by Laurel McKee
She pushed open the door to the salon and rushed inside, wanting to invite Dominic to the club that night after the theater. But the man who stood silhouetted against the window was not Dominic at all. Sophia froze, unable to believe what she was seeing as Lord Hammond turned and gave her a smile.
“Mrs. Westman,” he said, his words as warm and friendly as if they were long-lost friends. They did not match the chill of that smile. “How lovely it is to see you again.”
Sophia softly closed the door behind her and leaned against it as she studied him warily. She had hoped that he had returned to London, as he had said he was going to do after their last meeting. But she should have known better. A man like him did not give up so easily. Sophia thought about the money she was carefully saving from working for Camille and wondered if she could return the money he had wagered.
But she knew it wasn’t really the money he wanted.
Beyond the door she could hear the bustle of the servants, and it gave her a slight feeling of security. She remembered the way Lord Hammond used to look at her, as if she was a possession he had the right to claim, and part of her wanted to leave the door open as an escape route. But she was sure she wouldn’t want anyone else to hear whatever he had to say.
He came slowly toward her, still with that chilly smile on his thin lips. He was just as impeccably dressed as she remembered, just as austerely handsome. Her skin prickled as she watched him come closer, and she rubbed her hands over her arms through the thin muslin sleeves.
Sophia realized something as she studied him. Dominic had a similar air of confidence, almost arrogance, but his sense of self seemed to exude from fun and laughter. He drew people to him because they wanted to be part of that sheer exuberant life. Hammond held people captive by the force of his will, like some ancient warlord.
Sophia had never wanted to be his prize. And she was no longer as scared and lost as she had been in Baden-Baden. She pushed herself away from the door and stood up straight as she forced herself to smile at him.
“Lord Hammond,” she said. “What a surprise. I didn’t know you were still in Paris.”
“I couldn’t leave yet, not with you still here.” He stepped close to her, too close. She could smell his expensive cologne, and the cloying scent of it seemed to wrap around her like tentacles. He watched her closely, as if he tried to read her every flicker of thought and emotion.
Sophia summoned up every ounce of acting skill she had learned at the card tables and held out her hand to him. He raised it to his lips, his kiss lingering on her skin until she slid her fingers out of his grasp and turned toward the sofa near the fireplace.
“I hope you have not stayed in Paris merely to see me,” she said. She sat down and arranged her skirts around her. Lord Hammond remained standing, leaning lazily against the marble mantel as he watched her. “I thought we said everything we needed to last time we met.”
“I had some business to attend to for my cousin, the Duke of Pendrake,” he said. “But I must confess I could have avoided the errand if I had not wanted to see you again, my dear Mrs. Westman. I don’t care to play games with you any longer.”
Sophia slowly rose to her feet, and she found that her legs were shaking. “Then let me see you out…”
Lord Hammond suddenly moved, quick as a striking cobra, and caught her wrist in his hand. His fingers tightened until Sophia was just at the edge of pain. She gasped and tried to wrench away, but she found she couldn’t move.
“I know that you are in no position to be so haughty, Lady Sophia,” he said quietly. “I have made inquiries about you. Your family has turned you out and you are alone in the world, a gambler, a wanderer. You should think twice before you turn me away again.”
Sophia’s mouth felt dry, and she swallowed hard as she looked up into his cold eyes. “It’s true I no longer see my family, but I am not so friendless as that.”
Lord Hammond laughed and tugged her an inch closer. “If you are thinking of the St. Claires, I wouldn’t count on them, my dear. They are some of the biggest chancers in London, and they will always look after themselves first. They would abandon you without blinking. But I could be your very best friend in the world, if you would only be a smart girl and let me.”
Sophia stared at him, appalled. How did he know about the St. Claires? About Dominic? Terrible images flashed through her mind, of Dominic bruised and bleeding on her doorstep, James suddenly and inexplicably shipped home. Did Lord Hammond have something to do with all that?
She made herself laugh carelessly. She gave her wrist a sharp twist, and he finally let her go. She fell back onto the sofa, her legs too weak to hold her up. “The St. Claires? What would I need with their friendship? They are only theater people. They could never help me get back into my family’s good graces.”
“I’m glad you can see that, my dear.”
“Of course I can. My uncle is a duke. The St. Claires can do nothing for a Huntington.”
“Is that what you want? To be accepted by your family again?”
“I—I have considered such a thing,” Sophia said slowly. Better for him to talk about the Huntingtons than the St. Claires.
Lord Hammond sat down beside her and reached again for her hand. His touch was gentler this time, his fingers almost caressing her wrist.
A cold nausea almost choked Sophia, but she forced herself to remain still.
“I could help you with that,” he said. “I could give you so much, Sophia. You need only ask.”
Sophia laughed bitterly. “My family would surely never speak to me again if I returned to London as your mistress.”
“They wouldn’t dare shun Lady Hammond.”
“L—Lady Hammond? But I thought you were married,” Sophia stammered. He had caught her off-guard. He had suddenly changed whatever this tug-of-war was between them, and she had to figure out how to respond to fend him off.
“My wife has sadly passed away in the last few weeks. She was never very well. I require a proper wife now. And if you were my wife, your family would accept you again. You would have your proper place in Society again.”
“But in Baden-Baden…”
“I asked you to be my mistress, to let me keep you in the lavish style your beauty deserves. But I can see now I was wrong. You are different.” He frowned as if it pained him to confess he could possibly be wrong. “A man in my position needs a wife, someone to run his home properly and help him in Society. With your looks and breeding, you should do very well.” He suddenly smiled, and that smile seemed even more terrible than his anger. “And you would have to be grateful. Yes, an excellent solution.”
Sophia certainly didn’t think it was any sort of solution. She felt frantic to escape him now, to get away from his cold, hard certainty. His arrogant expectation that she would be grateful for his benevolence. He was everything she had fought against all her life.
“I thank you for your great generosity, Lord Hammond,” she said quietly, rising to her feet. “But I don’t intend to ever marry again. I like my life just as it is.” She rose to her feet. “And now I bid you good afternoon.”
Lord Hammond stood up beside her, his face set in lines as hard as granite. Sophia felt afraid again, but she couldn’t bear to be near him another instant, even to maintain her facade. As she spun around to flee, he caught her arm and dragged her against him. She was too frozen to struggle.
“You ungrateful, stupid little bitch,” he growled. “I offer you everything, even my name, and you are too foolish to take it. Perhaps you require another lesson or two.”
That frozen fear suddenly crumbled in a flash of burning temper. How dare he come here again, telling her what she would do with the rest of her life? He was just like her father, like Jack, pulling her every which way to suit their whims.
And she was sick to death of it.
“I require nothing from you,” she said. “I told you—I will make my own way in the world now.”
Lord Hammond’s l
ips twisted in a hard smile. “As a gambling club dolly? But what if this lovely little establishment was closed—and no other would hire you? Then what would you do? Your skills and attributes are limited, my dear, and while I am in a position to make use of them, most men are not.”
“Lord Hammond, I must go…” Sophia gasped, and desperately tried to pull away from him.
His other arm came around her, and he held her unmoving as his lips brushed her hair. “Please don’t make this unpleasant, my dear. I could be a good husband to you. I could give you everything. But you must obey me.”
Sophia twisted around hard and reached out for the bellpull that hung just within her grasp. She pulled it as hard as she could, and when there was the sound of footsteps outside the door, Lord Hammond at last moved away from her.
“Madame?”the maid said.
“His lordship is just leaving,” Sophia said breathlessly.
Lord Hammond tugged his coat into place and smoothed his hair, just as imperturbable as ever. He gave her a cool smile. “I will go now. You need time to think about what I have said, my dear. I understand that. It has been unexpected, and you are of a very passionate nature. I do enjoy that—to a point.”
He reached for her hand. Sophia pulled it back before he could kiss it, and his smile tightened. “This is a lovely place,” he said. “I should so hate to see a misfortune befall it. Which understandably would happen if Madame Martine continued to maintain unsuitable employees.”
Unsuitable employees. Sophia watched him, letting his threat hang heavy in the silence between them.
He nodded. “I am staying at the Hôtel des Etrangers until the end of the week. I look forward to hearing from you there, my dear Mrs. Westman.”
Once he was gone, Sophia stumbled to the window and watched until she saw him step into his waiting carriage and ride away. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, dizzy with how fast the bright day had turned dark. She had spun from being hopeful, even giddy, to feeling trapped and alone all over again. Caught.
All the things she wanted to escape were right there around her again.
The salon door opened again, and Sophia spun around, half-afraid that Lord Hammond had returned. But it was only Camille, smiling at her brightly.
“So, who was it?” Camille said. “Your secret suitor?”
“I have to go out,” Sophia managed to say. She felt as if the walls were closing in around her, and she needed to be out in the fresh air, to breathe and think.
“Is something amiss?” Camille asked, bewildered, as Sophia hurried out of the room.
“Not at all,” she called back over her shoulder. She caught up her cloak from where she and Dominic had dropped it the night before. “I just recollected an errand I must perform…”
She made her way out onto the street and turned blindly away from the club. She hardly noticed the carriages and carts that clattered past, the laughing people who brushed by her. She only felt that too-familiar urge to run.
Sophia turned at the end of street and made her way to the river. She climbed to the peak of the old stone bridge and leaned on the railing as she stared down into the water below. Boats and barges floated beneath her, and she wondered what it would be like to leap down onto one of those gleaming decks and float away to some unknown place. Someplace where she wouldn’t be Sophia Huntington Westman, but just—herself. Whoever that was.
But even as the thought drifted through her mind, she had to laugh. Running away had never worked before; she always ran into herself. She had to stay and face Lord Hammond.
Yet how could she stay and let him hurt Camille, when all she had done was help Sophia when she needed it the most? How could she fight him?
“Sophia!” she heard someone call. She spun around to find Dominic making his way toward her over the bridge. He didn’t wear a hat, and the wind off the river tossed his bright hair over his brow. He smiled at her, but it looked wary.
Sophia suddenly wanted to run to him, to hold on to him and hear his laughter reassuring her. To feel that she wasn’t alone.
But the truth was, she was alone. “The St. Claires are chancers… they will always look after themselves first,” she remembered Lord Hammond saying, and while she put no credence in his opinion, she did know Dominic owed her nothing. That they had made love, that she feared she had come to care for him far too much, didn’t mean he cared for her in return.
If only he did…
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he stopped by her side. He leaned his hand on the bridge railing, his body close to hers. She wanted to lean into him. “I came by Madame Martine’s, but she said you had gone dashing off. Luckily I saw you come this way.”
Sophia quickly swiped her hand over her eyes, hoping he couldn’t see the tears that threatened to fall there, that she didn’t look too haggard and confused. He was the last person she would ever want to see her that way.
“You came to see me?” she said.
“Of course. I might be an actor, but I’m not so completely ungentlemanly as to ignore a lady after what happened last night.”
He held out his hand, and Sophia saw that he held a bouquet of violets and tiny lilies-of-the-valley tied up with white ribbons. They were beautiful, perfect, like a new beginning between them. Too late?
“For me?” Sophia murmured.
“Yes, of course. But if you don’t like them, I could always give them to—that lady over there.”
He turned as if to give away her bouquet with an elaborate flourish, and Sophia had to laugh. She caught them out of his hand and inhaled the clean, earthy scent of the flowers. Despite her worries, the day suddenly seemed a little brighter.
“Thank you,” she said. “They’re very pretty.”
“As are you,” he answered. He took a step closer, watching her carefully. A frown creased his brow. “But you look worried today. What’s happened?”
Sophia shook her head, suddenly remembering Lord Hammond’s visit and his threats. How could she tell Dominic what had happened? It was not his problem.
“Madame Martine said you had another visitor this morning, that he was the one who upset you and made you run off so suddenly,” Dominic said.
Sophia shrugged. “I have many visitors, not all of them welcome.”
“Who was he?” Dominic asked quietly. He reached out to gently touch her hand, and even that light contact made her want to cry again.
“Did he hurt you?” Dominic said. “Please, Sophia, you can tell me. Let me help you.”
Sophia looked up into his eyes to find whether she could trust him or not. She saw concern there, puzzlement. And suddenly she realized they stood on a crowded bridge, close together and holding hands. Anyone could see them there. She stumbled back from him and glanced back over her shoulder frantically, wondering if Lord Hammond or one of his minions was watching.
“I’m not sure anyone could help me,” she said. “This is a hole I have dug myself into.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to sense some of her fear of being watched, for he took her hand again and turned to lead her down the other side of the bridge.
“Where are we going?” Sophia asked.
“Somewhere we can talk,” he answered. “It seems we haven’t done nearly enough of that.”
Sophia followed him past the riotous color of the flower markets and the bustle of cafés and shops, until they found themselves in the comparative quiet of the Île Saint-Louis. There were still people there, knots of tourists with their open guidebooks circling the soaring shadows of Notre Dame and strolling in the gardens. They took no notice of Dominic and Sophia as he led her through the arched doors and into the cool, shadowed church.
Sophia had visited Notre Dame when she first arrived in Paris, taken on a whirlwind tour by Camille and one of her gentlemen friends. The man had considered himself something of an architectural expert and had swept down the aisles and through the nave pointing out columns and buttresses, windows and altars. Sop
hia had considered the dark beauty of it all, but today it felt different. Today it felt like a hushed sanctuary.
Faint light streamed through the red and blue glass of the windows, beaming past arches to cast a glow on plaster saints’ faces and a few living humans kneeling on the stone floors. The air was cool, faintly touched with the scent of incense. Sophia felt as if she could hide there in the light and dark, with only Dominic’s hand on hers to hold her to the earth.
But they didn’t stop in the church. He led her to a narrow, winding flight of stone steps, and they started climbing up and up.
“How many stairs are there?” Sophia said with a gasping laugh.
Dominic glanced at her over his shoulder, the corner of his lips quirked in a half-smile. “Four hundred. But at the top, we can talk with no one to hear us but the pigeons and the gargoyles.”
Sophia followed him as they climbed onward, the only sounds their breath and the brush of their shoes on the stone. At last they emerged into the light, high above Paris.
“Good heavens,” Sophia sighed, enraptured by what she saw around her. Between the horns of the twisted, snarling gargoyles, the whole city was laid out before her like a silent, white, glittering fairyland dotted with the domes and tall steeples of churches.
Even the sky seemed closer here, an arch of pure blue so near she was sure she could reach out and touch it. And Dominic was right—they were completely alone.
“This is so beautiful,” she said. She leaned past the stone balustrade to peer down at the cobbled forecourt, where the crowds of tourists looked like scurrying ants. “How could I have not noticed it last time I was here?”
Dominic smiled at her. He rested his hand on the stone ledge next to her, not touching but close, keeping her safe. “Because you weren’t with me before.”
Sophia laughed. “Yes. I can believe that you always find the most beautiful, most dramatic places wherever you go.”
“Ah, well, setting is everything.” Dominic gazed out over the city as the wind caught at his hair. “We’re alone here, Sophia. You can tell me whatever you like. Who was your visitor today?”
