“Not I. Actually, I once attended a cat race at the McCaulty racecourse near Eastbourne. Eight racing cats out of twelve actually crossed the finish line. There was betting and cheering and some fisticuffs; a tough sport, is cat racing. Thomas told me once that at the first cat race in Ireland, his dog got loose and decided to race with the cats. As you can imagine, it was pandemonium. If ever you meet the Malcombes, Meggie can tell you all about it.”
Sophie studied Beatrice’s soft ear. “You’ve done so very much, Julian. No, no, don’t tell me it’s because you are so ancient and you’ve had simply dozens of years to click up your heels and do everything imaginable—no, you started when you were only a boy—Waterloo, for heaven’s sake—whereas I’ve only—” She broke off, sighed. “I’m whining, aren’t I? My twenty years on this earth have been excellent. I’ve never known want or been around bad people—well, there was Mr. Jack, who strangled his wife, but he was drunk at the time and never remembered a thing. My father is a trial, but he is not rotten like Richard Langworth. Let me get back on track. To me, all the inhabitants of Hardcross Manor worry me to my toes. To Roxanne’s toes as well, I think. I spoke briefly to your mother, and she thinks it a marvelous idea if we remain here until we return to London. Actually, when your mother sent you to find Devlin yesterday, she wanted to get his agreement to remain here as well.”
He eyed her. “So you went behind my back.”
She gave him a blazing smile. “Doesn’t a competent commander always line up his supporters before he charges forward?”
He eyed her again. He knew when a person was unmovable, particularly ladies, who excelled at deciding what they wanted and getting it. He knew his mother wanted Sophie here so they would be thrown together every single hour of the day. He was getting quite used to the pitiful sighs from her whenever he didn’t give Sophie his full attention. How many times would he have to repeat to her that this girl was young enough—nearly—to be his daughter, not his bloody wife?
He didn’t want anyone here at Ravenscar for the simple reason that he wished to smuggle in goods one final time, and he didn’t want to take any chances. He’d never before considered smuggling this close to his home—too dangerous, too many eyes—but after Richard had followed him to Saint Osyth and discovered his midnight hobby, he knew it had to stop. So one last time. No one would know, no one would find out. He’d direct in boats from the channel to row their way up the River Horvath to a small landing. His cave was very close by.
One final time.
He would simply have to sneak out, very quietly. No one need ever know. He was fooling himself—he knew to his boots that if they were here, they’d find out. He could picture Sophie listening for his footfalls at midnight, putting on her own boots and following him, Roxanne at her side, Devlin carrying his pistols.
Unfortunately for him, he could also see Sophie standing with her hands on her hips in his cave, looking around in wonder at the incredible stalagmites and stalactites, listening to her own voice echoing off the high ceiling, and inquiring politely what he was doing there. He could also see her grinning wildly with the news that smuggled brandy was to arrive in ten minutes.
Damnation. What was wrong with him? There would be no cave visits by Sophie or Roxanne or Devlin; it was absurd to even consider it—Julian realized he was brooding, something he found unacceptable in himself. Brooding was for melancholy poets, not for men who actually accomplished things. When there was a problem, he liked to throw himself on top of it and wrestle it to the ground, not brood about it.
He eyed Sophie, who was now sitting opposite him, calmly swinging her foot and watching him. Beatrice was still sprawled on her lap. She’d said her piece, and now she waited. He liked that in her. She didn’t keep talking and talking, in case she found another argument to convince him of something she wanted to have, or repeat the same argument over and over, as most people did.
He said at last, voice remote, “I have a lot of business to conduct.”
“Yes, of course you do. What is your point?”
“Some of the things I have to do I simply can’t talk about. Also, my business will require most of my time.”
Her eyebrow hoisted itself up.
“I must see to my yacht.” Where had that idiocy come from?
“Désirée? I should very much like to see her. Show me a dirty deck and I shall scrub it for you. I am a useful girl, Julian. Use me.”
35
Julian’s eyes nearly crossed. If only she knew—yet another sign of her innocence, her damnable youth. He said, “I thought Roxanne was the enthusiast. You also sail, Sophie?”
“Roxanne has never been on a boat in her life. It’s true her father, my grandfather, nearly drowned when he was a boy, so there was never any boating for his three daughters. He was simply too afraid to allow it.
“My parents, however, were vastly different. Not that my father, the vicar, likes to sail, mind you; as I think about it, Papa doesn’t like to do anything that might make him breathe hard or bring sweat to his brow. But to his credit, he never objected when mother and I were invited to sail with the Caruthers on their yacht. Yes, I enjoy sailing.”
“But Roxanne spoke of the gentleman in Brighton who had a yacht, and then she shuddered. With pleasure, I supposed. I thought Devlin would stomp on his hat.”
“She said that only to make him want to stomp. She is very good at it. So will you take me out in your yacht, Julian? Will you let me scrub a deck?”
Slowly, he nodded. “Very well, we will remain here, for the time being.”
But what of Richard and his father? And mending the breach? Then there is the Dower House, and what of my final smuggling run? He cursed under his breath.
He gave Sophie a look of dislike. “It’s amazing what the younger generation gets away with,” he said.
“Watch and learn, my lord.”
Julian was still brooding when they saw Vicky off some thirty minutes later. He said to her as he handed her into the carriage, “Do thank your father for his hospitality, and tell him I should like to speak to him again. Perhaps he can visit me here.”
Vicky nodded, then said, “Should you like to speak to Richard again?”
“Quite possibly.”