Page 9 of How to Lose a Dowry in Three Bucks
She sputtered again, now against his chest because he’d lifted her into his arms despite her protests.
He hoisted her higher and carried her into the room from which he’d arrived. “And you smell; can’t have that,” he said, placing his nose at her neck and inhaling deeply.
Sophia gasped and wiggled, mortified that he’d found her in such a state.
“Now, now, I like the scent of woman, so I won’t be releasing you. At least not until you eat something,” he said, seating her on a chair before an enormous spread of food.
***
After she’d bathed and attired herself appropriately, Sophia returned to the room where Peverel had watched her like a hawk as she’d consumed enough food to make up for the past few days in bed.
The room was empty save the tea tray on a low table before a chaise longue. And the impossibly large man draped on it.
“I couldn’t possibly eat more,” she said from the doorway.
“Then come and pour for me,” he said, showing that there was a space beside him on the seat. He patted the cushion as if the place she was supposed to sit was unclear. “Who do I need to kill?” he asked conversationally as she took up the teapot.
The lid rattled when her hand shook. “Kill?” she asked faintly.
“Something happened that sent you to your bed for days. I wasn’t here to guard against it. I suppose I’ll need to kill the person or persons who upset you.”
Sophia set the pot down quickly and placed her hand on Peverel’s arm. “You needn’t. It was a misunderstanding. I’ll find a way forward.”
Peverel looked at her small fingers resting on his arm. She withdrew them immediately.
“What happened?” he asked lowly.
She related the conversation she’d had with Mr. Wortley while filling his cup and plate.
“Do you mean to challenge his interpretation of the will?”
“I don’t see how I could win,” she said. “In hindsight, I should have questioned the statement that reaching twenty-five years ofage would be sufficient to release the funds. I trusted that a man of the law would, well, know the law!”
“You could sue the firm on those grounds,” he said.
Sophia waved him away, exhaustion written on her face. “The will stipulates that I need to be completely unmarriageable. I can’t think of an age I might reach that would free me. Would thirty be sufficient? By the time that day comes, perhaps not!”
“It might not need to be age,” he said, musing as he ate a comically small tea cake. “You simply need to becompletely unmarriageable, he said?”
“Yes, but given the present mores, what would render me completely unmarriageable? I never imagined the day I’d bemoan the loosening of restrictions on behavior!”
Peverel stared at the filling of his finger sandwich. Why wasn’t he saying anything? He was a powerful man and, for once, she wanted someone to wade into the muck and fix things for her. Something bubbled in her chest. She was feeling very sorry for herself indeed.
“Why, the only unmarriageable woman in the world might be that girl in your photograph,” she said, her voice rising as tears surged to her eyes. “Not that I’d deny her the protection and comforts of a happy marriage, but…”
She trailed off as Matthew swung his head around to stare at her. “If you want to pose for your own lewd photographs, you could just say so.”
Sophia gasped, her hand instinctively coming to her breast as if to shield her very clothed body from his leering gaze.
“I hardly think…”
She tugged at the ruffle scraping her neck and tried not to look to see if her hardened nipples were visible despite her thickly quilted bodice.
“I hardly think your little puss stopped getting wet since seeing Martine in that photograph,” he said, drawing closer.
“Martine?”
“Oh yes, she’s a star in Paris.”
