Sophie Dash - To Wed A Rebel

Mocking ghouls, monstrous smiles, masked intentions.

“No one even tried to help until you – you – I – I, you’re – forgive me, I haven’t even thanked you,” she forced out, dragging her eyes up to meet the stranger and losing any other words she might have offered.

This man was not like Albert. Where her future husband was circular, puffy and flappable, this man was the exact opposite: broad shoulders, hard features, dark eyes and tanned skin. There was nothing ridiculous or comical about him at all. No faults, no failings, no foppish tendencies.

She had not known men could look like that, like the ones from her books. The legends about knights and brave warriors had been fiction, a lie, non-existent, with crumbling illustrations in old yellow tomes. No one real, no one in existence had ever stirred the deeper, darker places in her core. Yet the figure who stood before her was very much flesh and blood.

A warmth curled in Ruth’s stomach. She felt a blush rise up her neck, and once she knew she was blushing, she blushed further.

“No thanks are necessary.” The way he stood, shadowed by the fading sun, made it hard for her to see his face. “You were far from danger; the creature was harmless.”

His clothes were dark and heavy with canal water. They clung to him and invited her gaze.

He spoke again, disrupting her thoughts – and she was glad for it – for that chance to find her composure. “You have the same expression you wore when confronted with the snake,” he said, his low laugh only adding to the warmth in her cheeks. “Surely I am not that frightening?”

Lips parted, she shook her head and averted her gaze. Frightening? No, yes, a little, but in all the right ways.

She needed to speak. It was her turn; it was only polite. Ruth was bad at this. She’d had no practice. She didn’t know what to say. “You have ruined your clothes,” she told him, hating how meek she sounded.

“I can get new ones.”

Another silence, further words needed, a space to fill. “We’ve rather ruined the party for you, haven’t we?”

“There’ll be others.”

“You shouldn’t have done it. We would have managed, and – and what if you catch a cold?”

“It will have been worth it,” he remarked, with a curve to his mouth that made her glad she was a small distance from him, for she wanted to lean into it. “Though I had thought you’d be more grateful.”

“Oh,” she grew pinker still. “Of course, I am entirely—”

“Forgive me, it was a poor attempt at humour and like I said, you were in no danger.”

“But you did keep Lottie from knocking the boat over and I cannot swim.”

“The canal isn’t deep.”

“Then you saved us from humiliation at least,” she told him, before clamming up entirely, realising she was almost bickering with him, when she had never argued with anyone in her life. And he was – this man, he was – well, quite unlike any other she had ever seen. He was not over fifty, he was not overweight, and he was no straggly youth trying to put worms down her dress. Not like…

“I need to find Albert,” she remembered, alert, alarmed.

The thought turned her stomach.

“Let me help you,” he said, extending a hand that she would not take. If she touched him again… God, she would never want to stop touching him. A mutinous thought crept into her skull: was this what it was meant to be like between a man and a woman?

“No, I can manage, I—”

“Ruthie!” On Lottie’s lips, her name sounded like an accusation. The young woman’s red hair was back to its casually coifed place, with her fan wafting feverishly as she breezed towards them. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to our dashing hero?” The question was asked without giving Ruth any time to reply, for Lottie instantly turned to the gentleman in question, her lips pressed together in a wide smile. “Sir, you saved our lives. We are quite in your debt.”

An odd feeling, akin to envy, lined Ruth’s stomach. It was unwelcome, unwanted and unfamiliar, as she listened in on the conversation she no longer felt a part of. And yet, the stranger met Ruth’s eyes and hers alone, mouth quirking up at the edge: their own secret communication. Though he was attentive enough as he considered Lottie’s words.

“The rumour is that you are a viscount, while others say you are the mysterious fellow who put this entire evening together. Which is it? You must tell me! Who are you?”

“Isaac Roscoe.” He inclined his head towards her. “And I am neither, more’s the pity.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Ruth?” Though the long gown hid Lottie’s shoes, Ruth could have sworn she stamped her feet. “You cannot keep him all to yourself, especially not when you are already engaged. ” She emphasized those last two words. The remark was made purely to shame her and she knew it. Mrs Pembroke . That was her future, her unhappiness.

“I – yes,” mumbled Ruth, almost tripping in her haste to stand up. “This – uh, is my friend Miss Charlotte Griswell.” Isaac’s eyes were a darker brown than Ruth’s own and once she caught them, she knew he’d guessed the paths her imagination had ventured down. A smirk found him, a mocking one that would have been cruel were it not for the mischief there, for the suggestion.

“What have you done to my dress, Ruthie?” Lottie came between the pair. “It’s beyond stained. It will have to be thrown out.” With a breathy sigh, the redhead angled herself towards the gentleman, conscious as to which position flattered her assets most. “You will have to forgive my friend, Mr Roscoe. This is her first big outing and she’s clearly overwhelmed.”

“I did not mean to…” interjected Ruth, before she was talked over once more.

“Unlike myself, she is not used to high society and now I fear we will have scared her off altogether, what with snakes falling from the sky,” continued Lottie, her fan fluttering faster, as though it could bat the other woman away. “We can only be thankful that such dashing individuals are always here to save the day.”

Isaac’s amusement was all too readable. “On the contrary, I think Miss Osbourne handled herself rather well. Better than others, in fact.”

Lottie’s smile grew more strained. “Well, we cannot all be so lifeless and stoic, can we? Now, where have I met you before, Mr Roscoe? The O’Neills’ ball? No, the Westcotts’ gathering last December? Wait, I am sure it will come to me…”

“I fear you are mistaken, madam,” he replied coolly. “Last December I was away on family business and before that I was serving as a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

Credit where it’s due, Lottie’s warm expression only wavered a fraction. “But I am sure you are coming to Lady Winston’s tomorrow night?”

“I did find my way to an invitation.”

“That’s splendid! I shall tell all my friends; they will be terribly excited to hear my rescuer will be in attendance.”

“Indeed.”

Lottie opened her eager mouth to speak once more and never got the chance.

“Do forgive me, but I should go in search of a change in clothes…” said Isaac, singling Ruth out, as though her friend did not exist all, as though a secret lay between them. “I shall look forward to tomorrow.”

Ruth shook her head, offering a garbled apology combined with another “thank you” that rolled into one word resembling nothing in the English language. Tomorrow. The man only smiled, bowed and took his leave, entirely aware of the pairs of eyes that followed him.

“I cannot believe it.”

“Yes, it is odd,” said Ruth quietly, her hands bunched together. “I am sure I never told him my surname and yet he already seemed to know it.”