“What?” Howick shouted and then swore, “By God, I’ll kill that stripling.” After Mrs. Withers laid a firm hand on his arm, he added in a contrite tone, “So sorry, my dear.”
Sir Thomas gave Howick a long look and then winked at Arnaud. “Since we’ve secured Mr. Seaton in the tack room for the night under guard, it would appear there are no further dragons to be slain. We will leave the party in your capable hands, Captain.” Viscount Rumsford aimed a mock salute at everyone squeezed into the small chamber before the two men retreated the way they came.
When Arnaud sought to see Sophie’s reaction to the news of Seaton’s capture, she’d moved close to Mrs. Withers who appeared to be pressing something into her hand.
Chapter Twenty-One
And then heravished her with a kiss that made her tingle all the way down to her toes.
“That’s the way to finish the chapter, if you ask me.” Lydia leaned over Sophie’s shoulder and pointed to the blank space on the page at which her friend stared while chewing on the end of her pencil.
“Lydia, please.” Sophie pushed her friend back from her shoulder. “Give me room. I want the publisher to accept my work, not race shrieking from his desk when he reads prose like that.” She turned an accusing face on Lydia. “And besides, have you everbeenkissed like that?”
“Maybe.” Lydia turned her head away and feigned interest in the branches of a tree outside their window.
“Lady Lydia Howick!” Sophie let her tone drip with accusation.
“Oh, so you are carrying on a romantic affair of the heart, but you don’t want anyone else to enjoy warm caresses and kisses?” Lydia turned back to Sophie, her face flaming with heat.
“I have no idea to what you are referring, but I do know your father would send you back to the country and send poor Captain Neville heaven knows where if he heard you talk this way. He told me he trusts all of Arnaud’s men implicitly.”
“Of course.” Lydia opened her hands in agreement.
“Because,” Sophie continued, her voice hardening, “they know he has the power to uplift or destroy their naval careers.”
Lydia had the good grace to cast her eyes downward.
Her lady’s maid Jane tapped on the door and leaned in to warn them they had only an hour left before she had to begin work on their hair and dressing for the evening dance.
After Jane climbed the stairs at the end of the hallway back toward the servants’ quarters, Sophie pointed a finger at Lydia. “Do not get poor Captain Neville into trouble just because you want to indulge your romantic fantasies. He is a real person who doesn’t deserve to suffer because of some whim of yours.”
When Lydia lifted her gaze back to Sophie, tears pooled in her eyes. “I would never hurt him. He is a great friend to me.”
“Oh, Lydia, what happened the other night before Arnaud and I got there?”
Instead of answering, she broke down in sobs.
That reaction alarmed Sophie more than any of her friend’s previous romantic babbling. She’d never heard Lydia ever express care or concern about any of her other conquests amongst theton. That the man she would finally love would be a Royal Navy marine officer and the son of a simple squire? She quaked at the thought of what would happen if Lord Howick ever found out.
Arnaud wore severe black relieved only by a snowy white cravat. He stood with his back to a brocade-covered wall while dancers whirled past him. Artemis had made sure his neck wrap contraption was arranged to perfection. Since his valet was helping with guard duties during the dance and leaned against the wall directly across from him, Arnaud did not dare pull at the blasted cloth choking him.
And to add insult to injury, Lady Fitzroy had refused to allow him, or any of his men, to wear boots in her ballroom. If they had to run down an intruder through the gardens, they’d have a deuced hard time in the flimsy dance slippers she’d provided for all of them.
He’d expected Neville to complain the loudest of all his men about the stricture, but something had happened to the hardened leader of his marines. He had his suspicions which he hoped to God never were confirmed. Somehow, Sophie’s flibbertigibbet friend Lydia seemed to have beguiled her way into the man’s affections. If Arnaud survived this night with his wits intact, he would have to have a long talk with Neville, perhaps give him the option of returning to his home in East Anglia for the duration of their leave, or heading down to Portsmouth to find lads for crew when their ship had been re-fitted.
To hell with Artemis. He gave a surreptitious yank on his neck cloth. He didn’t know whether to blame the cravat or the frothy lavender dress encasing Sophie’s lush curves. Both items made breathing difficult. She’d led out the first dance with Sir Thomas and now glided past him with Lord Howick. At that moment, his cousin walked into the Fitzroy ballroom and was announced by Sir Thomas’s butler.
Zeus!In the name of all that was holy, what was his cousin playing at? Did he really care for Sophie? Or was he just another callous minion of thetonwith his eye on her inheritance? By God, he would find out or know the reason why. Enough was enough. And if his cousin’s intent was honorable, why had he not pled his case before Lord Howick?
Arnaud had made his way but a few feet through the pulsing throng in Sir Thomas’s ballroom when Frannie fairly threw herself into his path. Her ample bosom heaved with vexation, and her eyes narrowed with intent.
“Captain Arnaud Bellingham, you have been a bad boy,” she muttered beneath her breath. “You’ve played me false.”
The only retort Arnaud could summon was “I beg your pardon?”
“You know exactly what I mean. I’ve abandoned all my other attachments because I believed you would come up to scratch.”
Arnaud took in a quick look around before taking her hand and leading her toward Artemis to join the new dance set forming. He gave a guttural growl and turned to warn her. “If you continue to spout nonsense, I’ll have to ask you to leave, because I cannot. I am on guard duty.”
