Romancing the Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page B

a dear friend of her mother’s. Flaming liars, the three of them, but for a worthy conspiracy.
    Sophia saw her father’s name near the top of the letter. A jolt of anxiety made her heart leap and her skin flush cold. She would read that part later. But first, the information she’d specifically requested:
    Wilhelm Cavendish Montegue, Ninth Earl of Devon. Retired lieutenant-general in the Army, decorated in the Russian war, Order of the Garter, etc., etc. Prior to that his military record is sealed. I find only hearsay, scandal concerning the deaths of enemy officers, and rumors he acted as a spy in Turkey.
    A second son, he inherited when the eldest perished of illness, but some believe the succession unlawful. Lady Lambrick recalls his mother Margaret Montegue claiming Wilhelm was fathered by another man, yet her husband acknowledged him as his own.
    He is never seen in London except to sit in the House of Lords. Regarding his insanity and unnatural practices, I find only rumors. Please have a care, Miss Duncombe. The man is inarguably wild and dangerous. I know such a warning would send your mother — God bless her — straight into the arms of such a man. However, I expect more sense from you.
    She didn’t want to, but Sophia now forced herself to read the information about her father.
    Last month Lord Chauncey located Lady Chauncey in France. Her ignorance concerning your whereabouts, however prudent, cost her dearly. She asked me to tell you, and I quote, “No worse than usual.” I assure you, Lady Chauncey is being looked after in Edinburgh. I believe I have finally convinced her to go into hiding, but I doubt she will disappear as skillfully as you have, Miss Duncombe.
    Regardless, Lord Chauncey discovered that you returned to England. I learned of four investigators hired by your father. One paid me a visit the past Tuesday. I sent him to Scotland on a false lead, which I pray succeeded. I will send some men after the investigators to keep watch and alert you to any danger. Meanwhile, stay hidden. Trust no one.
    That night Sophia dreamed of blows striking between her shoulders, raw lightning bolts where the fabric tore. Each lash grew more vivid and scorching than the last. She felt paradoxically warm and cold; the chill air cooled her flayed skin, yet her shoulders dripped streams of scalding blood. Too much of it pooled around her hands and face, both from her dog and herself. She thought ironically that the blood of the animal and human ran the same dark color.
    She choked and panicked as her instinct to writhe was utterly crushed by the trembling force of her father’s hand still wrenched in her hair. Her pulse throbbed in her ears, drowning the sound of all but the whip landing on her back. Sophia lost the energy to fight and could only shriek in agony. She lost count. Her vision blurred and sound wavered. Unconsciousness finally approached on dark wings. Before she succumbed to the void, she heard her mother’s screams.
    Sophia startled awake to find the screams coming from her own parched throat. She’d fallen from the bed, still tangled in a sheet. Mrs. Abbott’s worried voice sounded from the other side of the door.
    “I am well, Mrs. Abbott.” Her voice croaked. “Bad dream. Sorry to have bothered you.” Terrified, more like, judging from the murmuring voices outside the door.
    Sophia didn’t open it and reassure the concerned staff. Her knees and elbows stung, she shuddered beyond control, and she couldn’t calm her voice if Gabriel himself commanded it.
    She dragged herself back onto the thin mattress and lit a candle with trembling hands after three failed attempts. With no hope of falling back asleep, she opened Elizabeth’s Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters … yet again. The familiar uncomplicated text soothed her:
    In a country there was a shire, and in that shire there was a town, and in that town there was a house, and in that house there was a room, and in that room there was a bed,