had touched her without her permission and be damned if Blake got away with it either.
Gritting her teeth, Sophia tried to find somewhere to put her hands, tried to find some purchase in case the buffoon decided to drop her. She looped her thumbs into the top of his worn trousers. If he let her slide into the mud, she was going to take some of his pride with her.
“What are you doing?” he yelped and jumped a little, his deep voice no longer gravelly. “Your hands are like ice.”
“If you drop me, Blake, your trousers are coming too.” If he wanted to put on a show for those watching, she would ensure she wasn’t the only clown in the act.
The back beneath her cheek lurched with poorly concealed laughter.
“This is not amusing,” she fumed, scrabbling to hold on.
His body shook. “It has been the highlight of my day.”
She protested with a violent wriggle to shore up her position. But then the unthinkable happened. The body beneath hers went rigid as she started to slide. Blake’s grip became bruising with the effort to hold her. She was jostled as he fought to keep his footing, but it was no use. One moment one of London’s most sought after courtesans hung over the shoulder of a brute, her hands tucked indecently into the waistband of his trousers, and the next they were both flailing for purchase, uselessly sliding, slipping, until they landed in the mud only two short feet from the doorway. Only one thought hovered in her mind in that indescribable moment...
Mud was infinitely softer than stones or pitchforks or condemnation, but the sting was just as sharp.
* * *
Laughter built inside Blake’s chest until he could no longer contain the guffaws. It was the last sound she would want to hear but the situation was just too ridiculous.
The noises she made suggested her mouth had filled with something even fouler than her disposition, which made the men in the tavern wild with hoots and calls of a lewd nature.
“You did that on purpose,” she cried, flinging mud from her hands with a wild, angry shake.
“I did not,” he replied, but a smile still stretched his face. He knew she wouldn’t believe him but he truly hadn’t intended to drop her. “The last thing I needed today was to go traipsing through the mud with your royal highness.”
“Cease your taunting and help me up.”
Had she no use for manners in London? She hadn’t said please once since he’d glimpsed her fine carriage through the tavern’s window. He had thought, since she had fled one black night without a word, that she would slink back with her tail between her legs to beg forgiveness and acceptance. But then she had probably forgotten all about him the second she stepped into her new life as a prostitute.
Blake’s laughter died as he looked at her—really looked at the woman the girl had become. Night black hair still framed a familiar face, but that’s where the distinctive marks she used to have stopped. The handful of freckles Blake had teased her about mercilessly were gone, no laugh lines creased her eyes, no dimples marked cheeks so pale the skin was nearly transparent.
Well, that’s what happens when you laze abed all day and indulge only in night-time activities.
The sour thought brought him up short and instantly brought with it anger. This wasn’t the Sophie Martin he used to fish with as ten-year-olds. The girl he had known would have laughed in the mud until she couldn’t breathe. She certainly wasn’t the same young girl he’d fallen in love with, only to be betrayed and left without a word or thought. Now she was a woman whose choices made her a pariah.
“Since you have already soiled your gown with my mud, help yourself.”
She attempted to wrestle herself free but sagged back into the mire awkwardly. “Blake, why are you doing this to me?” she whispered.
Damn it. Were those tears she worked so hard to disguise? Even now, as hate warred with the familiar sound of her voice, he still couldn’t bear to see her upset. Cursing under his breath, he hauled himself to his feet and offered her his hand.
“No tricks?” she asked, her voice low, her eyelashes glittering with moisture.
“You have my word.”
Hesitantly, Sophie placed her hand in his, and for a moment, shame washed through him. The shock of seeing her again had obviously muddled his senses.