Page 12 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

Satisfied she had done the best she could to protect herself, Sophia stared out the window to watch the rolling waves until she felt calm, then climbed into bed again, her candelabra once more tucked under the pillow.

Knowing that Vincent had slept here in this same bed kept her from drifting off.

What if he had not cursed and woken her?

Would he have finished undressing and climbed into the bed and slept beside her?

This bed was large enough that at least three people could comfortably slumber in it.

They might not have been aware of each other’s presence until Ruby arrived in the morning to help with her hair.

Sophia got up again, tied on her dressing gown, and sat at the writing desk to stare out at the roiling waves, playing in her head the latest piece she’d been composing, until she grew fatigued enough to sleep.

When she entered the dining room in the morning, her eyes gritty from too little sleep, she startled at the sight of Vincent already seated at the table with Mrs. Royston and Mrs. Digby.

He set down his coffee cup and rose from his chair as she crossed the threshold.

“Look who arrived early this morning for a visit,” Mrs. Digby said to her with a delighted smile. “My great-nephew Vincent Hobart, Viscount Fairfax.”

Viscount? She’d thought Mrs. Digby’s nephew was a plain mister.

Years of training let Sophia keep her expression neutral, but she didn’t curtsy so much as her knees gave out at the realization she’d had a viscount in her bedchamber last night.

And had threatened to bash his teeth in with a candlestick!

Vincent—no, she must think of him as Fairfax—rounded the table faster than she thought such a large man could after a poor night’s rest, and grasped her hand to bow over it. Rather firmly. Only his tilted eyebrow and half-smile let her know he knew she might need help rising from her curtsy.

“Miss Sophia Walden, my amanuensis,” Mrs. Digby continued the introductions.

“Enchanted, Miss Walden,” Fairfax said. His rumbling bass morning voice washed over her in a way that made her insides flutter and would have had her students giggling and flapping their fans. As he straightened from his bow, he gave his head a slight shake to flip his long hair out of his eyes.

In the gloom of her room last night, she had not been able to appreciate all the details of his appearance, like how his long thick lashes surrounded eyes of deep brown.

She knew women who went to absurd efforts with kohl and other cosmetics, trying to achieve that same length and thickness of eyelashes.

His unfashionably long black hair was thick and glossy, without pomade or oil, nearly brushing the tops of his shoulders.

Despite his almost effeminate beauty, his broad shoulders seemed to strain the seams of his well-tailored coat, and his large hand engulfed hers.

There were no shadows beneath his eyes, so apparently wherever he had passed the night was comfortable, though the stubble darkening his jaw indicated he had not yet shaved this morning.

“Lord Fairfax,” she murmured. “How delighted I am to meet Mrs. Digby’s nephew. Will you be visiting for long?”

Fairfax pulled out a chair for her, directly across from his plate.

Once she was seated, he returned to his own chair.

“Alas, no. I have come to deliver the writing supplies Aunt Gert requested, and will take time to tune her pianoforte, but I am just passing through. I am on my way to Naples to visit my grandmother.”

Sophia opened her mouth to inform Fairfax she had already taken care of the pianoforte, but seeing a tight shake of her head from Mrs. Digby, she instead let Kendall know her preferences from the food offerings on the sideboard.

“Naples!” Mrs. Royston exclaimed. “Oh, how exciting! It’s about time you met Grandmother Vincenza in person. She’s not getting any younger, you know.”

Ah. An Italian grandmother explained Fairfax’s dark good looks. Sophia did her best not to stare at said good looks and instead focus on her meal. Still, she was so distracted she almost forgot to set aside foods she could take to Mildred later.

After they had eaten, the others headed to the drawing room to catch up on family news.

Sophia excused herself and went to the library.

With the supplies Fairfax had brought, now was a perfect time to resume transcribing her penciled notes onto good paper using ink and quill pen, taking care to make sure each letter, each word, was elegantly and legibly written.

Absorbed in her work, she was unaware of time passing until a shadow loomed over the desk, abruptly cutting off her light from the window.

Blinking and flexing her right hand, she looked up … directly into Lord Fairfax’s face.

He had both palms flat on the desk as he leaned toward her, his expression intent, his voice low. “What do you know of the ghost?”

She blinked a few more times. “What ghost?”

He ducked his chin lower, deep into his haphazardly tied cravat, his dark whisker stubble contrasting sharply with the snowy white linen.

“Come, Miss Walden. Everyone who enters Hobart Grange learns about the Grey Lady ghost shortly after their arrival, if they didn’t already know of her.

But Aunt Gert and Aunt Agnes think it was some other spirit they saw on the beach last week. Did you see it?”

Vincent noted how she sat back in the chair, carefully resting her hands on the armrests. Retreating from him. She had not retreated from him last night, even when she worried for her own safety.

She licked her lips. He didn’t think she was consciously trying to distract him, but the tip of her pink tongue on her lips threatened to distract him all the same.

“Enid, the maid, said she was certain it was the Gray Lady. Your aunt and Mrs. Royston said otherwise. It was late and dark. I simply thought I saw a woman strolling on the beach. I have seen Mrs. Royston pacing on the bluff several times when she has insomnia.”

“Her husband, my great-uncle, died at sea. She often walks the bluff but rarely goes down close to the water.” Vincent pulled up a chair, wincing as it creaked when he lowered his weight into it.

Perhaps by leaving the desk between him and Miss Walden, she would find him less intimidating.

Considering the scare he’d given her last night, she had recovered quickly. And admirably.

For the first time, he noted the papers spread out across the top of the desk, the edges neatly lined up, each sheet filled with elegant handwriting in perfectly level lines. “There’s a pounce pot in the top left drawer. Or at least that’s where it used to be kept.”

“It is still there. I have no need for it, however, when I have the luxury of laying out the pages until they dry.” As she spoke, she began gathering up the papers, carefully arranging them according to the page number at the bottom.

Vincent didn’t get a chance to read more than a word here and there but saw the name Lieutenant Digby several times.

His uncle had retired from the Army with the rank of major, indicating they were still in the early stages of Aunt Gert’s memoir project.

While Miss Walden organized the papers, Vincent took the opportunity to study her more closely than he had dared at breakfast, or had been able to see in the darkened bedchamber last night.

The top of her head had not quite reached his shoulder when they were introduced in the dining room, and the slight frame filling out her nondescript light blue gown looked petite enough that a strong gust of wind could carry her away… if it dared.

As a gentleman, he hated scaring a woman.

As a man, last night he had been equally impressed and amused by her bravado, intrigued by her professed experience at removing unconscious men from her bedchamber, and grateful she had not chosen to scream the house down.

After years of avoiding traps set by unmarried women determined to change their status as well as gain his current rank plus the title of marquess he’d someday inherit from his father, it would have been beyond embarrassing if he had been the one to trap himself.

Although Aunt Gert would undoubtedly agree it had simply been an innocent misunderstanding, him being in a bluestocking’s bedchamber after midnight.

“My aunt tells me you are a teacher.” She even wore the cliché wire-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. She hadn’t been wearing them in the dining room.

Not looking up from organizing her papers with her ink-stained fingers, which gave him a view of her braided coronet under a lace cap, she nodded. “I taught for six years at the Torquay Academy for Young Ladies. Until it closed earlier this year.”

The name sounded familiar. “Torquay?” He sat back and laced his fingers over his stomach. Slouching let him see a hint more of her face. “Are you acquainted with Miss Ashley Hamlin?”

Miss Walden paused in the act of straightening papers and met his gaze directly. “How do you know Miss Hamlin?”

“She recently married a friend of mine. Now she is—”

“Lady Ravencroft.”

“Did we perhaps see each other at their wedding breakfast?” Miss Walden was petite enough she might be easily overlooked in a crowd.

Miss Walden’s cheeks took on a subtle pink blush. “No, I received an invitation but … was unable to make the journey to London.”

Vincent mentally smacked himself. If she had been out of work between the time the school closed and Aunt Gertrude hired her a fortnight ago, there was a good chance Miss Walden lacked the funds for such an excursion.

“Are they truly happy together?” Miss Walden folded her hands on the desktop and leaned toward him. “I know what Ashley wrote in her letter, but … Lord Ravencroft … is it truly a love match for them both?”