Illusion. Emily French
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her shoulder to right himself. Sophy’s eyes flew to meet his. Both went rigid with shock.
The clock ticked in the silent room.
Eyes more violet than gray, as fathomless as the sea, fringed by dark, long lashes, widened to an impossible extent. Seth did not think he had ever seen such a look of gentle allure in a human being before. He was suddenly taken with a longing to see those eyes darken with passion.
For a long moment he stood as though paralyzed before he swallowed a faint sense of chagrin. For an instant, he had glimpsed the promise of a wife, and children he could love and cherish.
An illusion. A dream. Dreams were for children... and fools. The thought brought a strangled sound from his throat.
Sophy came out of her state of stunned immobility. As though she had been scalded, she stepped back abruptly, and the color deepened in her cheeks. Her eyes flashed between the soft lashes.
Seth watched her. His sharp eyes saw through people. He knew she was nervous, and not stupid, and he wondered what caused this state of mind.
His eyelids drooped a fraction as his eyes shifted to the curving lips of a full, shapely mouth. The underlip, edged with a trace of moisture, was drawn over the upper, as though she were thinking deeply.
Sophy was. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but something liquid seemed to be collecting deep inside her. A new experience to meet someone who could make her feel so strange! If her stomach kept turning somersaults, she would have Aunt Ella prepare one of her potions!
“First door on your left. You go on up. I’ll just tell Tessa to bring the refreshments there.”
Sophy’s light, musical voice sounded distracted to her own ears, but she did not want to humiliate Mr. Weston by making reference to his affliction. While issuing instructions to the maid, she watched him surreptitiously as he made his way up the stairs.
He limped, barely able to move his right leg, and there was a way he held his shoulders that made her think every step he took was painful.
Every instinct urged her to offer assistance to her visitor to mount the stairs, but she knew pride would result in an angry refusal. So she allowed him five minutes before she ran lightly up the steps. He was standing composedly by the fire in her drawing room.
“Warmer in here, isn’t it? I’ll leave the door open so all will be correct.”
Sensing his instinctive withdrawal at the comment, she waved toward an antique silk-upholstered sofa. They did not speak again until coffee had been served, each busy with private, uncomfortable thoughts.
How neatly he had been backed into a corner by Matt Tyson, Seth reflected bitterly. A yoke of matrimony hanging about his neck to weigh him down, or the loss of all he had labored for over the past ten years. He couldn’t let that happen, whatever the cost.
Sophy absently stirred her coffee. The war was over. Had been for nigh on six months. Yet still the legacy of misery lingered. She did not know how much excruciating agony Mr. Weston must have undergone, but he still seemed in pain.
Sometimes the test of courage was not to die but to live. It would be good to ease this man’s hurt. Deliberately she took a grip on her thoughts and looked up at him through her lashes.
“Did you want to tell me the reason for your visit, Mr. Weston?”
Seth watched her face for a long moment. His blue eyes seemed to see right through her gleaming head. Then he appeared to reach a decision. Leaning forward, he set down his cup on the low cherrywood table, an air of sudden determination in his eyes.
“I wanted to talk to you, Miss van Houten, on a very personal matter. With the war and all—” indicating his leg “— I’ve been out of commission for two years, and become a social hermit, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, I suppose you have,” Sophy replied slowly. A fleeting smile touched her lips, and she looked him straight in the eyes. “I promise to do whatever I can to help you.”
“I know it’s asking a great deal, but...”
Hell, this was more difficult than he’d thought. Damn, but Matt Tyson had put him in one hell of a spot, Seth fumed. Another six months and he could have traded out of his financial quagmire.
“Go on, Mr. Weston.”
Seth ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t have another six months and Sophy van Houten was looking at him so intently, with such unblinking fervor, he felt as though she were reading his mind.
She sat, hands folded in her lap as she waited politely. He was aware she had rejected dozens of offers of marriage. His would be another. It seemed a calculating look had entered her cool gray eyes.
She was probably enjoying herself immensely! Fresh as the violets tucked into her belt, she appeared a product of the present day’s spoiled, overindulged young womanhood. Such a creature could be of no interest to any thinking man, except for one aspect, and he was much too busy to bother with such things at the moment.
“In order to be honest, I shall tell you I have numerous assets, including several factories, but no ready cash for working capital. The trouble is that even with hard work and a lot of luck, it will be years before modern manufacturing methods can be introduced.”
Seth looked at her just a trifle savagely as he leaned forward in his seat, absently kneading his right thigh. His resolve was diminishing with each passing second.
Fresh autumn air, gray eyes and pink velvet cheeks, to say nothing of a Cupid’s bow cherry mouth that owed nothing to artifice, were upsetting factors. The most insane desire flooded him to kiss those dusky eyelashes and crush the little fragile body in his arms.
As he pulled himself together with a jerk, a scowl settled upon his stern face. If he wanted her fortune, he would have to marry her. He looked at his hands and took a deep breath.
“It goes against the grain to appear mercenary, but it’s been borne in upon me lately that the only real solution for me is to acquire access to a reliable source of funds. To be blunt, to marry an heiress.”
Sophy’s eyes widened in shock. His honesty touched her. All her previous offers had been accompanied with vows of undying love. This man offered no such commitment.
Here was the first man who was plainly not dazzled by her. She had been hoping for this, but she had not expected it. A faint blush started over her cheeks and she began to speak, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“I do not want to marry except for the reason I’ve given, but I’m not in love with anyone.” His lips curved wryly, revealing even white teeth. “Don’t believe I could be. All the romance was knocked out of me long ago. So, well, what I’m leading up to, Miss van Houten, is this. Would you consider marrying me?”
Chapter Two
The question hung in the air. Sophy sat as still as death while she felt her face grow scarlet and then drain of color. Pricked by a sudden doubt, she waited to recover herself before she answered.
“I, too, would like to be honest with you, Mr. Weston. While my father was alive I became accustomed to organizing my own finances. However, my trustees feel that these same funds would be better utilized under the firm control of a husband. I don’t relish the idea of giving up my freedom.”
Sophy’s voice was deceptively calm. Her cheeks were wild roses once more. The thought of being made to play the role she despised so completely infuriated her. Her vexation gave a new charm to her glowing face.
Seth could not fault that sentiment, even if it was a radical one for a woman. “I, too, would want the advantages of being married, without giving up anything of myself,” he assured her.
Sophy’s eyes snapped toward him. For a moment she studied his face. The marks of the past four years were on it, a disturbing intensity in the strong features. While she did not want to appear