Page 11 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)

Chapter Eleven

STILL TEACHING A RAKE A LESSON

A few seconds later

‘I would consider staying and breaking my fast with you, Lord Rotherby,’ Sophie enunciated icily, keeping the crossbow trained on his person, ‘but I have a stagecoach to catch if I’m to make it back to London before this day is done. Suffice to say, I will never speak of this night, and neither will you!’

‘Stagecoaches be damned, I asked a question! What in the blazes are you doing here?’ Lord Rotherby thundered, his eyes narrowed to shards.

Sophie suppressed a shiver. She’d never witnessed a gentleman in such a fury. Her father had a quiet nature, and Thomas always vented his anger on the local rabbit population. But this was different; she could feel Lord Rotherby’s fury as keenly as though it were her own, while the gleam in his eye was distinctly unnerving.

She drew a steadying breath and reminded herself she was the one holding a crossbow, and that no one, not even Lord Rotherby, was impervious to silver darts.

‘Lady Aurelia interpreted your comment about her adoring Paris as an invitation to accompany you on your next trip,’ she replied with forced calm. ‘She had no idea you planned to take Mrs Haxby, and was convinced you would offer marriage in the morning. My intention was to intercept and dissuade her from coming with you, but when you mistook me for Mrs Haxby everything changed. I… panicked, and let you think I was she until Aurelia approached Rotherby House, when I realised I was risking a public scene. I thought it better to reveal my identity in your coach, and ask safe passage home. But you , sir, decided to drive all night, making it impossible for me to do so.’

‘Lady Aurelia? Adore Paris?’ his lordship expostulated, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘I never said any such thing, and if she had some fairytale ending in mind she would have been sorely disappointed!’

‘Aurelia does not believe in fairytales,’ Sophie replied stonily, ‘and her plan was hardly honourable, particularly if what you say is true. But that does not excuse the fact that your rakish behaviour, sir, is an insult to all females!’

She paused as a dark scowl spread across his face.

‘My rakish behaviour? All females? I pride myself on my strict rules about companions, and I most certainly have not in any way encouraged Lady Aurelia,’ he expostulated furiously. ‘Any interest she may have perceived was entirely on her side or, as I am more tempted to believe, wholly exaggerated to justify her own ambition,’ he continued scathingly. ‘In truth, I believe the only person who has been duped, my dear, is you.’

Sophie felt a dull flush rise across her face as she realised the full extent of her folly, but held her weapon steady. Even if Lord Rotherby had never mentioned Paris to Aurelia, he was still culpable, by virtue of his very nature.

‘In some ways I am not surprised by Lady Aurelia, for she has been forever making cow’s eyes at me,’ he continued, his lip curling contemptuously. ‘But you…’ He scowled intently, making Sophie feel suddenly and inexplicably vulnerable. ‘I would have expected so much better of you. Why a young lady of your breeding and understanding of the world has got embroiled in this mess– for the sake of Lady Aurelia , of all people – is beyond my comprehension. Do you realise what you have done? What any member of the ton will think?’ He took a step forward, raking his hand through his perfectly unruly Byronesque locks. ‘They will assume you’ve spent the night with me, Sophie,’ he ground out intensely. ‘Do you know what that even means?’

Sophie blanched at his use of her first name. Somehow it felt even more intimate than it should in his luxurious cabin, aboard his personal yacht.

‘It means you’re as good as ruined,’ he added bluntly. ‘You do understand that, don’t you? I’ve never pursued debutantes, but my reputation is such that everyone will assume I’ve—’ He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘They will assume I’ve had your virtue, and by God, I’ve—’ He pulled himself up swiftly, before a fresh scowl spread across his features. ‘You cannot blame my choosing to drive my chaise through the night,’ he continued scathingly, ‘when you took it upon yourself to rescue a friend who did not need any kind of help. I would have known exactly what Lady Aurelia was scheming and sent her on her way, but instead…’

He paused to groan and run his fingers through his dishevelled hair again, while Sophie didn’t know where to look.

‘And yet, it doesn’t matter who I thought you were, only that you’re here now and you’ve shattered your own reputation to achieve it. Why would you do such a thing? Your dream of making an advantageous love match lies in tatters, while Aurelia sleeps soundly in her bed. No self-respecting gentleman will make you an offer if they think I’ve had first dibs,’ he added roughly.

‘How dare you!’ Sophie gasped in outrage. ‘I only intended to try and save Aurelia from making a huge mistake, and no lady, not even Mrs Haxby, should be addressed in such a manner.’

‘It’s the hard truth, you little fool!’ Lord Rotherby blazed.

Sophie eyeballed the hostile rake for a few moments with vehement dislike, before trusting herself to speak.

‘I’ve been gone for less than a day,’ she said, ignoring the wave of fear the words generated in the pit of her stomach. ‘If I’m back by dinner, I can say I’ve been with a sick relative. My aunt will?—’

‘You left London, in my chaise, at midnight!’ he growled. ‘By now, most of your household will be breakfasting and you will be distinctly absent! And if I know the female mind at all, you will have told someone you were slipping out to help a friend– or some other such incriminating thing.’

Sophie flushed instantly, recalling the brief conversation she’d had with Matilda along very similar lines.

‘Precisely,’ Lord Rotherby said, nodding with dangerous calm. ‘Which means whoever you have told will have announced your intentions at breakfast this morning, prompting your fond relatives to make your absence known to all their friends in Mayfair by now. It will take a matter of seconds for Lady Aurelia to work out what has happened and turn it to her advantage. Do you really not know the character of your friend? She would never protect you, especially if there is a scandal to be created from it!’

Sophie suppressed a shiver as she pointed the small crossbow in the weak morning light, her chest pounding.

‘So much for winning the wager, Miss Fairfax,’ he added, taking a step forwards. ‘You’ve won nothing except a lifetime of regret.’

Briefly, she stared at Lord Rotherby’s hard eyes and noble lips curling in contempt, wondering how she ever allowed herself to be distracted in Almack’s. He was the rudest, most obnoxious man of her acquaintance– which only made his correct assessment of her situation all the more galling. By now, Matilda would have told Aunt Higglestone, who, never known for her restraint, would have alerted half of breakfasting London. There would be no easy return without a fictional account of epic proportions, and no guarantee Aurelia hadn’t hijacked her chances already.

Yet she couldn’t accept any alternative either. She clenched her fingers, and wracked her brain for an answer. Perhaps she could return to Knightswood with her sisters for a while, or at least until the scandal subsided.

‘Come, come,’ Lord Rotherby muttered testily after a beat. ‘It’s not quite as terrible as you might think. If I were the heinous rake you believe me to be, I’d undoubtedly leave you here in Dover to make your own way back and face the music, but I am a Rotherby and, as all this is one huge, calamitous mistake, I am honour-bound to offer you my protection. Your actions this night might leave you few options, but your reputation will not be tarnished at my hand.’

‘Your protection?’ Sophie blazed furiously. ‘I would rather employ the protection of your dubious tiger who, I hasten to add, also has the manners of a jungle cat.’

‘A jungle cat?’ Lord Rotherby repeated with a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Poor Horace will be heartbroken, for he was quite taken with you!’ Sophie tensed as he loosened his cravat and took another step forward, closing the distance between them. ‘You must understand you have inflicted this situation upon both of us with your ramshackle and foolish intentions,’ he challenged furiously. ‘Which means you may not wish for my company, and the Lord knows I won’t force it upon you, but our lots have fallen together and we?—’

‘Take one more step and I swear I’ll fire!’ she growled, training the crossbow on his waistcoat’s topmost gleaming button.

His lordship pulled up in surprise.

‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ he returned scathingly. ‘You know, I really am quite regretful that I won’t see the outcome of our wager, for I do believe you are that rare combination of spirit, accomplishment and beauty one so seldom sees among today’s debutantes. In truth, I also believed you might achieve that love match of yours, and that it would be well deserved, but now you will have to make do with me instead. Alas, it is truly a poor exchange.’

‘I am not interested in your regret, or your fake laments,’ Sophie ground out, keeping her aim steady, ‘any more than I am interested in being aboard your ridiculous yacht one second longer?—’

‘Be that as it may, you are here,’ he interrupted, exhaling frustratedly.

‘And you must have known the risk you were taking the moment you let me kiss you,’ he added, his eyes darkening suddenly.

‘I did not let you !’ Sophie rattled, trying to catch her breath. ‘And if you didn’t drive like the devil, I wouldn’t be standing here now.’

‘I have a reputation to uphold!’ he threw. ‘And I was keen to reach Dover.’

Sophie shivered despite herself, the sudden heat of his kiss flooding her mind. She flushed as a sardonic smile flickered across his face, and she was sure he was recalling exactly the same moment.

‘Besides which, that silver crossbow is ornamental, you little fool,’ he added a little less roughly. ‘An expensive trinket, but no more. You may keep it if you wish, but it is no more a weapon than your sister’s infamous epée!’

Sophie caught her breath as Lord Rotherby’s eyes gleamed with cold humour. Yet all she could think was that he’d ridiculed her beloved sister– and that was her right alone.

‘My sister, sir, is a viscountess!’ she hissed, inadvertently squeezing the crossbow in her fury.

It was already too late when she heard the tiny click, releasing a small, determined arrow that flew directly at Lord Rotherby’s upper arm. And when it sank, they both stared at the silver shaft protruding through his shirt in momentary silence, before Sophie let out the loudest shriek of all her eighteen years.

‘Surely it is I who should be yelling?’ Lord Rotherby said testily. ‘You don’t have an absurd toy protruding from your arm!'

‘It’s not an absurd toy,’ Sophie wailed, with a look of stricken grief. ‘I shot you! I shot you with a crossbow!’ she sobbed. ‘And now look at your ruffled French silk shirt…’

‘You do seem to be rather predisposed to shooting me,’ Lord Rotherby scowled in pain, ‘and I would suggest my ruffled French silk shirt is the least of our troubles. I’m more concerned about the important tissues you will have undoubtedly severed, leaving me with no option but to have my arm sawn off by a local butcher!’

‘Dear God, no!’ Sophie shrieked again, more wildly this time. ‘There must be something we can do? I’d rather cut up Phoebe’s primrose muslin for my brothers’ grubby knees than be responsible for such a fate,’ she sobbed.

At this, Lord Rotherby’s shoulders began to shake violently, while he inclined his face as though in prayer.

At first Sophie thought he was having spasms of such terrible pain he couldn’t even look at her, but on closer inspection she found he was actually having convulsions of uncontrollable laughter.

‘Well, I don’t see what’s so funny,’ she wailed. ‘I am ruined, you have been shot with a crossbow, and all you can do is laugh? Matilda always said you were addled in the head!’

Yet if Sophie intended her derision to bring his lordship to his senses, she was very much mistaken, for all he did was laugh even harder.

‘And I do believe the fever has set in already,’ she moaned. ‘To think I thought you so worldly, and now all you can do is stand there and laugh at your own downfall. Well we must send for a doctor this instant for that dart needs extracting and— Oh!’ Sophie gasped as Lord Rotherby suddenly reached up and pulled out the protruding shaft in one swift movement. He winced before smiling apologetically as the bleeding intensified. ‘That’s it. Sit down this instant and give me your cravat,’ she demanded.

Lord Rotherby sat down much more meekly than Sophie expected, while she snatched up the offending dart.

‘You’re not going to shoot me a second time, are you?’ he enquired in a mollified tone.

‘Hush now, or I’ll let you bleed to death,’ she admonished, deftly scoring the fine silk of his shirt sleeve.

Then she took hold of the sodden material and ripped until she had a clear view of the puncture wound. Swiftly, she pressed his cravat to the wound while making a tourniquet with the torn sleeve. Seconds later, his lordship was sporting a makeshift bandage and sling, and looking unusually impressed.

‘Am I to add nursing skills to your string of highly commendable attributes, Miss Fairfax,’ he asked.

‘Am I Miss Fairfax again because I’ve bound your arm?’ she countered, raising her eyebrows. ‘I have four brothers,’ she added. ‘And through them I’ve dressed more injuries than I care to remember. This bandage is only temporary though; we still need to fetch a doctor.’

‘We do, do we?’ Lord Rotherby replied with a gleam. ‘And since when did we start making decisions together?’

Sophie eyed Lord Rotherby with fresh loathing before treading swiftly towards the door. She yanked it open to find Horace leaning against the corridor wall outside, eyeing her with the oddest mix of curiosity and suspicion.

‘Exactly how long— Oh, never mind!’ Sophie shook her head, exasperatedly. ‘His lordship needs a doctor, and quickly! He has already lost quite a bit of blood,’ she added in a more urgent tone.

‘Too late,’ Horace replied with a shrug. ‘We weighed anchor about ten minutes ago, miss. His lordship gave strict instructions to set sail as soon as the tide turned.’

For a moment Sophie said nothing, though she had the feeling every drop of blood may have drained to her feet. Then she was conscious of a million ungracious thoughts before they morphed into something else entirely.

Outrage.

How dare Lord Rotherby make such a decision when she’d made it abundantly clear she would rather face public shame than continue to Calais with him! How dare he assume control, simply because he could!

‘Well, you can turn this miserable little bathtub around and sail right back then, can’t you!’ she snapped, before spinning on her heel and storming back into the cabin.

‘No doctors immediately available?’ his lordship quipped, though Sophie could see the set of his lips was harder, as though he was suppressing pain.

She surveyed his person in cold fury. He’d moved to a comfortable armchair and attempted to pull on a gentleman’s brocade dressing gown that looked as expensive as the undergarments she’d discovered in the coach. From this vantage, she could also glimpse a dark stain of blood that had managed to seep through his makeshift bandage, but she felt no guilt, only an unbridled sense of satisfaction. His lordship could force his presence on her all he liked, but she’d shot him in defence of all females everywhere.

A faint smile threatened, despite everything.

‘None offering their services beyond the harbour!’ she growled instead. ‘Please be good enough to instruct your men to turn around, sir. I have no desire to travel to Calais and wish to save myself a cold swim if at all possible.’

Lord Rotherby gave a bark of laughter then, before wincing.

‘Turn around be damned!’ he cursed. ‘We are away now and will be in Calais by suppertime. From there we’ll travel to Paris, the Alps and then on by boat to Italy. You should see Rome and Venice of course, but we could also include the excavations at Herculaneum and Pompeii,’ he pondered thoughtfully. ‘Then we could move on to Spain and Portugal. You might like to get your portrait painted, but of course Rome is always best for that…’ He trailed off as he looked back at her. ‘What do you think, Miss Fairfax? Do you have any decided preference?’

Sophie stared at the injured nobleman in disbelief. He’d not only ignored her express wishes, he was now describing a European tour as though he hadn’t just abducted her at all. He had clearly gone stark-raving mad.

‘What I think is that you have taken leave of your senses entirely!’ she hissed. ‘You may have grown used to behaving however you like, whenever you like, but may I remind you, sir, that I have a guardian– my eldest brother, Sir Thomas Fairfax – who will demand satisfaction when he hears how you have insulted his sister. Let alone the Viscount Damerel, of course, who is at this very moment traversing through Europe with my sister, the Viscountess Dam?—’

‘Oh Lord, spare me the entire family tree, I beg of you,’ Lord Rotherby groaned. ‘I am well aware of the extent of your delightful relations, and I am scared of none. I would also remind you, if you recall correctly, that you decided to join me. I didn’t bundle you into a coach at midnight! Besides which, I am persuaded that even if Tom Fairfax can drag himself away from Newmarket long enough, the news that his younger sister has become Lady Rotherby will hardly have him reaching for his pistols– unless you wish him to meet an early demise of course?’

Sophie eyeballed the pithy lord, knowing he was speaking the truth. Thomas most certainly wouldn’t object to having another Fairfax off his hands, even if it was under scandalous circumstances.

‘Now you wish to marry me?’ she repeated, feeling as though she would very much like to shoot him again, given half the chance.

‘Now I’m honour-bound to marry you,’ his lordship corrected, ‘despite a lifetime avoiding the thing,’ he muttered darkly.

‘You are insufferable!’ Sophie expostulated. ‘And if you don’t tell your men to make all haste this instant, I shall have no choice but to swim to shore!’

‘But certainly,’ Lord Rotherby replied, smirking. ‘You need only ask… Horace?’

The door opened instantly, confirming Sophie’s suspicions that he was indeed listening to every word being spoken.

‘Miss Fairfax has bid me to instruct you to make all haste to Calais!’ Lord Rotherby ordered abruptly. ‘Please ensure her request is treated as though it were my own, for she is shortly to be my wife. Oh, and she has also recommended the attendance of a doctor when we dock, which is probably a good idea, if only for the sake of my shirts.’ Lord Rotherby looked down at his discarded torn shirt and sighed. ‘It’s Italian silk by the way,’ he amended, as though the words offered all the explanation in the world.

‘Oh!’ Sophie exclaimed, enraged. ‘Horace, please ignore his lordship’s order,’ she countered, before the long-suffering groom managed to close the door. ‘I do believe his wound has become infected already for he certainly seems to be delirious.’ She paused to steady her voice. ‘I am in no way betrothed to Lord Rotherby, nor expecting to be, and if you can’t turn around, I require only to be set down at Calais, from where I shall join my sister, the Viscountess Damerel.’

Horace waited stoically as though accidental abductions, crossbow shootings and brief betrothals were all commonplace features in his life.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Lord Rotherby interjected in his quiet, glittering voice. Horace eyeballed his employer darkly. ‘No not you, Horace,’ he added in the next breath. ‘You may withdraw and do as I request, while Miss Fairfax and I continue our… discussion.’

The blinking Horace eyed them both disparagingly, before backing out as swiftly as he could.

‘And now we’ve upset Horace,’ Rotherby said with a sigh. ‘Be so kind as to pour me a glass of bourbon, my dear. I’m finding this crossbow wound a little de trop …’

‘I will not!’ Sophie replied witheringly. ‘If you wish to develop the fever and die when we reach land, please do so with my compliments. Until then, however, you are my responsibility and I will not assist you to an untimely demise!’

At this, his lordship’s eyes widened. He sat forward, his dressing gown falling open to reveal a glimpse of his golden throat.

‘You know, you are the most intriguing female I’ve ever met,’ he murmured, before wincing. ‘No one, not even my indefatigable tiger, has ever denied me anything to my face. Yet here you are, within my world, behaving as though I were the one in my short-tails.’ He stood up and made his way towards her, his eyes oddly bright. ‘You really are refreshingly singular, Miss Fairfax, and I find, quite disconcertingly, that I care more for your reputation than for my own at present. It is both irregular and mystifying, but no one has ever shot me and then taken the greatest care to ensure I didn’t die before.’ He smiled in a strained fashion. ‘So we will just have to make the best of it instead.’

Sophie stared, feeling as though she’d fallen into a nightmare, from which there was no waking.

‘But—’

‘I will seek out an English pastor as soon as we land in Calais, though of course it may take a few days. In the meantime, I have a friend in Paris, and a most sensible aunt travelling through Europe who, if discoverable, would make the perfect companion until we can be wed. With a little luck, it won’t take long to find a pastor, for I have no desire to duel with every member of the Fairfax family before the sennight is done.’

Rotherby paused in front of Sophie then and, taking her hand, slowly raised it to his lips. He was standing so closely that his subtle cologne made her senses swim, and she had the most irrational urge to reach out and touch his warm, golden throat, to see if it felt as good as it looked. Instead, she clenched her teeth, determined not to show how he distracted her.

‘I know this is a damnable business, Sophie, and not at all what you expected, but I will make it right in the eyes of the world– I give you my word,’ he murmured, touching her shoulder briefly.

Startled, her eyes flew to his, to find his expression gentler than she’d come to expect, yet she knew he was well-versed in the female mind too.

‘And uncomfortable though it must seem, I believe it would be prudent for you to practise addressing me by my first name, Dominic,’ he added with a frown.

‘We have a part to play when we reach European society,’ he continued, ‘and while I intend to place you under the protection of my friend or my maiden aunt as soon as possible, the French haute ton will expect a certain familiarity between us…’ He smiled faintly. ‘Are we agreed?’

Sophie caught her breath as a bewildering mix of feelings coursed through her body, echoed by the question in his eyes.

‘No, we are not agreed!’ she replied heatedly. ‘I have not given you leave to call me by my first name, and I refuse to confuse things further by using yours. I have no intention of marrying, and once we reach Calais, I will do everything possible to distance myself from you. If you have any sense of self-protection, you will do the same!’ She paused to draw a steadying breath then and watched a shadow flit across his face. ‘I’ve no idea what prompted you to flee the country in such a rapid fashion,’ she continued, ‘but I assure you that, despite my predicament, I have no desire for my name to be further besmirched. So, if you are quite finished trying to decide the rest of my life, I will happily remove myself to the other end of this boat, and remain there until land is reached.’

‘On the contrary, Miss Fairfax,’ his lordship replied, all trace of his previous charm eradicated. ‘You will remain here in the master cabin while I take the second, and I will brook no dissent. We may disagree on many things, but on this I remain firm.’

He strode to the door then, his dressing gown falling open and prompting a ready blush in her cheeks, as he turned to address her for a final time.

‘I prefer not to discuss the circumstances under which I left London, but suffice to say they are temporary, and less detrimental to my name than your current situation is to yours. In the meantime, perhaps the solution I have proposed will be more acceptable if I clarify it will be for the avoidance of scandal only. It will be a mariage de convenance , if you wish it.’

Sophie watched a muscle flex in his jaw as he spoke.

‘What I wish is of no relevance to you,’ she replied icily, ‘and I assure you that any marriage with a Rotherby would be considered a mesalliance by a Fairfax!’

There was a silence then when his eyes darkened, before he nodded and walked away, leaving Sophie with the most curious sense of regret.