Page 49 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

He felt a bewildering surge of emotion for her. Beyond wanting to kiss her, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight against his chest. Bury his face against her neck and inhale her delicate rose scent. Borrow some of her calm strength for his own.

Bugger this British stiff-upper-lip nonsense that had let such a painful wound fester for so many years, with no one directly addressing it.

Until Sophia innocently popped the blister by asking Wallace a question that made them all re-examine a belief he’d held since they were small children. With Gert present to add her viewpoint.

Had it been innocent? Or had Sophia planned this with Gert?

Clearly Wallace had been caught off-guard as much as Vincent.

How would his brother respond to these revelations, to Gert’s assertion? Could he change beliefs he’d held so firmly for most of his life?

And how was this going to affect Vincent’s own view? He no longer needed to harbor doubts that had affected his actions for decades, influenced almost every decision he made. Could he now finally feel confident he was indeed the rightful heir?

He blinked. His lungs began accepting a full breath again.

Vincent remembered his parents as being affectionate toward one another, often holding hands, embracing, even kissing if they thought no one was looking.

Only nine years old when Mother died, he’d never questioned if their marriage was arranged or if they had fallen in love at first sight. Apparently both statements were true.

He thought back to his first sight of Sophia, in the bedchamber in which he expected to sleep after a long journey on horseback.

She hadn’t called out for help upon finding her sleep interrupted by a stranger.

She stood on the bed ready to swing a candlestick like a cricket bat at his head in order to defend herself, never mind how small she was compared to him.

His annoyance at his chamber being occupied had quickly given way to admiration, amusement, and curiosity.

But not love.

When they’d been trapped after the cave-in, she hadn’t waited for someone to come to her rescue. She’d worked to dig herself out, even when she thought she was alone in the dark. Any other woman would have been frightened half out of her wits.

His admiration for her grew.

She’d helped him revise his original composition into something that didn’t grate on his ears, that he’d be proud to play for Gert or any other discerning audience.

In jubilation, he’d kissed her. And desperately wanted to kiss her again, at the earliest opportunity. Any opportunity. If need be, he’d orchestrate such a chance to again taste her sweetness, to hold her again.

When the tide caught them unaware this afternoon and rolled into the cave, she planned to wade out rather than expecting him to carry her to safety.

Carrying her lithe body, with her legs wrapped around him, had sent his senses reeling to the point he’d almost stumbled and fell. He was still annoyed that Matthew’s arrival had prevented him from kissing her before she scurried away.

Hold on.

His sweet, proper, bluestocking schoolteacher was an independent lass. Of epic proportions.

Had she acted with equal independence when a former student came to her, seeking help to escape an unwanted arranged marriage?

And had her independent nature prevented her from letting Vincent offer her marriage when it seemed she had no other option? Surely her enthusiastic response to his kiss today, and the way she was holding his hand now in silent support, indicated she would be amenable to his courtship.

All he had to do then, to get her to agree to be his wife, was arrange for her to have another option. So that he was not rescuing her, but he was instead one of at least two choices.

How? What other options could he arrange?

Have Matthew propose to her?

Everything within him rebelled at the idea. Aside from the fact his blockhead best friend was besotted with Miss Ebrington, Sophia would see through the subterfuge.

What if she had another form of employment waiting for her after Gert’s project ended? A job offer to teach at another school.

With guilt, he thought of the two letters he had offered to mail for her and instead hid them in his satchel. At least he hadn’t followed his first impulse, which had been to burn them.

Enid, the maid, brought the tea tray. There were more sweets on it than usual.

Perhaps the staff had overheard their family drama?

He wouldn’t put it past Kendall to want to smooth things over.

Treats had always improved Uncle Digby’s mood.

One of the few things he remembered about Uncle Digby was his fondness for sweets when home on leave, since they tended to be in short supply in army encampments.

As batman, Kendall had done his best to procure them or find the ingredients for Aunt Gert to make them.

Without moving from his side, Sophia tracked the tray with her eyes.

Vincent had noticed she also had a bit of a sweet tooth, or at least behaved as though she couldn’t get enough to eat lately.

For someone so small with a slender waist, she put away a lot of food.

He’d only noticed because he’d been noticing, well, everything about her.

Oh. Perhaps she hadn’t been the one eating all of it? If she was hiding Miss Ebrington, the girl would need food. Vincent mentally smacked himself. Of course Sophia had eaten soup and such, but foods that she could put in her pocket probably had been secreted away and delivered to the girl.

“Fancy a biscuit?” Vincent said, glancing down at Sophia.

“Yes, thank you,” Matthew replied, now playing the second movement.

Sophia softly chuckled, the sound warming Vincent’s heart.

Vincent wanted her to get refreshment but also wanted to keep holding her hand, and recognized that both could not happen under the watchful eye of Gert and Agnes.

In unspoken accord, Sophia and Vincent separated and went over to the tea tray.

While she busied herself fixing a cup and selecting biscuits and tiny cakes for her plate, Vincent grabbed a biscuit and went back to the pianoforte.

Without missing a note, as soon as Matthew saw the biscuit in front of his face, he opened his mouth and took it.

“Lucky you’ve got all your fingers,” Agnes said with a chuckle.

“Sometimes you have to feed the musician to keep getting music,” Vincent said, finally getting to sit beside Sophia on the sofa and fill his own plate and cup.

Before he could take more than a sip, Wallace and Xavier strolled in and settled on the opposite sofa.

No one said a word.

Matthew kept playing. When he reached the end of the second movement, he paused for his reward of polite applause.

“That Greek form of writing you were struggling to learn for taking notes?” Wallace said into the momentary quiet to Xavier. “Miss Walden seems to have mastered it.”

“You know tachygraphy, Miss Walden?” Xavier lifted his brows in polite query.

“Indeed,” she replied. “I’ve often used it for taking notes. It allows me to keep up with Mrs. Digby’s dictation.”

“It’s Greek?” Vincent had learned to read and write in English using the Greek alphabet, and her secret writing didn’t look like any Greek that he knew.

“There are several forms of shorthand, going back centuries.” She bit into a biscuit.

Vincent wanted to clean the tiny crumbs from her bottom lip.

He stifled a groan as she caught them with the tip of her tongue.

“The instructor at Madame Zavrina’s Academy available to teach it happened to know the Greek form rather than the modern Samual Taylor method, or any of the other forms.”

“Isn’t that where you taught?” Gert said.

“First I was a student.” She took a sip.

“After I had a Season, Madame Zavrina hired me as an assistant music instructor, then promoted me after Mrs. Cowper retired.” Her cheeks pinkened as she busied herself pouring more tea and milk in her cup, as though she was embarrassed to admit she had not married after only one Season.

No shame in that. Plenty of chits needed more than one Season in London to catch a husband. But why had she given up after only one?

“I would be happy to help you with your study of the subject,” she said to Xavier. “In my spare time.”

“I would be indebted, Miss Walden.”

Matthew began playing the third movement of Beethoven’s sonata.

They proceeded with the rest of the evening with the usual polite facade, taking turns playing and singing. Several times Vincent noticed Wallace staring at him. Not with malice or annoyance, as was his brother’s custom, but with a mix of consternation and confusion.

Perhaps Miss Walden and Gert had given him thoughts to think he’d previously rejected.

Lord knew Wallace had not listened when Vincent or even Xavier tried to talk sense to him about Mother’s loyalty to Father.

After years of him being impenetrable as a castle wall, perhaps the ladies had found a chink in his wall and got through to him.