Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin

Chapter Twelve

All but tiptoeing, Sophie made her way to the servants’ stairs. She should have given the bottle to Henry earlier, but she’d dared not seek him out after what had occurred earlier in the day. And given what had transpired between them, being alone with him had seemed equally unwise. Opening the door cautiously, she peered into the darkness and saw no one. Not even daring to light a candle, she made her way by feel. Keeping one hand on the wall, she placed one foot on the next tread, testing her footing with each step. It might have been a tedious task, each movement so carefully measured, had her heart not been pounding out of her chest from the fear of being caught.

Dinner had been a terrible ordeal. Every glacial glance and pointed barb from Lady Horatia and Mr. Carlton had hit its mark and left her feeling raw from the exchange. She owed no one apologies for her origins. It was the one thing in her life, after all, that she had absolutely no control over. But for the first time in a very long time, she hadn’t felt that confidence Effie had helped to instill in her. Instead, she’d wanted to crawl beneath the table and hide, to apologize for who she was and where she’d come from, if only she’d known where that was.

“Now is not the time,” she whispered softly to herself. “You cannot do what you need to do if you are focusing on them.”

Buoyed by that thought, she continued on. Creeping carefully, soundlessly along the corridors. When at last she finally reached the kitchen, there was no sigh of relief. There was no time. Without knowing beyond the shadow of any doubt that every single servant in the household was abed, she simply couldn’t afford to linger. Easing down the long corridor of small workrooms, she found the small pantry and eased the lever down. The door opened inward and she stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. Once there, she reached for the small candle and tinderbox on the shelf beside the door. With hands that trembled, she struck match to the tinder and the dim glow illuminated the small space and she quickly touched the lit match to the wick of the candle.

Placing it carefully on the table, she went to the shelf where all of the medications, curatives and remedies were stored. Finding the bottle with Philippa’s elixir, she switched it with the one she’d brought and then backed away. But as she reached the door, a noise in the corridor beyond rooted her to the spot. Snuffing the candle quickly, she stood there in the dark and waited to be discovered.

But then she heard it. Humming. It was followed by singing, though not very good singing. Thankfully, that off key voice was quite familiar. Her response was complicated. There was relief certainly, but nerves as well. She’d avoided him after dinner, despite their earlier agreement to walk in the garden. In light of everything else, it had seemed the safest course of action.

Huffing out a breath, she opened the door and stepped once more into the corridor. Henry stood there, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest which was clad only in a linen shirt. He wore breeches and boots, but his cravat, waistcoat and jacket had long since been discarded. His hair was disheveled, too, as if he’d been abed.

“You’d make a terrible housebreaker,” he said. “Were you dancing a jig on those squeaky floorboards or perhaps simply jumping up and down?”

Her eyebrows shot upward and her mouth gaped for a moment. “I was trying to be quiet.”

He grinned. “You failed. Miserably.”

“I tiptoed and crept along quite clandestinely,” she insisted.

“It’s an old house, Miss Upchurch—Sophie.”

“I’ve never given you leave to use my given name,” she protested.

“We are co-conspirators are we not? It’s a liberty I feel comfortable in taking.”

“You have been quite free in taking many liberties, my lord. And how is that you are such an expert on clandestine matters?”

“I may have taken a liberty or two, but I have not taken all that I wish. That should count for something.”

Sophie’s pulse began to pound again but for an entirely different reason than before. What liberties did he desire that he had not taken? Why did she wish that he might have taken them anyway? Deciding that it was safer by far to steer the conversation to a different topic, she addressed the other issue at hand.

“I didn’t realize the floors were quite so telling,” Sophie insisted. “Was it terribly loud? Did it wake anyone else?”

“My uncle poked his head out of the door to check on things,” he said. “Luckily, I was in the corridor and told him I was heading down to the kitchen for a bite to eat. I apologized for waking him. He grunted and then returned to his rooms. That’s the trick to clandestine outings such as this, Sophie. One must simply act as though they have the right to go wherever it is and whenever it is that they are headed.”

Sophie sagged against the door to the pantry. “You’ve had so many clandestine outings, then?” Where in heaven’s name did that flirtatious tone come from? Not to mention that tiny spark of jealousy that she was absolutely not entitled to feel. Why was she smiling at him in the kitchen while they were alone in the dark of night and she wore nothing but a nightrail and a wrapper?

“More than a few… most of them involved sneaking the last of the tea cakes, however,” he admitted sheepishly.

“And those that didn’t?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, “I don’t wish to scandalize your poor innocent ears. Regardless, they all pale in comparison to this very moment.”

She didn’t want to be flattered. She didn’t want to admit that her heart thudded in her chest at his flirtation or that she wished desperately she knew how to flirt back. “You’d say that even if it weren’t true. I heard you offer the same sort of nonsense to Lady Hemsley this afternoon!”

He nodded. “But only when she asked me to do so. I take it this is your first attempt at sneaking through a house in the dark of night?”

“It is,” Sophie admitted. “I’m not very good at subterfuge, I’m afraid.”

He grinned. “I do not think that is something to be apologized for. Is it done then? The bottles have been exchanged?”

Sophie nodded. “They have. The bottles are switched. Now, the question remains, how do we prove that the good doctor is anything but? And how long will we have to continue this charade? Week after week?”

“I’m working on that, and I certainly hope not,” he told her. “But we have another issue that requires the sharing of information.”

“And what is that?” Sophie demanded, though she certainly had an idea.

“How do you know William Carlton?”

“I do not know him… not by name,” Sophie admitted. “But I have seen him. He came at least quarterly to the Darrow School and made a donation. It was an arrangement that several gentlemen had. It was a way for them to provide for their illegitimate offspring without ever openly acknowledging them or forming any sort of relationship with them.”

“Surely, if that was how he wanted things, he could have had it taken care of via his bank.”

“That means other people are privy to it or that there is evidence of his generosity. Many men take care of the fees at the Darrow School in person to avoid anyone else knowing their business… or their secrets.” Sophie walked down the corridor toward the main part of the kitchen. He fell in step beside her and the silence between them was companionable. “Why do some men care so little for their children?”

“There are people in this world, sadly most of them do appear to be men, who think very little of anyone else. I very much think Mr. Carlton may be one of them. Could you find out more from Miss Darrow about him?”

“Possibly,” Sophie replied. “I will write to her. But she may be limited in what she can say. The school functions so well, in part, because it offers anonymity to those gentlemen who wish it. I doubt she would break that confidentiality even for me.”

As they made their way into the kitchen proper, Sophie stumbled, her slipper catching on an uneven stone. He caught her, his arms wrapping about her, holding her tightly to him as she let out a squeak of alarm.

“I have you,” he said. “You’re fine. Everything is fine.”

And it was. And that was the biggest problem of all.

*

It had beeninstinct more than anything that had him reaching for her. It was luck, pure and simple that had allowed him to catch her before she fell. The consequences of it—injury and potential discovery—could have been catastrophic. But as he held her close, as he felt the soft press of her body against his, he was acutely aware of just how few barriers remained between them.

“You aren’t hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. Her voice sounded breathless and slightly tremulous.

Was it the fright she had from nearly falling? Or was it him? Henry knew which answer he preferred.

He made no move to let her go. If anything, his arms drew more tightly about her, pulling her closer. “I told myself I wouldn’t do this again. I know that I shouldn’t. But I haven’t been able to think of anything but kissing you again.”

She didn’t push him away. Nor did she attempt to right herself and put distance between them. But she did softly utter the words, “We shouldn’t. It would be very unwise.”

“It would,” he agreed. His hand was pressed against the small of her back, his other hand splayed over the delicate arcs of her shoulder blades just beneath the fall of her hair. It was like silk against his skin.

And then the choice was taken out of his hands entirely. She rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips softly against his. A sigh escaped him at that whisper-soft contact. His arms tightened about her, holding her close, feeling her flesh yield to his own. It was beyond sweet and beyond temptation. And there was not a power on earth that could have prompted him to let her go in that moment.

There in the darkness, the kiss simply took on a life of its own. His lips played over hers for the longest time—gentle and without demand. But like all things, it shifted, altering, evolving. For a man who’d spent most of his relatively young life being responsible and practical, in the presence of Sophie Upchurch, he became anything but. With her, reason and sense fled and he was left with only his need to be close to her, to hold her and to protect her, but also to possess her in a primal way. She filled his senses and consumed him. And it was that, recognizing his own lack of control and the very precarious position they were in, which prompted him to break that kiss abruptly and step back from her. Immediately, he felt the loss.

There was a small amount of moonlight filtering in through the high windows of the kitchen. It was just enough that he could see the stricken expression on her face.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Sophie said softly. She sounded positively stricken and completely embarrassed. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

“I am not. I am not sorry that I kissed you in the corridor and I am not sorry for the kiss we just shared,” he said. “And if I trusted myself more, if I had any faith at all in my ability to resist the temptation to take liberties far greater than a kiss, I’d be kissing you still.”

Her lips parted on a soft “o”. “I don’t understand.”

“No,” he said. “You don’t and in a darkened kitchen, where we are entirely alone, is not the place for explanations. You are going to the sea with Philippa tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding slightly. “We are leaving midmorning.”

“I will meet the two of you there in the afternoon. While Philippa rests and enjoys the sun, we will walk—and talk—in a place where we will not forget ourselves,” Henry stated. “Where I will not forget myself.”

“I need to return to my room,” Sophie stated, “before anyone discovers us.”

“Yes. Go on,” Henry replied. “I’ll be a few paces behind you just to be certain you are safe.”

“What could I possibly have to fear in this house now that our perfidy is complete?”

“Give me the bottle,” he said. “I’ll dispose of it so you will not have to.”

She passed it to him, their fingers brushing slightly. It was like the static charge in the air before a storm.

“I told you that I meant to court you,” Henry said softly. “But that isn’t the truth.”

“You don’t?” she asked, her voice reflecting her dismay.

“No. Not now. Now, Miss Sophia Upchurch, I mean to marry you. As soon as possible. And I will not take no for an answer,” he said.

“We’ve only known one another for three days. It seems terribly impetuous, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Yes,” he agreed with a smile. “It does. It was impetuousness that led me to you in the first place, after all. What could be more perfect? We could elope. Tomorrow or the next day.”

“No… yes, we could. And I’m not opposed to the act of it—of eloping—but the timing,” she explained. “We cannot leave until we know Philippa is safe, what plots Dr. Blake has afoot and until we know what Mr. William Carlton is about.”

“Right… three days. Give me three days, and I will have answers to all of it,” he vowed.

“That’s very ambitious.”

“I’m very motivated,” he replied.