Page 13 of A Stranger’s Gamble

Chapter Six

Sophie kept her attention on the carriage parked in front of her aunt’s house up ahead. A black iron handrail led up the three steps from the street to the front door of the townhouse. Dare she stop while the gentleman watched her? He was watching. She could feel his gaze on her. He had been too interested in learning her identity, she feared he would try to talk to her, and thus give away the fact she was a woman. Sophie prayed Beatrice would keep her nerve and figure out that if Aunt Maddie were home to greet her, Beatrice needed to pretend to be Sophie.

Sophie hadn’t planned on Beatrice pretending to be her anywhere but in Sophie’s bedchambers by the low light of the hearth. This is what she got for not getting back into the carriage before they reached Town. Not to mention, she hadn’t given any thought to the servants seeing her arrive in breeches—or a handsome gentleman discovering that she was a woman.

Sophie passed the coach then drew her horse up in front of the other horses. Maybe the gentleman would turn off before he reached them. The door of the house opened, and a footman stepped outside.

She couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing. As the coachman handed Beatrice out of the carriage, Sophie called to the footman at the door, “Have you a stable?”

He sniffed and lifted his nose in the air. “To the rear.”

Sophie called to Beatrice, “I will send your maid to your room soon, miss.”

Beatrice frowned, then Sophie winced at her audible gasp. Sophie tensed, then gave thanks when Beatrice didn’t call out. Sophie faced forward and urged Ophelia on.

“Haddies from Newhaven,” a nearby fish-woman cried.

Hooves clattered on the cobblestones around her. In the distance, a church bell rang. Sophie halted at the corner and waited for a carriage to pass so she could turn left toward the alley behind her aunt’s house. A nervous tremor rippled through her stomach. Her aunt hadn’t seen her since Sophie was five. Still, there was always the chance the older woman would realize Beatrice wasn’t her.

“I trust you suffered no lasting harm, lass—er, lad?”

Sophie started at the deep male voice and jerked her head in the direction of the man who had rescued her hat from the street. He stood on the corner. Her gaze caught on stunning hazel eyes flecked with green and gold. His dark hair, longer than the usual cut, nearly brushed his broad shoulders.

“I am hale and hearty, sir.” She smiled. “Thank you for keeping my secret.”

He executed a bow with an elegant grace that spoke of much practice. His brown coat and dark blue waistcoat were finely made and topped off with a rakishly tied cravat. A gentleman.

“It is my pleasure, I assure you. Miss Sophie Shaw will never hear a word from my lips.”

Her pulse jumped. “You know Miss Shaw?”

The carriage passed and Sophie urged her mount to take the left turn, then kept a sedate pace as the man kept pace with them on the sidewalk.

“I have not had the pleasure of Miss Shaw’s acquaintance,” he said. “But I have been informed of her arrival.”

Sophie tensed. “By whom, sir? Are you acquainted with the Marquess of Monthemer?”

Surprise quickly gave way to a cool expression. “I am acquainted with the man.”

“He sent you to spy on m—my mistress to report back if she is worthy of marriage?”

“Your mistress?” he said. “The marquess is a rogue and not particularly interested in the match.”

So, the marquess didn’t wish to lower himself to marry a woman not of noble birth? Hadn’t he ever heard that beggars couldn’t be choosers?

“Miss Shaw has no wish to marry the marquess,” she said.

His brows rose in surprise…or was that amusement?

She reached the alley and turned left onto the gravel road. The rear of the townhouses sat to the left, and to the right, small stables were interspersed among smaller homes, likely occupied by servants. To her surprise, the man followed. The devil gripped Sophie and she didn’t bother to resist.

“Miss Shaw is a somber woman,” she said.

“From the looks of her, I quite agree,” he replied.

She blinked. He’d seen her? Of course, out front when Beatrice had exited the carriage—and he’d mistaken Beatrice for herself. Oh, this was simply too delicious.

“She is a paragon of discontent. I have yet to see her smile.” Sophie looked down at him. “How do you know the marquess?”