‘I went home to Cornwall to look after my father’s estates,’ he said, the smile back in place, just as if she had enquired where he had been.
‘Such a nice long way away from anyone laughing at you,’ Sophie said sweetly.
‘And while I was away you lingered on the shelf. Pining, were you, Sophie?’
‘Rather less than I do for my dentist.’ She laughed and fluttered her fan in case anyone was watching them.
‘But sitting on the shelf gathering dust paid off, I hear. A duke, no less. Clever Sophie.’
So, now they were coming to the point of all this. What did he want in payment for his humiliation? ‘Aren’t I just?’ she agreed.
‘And what will His Grace say when he discovers that his bride is no virgin?’
‘He knows. Naturally I was honest with him.’ That was a blow to Jonathan, she could tell. ‘If he had wanted some virginal little chit just out then he would have proposed to one.’
‘I doubt that he wants a woman who was whored round the taproom of the Black Bull at Hounslow though.’
‘So, now we come to it. A lying blackmailer as well as a rapist. I cannot imagine how you can face your own reflection in the glass of a morning.’ How she was keeping her voice soft and low and a smile on her lips she had no idea, not when her stomach was cramping and her body aching with the effort not to tremble. ‘What exactly do you want, Jonathan?’
‘Vengeance, sweet Sophie. And money. Lots and lots of money. Every drop I can squeeze from you.’
‘Then do have a few drops to be getting on with.’ She stood up, tipped her full glass sideways into his crotch, then dropped the glass onto the sofa beside him. ‘Oh, Mr Ransome! You appear to have wet your breeches.’ She whisked her skirts aside with a moue of distaste. Heads were turning, quizzing glasses raised.
Jonathan blundered to his feet, a dark stain spreading embarrassingly across the falls of his biscuit-coloured knee breeches. He hissed a word at her that fortunately she could not make out, then stormed from the room, hands clamped to his groin.
Her mother hurried over. ‘Sophie dear, are you all right? Wasn’t that young Randolph or Ruskin or whatever his name is? The one who used to hang around you?’
‘Ransome, Mama.’ She lowered her voice a little, but not so far that those around could not hear. ‘I think he had been drinking and, er, lost control of himself. So embarrassing.’
‘Tsk!’ Footmen hastened across and lifted the sofa away. ‘Ale house manners. Your stepfather and I never liked him.’
‘You didn’t? I used to think him quite pleasant.’
‘I know you did, dear. But we thought his manner encroaching and there were rumours. Vague, but unsavoury. I had intended having a quiet word with you if his attentions became any more pronounced, but then he just seemed to vanish from Society, so that was all right. Now, let us find a new seat over near Cousin Harriet. I think they are about to begin playing again.’
Sophie sat on the hearthrug before the banked fire in her bedchamber and contemplated her options. Paying Jonathan a penny was insupportable and besides, she was certain that once he discovered she would pay he would never stop bleeding her. She had confessed to Cal that she’d had a lover, but not the circumstances. She could tell him everything and she had no fears that he would not believe her, but the trouble was, she knew he would be furious, not with her, but with Jonathan.
Which would not be too bad, because she wouldn’t tell him who the man concerned was. But if Jonathan carried out his threats and spread the story, then Cal would hunt him down and kill him, she was quite certain of that.
The scandal would be enormous. She would be ruined, Cal would have to flee the country, or at the very least, face court. She supposed a duke might have a good chance of evading the death penalty for a killing in the course of a duel, but she would not want to wager on it.
Her parents had heard unsavoury rumours about Jonathan before, so perhaps he had seduced, or ravished other young women. If she could discover something criminal about him, something that would not bring shame on anyone else, then she would have a lever against him.
So, how did one go about finding an enquiry agent? Toby, of course. He would help.
Sophie penned the note asking him to call, then went to bed and lay awake wondering what to tell her old frie
nd. Not the truth, that was for sure, because Toby would be after Jonathan the moment he heard and he was equally inept with both pistols and rapier. She couldn’t live with herself if Toby was hurt, or worse, helping her.
‘Oh what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive,’ she murmured, wriggling down under the covers. This had begun because she was a romantic, an innocent, had become worse because she had discovered an unexpected talent for revenge and now she was hiding her ex-lover’s name from her husband-to-be, her blackmailer’s name from her best friend and concocting an elaborate lie to get him to help her find an enquiry agent. And when she had found one, then she had to visit him without letting Mama guess anything was wrong in the slightest.
And pay him. Somehow. This was becoming hideously complicated.
‘You want a what?’ Toby stared, open-mouthed. ‘I honestly do not think that’s a good idea. I mean, the fellow has hardly been back in Town a few weeks. Surely he hasn’t had time to set up a little ladybird, too busy. And even if he has, best not to know about things like that, my Mama always says.’
‘Toby, darling, what on earth are you talking about?’
‘Calderbrook’s mistresses.’