He headed to the drawing room.
While Sophie continued to hold his heart,
he could not bring himself to marry another. Yes, he had wasted his days living
off his brother while indulging in a life of idleness and pleasure-seeking. Now
he had no option but to pray his aunt left him her fortune. Perhaps then he
could offer for Sophie. She will never
marry a rake, you fool. As usual, he tamped down the bitter truth, but the
tiny flicker of hope that one day she may be his was the only thing that
prevented him from sinking further.
His aunt dropped onto the sofa before the
crackling hearth. “It does not help your cause that you continue to associate
with that scoundrel, Mr Crawford.”
Sophie carried out her duties in efficient
silence, pretending not to hear the details of his scandalous associations. How
he longed to take her away from this life of servitude. Someone so good, kind
and selfless deserved better.
After pouring the tea, she handed her
employer a cup.
Without a word of thanks to her companion,
his aunt continued, “There is still talk about his scandalous affair with Mrs
Rushworth. You should end the connection, for it will only sully your name
further. Your reputation as a rake does not help matters, but being associated
with an adulterer will not earn you a respectable bride. What must my dear
sister think of her favourite now?”
He accepted his cup from Sophie with his
head down and muttered his thanks. Shame gnawed at his insides. If his mother
had not died of typhus before he reached his tenth year, she would have been
sorely disappointed in him.
Why could he not be a better man? He should
have sought a profession after university. If he had done something useful,
perhaps, he may have earned Sophie’s good opinion and won her heart. Instead,
he had wasted his life. He was a hopeless rake beyond salvage, in love with a
woman far above him in noble character. Even if he were rich, she would always
be too good for him.
Sophie sat on the sofa next to his aunt and
twiddled with a delicate curl at her nape.
He had to ask again. “Are you certain you
are well, Miss Woodforde?”
“Stop trying to misdirect the attention
from yourself, Trevethan.” Aunt Hammond sipped at her tea.
Wispy tendrils of steam rose from the beige
liquid in his cup, and he tamped down the urge to ask for something stronger.
Liquor would have to wait. Even though nothing eased the painful longing within
him lately.
He could not resist being drawn to the
source of his yearning while she stared at the flickering flames in the hearth.
What had happened to the woman who enjoyed lecturing him about the latest
philanthropic project she wished to support or teased him following the gossip
surrounding his misadventures? Not that he had many these days unless one
counted spending the evenings drinking brandy with Crawford while they both
pined for the women they loved but could not possess.
“Trevethan!” he jerked his head towards his
aunt. Her narrowed gaze bore into him. Had he given himself away?
She glowered, then said, “Miss Woodforde
has received some surprising news today that has unsettled her.”
Sophie’s head shot up; her wide gaze
directed towards her employer.
“I hope it is nothing serious?” My God, she
was ill. “Is there anything I can
do?”
Aunt Hammond scoffed. “It is not unwelcome
news—well, not for Miss Woodforde.”
“Mrs Hammond.” Sophie pleaded, but as
usual, his aunt could not be silenced.
“Miss Woodforde is now an heiress with
twenty thousand.”
His breath stuttered.
On the opposite sofa, Sophie’s head lolled
forward, and she ran a palm across her forehead.
Sophie was a wealthy woman—a single,
wealthy woman. That meant she no longer needed to work for his aunt. He would
not see her when he visited.
Aunt Hammond asked, “Will you not offer
your congratulations?”
He glanced at his aunt before returning his
attention to Sophie, whose shoulders slumped.
A burning sensation spread down his gullet,
and he swallowed. “Congratulations, Miss Woodforde.”
His aunt sniffed. “She is almost maudlin;
anyone would think a beloved family member had died.”
Sophie continued to stare into the teacup
in her lap. She would leave, and he would never see her again.
Aunt Hammond prattled on. “Heaven knows
why, but she wishes to keep it a secret. She should marry, yet she insists she
will remain in my employment.”
Of course, her sense of duty would not
allow her to abandon his aunt. Selfish thoughts about her leaving had
distracted him from the more pressing issue. Another man would steal her from
him. His heart skipped a beat. He could not allow it.
Bianca
White writes passionate and spicy historical romance.
Bianca
loves history and has a degree in history and history of art. The word
"research" is often used as an excuse to drag members of her family
around every stately home and castle wherever they go. Nothing, not even
the grumbling of said family, will keep her away from a historical fashion
exhibition.
When she's
not writing, Bianca feeds her addiction to romance novels. She also loves
baking and watching movies. Thanks to her love of baking (and eating), she
feels the need to balance it with a little activity and enjoys tai chi,
aerobics and swimming.
Bianca
lives in West Yorkshire, England, with her husband and two children.
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