Illusion. Emily French
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Seth made a desperate attempt to battle against an irresistible force. He had promised to give her time! His body surged with desire. He felt ready to erupt!
There was chaos in him. He couldn’t give in to lust. How could he not? He couldn’t. It was destruction. He was a man of honor. He must resist, give her the time she had asked for. His voice was low and rough.
“Go to bed, Sophy. I’ll tidy up here.”
“Will you be joining me?” Her voice was an airless whisper. Her breath had been taken by an explosion of ecstasy and confusion.
“No. I am travel-weary and tired, Sophy. Let’s leave it at that.”
Silence filled the kitchen. Sophy waited for a heartbeat. For an instant, she felt as though everything inside were collapsing. Her knees were shaking and she felt weak and cold all over, as if the blood were draining from her body. Seizing her composure with a stubborn will, she stiffened her spine. Pride alone kept her chin up.
At last she spoke in a voice that seemed to echo the thundering of Seth’s pounding pulse. “As you wish.”
He watched her go, quietly shutting the door behind her. He had an overwhelming desire to call her back. Still, he kept himself in check. For a long time, he stood there, looking at the closed door, listening for the sound of her footsteps. A very long time. But he couldn’t hear them, for the beating of his heart.
“For heaven’s sake, lass. Whatever’s the matter with ye?”
A face-crinkling frown replaced the morning smile of greeting that had spread over Tessa Fraser’s face as she drew the bedroom curtains.
Sophy shrugged. “Seth came home last night.” The words were flat, without expression, like black stones dropped into a stagnant pool.
“Oh, my precious lamb! Do ye want to tell me about it?” Tessa’s voice was all concern.
“I should never have married him, Tessa. Never.”
Sophy pulled up short. She could have bitten off her tongue for letting that out. Where on earth was her mind wandering? Conscious of her own dissatisfaction, she had been so occupied with her chaotic reflections that she had not given a thought to her words.
“There, there, now.” Tessa shook her head in her inability to refute the vehement declaration. “What’s done is done.” She gently wrapped her arm around Sophy’s shoulders.
Sophy whirled. Thrust off Tessa’s comforting hand. Shook her head in denial. This attraction she felt for Seth made her feel out of control, and it wasn’t a feeling she was at all comfortable with.
“No, it’s not done. Seth Weston has a lot to learn about marriage. He made a bargain. Signed a contract. I am not a weak and pliable creature to be pushed to one side.”
There followed a long moment of silence in which Tessa watched Sophy jump off the bed and insert her feet into the mules beside the bed.
“Merciful heavens! Has he been unfaithful, then? When ye’ve only been married a few weeks!” Tessa’s words were faint, filled with disbelief, matching the surprise in her face.
Sophy flushed to the roots of her hair as a most unladylike certainty goaded her sharp reply, “Of course not! His mother was ill, but that does not mean I am to be left behind like some ornament on a shelf.”
Tessa’s robust face paled considerably, and her lips twitched briefly in a bleak smile. “Aye. ‘Tis right sorry I am, my wee bairn, to find ye so provoked. ’Tis thinking I am that wanting and marrying are two different things to a man.”
Sophy shrugged testily. She managed to curb her tongue and did not answer. There was no need, no reason to make that assumption seem trivial. After all, Seth had what he wanted from the marriage...her money.
What she had never anticipated was that her own emotions would betray her, challenge long-held convictions. But one thing was certain. She had not married to be subjected to the sweet kind of indulgence usually reserved for children or to be treated like some kind of parcel!
Tessa dared no further comments, for she sensed by the brusqueness of Sophy’s reactions that she wished to speak no more of the matter. Instead, she deliberately engaged in an inconsequential one-sided conversation about some phantom creatures invading the kitchen in the night.
As Tessa brushed and styled her hair, Sophy resolutely kept her eyes shut. That way, she could envisage Seth lying across her bed, lazy and content, relaxed in a magnificent sprawl, like a huge jungle cat, satiated with love. Somehow the vision shifted, changed. He was now a medieval knight, ready to defend her honor, her very life.
It was an illusion she could cling to, one she could hold dear. How one converted the image into reality was another matter, especially when love was not a factor in the equation that was her future.
Her father had always advised when in a situation requiring instant answers to trust her inner voices and good common sense. What would he have said to her present situation?
Sophy could almost hear his voice. Well, my girl, pride and arrogance have gotten you into a fine mess! You’re the one who set the limits to the relationship. You’re the one who’ll have to renegotiate. How she missed him!
Resolutely, she turned her mind to more prosaic matters. Like her new project. Her face brightened. Like finding a house in Greene Street.
Sophy drew her brows together in mild exasperation. The warm day had darkened rapidly as fleeting wisps of cloud gathered to form masses of gray slate across the sky, casting a pall over the sun. The wind moaned as it drove clouds into a tumbling, threatening horde above the comb of chimney tops.
The carriage turned into a narrow street where stately brownstone mansions nestled behind grilled-iron doorways. Midway along the thoroughfare, the carriage stopped. Bidding the cabriolet driver to wait, Sophy hurried up the semicircular shallow marble steps, peered at the nameplate and rang the doorbell.
A servant opened the door, took her card and disappeared.
She took a deep, spine-stiffening breath as the door opened again and the servant gestured to Sophy to enter. Though the house was strangely silent, Sophy thought she heard the muffled tones of voices raised, and even the peculiar sound of suppressed laughter.
Entering the drawing room, Sophy stared in awe at the brightly patterned pink wallpaper, the large diamond-paned windows, the lavish mahogany paneling glowing with a rich luster. An exquisite rose-and-gray Aubusson carpet covered the floor, while against one wall a small iron stove glowed, exuding warmth. Hanging over all in the center of the ceiling was a tremendous crystal chandelier.
Sitting among a plethora of pink velvet cushions was a golden-haired woman. Voluptuous. Elegant. Dressed in a low-cut gown of watered silk, a ruffled shawl of bobbin lace over her shoulders. Her legs were covered with a gray woolen rug patterned with pink hearts. She looked up as the door opened, making no attempt to rise.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Weston?” Her voice like warm black velvet, thick with a French accent.
Sophy put down her muff. “I am looking for Madame Bertine. I wish to speak with her privately.”
The woman inclined her perfectly shaped head. “Speak, ma fille. ”
Sophy stared directly into a pair of intense dark eyes. She took a deep breath. “I have come, Madame, because I have discovered my late father bought a certain piece of real estate.” She pulled the ribbon-bound deeds from her reticule. “He then gifted a certain Marie-Simone Bertine a life-interest lease on the property. I want to know why.”
There was a long pause. A half smile glimmered at the corner of the woman’s lips. Perfect lips, sculpted in ruby, curved round flawless ivory teeth.
Finally, she spoke. “It would seem Nicholas van ‘Outen was a trifle old-fashioned. ’E kept some secrets from ’is daughter.”
Sophy could hear the amusement in the woman’s voice. She felt