by Mary Campisi
“Sophie is quite capable of tending to her male suitors,” Alexander said, stroking the slender column of his wife’s neck.
“If that sourpuss aunt of hers has a say, she shall marry a man twice her age with a stooped back and rotten teeth.”
He planted a kiss behind her left ear. “You have a most vivid imagination, my dear.”
“Have you seen Lord Groland, her latest prospect?” She let out an indelicate snort. “He has five children and a mistress.”
“Sophie has given no indication of joining the husband hunt.”
“Of course she has not made it officially known she is reconsidering her position on marriage but I caught Mr. Thurston watching her overlong from the corner of the ballroom. And when Lord Potsdane introduced them, I thought she might actually swoon, and Sophie is no silly nilly.”
“Hmmm.” He ran his tongue along the rim of her ear. God, but he couldn’t get enough of her.
Francie’s voice faltered. “They would make a stunning couple.”
“Would they now?” Alexander slipped his hand inside the front of Francie’s dressing gown.
She shuddered and met his gaze in the mirror. “He is very large,” she murmured, “and while not handsome, there is a certain presence about the man one might find appealing.”
“Appealing.” He brushed his fingers over her breast, stroking a nipple lightly. “I do not think I like my wife regarding other men to determine their appeal.” He smoothed his other hand along the outside of her dressing gown, tracing the outline of her protruding belly. “And I am certain Harry’s little brother or sister would not approve of his or her mother gazing upon men in order to determine their appeal.”
Francie sighed as his fingers dipped lower on her belly. “Oh, Alexander . . . ”
“Yes, wife?” He smiled and eased his fingers along the inside of her thigh, achingly close to her woman’s heat.
“I fear I am on fire.”
“You don’t say?”
She arched to meet him as her eyes fluttered shut. Now he would see what she had to say about Gregory Thurston’s appeal. Knowing his wife, she would soon give herself up to the pure sensual ecstasy that enveloped them whenever they touched. The intense needing had not stopped since the first time they lay together. In truth, he feared it might never stop, and he would remain forever a desperate, besotted fool in love with his wife. There were worse punishments he decided as he bent to capture a pink nipple. Much worse, indeed.
***
A gush of wind and a burst of laughter announced the return of Sophie and Caroline from their morning ride. The two sisters rushed through the front door, almost toppling Clyde in their haste. Sophie turned to Caroline and moved her hands in gestures of speech which brought a huge grin to Caroline's wind-blown face.
"Oh, how I do enjoy our rides.” Sophie leaned close and whispered, “Soon, we shall begin practicing astride. Then you will fly across the estate with lightning speed and grace.”
Aunt Vivian took that very moment to emerge from the shadow of the stairs. “Your father requests your presence in his library.” Her gaze drifted past Caroline. “Immediately,” she added, turning to disappear down the long hallway.
Sophie placed a protective arm around her little sister's shoulders, and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Run along and search out Mrs. Jeffries for some lemon cakes. I shall meet you directly.”
Caroline nodded and raced off toward the kitchen. Once she was gone, Sophie drew in a deep breath. What could Father want that was so urgent? Had he muddled the ledgers again? Not that he handled the accounts on any regular basis, but there was the rare occasion when he still wanted to control the books, which never lasted past an empty bottle.
She eyed the closed library door as a new possibility seeped into her brain. One of the gentlemen from the Potsdane soiree wanted to call on her. Which one? Sophie cursed the black-haired devil who had made this blasted husband hunting necessary.
Just then, the library door burst open, slicing her thoughts into jagged pieces. Her father stood in the doorway, an excited glaze covering his rheumy eyes. “Sophie, my dear, come. We have a guest."
It was a suitor! “Father, I am hardly prepared to accept a visitor.” She gestured toward her riding habit and boots. “If you will allow me but a few moments, I shall make myself presentable.”
“Bah! You’re lovely as you are. Come. I’m certain our visitor will not be concerned with your dress. He is himself, ah, shall we say, a bit unconventional. Yes,” he said with a faint twist of his lips, “unconventional would be an appropriate word.”
Unwilling to risk the loss of her father's sudden good spirits, Sophie moved toward him, attempting to smooth the wrinkles from her riding habit. Not only was she unable to do so, but upon closer inspection, she noted mud splattered on her boots. She groaned and tossed her head, which sent a few errant pins skittering across the floor. Dear Lord, she would certainly frighten away any would-be suitor, but she’d have to make the best of it. She pasted a smile on her face and followed her father into the library. A man sat in a chair facing away from her which made him indiscernible save for his very long, very muscular thighs encased in fawn breeches and black boots. Sophie rounded the chair just as the man stood.
The shock of Gregory Thurston’s compelling navy gaze boring into her caused her to stumble and careen forward. He reached to catch her, but she righted herself before he touched her, at which time she took several steps backward.
“Lady Sophie, what a pleasure to see you again.” A slow smile slid across his lips.
“Thurston just informed me the two of you had met before,” her father called from the sideboard.
“Briefly,” she replied, ignoring Gregory Thurston’s insolent gaze.
“Yes,” the blasted devil interjected smoothly, “we had a very enjoyable evening at the Potsdane soiree discussing shipbuilding and the like. Your daughter is a most informed companion.”
Her father smiled and handed her a glass of sherry. “Well then, Sophie, you must already know Mr. Thurston is planning to purchase a fleet of ships. He’s looking to us to build them and has requested you accompany us to the docks and take an active part in providing information and such. I’m inclined to agree that aside from me, no one understands our business as well as you.”
“But Father,” Sophie sputtered, “surely you can't be serious. It would be quite improper for me to accompany Mr. Thurston anywhere, and most certainly not to the docks.”
“Child, Mr. Thurston is a gentleman and I will be present. Besides, when have you concerned yourself with properness? I daresay, that word has never been part of your vocabulary.” He took a healthy swig of sherry and focused on his visitor. “Thurston, my man, consider it done. My daughter and I will visit the docks tomorrow.”
“Father, did Mr. Thurston inform you he’s staying at Ellswood?” There, let the man convince her father to trust him after he admitted he resided with their enemy.
“He did. Seems he and Jason Langford were friends at Oxford. Can’t fault a man for that, now can we?”
“If Mr. Thurston intends to purchase a fleet of ships, why is he not building with the Langfords?”
“Hmmm.” This question gave her father pause. “What did you tell me, Thurston?” He scrunched his thin nose and said, “Oh, yes, I remember. Word abounds our ships are superior to Langford’s. No surprise there, is it?”
“And there is the rash of recent fires at Langford Shipping,” Gregory Thurston added. “I would not like to see my purchases in flames.”
Her father coughed and emptied his glass. “Yes, well, there you have it.”
Chapter 5
Three short days after Gregory Thurston’s introduction to Seacrest Shipping, Sophie grew certain the man from the gamekeeper’s cottage had been a mere figment of her overactive imagination. The Gregory Thurston seated in the carriage across from her and her father looked and dressed like the man from the cottage, but this one proved a study of e
xemplary manners and grace. Gone were the predatory looks so similar to a wild animal stalking a delicacy. Gone also were the hot gazes that could strip a woman of her clothes and her inhibitions in an instant and promise pleasures which could not even be imagined.
Even the man’s voice had lost its seductive timbre, replaced with a brisk business tone. And the ruby medallion might still be resting against his massive chest, but how would one know with such a buttoned-up, acceptable shirt and jacket? What had happened? And why on earth did it bother her so much?
Sophie mulled over this strange occurrence, growing more perplexed and agitated as the days passed. The man was too polite. Of course he had asked several relevant shipping questions and even appeared interested in her answers, but aside from that, he’d ignored her. So much for mutual attraction. That certainly had not lasted over long, at least on his part, Sophie grudgingly admitted.
Smoothing her royal blue gown, she refolded her hands in her lap and gazed out the window, pretending interest in the city streets. Dear Lord, the very sight and smell of the man proved too overwhelming for her to concentrate on anything else. She snuck a peek at him; he did indeed strike a compelling figure even with a buttoned lawn shirt. There was no cravat, a direct cut to society's dictates, which Sophie secretly applauded. His black mane was still much too long and tied at the nape to expose the gold hoop in his left ear which no well-bred lady should find appealing. Drat, she rather liked it. Double drat . . .
From the corner of his eye, Holt watched the play of emotions cross Sophie Seacrest’s face. The longer he studied her, the more urgent his desire grew to touch her again. But she would want more than he could give. For the briefest of moments, he wondered what it would be like to settle down, in one place, with one woman.
For the past few days, he’d tried to be polite but distant and though appearances might prove deceiving, he was failing miserably. The very sight of her snapped the tight control he held over his emotions. She was the most exasperating, annoying, contrary, bewitching, electrifying woman he had ever met. Blast it all! The whole situation confused and angered him for he prided himself on being a man of decision. It was time to take control and execute his plan. Sophie Seacrest was but a beautiful pawn in his carefully orchestrated scheme to ruin Seacrest Shipping and he would do well to remember that.
***
The woman watched the couple emerge from the carriage.
He was so tall, so devastatingly male.
She wondered if he still slept on his belly. Naked. Visions of thick, black hair and brilliant blue eyes swarmed her brain.
She had waited so long.
She missed him so.
Finally, he would be hers again.
Soon.
***
The gas lamps burned low signaling the lateness of the hour. Shadows flickered across the room but Sophie remained unaware as she pulled the ivory-handled brush through her hair in a slow, methodical motion. She did not hear the chamber door open or the footsteps padding toward her.
“Daydreaming about Mr. Thurston again, are we?”
Sophie spun around and met the inquisitive stare of her aunt. “I didn’t hear you enter.” She forced herself to remain calm, lest her aunt notice the agitation her question created.
“I’ve come to warn you of your foolishness.” Her beady eyes glittered. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. I’ve seen you looking at Mr. Thurston when you think no one is watching.” Her voice dipped to a raspy whisper. “He’ll use you and toss you away.”
“Please stop.”
“He’s just that type of man. I’ll wager he’s known more women than you could imagine. A man like that is only interested in you as a temporary diversion. Once he’s stolen your innocence, do not think for a single moment he will be so honorable as to wed you.”
Sophie clutched the brush so hard her hand ached. Listening to her aunt's cruel words and trying to appear unaffected proved a supreme effort. “You needn’t worry. I’ll not get caught up with schoolgirl foolishness.”
“Do not disgrace this family.”
“I do not intend to. Mr. Thurston is Father's business associate, nothing more.” She met her aunt’s dark stare. “Trust me, Aunt Vivian, I know exactly what kind of man Mr. Thurston is and I am well aware of my obligations to this family. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m deathly tired and wish to retire.”
Her aunt hesitated a moment and then said in an almost kind voice, “It’s better to marry a man you don’t love, for he’ll never be able to hurt you.” With that, she turned and swept from the room in a swoosh of black, leaving Sophie deflated and aware she’d played the utter fool where Gregory Thurston was concerned.
Chapter 6
“Well brother, have you made your decision?” Jason eyed Holt over the rim of his glass and waited for an answer.
Holt threw back the remainder of his drink, rose and peered out the window. Summer enveloped the countryside with fragrant blossoms and green landscapes. Soon, another season would arrive and still, he had not made up his mind.
Did he want to accept the title or head back to sea? Truth to tell, he struggled with this decision many a night and angry though it made him, he conceded a certain auburn-haired temptress played into the decision. Oh that she ever knew how she affected him in any but the blandest of ways, she would turn his life into an interminable hell. Because of the little witch, he’d spent night after sleepless night, tossing and turning, only to awaken with thoughts of her suffocating his brain. Because of her, he was not interested in other women, could not even look at them as objects of desire, because he did not find them desirable. Because of her he was now in a very foul mood.
“Holt?”
He forced Sophie Seacrest from his mind, but it was a damnable struggle. “I haven’t the slightest idea what I plan to do yet. The business is making positive strides and it’s obvious you don’t need me to manage the estates. In truth, I still haven’t decided whether or not my presence would make any difference at all.” There, he’d successfully avoided mentioning her name.
“Are you jesting? You have the servants eating out of your hand as well as the merchants we do business with and I must admit, even Rendhaven! Now that I never thought to see. A Langford doing business with a Seacrest again.” Jason's eyes twinkled as he added, “And not just one Seacrest, but two.”
Well, there it was, by God. He just knew her name would have to crop up. Jason was worse than a bloodhound on a scent when something intrigued him. Holt poured himself another port and continued pacing.
“Yes, just think of us doing business with Rendhaven,” Jason said. “How on earth did you manage it?”
“Subterfuge, of course,” Holt replied, staring into his glass.
“I daresay, when they discover your true identity, we won’t be smiling. Sophie always did have a temper if I recall. Quite willful and headstrong,” Jason ventured.
“The damned chit is still as willful and headstrong as ever, except now she’s rude and insolent as well.” Holt scowled as he recalled several of their recent encounters. “I can handle her when the time comes.”
“You can handle her? Forcibly? This is polite society, you can’t haul someone over your shoulder and force them to do your bidding. I say if you want half a chance with the girl, you had better come clean and fast.”
“Who said anything about the girl? Did I?” No, indeed he had not. “She’s nothing more than a bossy bit of baggage.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. She’d drive a husband to Bedlam within the week. Enough of this talk. Is there not a soiree of some sort this evening? Perhaps even a few of your lady friends for us to entertain? This monk's life is wearing on my nerves.” He was suddenly determined to rid himself of Lady Sophie Seacrest once and for all, even if he had to exhaust himself by bedding half of England. “Jason, what will it be?”
His brother grinned. “I’ve no great desire to claim a monk for a brother. It would make me t
oo responsible for my own actions. Let us be off to find some toothsome wenches and a soiree.”
***
“Annette, please stop fussing over me so. I could stand in a storm and my hair wouldn’t budge for all the pins jabbed into my head.” Sophie shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the dastardly pins but her coiffure remained perfect.
“Lady Sophie, I know you detest being poked and prodded, but it’s necessary if we are to find you a suitable husband. Tonight could prove very important for you.”
“Ah yes, society dictates. Thou shall stuff oneself into one’s gown as snugly as possible with the assistance of one’s stays. Thou shall also pin and curl and comb until one’s hair in no way resembles one’s natural locks. And let us not forget, thou shall speak and act demurely, never voicing one’s opinions lest one appear to possess a brain which might well indicate the ability to gainsay one’s future husband. How is that, Annette?”
“Overly accurate, I’m afraid.”
“Agreed. Let me think a bit longer and I’ll continue to elaborate on a few more of society’s dictates. Hmmm.” She tapped a finger to her chin, gazed heavenward and added, “Thou shall not act as though one enjoys kissing a man.”
“Goodness! Miss Caroline is in the room!”
Caroline looked up from her sketch pad and grinned.
“I was only teasing. Husband hunting is quite a serious business and though a task I do not relish, I’ve decided to find small touches of humor in my predicament. Think of all the pretense women are expected to display when searching for a suitable mate. It’s no wonder so many are doomed; the man marries a figment of his imagination and the woman marries a title. When the trappings are cast aside, hers in the form of clothes and a soft-spoken manner, his in the form of a title with no warmth or personality beneath, you have nothing more than two disillusioned strangers destined to live quiet or not so quiet lives of absolute desperation.”
“Lady Sophie, how exactly do you plan to avoid a life of absolute desperation with your future husband?” Annette asked ever so softly, eyeing her mistress with sad eyes.
