My Seductive Innocent

by Julie Johnstone

  “Well, Sophia?” Frank demanded. “Do ye find ye suit?” He gave her a narrow-eyed twisted look that said he’d ring her neck if she dared disavow Nathan’s words, but Frank need not have bothered trying to frighten her. Her heart pounded a deafening beat in her ears as she nodded her head.

  The speed with which the next week passed both amazed and surprised Sophia. What didn’t surprise her was the fact that Frank had treated her more kindly than he ever had in her entire life. Nathan had left to secure a special marriage license, see his man of business in London, and speak with his aunt.

  He’d also told her in whispered tones that he intended to hire an investigator—someone named Sir Richard—about locating the men who had attacked them in the curricle several nights prior. That had been good to hear. The scab that had escaped deserved justice, and though it didn’t seem to make Nathan all that uneasy that someone had hired men to kill him, it definitely weighed on her mind.

  She’d been disappointed to find him leaving so soon, but before he had departed, she’d overheard him threaten to crush Frank’s bollocks if he harmed one hair on her or Harry’s head, and it had lightened her heart immeasurably. Even now, as the carriage that Nathan had procured to bring her and Harry to his country home wound up the long, immaculate tree lined drive, she grinned at how well the threat had worked. She’d not been one bit sad to leave Frank good and well behind her. She’d not even said good-bye.

  Beside her, Harry wiggled on the carriage bench, tugged at her sleeve, and then leaned toward her. She hunched down to hear what he had to say.

  “I th-thought you s-said His Grace told you this was his smallest country home.”

  Sophia glanced toward the house that rose majestically in the distance and gulped. A tall tower—it appeared to be a clock tower upon her squinting inspection—loomed high above the massive redbrick home, reaching high into the orange twilight sky. She’d expected a grand home, even if it was, as Nathan had casually mentioned, one of his smallest. He was a duke, after all. She’d been certain even the most inconsequential of his homes would be lovely. But this one stole her breath and made her feel like quite the imposter in her threadbare, ill-fitting blue gown.

  She hoped no one had come for the wedding beyond the aunt Nathan had said needed to attend, as it would lend the marriage an air of respectability to Society. He had explained that his aunt held great consequence among the ton, though he’d muttered under his breath that only God knew why.

  As the carriage rattled down the pebbled drive, past wintry bare-branched trees and alternating massive stone sculptures with ornate urns sitting on rectangular bases, Sophia's stomach flipped. She wished the trip had taken the expected three days and not the two it had turned out taking. They were a day early and she didn’t feel ready to face what lay inside this sweeping home. It was silly, she knew, but this was not her world. Granted, her world had not been good, but she’d known it. She understood how to move within it and survive there.

  She surveyed the acres of beautifully kept gardens and lawn that surrounded the house. In the sky above them, a dark line of eight birds flew in a V against the backdrop of the soft, deepening blue. She craned her head to follow their flight over the house and beyond, where she glimpsed the dark-blue, lapping edges of a lake in the distance.

  This was Nathan’s smallest house? A house with a clock tower and a private lake was his smallest house? Her stomach twisted into a thousand tight knots, and she started fiddling with her gown. She wished fervently she’d had something better to wear or that she still had her long hair to make her look less...less pathetic.

  No, this was definitely not her world. Nathan’s world was made of grand curricles, fine clothes, mind-boggling mansions, and, she was positive, many beautiful women. He likely would have eventually chosen one among the silk-gowned lot to marry if he hadn’t had the misfortune to meet her and if he hadn’t possessed such a good heart.

  “Perhaps we should find an inn close-by and send word that we are a day early,” she squeaked, her throat suddenly dry. Maybe Nathan had changed his mind. She wanted to leap for love but what if the jump killed her?

  Harry squeezed her hand. “It w-will be fine. He’s a g-good man.”

  The words, though coming from her now nine-year-old brother, were comforting. Harry was just as distrusting of men as she was, and if he was willing to trust Nathan, that counted for something in her mind.

  Before the carriage came to a complete stop in front of the house, the ornate, dark wooden door of the house, with its eight tiny glass panes set in the middle, swung open. A young man dressed in gold-and-burgundy livery made way for a tall, thin man with peppered hair and a black tie, who marched out to the steps. Sophia moved her ankle to feel the presence of her mother’s letter. She didn’t know much about the servants in a great household, but she knew enough to assume this was the butler who was greeting them. The man’s back was ramrod straight, and his nose was tilted in the air in a haughty angle.

  As Sophia and Harry climbed out of the carriage and made their way up the stairs, she counted thirty windows on the main building of the house. Thirty! She’d never seen so much glass in her life. It made her giddy to think how much light the house must get. The tavern had been constantly dark and dreary.

  “How can I help you?” The butler’s question dripped disdain.

  She brought herself to her full height. “I’m Sophia Vane.” When the butler gazed at her with a blank stare, her stomach flipped, but she took a breath for courage. “I’m here to marry His Grace.”

  A look of disbelief crossed the older man’s face. “His Grace has no time for such foolishness.” The butler waved a hand at them. “Off with you.”

  “Now see here,” she started.

  “No, you see here,” the servant responded in a cool, unwavering tone. “If His Grace was to be married I would certainly know about it. There would be many preparations to be made, guests to be seen to, parties to be planned. You, miss, are a liar.”

  Sophia fought back a wave of humiliation. Nathan hadn’t even told his servants he was to be married. Was he embarrassed by her?

  As she fingered her short hair and took in her tattered gown, she squared her shoulders. “You will announce me right this moment or I will have you dismissed the minute I become duchess.”

  The man eyed her without moving.

  Anger and deep humiliation flared in her chest, but resolve flared stronger. She would get in this door. “If you are wrong about me how forgiving do you think His Grace will be? I wager not very, knowing him as I do.”

  The butler’s eyes widened slightly, and he turned on his heel while motioning them to follow. Harry looked up at her and gave her a wink and a grin.

  She winked back and followed the butler into the main entrance hall. She faltered, staring in awe at the luxury of the home. A grand staircase was immediately to the left and rose in an almost processional route to, she imagined, a great chamber on the main floor. She counted eight stairs ascending to a landing and then the staircase curved to another small set of stairs that ascended again and curved yet again.

  As she and Harry trailed the butler up the stairs, her pulse seemed to quicken with each step. At the top, the servant led them into a grand room with a parquet floor and a higher ceiling than she had ever imagined existed.

  She gaped up at it, unable to help herself. Mythological figures were framed in the panels, and busts sat on brackets all around the room, though she wasn’t at all certain whom the busts represented. She made a note to ask someone later. The hall had two majestic marble fireplaces that crackled and gave off a pleasant warmth. The large paneled windows—four on one wall alone—were stacked in twos, separated by an ornate decoration that jutted away from the wall to circle the entire room.

  “Follow me,” the butler demanded and led them down a wing of the house past a long wall of portraits. Sophia studied each one as she went, counting five men in a row who surely had to be the former Dukes of Scar
sdale. They paused outside a door, and the butler turned to them. “Wait here. I’ll announce you.”

  Sophia nodded and hastily grabbed Harry’s arm when it appeared he might follow the butler into the room. Voices floated out from the room, and she pressed closer to the door to hear.

  “You cannot be serious, Scarsdale.”

  The woman’s cold, brittle tone made Sophia tense. Please God this was not the aunt Nathan had mentioned.

  “Have you ever known me to joke?” Nathan’s tone matched the woman’s, icicle for icicle. “Especially about marriage.”

  “No. No, I have not, which is why I find it hard to believe you would willingly marry a tavern wench.”

  “Your Grace,” came the butler’s voice.

  “One moment, Gibson,” Nathan snapped.

  Footsteps filled the silence as they approached the door but Gibson did not appear. Sophia thought she made out a casted shadow across the floor by the entrance, and she imagined Gibson had retreated to a corner. It gave her perverse pleasure to think the stuffy butler had been chastised. Then she frowned at her cattiness.

  “Watch what you say, Aunt Harriet,” Nathan warned. “You are speaking of the future Duchess of Scarsdale.”

  Sophia let out a thankful breath that he had defended her.

  “Scarsdale, they will never accept her.”

  “You will make them, of course, because I have told you to do so.”

  Sophia gasped. Nathan sounded nothing like the kind man she’d met last week. He sounded aloof and demanding.

  “I cannot make the ton accept a woman from such a low class.”

  “I have every faith in you, Aunt Harriet. You are formidable.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she practically screeched. “Gentlemen ruin women every day and never blink an eye. If your conscience truly will not let you walk away from this debacle, give the baggage some money. Money fixes everything.”

  “No,” Nathan said in a hard, ruthless tone. “Money does not fix everything, and you know it as well as I do. If money fixed everything we would both be happy people.”

  A pronounced silence filled the room. Finally, a long, irritated sigh interrupted the quiet. “I simply cannot stand the thought of you marrying so beneath you.”

  “What is it you wish for me to do?” Nathan thundered.

  “I wish you to be reasonable and forget her. She is not your problem. Besides, Scarsdale, from what you told me, I highly doubt she had much of a reputation from the start.”

  Sophia curled her hands into fists. Harry moved to her side, slid his arms around her hips, and squeezed her. She managed to unclench her hands and touched a shaking one to the top of Harry’s head. Part of her wanted to flee this place and the wretched woman—who would be her relative if she married Nathan. She shuddered at the thought—and part of her wanted to make that harridan eat her words.

  “Hear me now, Aunt, for I will never repeat this again.”

  Sophia frowned at how threatening Nathan sounded.

  “I am going to marry the woman.”

  “I hear you,” the aunt snapped. “I still cannot fathom why.”

  “Pity.”

  It would have hurt less if he’d plunged a knife into her gut. Her heart wrenched. Of course, she had known he likely felt this way, but to hear him say it stung as if she had received a ghastly wound. She clutched at her midsection, and Harry squeezed her hand hard.

  “I pity her. She was kind enough to give me directions and offer to lead me to the horse trainer, and in return, she was forced to kill someone to save me. She could have fled and left me there to die on the road, but she once again chose to save my life, regardless of the consequences to her own.”

  “That is because she knew she would be rewarded,” the aunt grumbled.

  “She knew no such thing. For all she knew, I would die before she got me to a physician.”

  “I doubt she had the wherewithal to consider that,” the aunt inserted.

  “She’s quite intelligent, actually.”

  “Scarsdale―”

  “Enough of your whining,” he barked. “She acted selflessly. That fact is indisputable. And for her actions, her father purposely ruined what little bit of a pathetic name she likely had, and in the process he ruined her hopes she had for herself.”

  Nathan’s voice rose with each word, and Sophia’s pulse sped up. One minute she was certain he only pitied her, and the next she thought she heard admiration in his words.

  “I will not repay all she did for me and all she endured for me by knowingly leaving her to the life of a ruined woman. The only way to make it right is to marry her. It is the only thing that will save her reputation.”

  “Why save it?” the aunt shrieked. “Set her up in a nice house, buy her gowns and jewels, and the gentlemen will flock to her. You know it is true. They will shove one another out of the way to make her their mistress once they think you have had her.”

  A sound of disgust came from Nathan, and Sophia almost slumped in relief upon hearing it. Truly, he was much more honorable than his aunt.

  “She is not meant for that sort of life,” he replied. “Even though she has come from the worst sort of circumstance, her eyes burn with hope and she has a certain irrepressible spirit.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Sophia’s mouth. He did like her! That was an excellent start.

  “I will not destroy that hope, nor crush that spirit, and that is all there is to it. She will be here tomorrow. You can either agree to accept her and treat her with the respect she will command as my duchess or you can find somewhere else to live and someone else to fund the lifestyle you love so dearly.”

  A loud sniff emanated from the room, followed by shuffling papers and one of the men clearing his throat.

  “What is it, Gibson?” Nathan growled.

  “Your Grace, there are two persons here to see you. One of them claims she is to be your wife.”

  Sophia cringed at the distaste for her in the butler’s tone.

  “Only one of them claims she is going to be my wife?” Nathan asked with a chuckle. “How boring.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Is she a slight woman with dark hair?”

  “I believe so, Your Grace.”

  “You believe so?” The mocking tone made Sophia feel bad for Gibson, though he did have a poker stuck up his bum.

  “I did not take much notice that she was a woman, Your Grace, except she had on a gown. Her hair is short like a man’s.”

  “Oh dear heaven!” Nathan’s aunt cried out.

  “Get hold of yourself,” Nathan snapped. “Gibson, where did you put my intended and her brother?”

  “Outside the door, Your Grace.”

  “Bring them to me at once.”

  Sophia scrambled backward so it wouldn’t appear she had been listening. She reminded herself that ladies did not hit, but it would be ever so lovely to slap his aunt across the face upon meeting her. But then the woman would know her words had affected Sophia and that was out of the question.

  The door opened and Mr. Gibson motioned to them. “His Grace will see you now.”

  Sophia straightened and imitated the butler’s stiff walk as she made her way into the room, followed by Harry. A quick glance around at the ornate bookcases containing countless books encased with gleaming covers confirmed she was in a grand library. She inhaled a deep breath and the scent of leather filled her nose.

  She had the overwhelming urge to ogle the expensive books, but she didn’t want to make herself look like a fool. Instead, she searched the room for Nathan, and her eyes immediately widened and her mouth parted. God, the man was a creation to rival the most exquisite Greek statues.

  Nathan wore gleaming top boots over grayish-yellow fitted buckskins and a simple white linen shirt open at the collar. His dark hair was tousled, as if he had been riding with such speed the wind had blown it hither and tither. Even dressed casually as he was, his bearing was every inch the
proud, aristocratic duke. Her heart thumped a greeting.

  He held a crop in his hand that, as he stood, he placed on the massive desk he had been negligently leaning against. “You’re a day early.” An easy smile spread across his face as he came toward her and quickly introduced her and Harry to his aunt, Lady Anthony, who barely acknowledged them. He took Sophia’s hand and brought it to his lips.

  The contact of his skin to hers caused sparks to shoot from her fingertips straight to her heart, and it was as if she were melting on the inside. A thick lock of his unruly hair fell over his simmering coal eyes as he bent his head. When he came up, he shoved the lock off his forehead and gave her a smile that seemed created especially for her. “I take it your journey was uneventful?”

  She couldn’t seem to speak. He was like...like the apple in the Garden of Eden. No, she quickly amended, he was likely more similar to the sinful snake. She choked back a nervous giggle.

  “Dear God, she’s mute,” Lady Anthony murmured.

  Sophia looked at the woman and frowned. She’s expected a fat, wrinkled cow, but Nathan’s aunt was lovely―the outside of her, at least. Her ice-blue silk gown showed she clearly possessed the feminine curves Sophia did not. She had pale skin that looked as soft as a baby’s and didn’t appear to have any rough patches like Sophia’s did. Her hair, a rich chestnut color, sat in a high, twined knot atop her head to display a long, pretty neck. Sophia’s hand fluttered self-consciously to her short hair and shame filled her, followed quickly by irritation that the woman could cause such an emotion so easily.

  His aunt shook her head before speaking. “Scarsdale, you cannot do this! Look at the thing.” She waved a hand at Sophia. “I cannot make anyone accept this...this...creature. You will make me a laughingstock.”

  Sophia nostrils flared and she searched for a clever remark to flay the woman, but before she could speak, Nathan said, “If I were you, I would worry more, dear Aunt Harriet, about being homeless than being a laughingstock. Because if you don’t accept Miss Vane, and do everything in your power to help soothe her entrance into Society, I will throw you out of the dowager house, regardless of Ellison’s wishes. Are we clear?”