When Sophia awoke the next morning, she realized she was alone, almost believing that what she thought she remembered last night was naught but a dream.

She had dreamed of Nicholas Everard quite too often whenever her nightmares crept into the night that it was no longer a surprise that last night almost seemed so real. His arms would shelter her from the pounding memories, his voice muffling the rage of the men in her past. She would merely think of his laughter and of the feeling of being in his arms as he taught her to dance and everything would settle and quietly slip away.

She silently dressed herself into the simplest dress her hand found inside her small closet and petted Aabha for a while, enjoying the quiet moment before Fanny would come barging in with a tray of food.

But long minutes passed to almost an hour and still there was no Fanny.

Sophia sighed and stood to her feet. She was not extremely fond of the woman's cooking, but she hated being hungry. And she was rather worried. Had something happened to Fanny?

Walking out of her bedchamber, Sophia was relieved to hear the clutter of things in the kitchen. Fanny must have woken up late and was preparing breakfast only then. But the footsteps around the kitchen did not belong to Fanny.

They were heavier and almost sounded quite lost, walking back and forth around the small kitchen.

"Fanny?" she voiced out inquiringly with a frown.

The light from outside filtered through the large kitchen windows and Sophia blinked, focusing on the large shadow walking around the kitchen.

It was not indeed Fanny.

"Nicholas?" she asked in disbelief, walking closer for a better view.

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, his hands quite full.

"I see you are awake," he noted. "I am preparing a simple meal. Please, do sit down."

Sophia could barely move. Last night was not a dream, was it? He came to her in bed in the middle of the night and wrapped his arms around her.

It was not a dream.

"Where is Fanny?"

"Back in Wickhurst with the other footman. I figured she missed the staff in my estate. The chambermaid, Molly, is pregnant and they do deserve a bit of celebration. I gave her the day off. She shall return by the morrow."

Sophia's head was reeling as she watched Nicholas' shadow move over to the stove and bent over a pot. "And you are cooking?"

"I do know how to cook," he nonchalantly uttered. "Who do you ken cooked for us when we went hunting in the middle of the woods for a month?"

She shrugged. "Your valet?"

Nicholas threw his head back and the laughter she thought she would never ever hear again echoed around the small kitchen. She stood there in wild bewilderment, almost in tears because she was truly hearing his laughter again. Again. Who would have thought the word could have more meaning?

"Our valets could hardly keep their eyes on the trail, Sophie," he said, shaking his head and stirring the pot. "They would die along with our preys on the first night."

At that precise moment, something seemed to have clicked and Sophia suddenly smiled. She was in this moment with Nicholas and he was being nice.

Was she a fool to not want to believe he was doing it entirely for a different reason other than what she wished? Perhaps, yes. Marcus would definitely say so.

But was it wrong to want to enjoy this morning of peace? To be pampered by the man she loved? Perhaps, yes. But it would be the sort of wrong she would gladly pay for later.

Just for today, she thought. Today must be an exception.

She walked over to the chair and settled down, watching every move Nicholas did in the kitchen. She enjoyed watching, the thought of him cooking for her quite thrilling, but she was not prepared to have a taste of his cooking when he finally laid it down before her.

There was naught but a bowl of soup on the table.

"You are disappointed," he said matter-of-factly, settling across the other side of the table.

Sophia blinked. "I... well, I am grateful for the food, of course. You made an effort when you did not have to."

"But you are disappointed."

Sophia tried her best, really she did. But she could not help the chuckles when one finally escaped. Her shoulders began to shake and tears of laughter squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away with a finger, her laughter not dying down.

"And you are laughing at my food," Nicholas said in mock horror.

Sophia shook her head in protest but could not muster a word for her laughter was winning.

Nicholas waited patiently until it began to die down only to be disappointed when another fit came. But when it finally stopped, when she finally managed to control herself, Sophia said, "You spent an entire morning cooking, did you not, my lord?"

"I woke up quite early, yes," he admitted lamely.

She chuckled and shook her head. She reached for the spoon but her shoulders began to shake again as she pictured Nicholas moving about in the kitchen like he did earlier, probably reaching Wickhurst should his steps around the kitchen be measured from the moment he started cooking.

"I would dare not insult you or sound utterly ungrateful, but you spent an entire morning cooking soup," she sputtered.

He was silent for a while and Sophia began to feel guilty for having laughed at him when his own laughter rumbled out of his chest and he said, "Yes, I believe I did look like a fool running about in the kitchen for a mere soup."

Sophia snorted. "Fanny can stew one under an hour."

"Yes, you did not have to point that out."

"While baking bread at the same time."

"There is no need to be condescending of my abilities, Sophie."

"While talking about her childhood," she could not help but add.

"I can see the picture, my dear."

"While knitting!"

"Shut the bloody hell up, Sophie, and eat," he ordered, his tone playful and filled with amusement.

Sophia was chuckling as she scooped a spoonful of the soup to taste. She bit her lips as she swallowed.

"Tell me the truth," Nicholas ordered. "You have something to say about my cooking."

She shook her head and scooped another to eat. She swallowed and her shoulders began to shake again.

"The truth, Sophia," Nicholas uttered again.

Sophia shook her head again. She would dare not tell him.

"The truth," he repeated, this time his tone stern.

She tried to scoop another but could not bring herself to do so. Snorting, she let out another round of laughter.

"It is horrible," he concluded.

Sophia spoke through her laughter. "Fanny ought to be proud of her cooking, my lord, for she is not the worst after all!"

"Bloody hell," he said, jumping to his feet. He moved toward her and snatched the spoon from her hand. He scooped some and brought it to his mouth. "Bloody tarnation!" he cursed, taking the entire bowl away to throw out the window.

Sophia gasped in surprise. "It was not that horrible."

"Even my sisters' bloody cat would dare not eat that!" he uttered, grabbing a pitcher of water to drink before taking a glass to her. "You must have a bloody iron for a tongue to not have demanded for water!"

"It was not that horrible," she reiterated between chuckles but she took the water and emptied it fast. "You said you prepared your meals while you were out hunting in the woods."

He seemed to hesitate before he admitted, "Max is a fair cook but Ralph is the true master."

She scoffed. "Which is why you went on for three days without food when you got lost," she chuckled as she said. "You cannot bear your own cooking."

He made a disgusted sound. "It was beyond horrible."

"I have had a taste of beyond horrible, Nick, it is not that," she reasoned and stopped herself, remembering she just delved into her past she did not want to discuss. She waved her hand to dismiss the subject and stood. "Perhaps we can find something better to eat," she offered, intending to find Fanny's pantry. "I do deserve something better today after all."

"Whatever do you mean? You cannot cook," he pointed out.

Sophia shrugged. Yes, of course, she could not cook. She never learned nor had she ever had the desire to.

"Then perhaps the village has something to offer," she said, turning on her heels.

"Where do you bloody think are you going?"

"The village bakeshop. They do sell the best shortcakes I had ever tasted, I believe."

"Sophia, you cannot go out there on your own." He blocked her path. "You will be stoned!"

Sophia frowned. "You will come with me, my lord. Whatever are you thinking? I cannot possibly allow them to kill me without having at least tried to use you as shield!"

*****

Nicholas sensed something was about as he escorted Sophia to the village bakeshop. He did not care for the stares they gained as they walked side by side, or the scandalized look the villagers tried to hide when he held Sophia by her elbow as they crossed the street. He was more focused on why she seemed happy today.

But he let his curiosity linger for a little while until she made him pay for her shortcake and they both found a small clearing in the woods near the cottage. . She sat on a boulder and he realized she was too familiar with the place.

He looked about and realized they were overlooking nearby places. Since Puck was located on a higher elevation they were looking down on sparkling lights from the lamps of the villages below them. He could see the lights from the two giant holes over the estate of Westershire, even Kenward and Whiston. But the brightest he could see was from Willowfair if he was not mistaken.

The lights were like sparkling ponds. They twinkled and Nicholas could almost hear the life moving about in those places. He wondered then if Sophia could see what he see.

He threw her a glance and realized with dismay that she was clueless of the beauty beyond them.

To take away the lump in his throat, Nicholas chose to speak. "How many times have you ventured in this place on your own?"

"I was not alone," she reasoned, unwrapping the cake to take a bite. "I have always been with Aabha."

"Aabha," he scoffed, kicking a pebble with his boots. She handed him the cake and he took a bite. It was not the best but it was definitely more edible than his bloody soup. As he handed it back to her, he went still.

He gazed at Sophia as she took another bite with a smile and he suddenly remembered the reason for her current temperament. "Bloody hell, Sophie, it is your birthday today."

She let out a small, dry chuckle. "I thought you had forgotten."

"You told me before. I would never forget—" he stopped himself and shook his head. "You deserve something better than a bloody shortcake."

"This is more than I can ever wish for, Nicholas, believe me," she replied.

Nicholas tightened his jaw. She could not see the wonder before her and it was her bloody birthday. And she was here against her will. And her brother was still missing.

He could not help but think, Well, happy birthday, indeed, Sophia. Thank Nicholas Everard for it!

He watched her eat her cake and refused another bite when she offered it again. When she was done, he took the crumpled paper wrapping from her and hid it inside his coat pocket.

As she brushed her hands clean, he finally asked the question that had been bothering him since he woke up. "You said last night you never wanted me to leave. What does it mean?"

He saw her stiffen and her face drained of color. Nicholas thought there was no perfect time to ask the question.

But it is her bloody birthday, you bastard! A small voice screamed.

Before he could tell her to forget about the question and continue with her easy temperament, she recovered and she shrugged. "I never wanted you to leave me in Rock'oles."

It was the answer he wanted yet did not expect to hear for he knew it would merely bring more confusion and anger and it did. Both cramped inside his brain, wanting to be the first to be expressed. "Then why did you—"

"Because I love my brother."

"I do understand your story with your brother, Sophia, but—"

"—but you can never forgive me for what I have caused upon your brother and his comrades," she finished for him.

His jaw tightened while she allowed a bitter smile.

"It is enough that you do believe my story," she quietly said, jumping to her feet. He caught her before she stumbled off the ground. "And you do believe my story, do you not, Nick?"

"I am inclined to," he answered under his breath. "We found evidence of the truth."

She sighed in relief and looked up to him blindly. He saw the yearning and the pain, but the relief was stronger now in her eyes. "It ought to be enough then."

He transferred his hold around her upper arms. He did not want to let her go. "Sophia, we have many things to talk about."

But she was already shaking her head. "If you want me to explain all of my actions a year ago, Nicholas, it would merely boil down to one thing and I believe you will not like it. I did what I did a year ago for my brother. All for him, see?" His hold loosened and before he could decipher the confusing expression on her face, she managed to turn and walk away. "We must find my brother, my lord. After that, perhaps we can also find a way for me to go back to Rock'oles and we can all hope that the Everards will no longer be a hindrance to Marcus' plans now that you know the true story."

Nicholas stared at Sophia's stiff form as she walked away. She had gone from happy to heartless in a snap of a finger.

"Are you bloody insane?" he asked, chasing after her. "Do not walk too fast, woman, for you are bloody partially blind!"

She did stumble once but she kept her pace.

"Sophia, we have to talk." She did not reply. She simply kept going to the direction of the cottage. "You do not wish to talk about us. Why?"

She was refusing to answer.

"Sophia—" he said, finally catching up with her. He grabbed her arm to whirl her around to face him. Bloody hell, she was crying! "Sophie, what is it?" he asked. "Do you believe I cannot forgive you for the ambush? Is that it?"

She blinked and a tear rolled down her face. She shook her head as she attempted to cover her crying with wry chuckles.

"What is it?" Nicholas asked. "If you are feeling guilty over what you did, what you caused, I can take you to Ralph now and you can ask for forgiveness. Mine can be easily acquired—"

"Nicholas, please," she interrupted, grasping his arm with her hands. "Not now."

He stared down at her for a long time and sighed. He nodded. "Not now," he said, "but later." When she started to shake her head, he gave her a shake. "Bloody hell, Sophie! We talk about us later."

She stiffened. "Later when all of this is over, yes," she bargained.

"Later once I find your brother," he insisted, "for this will never be over. Not this thing between us."

Her nostrils flared as she struggled to keep her tears. Nicholas bent down and kissed her forehead. He let his lips linger there, closing his eyes to see the flashes of memories flash before him.

Nicholas now realized why he had been angry—why he still was. He knew he would eventually forgive her.

She had a very good reason for that ambush, he thought to himself. She must have one and when once he found out he would be able to forgive her. He knew he was bound to forgive her for he now realized that Sophia was not a liar. She was simply an expert in filtering the truth.

"Happy birthday, Sophie," he whispered against her skin and her shoulders began to shake as she allowed her tears to finally flow. "Not the jolliest moment, but I am happy you are here."

*****

Nicholas hated leaving Puck and Sophia two days later but Fanny and the footman arrived with a note from Margaret. His siblings were unaware of his whereabouts and were looking for him.

"At the very least they can still manage a sense of respect by not following my servants," he had told Sophia. "But we must relocate you very soon. I can trust my siblings but not the League of Founders. Those bloody bastards get whoever or whatever they want for their cause."

She did not ask him to stay, but she did not ask him to go either. Whatever was keeping her from asking from him what she wanted, Nicholas vowed to find out.

He purposely shoved thoughts of her out of his mind when he reached his sister's estate in Wickhurst.

Margaret had just placed Harold and Katie to sleep in the nursery and left them with their nannies while Fiona and Faye were still trapped in their schoolroom with their governess when Nicholas arrived. Cole was with Margaret in the study, probably to join his sister's attack should the subject of giving up Sophia to the League ever resurface.

"Louise Frederick of Mecklenberg was indeed murdered together with his entire family—his wife, two daughters and a son," his sister began, sliding papers toward him. "These are the reports we managed to retrieve from the Guards who investigated the fire. They found the bodies, most of them charred beyond recognition. Some others, probably servants, were also discovered."

He frowned at the papers. "It was never reported on the Herald?"

His sister shook her head, her emerald green eyes serious and focused. "Mecklenberg—or Egerton, Wyndam and the village of Filkept as we call them today—was and still is too far south. It is hidden behind the rock walls of Sheills, Easton and Tiny Town."

"But surely a fire that great, a crime that horrible, must have gotten the Herald's attention."

Margaret shrugged. "If what Sophia said about the Trilbys is correct, Nicholas, then we ought not be surprised if they managed to muffle the noise. We found an article of a short mention of the massacre and the fire when the formal renaming of the estates and the establishment of Filkept happened. No further discussion or inquiry of the matter transpired."

Nicholas shook his head in disbelief.

"Her story coincides with all details we found," Margaret added, her tone well-modulated and calm. "Egerton and Wyndam were given by George Trilby to his sons almost immediately after he acquired Mecklenberg."

"And everyone simply assumed that all of the Fredericks died in that massacre?"

"The bodies were charred, Nick," Margaret said, leaning against her chair.

"You do not believe the part about Durley being a Frederick."

Margaret looked at him for a while before she finally nodded and admitted, "Yes, I cannot entirely believe him. We can never know the truth unless the Trilbys admit to their crimes, a matter highly unlikely to happen." Before Nicholas could utter a word, Margaret raised a finger and in a rational voice said, "Cole and I have gone through the list of bodies the Guards found in Mecklenberg, Nick. There were charred bodies of young boys and that could have been the true Lucian Frederick. Or they could have been children of the servants or the servants themselves. Or the entire Fredericks could have survived and the bodies found were not theirs! Everything is possible, Nicholas, and that is what I am trying to say. It is either Durley had told Sophia the truth or they could both be using what happened to the Fredericks for whatever reason they may have."

Nicholas hated that his sister was correct.

"But we also need to take into consideration that you do believe her."

He cocked his brows in surprise. "Why, Maggie, I never expected you to actually take my opinion seriously."

Margaret scoffed and shared a secret look with her husband before veering her emerald green eyes back to him. "We are siblings, Nick. Trust me when I say that we all know when each other are being made a fool. You may be acting like a fool, but I know you are being one with a rational mind."

Nicholas slowly shook his head. "This is bloody hell why I never became a Leaguer. I can never think like one."

His sister allowed a bitter smile. "Mayhap you are lucky for it. You will die innocent."

Something in his sister's voice urged him to ask her to talk about her last statement further, but he chose not to do so. He did not want to discuss Aurora Randolph and what his sister did to the woman. There were things he could never agree with his sister and it was one of them.

A knock came from the other side of the study door.

"I hope it is not the nannies," Cole said dryly. "I am yet to have a proper amount of peace with you," he added, addressing Margaret.

"Come in," Margaret announced with a slight smile.

The butler came rushing in with a note.

"Pardon for the interruption, my lord," he announced, walking directly toward Nicholas, "but your Whiston footman said this is a matter of urgency."

Nicholas took the note and read it.

He jumped to his feet and ran to the door, saying over his shoulder, "Maggie, do tell your Leaguer friends to stay away from my estate for now. I shall call for you as soon as I can."

"But Nick, what is—"

He did not hear the rest of his sister's words as he ran out of the study.

*****

Nicholas did not find a carriage outside his estate. If there was one, it must have been hiding somewhere or had already left. Or perhaps a horse was somewhere near.

His heart was pounding hard against his chest as he jumped off his horse and rushed to the door.

The butler did not open the door for him for the man was trapped between two other large men. The poor man was as white as paper. His footmen and the other servants were all lined up in one straight line near the grand staircase, all of them looking utterly scared as five more men stood guard before them.

A man stepped from behind Nicholas just as he was about to demand for his servants be freed. He did not touch Nicholas as he said, "This way, my lord."

Nicholas was torn between fury and the incredulous reality that a large, domineering monster was leading him toward his own study in his own bloody estate!

Filled with rage due to the overwhelming shame he felt for having to follow orders from a stranger in his own home, Nicholas marched toward his study where he knew the person he ought to deal with was waiting for him.

Two more men stood outside the doors and they opened it for him as he neared.

He counted all the large men in the dark coats and knew he ought to post an announcement on the Herald very soon. He shall outnumber these bastards with more valets and footmen that perhaps find them all and attack them in their sleep. They would have to pay for this, Nicholas thought as he stepped inside his study.

It was empty except for the man sitting in Nicholas' winged chair behind his desk.

He seemed to be perfectly at home in that spot, utterly regal in his throne.

Nicholas fought the urge to stalk the remaining distance between them and lunge for the bastard's throat, but he stopped himself.

"Let us get down to business, Lord Whiston," the flat and dangerously very calm voice said, breaking the silence. Dark eyes bore into Nicholas' emerald green ones. "Tell me where to find my sister or you shall have to find one of yours," Marcus Durley uttered, his tone deadlier with each word.