Married to a Stranger

by Louise Allen

  ‘Madam said that I should ask you to be good enough to call at Lady d’Aunay’s residence when you returned, sir.’

  ‘She is there?’ Cal asked, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, sir. I believe the ladies have been exchanging items from their wardrobes, sir. Chivers took a portmanteau round.’

  Something cold and clammy settled in his gut. Callum recognised fear and told himself not to be a fool. She would not—

  He stood on Averil and Luc’s doorstep, his heart pounding, and made himself breathe. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’ The d’Aunays’ butler opened the door. ‘The ladies are in the drawing room. I will announce you—sir!’

  On a wave of relief Cal strode into the room and stopped dead. There were only two ladies: Averil and Dita seated side by side on the sofa regarded him with expressions of identical apprehension. It occurred to him, in the part of his brain that was still functioning properly, that he had never seen Dita show fear before, even during the wreck.

  ‘Where is she?’ he demanded, ready to shake it out of them if that was what it took.

  ‘We do not know,’ Dita said. She stood up and handed him a letter. ‘She said she was going somewhere peaceful and warm.’

  ‘Warm?’

  ‘I did not understand it either. She asked that we make sure you understand that she is not leaving you, that she will come back if you want her to. Only not just yet.’

  Cal looked at the letter in his hand and then at the two women.

  ‘I swear that is all true,’ Averil said.

  He turned on his heel and left without a word, pushing past the butler, out and along to his own home. Home? Not without Sophia. Without Sophia it was just a house.

  He stood in the hall and broke the seal with an impatient thrust of his thumb under the wax. It shattered, blood-red drops across the black-and-white marble of the floor. My heart’s blood. What was he going to do if she would not come back? Dita’s words were like the rudder of the overturned boat he had clung to after the shipwreck and he held to them with as much fervour, She is not leaving you.

  Callum, the letter read in Sophia’s elegant, artist’s hand.

  Please forgive me. I am not leaving you, only going away for a little while to regain my courage and my balance. I was wrong to have married you, I know that. I cannot thank you enough for your gallant kindness in offering for me, in insisting against my ungracious refusal. I have betrayed the trust you placed in me by giving me your name, I know that. When I come back I will make you a good wife, if you will let me, I swear it.

  But I need warmth. I know you cannot give me that, especially now, and I do not reproach you for it. I am going somewhere where I will find that comfort, I think. Just for a little while. Then we can begin again and I will try my best to be everything you ask of me, and nothing that you would not want.

  Thank you for protecting and defending me last night.

  Your Sophia

  His Sophia. He had to bring her back, had to tell her he loved her and forgave her. He had to find a way to let her into his thoughts and his feelings and show her the warmth she craved. She said she had betrayed his trust. A splinter of hard wax cut into his finger and he almost welcomed the sharp pain.

  He had expected her trust, thought it his right. But he had not earned it, seen it as something that would come with time and nurturing. Sophia had not turned instinctively to him to share her hopes and dreams and fears, and why should she? He had begun to tell her his, because she had teased them from him as a patient woman might untangle a knotted ball of thread. And she had done that because she cared and had wanted to share his pain and to heal it. Was that not a thousand times more meaningful than her error of judgement, her withholding of trust over this one thing?

  He had to find her, bring her home safely, tell her this and pray she would understand. But where was she? He doubted she had gone to her family home. She loved her mother, but he had sensed that they were not very close and he thought Sophia was unlikely to want to worry her with fears that the marriage was in trouble. Certainly she would not go to her brother, he would lay money on that.

  Flamborough Hall? But Will was here, in London. Warmth. The word nagged at him, chasing a thread of memory. A good memory and then it had turned sour …

  Long Welling. Sophia had stood in the hall of the old house with her hand in his and said I love it. It feels warm as though it wants to hug us. Would she have gone back there, even after the way their visit had ended? It was the only place he could think of, the only dice he could roll. If she was not there, then—No, he would not contemplate that.

  ‘Hawksley, did Chivers return?’

  ‘No, sir. I believe her to be with Mrs Chatterton.’

  ‘I see. It appears that my wife has taken it into her head to go down to Long Welling on a whim.’ He forced a smile, a man amused and tolerant of his wife’s little fancies.

  ‘Indeed, sir?’ Behind the bland expression the butler obviously did not believe a word of it.

  ‘Indeed. Have Andrew pack for me—a week in the country. No formal functions. And have Michael go round to the livery stables and secure me a chaise and four immediately.’

  ‘Sir.’ Hawksley effaced himself and Cal took the stairs two at a time to his study. There was money enough in the safe. He stuffed notes into the breast of his coat then sat down to write to Leadenhall Street, a note of apology for landing Pettigrew with extra work, enclosing a letter to the Court of Directors excusing himself on the grounds of family ill health.

  As he got into the post chaise Cal wondered if their lordships would take exception to his abrupt departure and then found he did not much care. If he did not find Sophia, then what was he working for? Ambition and position and wealth meant nothing if they were not to please her, to support her and their children, to lay whatever she wanted at her feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The postillions drew up in the road at the point where the narrow back way to Long Welling turned off. As Cal got out they began to protest that they couldn’t risk the equipage down that track, not with four horses, not in the dark.

  ‘I don’t expect you to,’ he said, paying them. The chaise rumbled off, leaving him standing by the roadside, portmanteau at his feet, the darkness broken only by moonlight breaking through the tree canopy overhead. There was no sign of light from the house somewhere down below him. An owl hooted, an ineffably lonely sound.

  He hefted the bag and began to walk, instinctively taking care to move silently until he reminded himself that this was not India with tigers and dacoits lurking in the jungle and he would do better to watch his footing on the potholed track. It was easier to concentrate on that, and the rustling sounds of the woodland night, than to contemplate what he would do if Sophia was not here.

  She was safe, he felt certain, not in the way he had with Dan, but with a desperate faith that he would know, somehow, if she were not. Then the bulk of the house loomed out of the darkness and a light flickered and he knew that Sophia had reached shelter.

  Cal pushed open the back door on to the cavernous kitchen to find Chivers standing at the table, clearing away the remains of a simple meal. She looked up, startled, as the draught made the candle flames flicker. ‘Sir!’

  ‘Is your mistress well, Chivers?’ Cal closed the door behind him and came in.

  The girl swallowed, searching for words. ‘She’s safe. We got here without any trouble and we’ve had some supper and the beds are made up.’ She hesitated, then seemed to find courage. ‘But she’s not happy, sir. She’s not crying, but she’s grieving. And I don’t know what to say to help make it better, sir.’

  ‘You’ve done all you can, Chivers. Thank you. You take yourself off to bed when you’re ready—I’ll look after your mistress and lock up.’

  The maid met his eyes, seemed to see something there that reassured her and nodded to herself. ‘She’s in the parlour, sir. Good luck, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Chivers.’

  The house was
dark as he moved through it, wary of the uneven floors and odd steps. It creaked around him like a fat old dowager settling into a comfortable chair to the peril of her stay-laces. Cal smiled wryly at his own flight of fancy, then sobered as the spill of light under the parlour door showed him where Sophia was. He took a deep breath and laid his hand on the door latch.

  Sophia put down her pencil on the desk, set both hands in the small of her back and stretched. Now there was nothing to think about but Callum and the fact that she had left him.

  The door latch clicked behind her. ‘Do you want to go to bed, Chivers?’ she asked without turning. ‘I don’t need any help with this gown and I think I will be too restless to settle for an age yet.’

  There was no answer. She swivelled round and almost fell from the stool. There, looking steadily across the long oak table, was her husband, his hazel eyes so dark they seemed almost brown.

  ‘Callum.’ How had he found her so quickly?

  ‘What are you drawing?’ he asked, as if he had just strolled in from his study at home.

  ‘You,’ she said, finding her voice. ‘You and Daniel.’ She lifted the portraits and put them on the table. They were the best thing she had ever done, she knew it, but while the pictures of Daniel were as good as she could make them, helped by Dita and Averil’s descriptions, there was something special about the portraits of Callum. She was aware of it, but would he notice? Would he care?

  He picked one of Daniel up, put it back and lifted another. Callum’s mouth curved in the faintest smile.

  ‘You lost all your drawings of Daniel in the wreck,’ she said. ‘Averil and Dita described him for me, I thought you might like to have them one day, when it was not quite so raw. Perhaps you could colour them, or show me how.’

  His hand tightened on the paper and he put it down, smoothing out the creased edge with a frown.

  ‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’

  He picked up a picture of himself. The best one. The one that had made her weep as she drew it.

  He looked up at her then and the breath caught in her throat. She had never seen emotion like that on his face, never seen such uncertainty. ‘There is such feeling in this,’ he said after a moment. ‘Sophia, I know you married me for security and position and to help your family. Was there anything else?’

  ‘Not at first,’ Sophia admitted in a rush. Callum said nothing, but he had become very still. ‘There was desire, of course. You must have realised that I was hardly indifferent to you! I may have been innocent and inexperienced, and perhaps it took a little getting used to, but I do not think a woman finds such pleasure in a man’s bed as I do with you if there is not a fundamental attraction.’

  ‘Or a man in a woman’s,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ Momentarily distracted, she sent him a quizzical glance. ‘I understood that men were quite happy to take sex where they could find it, never mind who the woman was.’

  Callum gave a slight huff of amusement. ‘The mechanics and the release, perhaps. To find the pleasure I discovered in making love to you, no, that is not experienced without something more. It took me a while to realise that.’

  ‘You feel more for me?’ Sophia whispered, hardly daring to ask. Callum seemed in the mood to tell her the truth, but she was not certain she dared to hear it.

  ‘I tried not to,’ he admitted.

  ‘Because I had once fancied myself in love with Daniel?’ Was he going to come to her or were they to stay marooned, either side of the wide old table?

  ‘No.’ Callum’s mouth twisted into a self-mocking smile. ‘Nothing as acceptable as that. I did not want to care for anyone else. Not for Will, certainly not for you. It hurt too much and where Dan had been, part of me, all my life, there was nothing. Just a black, aching hole. How could I lay myself open to that sort of loss again?’

  ‘But you looked after me,’ Sophia offered. He had done that, and now he had followed her, realised where she had gone. Surely she could take the first step now. She skirted the table until she was standing in front of him, not quite within touching distance. Your move now, my love, she thought.

  ‘I’m very good at that,’ Callum said. ‘I looked after Dan instead of forcing him to stand on his own two feet. I manoeuvred you into marrying me because I thought it was the right thing for you. I immersed myself in Company business so I could become rich, buy you a big house, buy myself a title perhaps. I did not stop to ask myself if that was what I wanted, or ask you what you needed. What I needed to do to earn your trust.’

  ‘I need you to hold me,’ she whispered and took that last step forwards. Callum pulled her into his arms, against his chest. She felt the deep, shuddering sigh rack him, then he was still. The weight on her head, she thought, was his cheek. ‘This is all I wanted, Callum. Not houses, not money, not a title. Not even the lovemaking, although that is wonderful. I should have trusted you, told you about the drawings. I am very sorry, but I could not reach you, somehow, I could not let go and trust completely. I just need you, Callum, not you behind a pane of glass, keeping me out.’

  ‘I did that?’

  ‘Yes. But then you could be so understanding and gradually I thought you were accepting me. For hours at a time I thought it would be all right and then you cut me off again. But I almost disgraced you in front of your friends and relatives and people on whom your career depends and you defended me.’

  ‘I can speak six languages,’ Callum said, the words rumbling against her ear as she stood crushed to his chest. ‘I can stand in front of the Court of Directors of the East India Company and convince them to make a change of policy, I can make money and I can administer justice in a foreign country. What I found I could not do was to tell a woman I loved her.’

  For a moment Sophia thought she had not heard him correctly. ‘Love? You love me?’ She wriggled until she could tip back her head and gaze into his face. He looked, for the first time since she had known him, uncertain.

  ‘Yes. I kept trying to tell you, then deciding the time was not right. It seems that neither of us dared take that final step and trust each other. Do you mind that I love you?’

  ‘Mind?’ Sophia bit her lip to steady herself because she did not know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Mind that my husband who I love with all my heart loves me? No, my darling Callum. All I mind is not knowing sooner.’

  He sat down, hard. Fortunately the table was behind him. Sophia found their eyes were on a level as she stood in the circle of his arms. His hazel gaze held all the warmth she could ever want and the dark brown that she had come to associate with pain or worry had gone, replaced with glittering green. ‘You love me? We have a love match and neither of us realised?’ His grin took years off his age. ‘How long? When did you realise you loved me?’

  ‘When I saw Averil in your arms. I was so jealous I could have scratched her eyes out—and then so relieved when I discovered who she was. So I thought about it and realised why I felt like that.’

  Callum pulled her tight back against his body, his thighs cradling her, his bristly cheek pressed to hers. She didn’t mind; the rasp of his evening beard somehow made this real, believable.

  ‘Thank heavens for jealousy,’ he said, rubbing one big palm in comforting circles on her back. ‘I found I was beginning to understand your feelings, almost as I would understand Dan’s, and I realised I was letting you into my emotions, into my heart. I thought how I would feel if I lost you and realised that I loved you. I had nightmares about losing you. So I set out to court you, so I could work round to saying it—only it was far harder to manage my emotions then. I wanted to be controlled, moderate, do the right thing, but I cared too much, I was too frightened of losing you.’ His arms locked tight.

  ‘You will lose me if you suffocate me!’ Sophia struggled free and found she could laugh. Perhaps she had to, or she would burst with the happiness bubbling up inside her.

  ‘I thought I had.’ Callum looked so serious that she sobered, shaken by the intensity in his voi
ce. ‘I thought I had driven you away. I was cruel last night, I meant to punish you without words or blows. Dita said you wanted somewhere warm—and I remembered your reaction when we came here that day. I have no idea what I would have done if I had not found you tonight.’

  ‘I am sorry I left, but I wanted to think,’ she explained, stumbling over the words. ‘I believed I had to resign myself to a marriage without love and I thought I had forfeited all right to hope for it. Somehow I did not have the courage to face you, knowing that, and I had to find it again, find the strength to go on. I have been a sad trial to you.’

  ‘You made a mistake because we had not learned to trust each other or understand what mattered. You are not a trial, wife.’ Callum cupped her face in his hands and studied it, the smile coming back to warm his eyes. Her gaze rested on the sensual curve of his mouth and heat pooled in her belly. ‘You are, I think, my salvation. I did not understand about your art,’ he murmured. ‘I am sorry for that. Will you draw family portraits? We will have private editions of your work done, just for the family. You can even sell to Ackermann so long as it is anonymous.’

  ‘Don’t you mind?’

  ‘No. I am proud of you and your talent.’ Something in the way she was looking at him seemed to register and the smile became provocative. ‘Shall we go to the Hall and beg a bed for the night?’

  ‘There is one made up here.’ She did not pretend to misunderstand. Callum was not in need of a good night’s sleep.

  ‘The same bedchamber as that kiss that made you so angry with me? Don’t you mind?’

  ‘Not at all. It was a very good kiss, although I was hoping for a little more this time perhaps …’

  ‘You little witch! If you want more, you shall have it.’ Callum straightened, rocked her off balance and swept her up in his arms. He strode to the half-open door, shouldered his way out into the hall and made for the front door.

  ‘Callum! That’s the door to the outside—the stairs are over there.’

  ‘Sir? Ma’am?’ Chivers came running from the kitchen, a lamp in her hand.