amelia’s dire tone made Sophia’s knees buckle. She would have fallen to the floor if not for Ellison catching her in his arms. She turned her head sideways and gawked. Nathan’s cousin was a dull comparison to her glorious husband. The cruel thought made her want to shrink away from her own mind.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, though he knew not what she had been thinking.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sophia,” he replied.

When had he started calling her by her first name?

He traced a hand down her cheek, and it reminded her so poignantly of one of Nathan’s gestures that tears pooled in her eyes. “There now,” he murmured. “Sit back down.”

She slumped into her chair and choked out, “Go on.”

“Mr. Stephens and your husband had been attempting to escape together and were seconds from making it off the ship when your husband turned back to save a woman who was being abused by Ravensdale in plain sight.”

Sophia swallowed. “Yes, he would do that.”

Sir Richard gave her an understanding look. “Mr. Stephens informed me that the duke was hit in the leg with a dagger standing right there on the gangway, and when he went down, and surely knew there was no way for him to move fast enough to flee, he told Mr. Stephens to go without him. And he did.”

Fury boiled her blood. Nathan would have never left anyone whether it meant he sealed his own death or not.

Sir Richard’s eyebrows drew together. “Your Grace, Mr. Stephens is a good man. He feels terrible about leaving the duke behind, but he knew, as your husband did, that they would both be killed if he stayed. Mr. Stephens had to make a quick decision, and he thought, understandably so, that if he could manage to escape and find someone friendly to his cause to bring him back to England, then he would have enough knowledge to lead us in the direction of your husband.”

Shame curled in her belly that she had judged Mr. Stephens so readily, but joy burst inside of her. “Then this is as I said! You know the name of the ship and you know where this pirate is going!” Tears of relief streaked warm tracks down her face. “I’ll search for him with you!” She dashed a hand at her tears as she looked at Sir Richard.

His face turned ashy, and he inhaled a quick, audible breath.

“Oh, Sophia!”
Amelia sobbed and hugged her.

“What is it?” Sophia struggled to disentangle herself from the weeping Amelia.

Sir Richard cleared his throat and tugged a hand through his hair. “I regret to inform you that
Commoner’s Revenge
was sunk near Saint-Malo while trying to escape capture by Worthington. It is my most lamentable duty to tell you that there were no survivors. Your husband is dead.”

The ringing that had been a dull hum became a deafening roar. Sophia pressed her palms to her ears for a moment before speaking. When she peeled her palms away, she said only one word, loudly and with a force that made Amelia jerk beside her
. “No.”

Sir Richard gaped, and she had the sudden urge to slap him. He nodded. “I’m afraid so. Ravensdale fired on Worthington, and he returned fire to avoid being killed.”

“No!” Standing, she glared at Sir Richard. He was a stupid man. A fool! How had she not seen it?

The Duke of Aversley startled her when he grasped her elbow. She tried to pull away, but he swiveled her to face him, and his viselike grip was inescapable. His eyes held a depth of sorrow that made her chest feel as it had been ripped open and crows were pecking unmercifully at her heart.

“Yes,” he said with a finality that made her sway in his grip. He took her other arm, as well. “Stephens would not lie, nor would Worthington. When Worthington docked in Saint-Malo for emergency repairs, Stephens made his way to Worthington’s ship and told him that Scarsdale had been on board
Commoner’s Revenge
. Worthington searched the waters for any signs of life. He even had locals help him search. Scarsdale is gone.”

“No!” She tried to break free of the duke’s hold once more. If she just kept repeating that Nathan was not dead, then it would be so.
“No! No! No!”
she screamed until she was sobbing and sagging against the duke’s chest. Her world spun so quickly she was sure she would faint. She longed to faint. She wanted to slide into oblivion and never return.

“Y
our Grace,”

Sophia struggled to open her eyes to no avail. Her lids wouldn’t budge.

“Your Grace,” the voice came again, insistent and annoying.

Sophia tried to lift her arm to bat the person away, but her arm was heavy as the barrels Frank had made her roll from the kitchen to the bar.

“Your Grace, the Duke of Scarsdale says I must get you out of bed and dressed. It has been two days.”

Sophia’s eyes flew open at those words. Reaching up, she gripped a startled Mary Margaret. “I knew it!” she cried, tears instantly leaking out of her eyes.

Mary Margaret wrinkled her brow. “Knew what, Your Grace?”

Sophia blinked, trying to clear her blurry vision. “I knew he was alive! I knew if I just kept hope in my heart everyone else would be proven wrong.”

Mary Margaret’s frown deepened, and the lady’s maid scampered back as Sophia shooed her out of the way. She tried to stand but her body didn’t want to cooperate. “What have you done to me? I cannot go to Nathan like this.”

Mary Margaret pressed a hand to her mouth, a soft cry escaping her clamped lips.

“Help me stand,” Sophia snapped, irritated at her maid’s behavior.

Instantly, hands came under both of Sophia’s arms. “Your Grace, perhaps you should sit for a minute until the laudanum wears off completely.”

Sophia searched her foggy memory for who had given her laudanum, and she dug out a picture of the physician, Amelia, the Duke of Aversley, and Ellison standing over her with worried looks. She nodded. “I’ll sit just a minute, and then I’ll go to him.”

Mary Margaret blew out a sigh but said nothing while turning on her heel. She made her way across the room and came back carrying a tray laden with bread, cheese, and hot chocolate. Before her lady’s maid could even put the tray down, Sophia picked up a chunk of bread and tore into it with her teeth. She was ravenous. She couldn’t remember the last meal she had consumed, nor could she recall the last time she had wanted to eat.

After a few more bites, the trembling in her limbs subsided. She pushed the tray away, stood up with care, and took a few tentative steps. Her limbs felt steadier already, though not as strong as usual. Still, she could hardly care! Joy exploded inside of her, and she clutched Mary Margaret to her impulsively. “He’s alive!”

“No, Your Grace.” Mary Margaret’s voice was gentle but firm. “He’s not. You misunderstood me. I was referring to the new Duke of Scarsdale.”

A burning flame spread from her head to her stomach, and whatever small control she had on her emotions broke under the weight of her grief.

Ellison.

“He cannot call himself that!” she screamed, knowing even as her wail vibrated the room that he could. Fury boiled up from her belly to nearly choke her. She shoved past Mary Margaret and flung open her door with a bang. Behind her, Mary Margaret called frantically, and as Sophia bounded down the stairs, her lady’s maid caught up with her and grasped her arm.

“Your Grace, you are in your bedclothes.”

“What do I care?” she demanded, breathless with rage. “How foolish it would be to cling to etiquette when my heart has been ripped from my chest!”

Wordlessly, Mary Margaret draped a wrapper around Sophia’s shoulders. “He would not want you to go about like this. He would want you to clothe yourself in dignity.”

He!
A whispered word, not even her husband’s name. Not even in normal tones.
“Say. His. Name.”

“The Duke of Scarsdale.”

Sophia could not quell the rage. “
Nathan.
Say it. His name was Nathan.”

“Nathan,” Mary Margaret said in a trembling voice.

She might as well have slapped Sophia in the face.
His
name, from her maid’s quivering lips, had the stinging effect of a well placed hit. Sophia stood there opening and closing her mouth, tears pouring down her face. Her maid was right. This display would not have made Nathan happy. He would have wanted her to act with grace, even in the pits of despair. Yet, when Ellison appeared at the bottom of the stairs and glanced up at her, all reason fled and despair took its hold once more.

“You.”
She spat the word. “You should not be the duke. Nathan was the duke.
Nathan!
” She crumpled to the floor, drew her knees to her chest, and laid her forehead against her knees. “Nathan should be duke,” she repeated again and again until it sounded almost like a tune swirling around her.