“Ah!” Pierce snapped his fingers. “So you admit there’s an ache? A type of pain at being so close to that lush, creamy—”
“Pierce!”
“—white.” He sighed longingly.
“Not another word.”
Pierce was silent then whispered under his breath, “Skin.”
“Bloody hell, I should shoot you off that damn horse.”
“Do it. Or, perhaps I should shoot you. Let the princess nurse you back to health. Lovely plan, that. Simply stand still so I can aim correctly. Wouldn’t do to actually kill you and—”
“Fine.”
“Wait.” Pierce shook his head. “What we you agreeing to?”
“Shoot me.”
“Um, I don’t think…”
“What? Lose your nerve? Shoot me. Put me out of my misery, only be kind enough to make it a kill shot. I’ve served my purpose, delivered the girl to London — almost — and I want nothing more than to die in peace. So… shoot me.”
Pierce scowled. “I would, I truly would, but I have a mild suspicion that your so-called mission is not at an end.”
Dread pooled in Ash’s belly as he slowed his horse. “Explain yourself.”
Pierce shrugged. “Dominique sent you to fetch the girl and her guard… she trusts you and only you. Not even Dominique. He’s going to need you in order to build that trust with her, and you, my friend, are the only person who will be able to do it.”
“She doesn’t trust me.”
“Oh, but I think she does.” Pierce grinned. “I really think she does.”
That very thought plagued Ash, darkening his mood for the rest of the ride to Town. Bad enough that it had started raining, what was worse, each time he glanced at the carriage — to make sure the wheels were intact and not in any fashion to check in on Sofia — she was laughing at something Hunter was saying.
Hunter was married.
In love.
Besotted.
So why did it bother Ash as much as it did? So she laughed at his brother’s jokes. Ash could tell jokes… if he were so inclined to impress the woman, which he wasn’t.
He truly wasn’t.
Hands flexed, he gripped the reins tighter as they slowly made their way into Mayfair.
The scent of London always affected Ash in a negative manner. The stench of the streets reminded him of her lying in it. Reminded him of the one action that had stolen his very life from him — had stolen hers — and had consequently divided his relationship with Hunter for a decade.
He was so lost in thought he almost didn’t register that they were already at Dominique’s residence until it was too late.
Until The Beast himself was glowering from the top of the stairs, pistol in hand, or maybe it was just a walking stick, but one could never be too cautious.
“If you’d like to make a run for it, I can cover you, possibly for two minutes before I lose the nerve and follow suit,” Pierce whispered.
Ash grunted in response.
The footman let Hunter out of the carriage. He turned and held his hand to Sofia. Her fingers seemed to hesitate before gripping the proffered hand. Her white silk glove flashed brilliant against the cream kidskin worn by Hunter.
Her eyes were big, wide, fearful as she stepped out and glanced up at the large menacing house.
One fit for a prince.
Which, to be fair, fit, all things considered. Maskylov was a Russian prince in his own right, even though he chose to live in London with his English wife.
“Sofia.” Hunter inclined his head for Sofia to follow him, but her feet stayed firmly planted against the ground as if rooted there.
“Damsel.” Pierce disguised the word with a cough and pointed. “Distress.”
With a sigh, Ash slid off his horse and made his way toward Sofia. “Twelve steps.”
Her head shot up. “Pardon?”
“Twelve steps. It takes exactly twelve steps to make it to the top of the stairs. Worry about The Beast once you’re at the top, but it’s silly to worry about him now.”
“How do you figure?” she whispered, her face pale.
Ash nodded to Hunter.
Excused, Hunter gave a short bow and made his way toward the house while Ash took Sofia’s hand. “Well, to be morbid, a rabid dog could attack you before you hit the first stair.”
Sofia gasped. “Are you trying to make me feel better or suicidal?”
“Better.” Ash forced back a smile. “There’s reasoning with the madness I spout. Now pay attention.”
“I’m rapt with it,” she said dryly.
“Ah, there’s the lovely royal attitude I so dreadfully missed.” Ash squeezed her hand. “I admit, the dog was a poor example. One could possibly trip on the last stair and gain a head wound, making it so you don’t have to greet your cousin until you awaken, and by then, he’ll feel so horrid about you tripping that all the bark will be out of him. Besides it might give me adequate time to liquor him up.”
“I like that story better.”
“Figured you would, since it includes me taming the damn beast.”
Sofia blinked and then smiled. Ash’s insides warmed to mush, bloody intolerant emotions. “Now…” He ushered her forward. “…step one means you only have eleven to go, but think upon this… What if you do not take the steps? You’ll find yourself in this exact position tomorrow with the same problem. One does not win a war by simply staring at the enemy.”
“No,” Sofia whispered. “But how? How do you win the war without even knowing if they are your enemy?”
“That’s easy.” Ash was nearing the fifth step with Sofia. “You must first say hello.”
“Hello?” she squeaked.
“How are you to know if they are your enemy if you do not first know if they are your friend?”
Sofia’s mouth opened and then closed.
“And the last step…” Ash whispered. “Bravery becomes you.”
“Cousin,” Dominique stepped forward, damn-near shoving Ash out of the way as he embraced Sofia and kissed her on the cheek. “Are you well? Unharmed?” His eyes narrowed in on Ash. “Untouched?”
“Bloody hell, I must give every person the impression I have no self–control,” Ash muttered, while, from somewhere behind him, Pierce laughed.
Dominique only glowered more, as per usual.
But Ash stayed by Sofia’s side.
Until she sent him away — he’d stay. Because he’d promised to keep her safe, and he wasn’t satisfied she was — not yet.