Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge

him? He’d been right to keep from confessing how much he needed her in his life and how much his happiness and well being depended on her. She didn’t care about him, not truly.

      He started to get up, but an abandoned book under the bed caught his eye. He reached out and brought Sophie’s sketchpad out.

      He flipped through it. Page after page was filled with sketches of him. The first ones were hesitant and obviously done from memory early in their relationship. Later in the book, she must have drawn him while he slept. His favourite was him asleep with his face turned towards her. She had sketched his back and the way the coverlet had slipped to his waist.

      Each line of the drawing screamed how much she cared about him. A tiny light flickered in the black emptiness deep within him and he knew the truth he’d been avoiding. She cared for him, deeply and passionately, and he’d refused to see it before, preferring to think that she was in love with new sensations because it meant he did not have to face his own feelings for her. He didn’t want to give her the power to hurt him and in doing so, he had hurt her—deeply and irrevocably.

      Richard closed his eyes, knowing he had killed whatever glimmer of love she had for him. He should have trusted her with his family, with his whole being, because she was his life. He was the one who had wronged her, dreadfully wronged her. There had been no marriage to leave, because he had not been prepared to give of himself.

      He tore the drawing from the book, carefully folded it and put it in his pocket. It was a slim hope.

      ‘I will get you back, Sophie, and I will spend my life showing you my finer feelings. I will show you that I know where you are going. I will always be there for you if you want me. And I do want you to stand beside me. If you need me to say words, I will, but I am scared.’

      He put his hands to his eyes. Where had she gone? She had accused him of not knowing her and not caring. He had to prove that he did know her, far better than she thought.

      He would find her without anyone else’s help but he had to do it quickly.

      ‘I want to see Lady Bingfield, Mrs Montemorcy,’ Richard said, keeping his voice steady as he stood on the doorstep of the imposing country house in Corbridge that afternoon. ‘Please tell her I am here.’

      It had taken him several hours and a painful interview with his father, where he’d been accused of all manner of things when he confessed that Sophie had left him. Richard had not given him the true reason, but he had persuaded his father to stay until he found Sophie. His father had given him twenty-four hours. The instant he left his father, he knew where Sophie must have gone.

      All the way to Corbridge on the train, he had prayed his hunch was correct. But if it wasn’t, he’d keep searching. He refused to give up.

      The slender brunette stared daggers at him. If looks could kill or maim, the formidable Mrs Montemorcy’s certainly would.

      ‘There is no such person as Lady Bingfield.’

      He knew then what Sophie and the Montemorcys intended—an annulment. Difficult, but not impossible and the last thing he wanted.

      Heart thudding in his ears, he held out his hands and begged, ‘I would speak with Sophie. Your friend Sophie. Let me speak to her, please.’

      She tilted her head to one side, assessed him and found him wanting. ‘And if she doesn’t want to speak to you?’

      ‘I am her husband.’

      Mrs Montemorcy’s eyebrow shot up. ‘That remains to be seen.’

      Richard’s stomach clenched. He was expected to go, but he refused to give in to expectations.

      ‘Sophie! Sophie! I will stand outside this house and scream your name until you come out. You decide. But you never need to hide behind anyone’s skirt. You simply need to tell me to go away. But it has to come from you.’

      ‘You are making a spectacle of yourself, Lord Bingfield. Cease it at once!’

      ‘I want my wife, Mrs Montemorcy. I want to speak with her. I want to know she is safe.’ Richard held out his hands and willed her to agree. ‘My wife’s well being is very important to me.’

      ‘You presume much, Lord Bingfield.’ Mrs Montemorcy started to close the door.

      Richard stuck his hand and foot in the doorway, blocking her. Sophie was there.

      ‘All I want to do is talk with her. Sophie is fully capable of telling me to go to the devil, Mrs Montemorcy. You know that as well as I do. Sophie has no need of protection from you, from anyone.’

      ‘If you speak to her and she tells you to go, will you go? Quietly?’

      ‘Yes, I will go,’ Richard said, bowing his head, giving in.

      ‘Henri, it is fine. You can stop standing guard over me.’ Sophie came out from behind her friend. ‘Richard is right. I am a grown up. I fight my own battles now.’

      Richard’s heart lurched. Her eyes were mere slits, practically swollen shut from crying; her nose was red and her hair hung about her shoulders like snakes. She had never looked more beautiful to him. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and hurry away from there. He wanted to kiss her feet. He forced his body to remain completely still and devoured her with his eyes.

      ‘Sophie,’ he said.

      She gave a reluctant nod. ‘I’m here. Say what you like, Richard.’

      ‘You may speak in the drawing room, unless you wish to converse outside where all might hear,’ Mrs Montemorcy said.

      Richard kept his eyes on Sophie. She might be capable of fighting her own battles, but he wanted to be there for her. He had to hope that she wanted to help him fight his battles. ‘It is Sophie’s choice.’

      ‘We can risk the drawing room.’ Sophie took two steps into the house before stopping and fixing him with her eye. ‘But, Richard, if you try anything, anything at all after I tell you to go, Henri’s footmen will throw you out on your ear.’

      ‘I understand.’ He gulped a breath of life-giving air. Silently he prayed, as he had not done since he was a young boy in that wood, that she’d listen and understand what he was truly saying. He was going to bare his soul and hope.

      Her legs like jelly and her head throbbing, Sophie staggered into Henri and Robert’s drawing room. The last person she had expected to see today was Richard, but he was here. Her traitorous body wanted to go to him and be held, but that was how the trouble had started in the first place.

      She took a steadying breath. It was the shock of seeing him.

      If he came at all, she had expected it to be within a week’s time after he’d managed to get the probable destination out of her stepmother. She had expected her stepmother to be more closed-mouthed. She’d given Robert her assurance of that which was why he had stayed in Newcastle at his office, rather than travelling to Corbridge to be here with her. She should have remembered that her stepmother had a soft spot for Richard.

      ‘Remember, Sophie, I am here if you need assistance.’ Henri gave Richard a hard look. ‘And my husband will return shortly.’

      ‘My wife is perfectly safe with me,’ Richard said firmly. ‘You have my solemn word.’

      Sophie motioned to Henri to go. With one last troubled glance backwards, Henri left the room. Sophie forced her shoulders back and waited.

      Richard said nothing. He simply stood there, looking at her with a haunted expression as the silence grew and threatened to suffocate her.

      ‘I suppose it is my stepmother I can thank for you finding me so quickly.’ Sophie pressed her hands together to keep them from trembling. ‘She has a romantic soul, but she has gone too far this time. There was no need for it.’

      ‘I have not seen your stepmother today. In fact, I have not seen her since the day before yesterday. You wrong her and me if you think that.’ A muscle