“Nonsense. Lancelot has already perked up since you arrived. He’s been sulking a lot lately. I think he missed you. And, please, call me Honore. ‘Mrs. Bellingham’ seems so formal.” She drew closer to Sophie and sat on a floor cushion near the dog. He extended a paw toward her arm and she shook it. “See, he’s learning new tricks every day from Charles. I’ll wager he would walk in the park in the square with you without getting into trouble. Charles walks him every day without incident.”
“Really? You think I could?” Sophie extended her hand, and Lancelot repeated his shaking paw trick for her.
“If you’re going to play with the dog, perhaps Bourne and I should check the alley behind the mews,” Arnaud said.
“Why don’t you send Lieutenant Bourne?” his mother suggested. “You could accompany Sophie through the park with her dog.”
Arnaud shot his mother a sharp look, but she ignored him.
“That’s a splendid idea,” Sir Thomas said. “Honore and I have to finalize plans for the benefit concert next month for her orphans fund. I will see Miss Brancelli back to Howick House when you return.”
Arnaud kept his eyes focused on the terrain around them, with intense perusal of passing carriages. Individual walkers made him bristle and move closer to Sophie until they passed.
Sophie stopped him with a gloved hand on his arm. “Please cease this constant suspicion. Can’t we enjoy the day for once without suspecting everyone we pass of evil intent?”
Arnaud held his breath. If she didn’t stop touching his arm, he would not be responsible for what he might do.
“Miss Brancelli,” he began.
Oh, no you don’t. I’m Sophie now. Remember the pact we made? You can’t keep saving my life and still call me ‘Miss’ anything. I’m just Sophie.”
“All right, ‘just Sophie.’ If you don’t care what others might construe from my use of familiarity with your name, then neither do I.”
Just then, he stumbled and muttered an oath when Lancelot raced beneath his feet in search of the perfect tree trunk. “God’s teeth! How much longer must we endure a walk with your meandering mongrel?”
Sophie looked down and uttered a sudden “bad dog” when Lancelot strained at his leash, barking and threatening a squirrel who stared down and taunted him from a nearby tree. Within seconds, he’d lost interest and moved on to sniff a nearby bush before lifting a hind leg.
She laughed and gazed up at Arnaud. “I suppose he’s had enough of a walk, since it looks as though he might injure himself if he finds any more trees or pieces of sculpture on which to answer the call of nature.”
“You do realize my mother and Lady Howick would be beside themselves if they knew the depths to which our conversation has plummeted.”
“Do you realize how upset your mother would be if she knew how much you dislike her friend, Sir Thomas? You’ve been abominably rude to him today.”
“I have not.” Arnaud took a few steps away from Sophie and stared at a carriage passing through the square, avoiding her gaze.
“Of course you have. Why is that? What has he done to deserve your condemnation?”
“He’s been a little too forward in his dealings with you, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did he really need to take an intimate advantage and lean so near to adjust your hat?”
Sophie let loose with a nervous peal of laughter. “Captain Bellingham, I think you’re jealous.”
“Why should I be jealous? Did I deliberately seek to find a young woman in distress outside the milliner’s shop that day? Did I seek to neglect my responsibilities to my ship and crew just to follow two spoiled young friends through the diversions of the Season? In order to be jealous, one has to have a personal interest in the supposed object of affection. No, Miss Brancelli, you are mistaken. My only mistress is the sea.” He continued staring after the carriage throughout his callous speech before finally turning back to Sophie.
The look on her face and the unshed tears in her eyes made him wish he were back at sea, or anywhere but Hanover Square at that moment. His heart felt as if a sword had shoved through his ribs. “I spoke only the truth that you of all people should understand. Please do not take my words as a personal affront. They’re not meant as such.”
When the stricken look finally left her face, she spoke. “Not only do you not want me, but you think me unfit for anyone else who might care for me. You, sir, are an unfeeling monster. I will speak to Lord Howick. Either I will end this nonsensical search for a husband or perhaps borrow against my inheritance to hire my own guard. I no longer wish to spend any time near your person.” She stooped to gather Lancelot in her arms and then strode toward his mother’s townhouse without a backward glance.
Arnaud could not say how long he stood and stared after Sophie’s retreating figure. Her efforts to maintain a straight posture and stride away were hampered by her pup’s constant wriggling and fighting against her restraint. He loved her even more in her undignified attempts to control the naughty dog. The witless organ in his chest kept beating, but he died a little inside.
He hadn’t had the heart to explain to her in detail how he and each of his fellow officers had drawn up personal wills before joining the African Squadron. Life expectancy was cruelly short on that treacherous duty. If the slavers didn’t cut you down, fever would. Not a promising alliance for a beautiful, vibrant young woman like Sophie.
Lieutenant Bourne, who had been patrolling outside the townhouse, passed her on his way across the park to join him. When he’d stopped to talk, she’d waved him away with a wild gesture.
“Now what have you said to the lass?” When Bourne reached his side, he gave him a dark scowl.
