Illusion. Emily French
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quite.” His voice was gentle. “There is one detail I would like to clarify. It might not be fair to either of us to commit ourselves to the arrangement you propose on a permanent basis.”
Sophy marveled at the perfectly neutral tone of his words. Whatever happened, marriage or no marriage, would not be a neutral event to her. She leaned forward earnestly, breathing tremulously, searching his face for hidden meanings.
He was watching her with a startling intensity. “I know that you consider this marriage to be founded on necessity, so I am prepared to wait until you feel comfortable enough to fulfill the...er, shall we call it, duties of a wife.”
His thumb stroked the back of her hand, tracing the lines of the bones there. “I’ve tried to make it plain that I can’t give you romance. That part of me does not exist anymore.” His jaw tightened. “But I promise to be a faithful husband, Sophy, and I will not act the cuckold. Do you understand?”
Sophy could feel the tension emanate from his body, a tangible thing, matching her own. A deep wariness and a grim determination lit his eyes, as if he were silently setting down the rules of war. The challenge was there, in his eyes, waiting for her.
With a feeling of sliding from a great height, she responded, her fingers tight on his. The suggestion of warmth and laughter that was reflected in the curve of her mouth became a full-blown smile.
“Yes.”
It was all that she could manage, that one syllable, but nothing could halt the rush of red into her cheeks. She had won a glorious victory! The matter of marital intimacy had been satisfactorily resolved. She had control of herself and the situation.
Realizing suddenly what he’d agreed to, Seth pulled his hand from hers as if her fingers were a sheaf of snakes. Damn her to hell! Had he consented to a marriage he did not want simply to save a factory? Sold his soul to the devil for thirty pieces of silver?
No. Not quite true. Most men would kill for a smile like the one she had just given him. The smile that was on her face was like the rising of the sun. A sweet, feminine gift, which dazzled the senses.
For a second, he’d stepped into an illusion, allowing it to enclose him so completely that he’d felt her delight as if it were his own. And, in reality, the kind of marriage she was offering was precisely the type to which he was most suited.
They each had something the other wanted, or needed.
Sophy moved restlessly in her seat, hurt at his abrupt withdrawal. She wanted to leave her hand in his, warm and safe. The pain seemed to grow round her heart, but there was self-deprecation too. She should not have dared to show such foolish emotion before him. She glared at Seth as he poured fresh coffee from the porcelain pot on the cherrywood table.
An odd smile edged Seth’s mouth as he looked into those well-spaced gray eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her and held up the pot in salute.
“Well, Miss van Houten, it would seem that you and I have ourselves a marriage contract. I hope you consider the bargain worthwhile.” He shut his eyes in brief irritation when his leg protested angrily at the movement. He shifted position gingerly. “Would Sunday week suit you?”
“Whenever you wish. I won’t change my mind,” she said gravely, accepting the cup he passed to her.
Seth gave her a sharp look as though to detect levity, a slight frown hardening the lines around his mouth. When Sophy’s eyes solemnly met his fierce blue ones, her whole body went tense.
There was something about the way he looked at her that confused her. Something shrewd. Something dangerous. The taut strain in him was etched around his eyes, making her want to lift her fingers to soothe away the lines. A nervous tremor skittered along her nerves, and she tore her eyes from his, breaking the spell.
“I’ll wait on your uncles tomorrow to make the necessary arrangements.”
Relieved, Seth realized his voice was even, as though he were in full command. For a moment those soft gray eyes had stirred feelings that were strange and unwelcome, yet pleasurably compelling. It was a long time since a woman had so disturbed his equilibrium.
Sophy lowered her eyes demurely to the contents of her coffee cup. Thinking she shouldn’t even be considering the suggestion and knowing it was already starting to tantalize her, she glanced up at him through lowered lashes.
Setting down her cup with great care, she put her small hand to her mouth, shocked by the heady notion. It would be a bold move to try to squeeze further concessions from him, but why not enter into marriage on terms favorable to the wife?
Her mouth tilted slightly at the corners. Fortune sides with him who dares. She tried to make her voice bland. “I would like to continue with some projects I’ve been working on, maybe even undertake some new ones.”
Seth’s eyes met hers over the rim of his cup. Sensing his annoyance, Sophy sat up a little straighter, and blinked owlishly. Her voice was a shadowy breathless sound. “No questions, no reproaches, no comments even from a husband.”
Seth set down his cup, the firm line of his mouth hardening slightly. From the displeased expression on his face, Sophy could tell he found her demands excessive.
Sophy blinked, uncertain of his sudden change of mood. Maybe she should compromise, just a little? She wet her suddenly parched lips with the tip of her tongue and hurried on before she lost her courage. “And I promise no tears. I’ve heard wives cry a lot to gain their points.”
Seth’s features were forbidding as he studied her. Sophy’s jaw muscles went tight. His gaze seemed to penetrate into the very heart of her, as if he were trying to discover her deepest secrets.
He stared at her for a moment, then he laughed. A short, sharp expulsion of air. But definitely a laugh. To his ears the tone sounded surprisingly rusty, but then it had been literally years since he had laughed out loud so spontaneously.
“I couldn’t stand that! Anything more?” His question was more curious than anything.
Sophy shook her head slowly. “No.”
He eased his leg back against the sofa, watching her, a cool, flicking assessment in his bright blue eyes. Sophy could feel the probing inspection as if he had reached out and touched her.
Something feminine and disturbing flowed down her spine. She shifted uncomfortably, unable to look away from his suddenly hooded gaze.
“I take it that this is the end of our negotiations? That you will not come up with new demands and stipulations every other day?” His voice was steady and calm, though she could feel the coiled energy in him.
Sophy felt herself blush at the gibe, but she felt a sense of relief that he was willing to ignore the tension flowing between them. She had to establish firm terms and conditions in her relationship with this man, or she would be lost. She lifted one shoulder and shrugged dismissively.
“Of course not.” She moved her head once in denial. “I simply wanted to have things cut-and-dried before you committed yourself. There is one more thing, though.” She was annoyed to recognize the hint of uncertainty in her voice.
“Let’s hear it.” There was resignation in his tone, but wry humor flickered behind the dark lashes and tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Sophy drew in a deep breath and let him have it. “As I mentioned earlier, I was actively involved in many of my father’s financial dealings. I would like to learn all I can about textile manufacturing as well, assist where I can.”
There was a charged silence while Seth digested her proposal. He sat there, looking as if he were reflecting on his response as he idly ran a finger around the rim of his coffee cup.
Sophy eyed his lowered lashes, a queer feeling in her stomach. It was like a great bubble that threatened to expand and explode the fantasy she had begun to weave about the nature of this man.
It was this element of uncertainty that caused the powerful