My Seductive Innocent

by Julie Johnstone

  “I suppose you might say your cousin found he wanted to inherit more than just your money, title, and lands.” She traced a finger across the top of her plump breasts, which were revealed by her low-cut gown.

  Of all the available paramours in England, Ellison had to have Marguerite? The idea didn’t sit well, but as he glanced at Marguerite’s voluptuous figure, flashing green eyes, and fiery red hair, he knew damned well his naive cousin had been seduced. This is what came of not bedding a woman before you were in your thirties.

  “You must leave. As you can clearly see, I’m not dead, and my wife will not be pleased if I allow my former mistress to stay in my home. I will give Ellison the funds to buy you a home where he can visit you.”

  She pursed her lips in a pout. “I don’t want to keep Ellison as a lover. He’s an oaf, unskilled and quite boring. I want to be your lover again.”

  Before he realized what she was going to do, she threw herself into his arms and locked her lips on his. He shoved her away and swiped his hand over his mouth in an effort to remove the taste of the laudanum she must have drunk earlier. “I don’t want or need a lover. I have a wife and I love her.” He wasn’t ashamed to say it. He was going to say it to everyone to whom he spoke. Hell, he’d proclaim it from the tallest building in London if Sophia requested.

  Marguerite narrowed her eyes. “I’ve heard about your wife, though I’ve yet to have the privilege to meet her. Seems she’s not quite as mousy as when you left.”

  “I was kidnapped. I did not leave.”

  “Yes, yes.” Marguerite waved her hand. “And while the cat was away the little mouse did play.”

  “If you have something to say, Marguerite, simply do so. I’ve neither the time nor inclination to stand here listening to you spout twisted proverbs.”

  “I’d have sworn it wasn’t possible, but with your beard, tanned skin, long hair, and slightly nasty edge, you excite me even more than you did before.”

  “Marguerite,” he said, barely controlling his temper, “I’m one second from throwing you on the street without your belongings or any money to get even a hack and a room.”

  “Oh, all right,” she purred. “You’re not fun at all when it comes to your wife. It seems she’s been having a grand time in your absence. Ellison says she is the toast of the ton everywhere she goes. I hear—through gossip, of course—that she’s quite the coldhearted flirt.”

  A vein pulsed in his neck, and his stomach twisted. “You are mistaken. My wife is neither a flirt nor coldhearted.”

  “That’s not what Ellison says. He says two young bucks in Yorkshire fought a duel over her, and she turned both their offers of marriage down flat.”

  Could that be true? He refused to believe Sophia would act the trollop. Besides, he thought her beautiful, but she was not a classic beauty who would lead a man to act a fool.

  She has your heart, his inner voice said. But that was different.

  “I’m certain Ellison is mistaken.”

  “Then he is not the only one. One of my, er, other admirers relayed a story about your duchess in which she was at the Duke and Duchess of Aversley’s house party and had one man sing to her, one man write a poem for her, and another act out a play he had written about her. All in the effort to win the chance to partner with her in a scavenger hunt. And then she turned around and picked a different gentleman as her partner!”

  “I am sure,” he drawled, “it was because she thought those three gentlemen utter fools.” And when he found out who had been trying to win his wife’s affection, he was going to make sure they damned well understood it was time to quit.

  Marguerite cocked her head to the side. “I do not think that was it at all. I think your wife has developed a penchant for naughty rakes. I daresay she developed it when she was married to you. She chose Lord Roxbury as her scavenger hunt partner, and Ellison said they disappeared for quite some time, even after everyone else had returned to the house. I wonder what could have possibly taken them so long...”

  Nathan gripped Marguerite by the arm. “Moreland!” he shouted, losing his hold on his control.

  His butler and a footman appeared immediately. Nathan stared at Marguerite as he spoke. “The lady is leaving now. Prepare the carriage to drive her anywhere but here.”

  “You’re a devil!” Marguerite screeched.

  “I was,” he retorted, handing over Marguerite to the footman, who helped her out the door, against her will, as gently as he possibly could. When the door shut, what was left of Nathan’s control snapped. The first thing he broke was a vase his mother had loved. Then another one she had hated but had bought because it was expensive. Then he threw a chair and sent his fist into the wall, splitting open his knuckles. He glanced at the blood oozing from the gash and he froze.

  What the hell was the matter with him? Sophia would not do those things. Sophia was not his mother. She had loved him. She would mourn him. She would never turn into the sort of lady who disappeared at house party scavenger hunts with a man known to be on a quest to bed as many women as possible.

  He glanced at the chaos he had created and groaned. He had to restrain himself. The barbarian he had become aboard the slave ship was not who he was truly. He simply needed to see Sophia and then everything would be all right. With that in mind, he hurriedly bathed, sat for a shave and a cut, then dressed quickly, and set off at full speed toward St. Ives.

  Sophia was so nervous she had goose flesh. Which was ridiculous. She had invited Mr. Frazier to her home tonight to bed him. Or was he bedding her? Perhaps they were bedding each other? Yes, that was it! That was how it worked. She fidgeted with the flimsy night rail she wore and sent a silent prayer to heaven that she would not toss up her dinner on Mr. Frazier.

  The moment he stood from stoking the fire and turned to face her, her stomach churned queasily. She wasn’t ready for this. She clenched her teeth. You are ready, she commanded herself.

  He strode to her with an easy smile and predatory eyes. The look did not surprise her. He’d told her last night exactly why she intrigued him, and it had everything to do with what they were about to do. He hauled her into his arms, then ran his hands up and down her bare flesh. “You’re still braw.”

  “I’m what?”

  He chuckled. “Culd.”

  She nodded, though she knew by the perspiration on his brow that the room must have been blazing hot. When she was very nervous, she always became cold.

  “Ah ken a surefire way ta warm ye up.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. Her nerves made it impossible to talk. As he took her hand and led her to the bed, she started talking to herself in her head. You can do this. You will do this. You want this. She kept the chant going as he leaned her back and his hands, hot like coals, touched her skin. She bit her lip on a cry and squeezed her eyes shut. Any minute she was sure to want him.

  Nathan held the key up in the moonlight and kissed it. At the last moment, before he’d left his townhouse, he gone to his study and fetched the key to his country home that he’d left in one of his drawers. He’d worried he might reach St. Ives very late, and he was right. It was near midnight when he got there and the house was dark, except for some candles burning in the window of the master bedchamber.

  Sophia.

  His heart sighed her name. He crept into the house and then slowly made his way toward Sophia. His wife. His love.

  It wasn’t that Mr. Frazier’s hands were not nice hands, or gentle hands, and likely they were skilled hands, but the moment they grazed her bare thighs and landed on her breasts, she knew she could not do this. His hands were not Nathan’s hands. Tears leaked from her closed eyes, and she rose onto her elbows to tell him to stop. But as she opened her eyes, an apparition of Nathan appeared.

  She blinked, but he was still there.

  Oh God! She was finally going mad.

  She squinted at the mirage. He looked so real that her heart lurched. The odd thing was that he was gaping at her, and she co
uldn’t fathom why she would conjure an image of her unflappable husband looking at her that way.

  Her heart tripled its speed as she stared at his mouth. It was hanging open. Then it snapped shut and twisted wryly, then twisted again and set into a threat.

  Dear sweet heaven above! Her gaze flew to his eyes, and the raging anger simmering in the dark depths made her scream.

  Nathan flew across the room, bellowing an animal sound like she had never heard. Her heart, which was beating so fast now that she thought it might explode, stopped and started again with a jerk that made her grab her chest. And then she was grabbing at the apparition, except her fingers clutched hard, hot flesh and bone. A wave of hysteria threatened to make her swoon, but she shoved it down.

  He was real. He was here. And he was going to kill Mr. Frazier.

  The huge Scot flew backward in Nathan’s grip, and the men fell to the ground in a heap that shook the furniture and surely woke the staff. Sophia scrambled off the bed, determined to pull them apart, but then she was simply trying to pull Nathan off Mr. Frazier. She wrapped her hand around Nathan’s bulging arm as he drew it back and then hit Mr. Frazier in the nose. It was as if she had no grip on him at all. He towed her entire body along with him every time he drew his arm back and struck again.

  The thump of his fists meeting flesh vibrated in her ears.

  “Nathan, stop it!” she screamed.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “You will kill him,” she yelled in his ear.

  Mr. Frazier’s crunching bones made bile rise in her throat.

  She released Nathan’s arm and yanked back on his hair, intent on making him listen, but her actions allowed Mr. Frazier to get free, and when he did, he came at Nathan with a wild look that caused her to scream again. This time Mr. Frazier’s fist connected with Nathan’s chin.

  Nathan flew backward, taking her with him, and crushed her to the ground. The air left her lungs with a sharp hiss of pain. Nathan rolled off her immediately, and when it appeared he would continue the fight, she screamed, “Stop! I invited him here!”

  At that moment, her bedchamber door flew open again and a footman rushed in.

  “Get out,” Nathan ordered in a voice that made her shake.

  The footman, eyes bulging, backed out the way he had come and quietly shut the door.

  Nathan stood and looked down at his wife barely dressed in a translucent, white night rail that he swore to God was one that had been created for their wedding night. His mind careened for a moment at how she had physically changed. She was temptation incarnate with her dark, gleaming hair tumbling in waves down her back. That hair alone would drive a man wild, but a man would be driven to his knees to beg if he thought he could caress her lush curves, her perfect, heart-shaped face, and her generous lips. But her eyes were what had changed the most. He saw no warmth there. Those cold eyes would send a man to the brink grasping for the futile hope of her love.

  This was the woman he had made a saint? This was the woman he had survived for? This was the woman he had allowed himself to love? Rage and disgust flowed through him. She had never loved him. She had dangled her love to make him want it, but she had never planned to give it. Thank Christ, she didn’t know he’d wanted to take it from her.

  He combed back his disheveled hair with his fingers and then spared a glance for the man he’d just almost pummeled to death.

  “You’re alive!” Sophia exclaimed in a trembling voice that, if he were a fool, which he was not, he’d almost believe sounded happy.

  He didn’t acknowledge her comment or her but kept his gaze trained on the man who had been groping his wife’s breasts. “I’m afraid, Lord...?”

  “Mr. Frazier,” the man offered.

  “Ah, but of course. I’m afraid, Mr. Frazier, that I’ve returned from the dead, and though I have absolutely no desire to ever touch my wife again, I must admit I also have no desire to let you or any other man do it for me. And I find that I’ll be happy to kill you or anyone who dares to try. Are we clear?”

  Mr. Frazer obviously had large bollocks because he stared hard at Nathan for a long moment, as if he would dare protest, but then he slowly nodded. “Aye, we er clear.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you out.” He turned without sparing Sophia a backward glance and then saw the Scot out in stony silence. His staff, some old and some new, were lined up in their nightclothes to bid him welcome. He greeted each of them with a quick nod, and then he strode to what had been his study but now had decidedly feminine touches. But the sidebar was still there.

  Perhaps that was left for Sophia’s lovers, his mind taunted.

  He poured three fingers of brandy and drank it in one gulp. Then he drank two more glasses before walking to the sofa and falling backward onto it. The soft cushions felt odd and foreign. He allowed himself to see her in his mind as she was now, and his heart swelled with pride at the beautiful creature she had become. He grimaced at his own reaction.

  Damn her. She didn’t deserve his admiration, and he needed to remember that.

  He refused to contemplate seeing her again tonight. First, he needed to rid her from his soul. With the precision of a physician lancing a wound, he spent the rest of the night recalling every detail of seeing her with another man’s hands on her breasts. Love was for the foolish and the weak. How the hell had he allowed himself to forget that?

  Hatred and fury overwhelmed all other emotion. From here on out, it would be as if Sophia, the Duchess of Scarsdale, meant nothing to him. She did not exist. Except, goddamn it, she did.

  But he had a plan for that particular problem.

  For hours after Nathan had left her bedchamber, Sophia sat on the floor afraid to move for fear he would come back and do God only knew what. And then, when dawn broke and he had not come back, anger surged through her so fiercely she had to bury her head under a mound of pillows and bellow her rage. Then astonishment set in.

  Nathan was alive! She could picture, in excruciating detail, how he had looked when he’d barged into her bedchamber. Tanned skin, hair longer than she had remembered, and a close shave that highlighted his taut jaw. He was more ruggedly virile now than ever. The dark, tight-fitting breeches had barely seemed able to contain his muscled thighs, and the crisp white shirt he had worn open casually at the collar without a cravat had kindled every vivid memory of her hands on his skin.

  Her body burned with the memory of touching him, and she hated herself for still being attracted to him. And he...he had stood here on his return and humiliated her, yet again, by telling her almost-lover that he had no desire to ever touch her. Could it be that he still found her lacking? She forced the doubt from her mind. That could not be it! Why would he fly into such a rage over finding her with another man if he didn’t even want her for himself?

  She stilled, all the breath leaving her. Had he really been kidnapped or had he simply left her? No. She shook her head at the foolish thought. He had been kidnapped. Sir Richard had investigated it, and Nathan’s employee, along with others who had no ties to him, had confirmed it. She rubbed at her temples. Why had he been furious if he had never truly wanted her?

  Because, silly fool, her inner voice taunted, he does not share what is his even if he does not want it. He is like a spoiled, greedy child in a man’s body.

  Well, he was a child who was about to get a lesson. If he was not going to have the courtesy to come speak with her, she would go to him and demand to be heard. And she was certain he would be thrilled to hear that she wanted a divorce. She’d not stay married to a man who thought her pathetic and could not stay true.

  Without bothering to ring for Mary Margaret, Sophia dressed herself in one of the most alluring day gowns she owned. It had a daring neckline, especially for the day, and its blue color matched her eyes. She shouldn’t care if he found her attractive now or not, but her pride wanted him to regret losing her. She spent extra time brushing her long hair and allowed it to hang over her shoulders in loose waves. When
she decided she looked as seductive as she possibly could, she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and made her way downstairs, determined to see him.

  It didn’t take long to ascertain that he was in his study, because she could hear male voices coming from within. She considered barging in, but after his display of temper last night, she hated to admit it, but she was afraid to anger him. So, she sat in one of the chairs outside the door. And then, when she recognized Aversley’s voice coming from inside the study with Nathan, curiosity got the better of her, and she crept closer to the door and pressed her ear to it.

  “The galleys you say?” Aversley asked.

  “Yes. Once I was fished from the water after Ravensdale’s ship sank, I was put on board the slaver and chained to my spot in the galleys, same as all the other slaves.” Her ears drank in the deep voice she had committed to memory, then struggled to forget. He was alive. It was so very hard to believe, yet it was true. He was alive, yet nothing would ever be the same. The hope she had once had for love was still gone.

  She trembled as he spoke again. “The only way to ever stand up was to volunteer to fight.”

  “My God, Scarsdale. Don’t harbor regret over that. You did what you had to do to survive. If that had happened to me, I would have done the same damn thing.”

  What had he done? What had happened to him? He’d been on a slave ship? At least she knew for certain he hadn’t abandoned her. She fisted her hands at the unwanted thought. It did not matter! She’d not allow it to matter.

  “Have you told Sophia what you just told me?”

  She exhaled with annoyance when she realized she was holding her breath waiting to hear what he would say.

  “I don’t want to talk about her.”