Sebastian’s mouth fell open and he sat up straight. “What? How do you know this?” he asked, with some impatience.
“Marcus told me,” Dudley replied. “I stressed the importance of the situation and he obliged by persuading Marie of the seriousness of your suit.”
“But why would she tell Marcus?” Sebastian asked somewhat bemused.
Dudley raised a brow and shook his head. “Please tell me you are not that naïve. Marcus was always useful when it came to beautiful women. Although I fear, Marie is not such easy prey.”
Sebastian recalled a comment made by his coachman. “Haines did say she slapped Marcus across the face for being too familiar when they first met,” Sebastian sniggered. It was the first time he had laughed in a month. “Perhaps it was my fault for telling him she was the madame of a brothel.”
“I don’t know,” Dudley shrugged, “living in an old monastery does strange things to a man.” He removed a letter from his pocket and handed it to Sebastian. “The details are all in there. If you hurry, you could be with Miss Beaufort for luncheon.”
Sebastian could not stop smiling. He scanned the letter. “Dudley, I don’t know what to say … High Wycombe! She’s been in High Wycombe all this time.”
“I know,” Dudley laughed, “and I thought you were adept at locating runaways.” He held Sebastian’s gaze and said in a more serious tone, “Do not forget, Miss Beaufort believes herself unworthy of you. I would hate for you to say the wrong thing and ruin all of my hard work.”
“Your hard work,” Sebastian mocked, patting his friend on the shoulder as he hurried towards the door. “What about Marcus?”
“I have it on good authority that Marcus Danbury has thoroughly enjoyed pursuing this particular line of inquiry,” Dudley whispered to himself as he heard Sebastian’s footsteps bounding up the stairs.
With her trowel in hand, Sophie stepped back from the border and admired her work. It had been a laborious task, clearing the neglected garden, but it had kept her busy, kept her mind from straying to thoughts of Dane.
She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and then rubbed her lower back. Being bent over for such long periods had taken its toll. It would take too long to heat enough water for a bath, so she would settle for a cup of tea instead and then perhaps a long walk. That would straighten her out, she thought, as she cleared away her tools and basket and nipped inside to wash her hands.
As lovely as the cottage was, with its thatched roof and quaint little windows, Sophie could not see Marie living happily in such seclusion. Even someone used to a rural way of life, as Sophie was, would find it quite lonely at times. Oh, the days were fine, as there was always plenty to do. It was the nights that were the most difficult; it was the nights when all the memories came flooding back.
She’d always known it would be a challenge, but the hole left by Dane’s absence was growing bigger by the day, swallowing her up bit by bit. Sometimes, she would wake at night and imagine him lying next to her, imagine the warmth radiating from his body, enveloping her. Sometimes, she would catch his masculine scent in the air, but when she tried to locate the smell it always faded away, dissolving into nothing.
The lengthy absence had proved one thing: her soul would be forever entwined with his. No matter where she went or what she did, she would never feel complete again.
After dabbing at her eyes with the pads of her fingers, she looked out through the window. An image of Dane formed before her, of him standing tall and strong as he tied his horse to the post next to the gate. Her foolish heart skipped a beat and she cursed.
Was it not enough that her visions disturbed her dreams? Was she now going to be taunted during her waking hours, too?
In a fit of temper, she marched over to the cottage door and flung it open, in the hope such a torturous image would disappear so she could be left alone in peace.
“Am I late for luncheon?” Dane asked, lowering his hand as though he had intended to knock.
Sophie placed her hand over her heart as she studied the magnificent form filling the doorway. “Dane,” she whispered, sounding breathless. She put her hand out and touched his blue coat, the tips of her fingers barely grazing the material. “Is it really you?”
Dane glanced over his shoulder. “Who else were you expecting?” He removed a glove, lifted a hand and wiped something from her cheek. The feel of his warm fingers was too much to bear and she suddenly felt dizzy. She put her hand to her head and blinked in a bid to dispel the sparks of bright lights flashing before her eyes.
Then everything went black.
When Sophie opened her eyes, she was lying on the bed and immediately thought she’d imagined the whole thing — until Dane walked into the room carrying a cup of tea. He’d removed his hat and coat and as he placed the cup on the bedside table, a lock of hair fell over his brow. Straightening, he brushed it back and offered her one of his boyish smiles. It lit up his whole face and he had never looked more handsome.
“I shall end up with a permanent stoop after
a week of living here,” he said jovially as he glanced up at the ceiling, which was only an inch or two above his head. “I have hit my head three times or more.”
Sophie simply stared at him. “How did you know where to find me?”
Dane folded his arms across his chest and grinned with smug satisfaction. “Marcus Danbury wrote to Dudley. Apparently, he tortured Marie until she told him.”
Sophie gasped. “If he’s hurt her —”
“When I say torture, I do not mean in the literal sense. Danbury can be very charming and extremely persuasive. He is renowned for his expertise with women.”
“I cannot believe Marie would be so weak as to fall prey to such a libertine,” Sophie replied, attempting to sit up so she could drink her tea.