“Yes.” A quick nod confirmed the statement.
“Where?” She took a fine knit shawl of ivory wool from the woman and gratefully threw it about her shoulders. It kept the slight chill at bay.
“Here.” The woman led the way to a tiny round table wedged into one corner. A porcelain tea service waited on the rose-inlaid top. She waved to one of the chairs while she took the other one. “Madam said you can have tea while you wait for the next fitting.” The heavily accented English was melodious and reminded Sophia of birdsong.
“Ugh. The next fitting.” She propped her elbow on the tabletop and dropped her chin in her hand while a grumbling set up in her stomach. “I am not accustomed to such fuss over one single dress.” Of course, years ago she was never afforded a London Season due to her father’s wastrel ways, and a good portion of her current wardrobe had been handed down from her sisters, heavily altered to fit her buxom figure.
An amused grin shot across her companion’s face. “It is not just the one gown.” She poured out a cup of fragrant, creamy amber and handed it to Sophia. “My name is Tamara.”
Sophia nodded as she inhaled the richness of black tea as well as vanilla, cinnamon and cardamom. “Call me Sophia.” After taking an experimental sip and enjoying the exotic flavors, she frowned. “What do you mean?”
Another smile graced her new friend’s lips. “Lord Trewellain asked Madame to fit you for a whole new wardrobe.”
“What?” Her jaw hung open as she gaped, her teacup suspended halfway to her mouth. “When? How? But Madame Isabella said the ball gown would take all afternoon.” Her mind spun. Why would Jonathan do such a thing?
Tamara laughed and then sipped at her own tea. “Before he left, he asked it of her.”
“And she agreed? That’s so much extra work.” Heat slapped at Sophia’s cheeks.
The other woman shrugged. “Who can say why she does what she does, but we will use existing gowns—some were never purchased by clients, some were returned, some were made during slow times—and alter them to your measurements. You will also take shifts, petticoats, stockings, slippers and everything else with you.” Tamara’s brown eyes sparkled. “You must be important or special to garner such attention by the viscount.”
The heat in her cheeks deepened. “I don’t know that I’d say either.” Was he so embarrassed by her appearance that he’d take on such expense? And what sort of woman would it brand her if she accepted? How could she not, though, when every woman within the shop was busy, bent over yards and yards of fabrics in a variety of textures and colors?
“You are a funny English woman not to be excited about this turn of events.” Tamara’s eyes sparkled as she sipped her tea. “This man is doing something nice and wonderful for you. Does this not please you?”
“It is… unexpected.” Perhaps she’d been wrong about his character. “Though…” She gazed across the room. A rose silk with silver embroidery caught her eye as did an ivory gown trimmed with gold thread and beadwork. “It is all very beautiful.” Sophia turned her attention back to her companion. “I’ve never owned such pretty things.” Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids and she blinked quickly to stave off the silly wont to cry.
“A man does not buy such things for a woman unless he is guilty or expects something from her.” Tamara cocked an eyebrow. “Or he is in love.”
“Ha!” Sophia burst into near-hysterical laughter. She took a big gulp of tea to cover her budding confusion. “We are not in love. In fact, the emotion between us is the farthest thing from that.” As for his expectation, was it the upcoming mission he wished for her to perform well at? If so, that wouldn’t necessitate a new wardrobe. What did he have to feel guilty for? This current trip had been her fault as much as his. The ruin of her reputation? Hardly. Her innocence was still intact, and who would know she’d spent copious amount of time alone with him? They were abroad and far from society’s prying and judging eyes. She frowned as she glanced at her companion. Nothing in his demeanor had indicated he liked her let alone harbored stronger emotions. “No, we are not in love.”
Tamara shrugged. “In any case, you are a lucky woman indeed.” A sly look crossed her face. “He is a catch, yes? And Madame Isabella said you are engaged to him.”
“I am, but it is rather more complicated than that.” She didn’t want to reveal the circumstance that had bound together. It didn’t reflect well on either of them.
“Do you have feelings for him?”
“Of course not, unless you count dislike or annoyance.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “He can be quite vexing when he’s brooding.” Which is almost always.
“Some men are like that. But then, some men have learned to hide their feelings behind such surliness.” Her eyes bored into Sophia’s. “Perhaps he has been hurt in the past, or perhaps he has an obligation to you. These are things you should find out, no matter how the engagement happened. It is your right as his intended.”
Interesting. She didn’t know enough about the viscount or his life to make an intelligent comment. Mayhap she should ask more questions of him. Not that he would answer.
Tamara smiled. “There is no romance between you?”
Sadly, no. Apart from that first night when he’d sent her flying out of spite, he hadn’t touched her or spoken to her in anything that remotely smacked of carnality or soft feelings. “There is not. We are friends, nothing more.” Yet a friend wouldn’t let her accompany him on a covert mission, nor would he finance a new wardrobe, regardless of the fact she’d not brought many clothes with her. Sophia sighed. It was all too much to think about. A megrim brewed behind her eyes. “Once we return to England, he’s promised to set me free so I may live my life on my own terms.” That didn’t sound any better once uttered aloud. And what exactly would she do when that happened?
“Never will I understand how the English do not embrace what life is, instead of what they hope it might be. There is much to enjoy right in front of you.” Tamara drained her teacup and then laid it on the tea tray. “I must return to work.”
“Thank you for the tea and the conversation.” Sophia continued to frown long after Tamara left the table.
Chapter Nine
Jonathan paced the confines of the drawing room as he waited for Sophia to join him.
When he’d returned to Madame Isabella’s yesterday around tea time, she’d been more than ready to leave—her and her two stacks of boxes containing a whole new wardrobe plus the ball gown. He shoved a hand through his hair as his mind spun. He refused to feel guilty over buying her the clothing and baubles, even if he owed her all of that and more for the horrible things he’d brought into her life.
Perhaps they could both consider it a trousseau, for they were engaged—temporarily—but she could keep the gifts once they parted ways when they returned to England. The clothes would help her look the part of a well-traveled lady of some import, and would assist her in whatever she wished to do once they were free of each other.
The thought did nothing to calm his racing heart or the tightness in his chest.
At yet another turn of the room, he passed Philip, who regarded him with curiosity in his eyes and a smile on his lips. “Out with it, man. I know you have questions, so you might as well ask them,” he spat out with more annoyance than he’d intended.
The retired agent chuckled. He poured himself a measure of brandy from a sideboard and then drifted toward Jonathan after he’d replaced the decanter. “Tell me about your relationship with Sophia.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Jonathan crossed his arms at his chest and leaned a shoulder against the nearest wall. At least it was God’s honest truth.
“When a man says that, he’s hiding something.” Philip sat on a wing-backed chair of ivory brocade. “You are engaged.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been betrothed?”
“About two weeks.” Then he frowned. That was not the truth. “Actually, if truth be told, it’s been n
early three years.” He ignored the heat creeping up the back of his neck at Philip’s incredulous expression. “If you must know, I won her hand during an ill-advised game of faro with her father. He’s a wastrel and a bastard of the highest order. Squandered away whatever coin he had and left his children fighting for their futures.”
“I see.” Philip downed the contents of his snifter in one gulp. Jonathan hungered for a glass himself, but he didn’t leave his post at the wall. “I assume you two came to be here in Spain together by happenstance?”
He snorted with derision. “More like her design.” A sigh escaped, and he rubbed a hand along his jaw. “She wants to be free.”
“And you do not?”
“For the moment, she is my responsibility.” A muscle twitched in his cheek as he clenched his teeth and then relaxed. “Once in England, I plan to release her from our bond.”
Philip was silent for long moments. The ticking of a long-case clock marked the time. Finally, he nodded. “Do you have feelings for her?”
“For Sophia?” Jonathan scoffed and cast a furtive glance at the open doorway. “Absolutely not. She’s as annoying as a burr under a saddle.” Though, during his trip to the Royal Palace he did miss her usual chatter. He cleared his throat. “Look, I’ve let her come with me on the mission to make certain she’s safe until we return to England.” When his friend eyed him askance, he rushed on, “I couldn’t very well turn her loose all by herself without clothing or funds, now could I?”
“No. In this you’ve proved yourself a gentleman.” Philip narrowed his eyes. “You have been nothing but proper toward her, haven’t you?”
The earlier heat of the flush encompassed his whole body. “Yes.” The word was forced out from a tight throat. Not for worlds would he reveal what he’d done to her that first night on the ship.
“Ah. Why do I not believe you?”
“It is what it is.” He pushed off from the wall and began to pace once more. “Hell, having her along has caused other problems. I’m worried she’ll compromise the case due to lack of training. I am already out of my element. I do not need another stumbling block.”
“She is learning, Jonathan. Just as you had to,” Philip said in a low voice.
He waved a hand in dismissal. “She is not an agent.”
“Does that truly matter?”
“I don’t know.” Jonathan shook his head. “It’s risky involving a civilian.” He remembered times when Lady Archewyne had been involved in the earl’s cases. Most times it was a mess and put lives in danger. “Perhaps she needs a lecture on how to conduct herself in a clandestine capacity.”
Fabric rustled in the hall and seconds later, Maria entered the drawing room, a wide smile on her face, followed by Sophia.
“Isn’t she magnificent?” Maria asked as she crossed the room and stood by her husband’s side. “Madame Isabella outdid herself. Sophia looks like a dream. I hardly recognize her.”
Jonathan turned, and he couldn’t help himself. He gawked. Sophia, clad in a gown of robin egg’s blue trimmed with silver glass beads and silver embroidery, paused midway into the room. A faint blush stained her creamy cheeks, and her wheat blonde hair had been arranged, twisted into an elaborate updo. Matching ribbons and strings of pearls were woven through the tresses.
Good God.
Words died in his throat. His mind blanked. For the moment, he forgot how to breathe as he gazed at the woman he thought he knew. Without the stained or wrinkled dresses or the simple way she’d worn her hair or the dust of ages marring her cheek, she was indeed magnificent.
Beautiful, even.
Sophia glanced his way, her indigo eyes sparkling with excitement. “Do I look the part?” She fussed with her elbow-length white gloves.
He came back to himself with a gasp mixed with a cough. “Of course. Why?” His gaze fell to the tops of her ivory breasts in the low bodice and he jerked his attention away.
“You’re staring at me like you’ve never seen me before.” She smiled and gave Philip and Maria her attention as they approached her. “I worry I’ll be out of place at such a lofty gathering tonight.”
Still in shock, Jonathan barely heard the small talk, but he couldn’t tear his focus from her. She sparkled with every movement. The gown, tailored to her body, hugged her every curve. Sophia would cause too much notice tonight, of that he was certain. Bloody hell. Yes, taking her with him was a deuced bad idea.
Philip came over and clapped a hand to Jonathan’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll reel later from such a heady lecture, old chap,” he murmured with a laugh.
“Do shut up,” he replied, but he couldn’t help his own grin even as his gaze wandered back to Sophia as she laughed with Maria. His cock stirred to life, and he strove to ignore the reaction. “We must be off if we’re to have any hope of finding Basselton.”
“Good luck… in everything tonight,” Philip murmured.
Once in a closed carriage, Jonathan broached the subject he was most concerned with. After noting her tightly clenched hands on her lap as well as the lush bottom lip she held between her teeth, he asked, “This is your first big event, isn’t it? You’ve never attended a ton function in London, have you?”
“I have not.” She turned her attention from the window and pinned him with her gaze. Concern shadowed the depths as they passed a gas street light. “Does the anxiety show?”
“Slightly.” Poor thing. If she didn’t relax, she’d be eaten alive. “The good thing is Madrid society isn’t as rigid as London’s. Take your cues from me, but under no circumstance should you mention I’m a king’s agent, that we are on a mission, Spain’s crown jewels, or the chalice.”
She sucked in a breath. “What chalice? You never told me about that.”
Damn and blast. “That is a story for another time.”
“After the ball?” Her eyes were wide and glittering with excitement.
“Yes.” Lord help him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d blurt out all of his secrets. “Remember to breathe.” Did he say it to set her mind at ease, or his?
“I shall try, but I’m terrified.” She fussed with her gloves, her bodice, her skirting.
“Why?” He tried to remember his first social event, and failed. Perhaps it was because all such functions left him bored, which was why he actively avoided them unless strong-armed into attending by Rathesborne or Archewyne.
Or a woman he’d pursued. That hadn’t happened for nearly a year. Since Lavinia. His heart constricted. Bah! He hated that he couldn’t wallow in self-pity at the moment, for Sophia had the unique talent for dragging him along and forcing him to participate in life.
She sighed. “I haven’t danced in years, and even then it was with one of my brothers. Stephen particularly enjoyed seeing me stumble through the steps.” Her shrug recalled his attention to her cleavage and the charms there set off by the glittering glass beads lining the bodice. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help this evening.”
“You’ll be enough of a distraction even if you never gain the dance floor,” he murmured, shocked by the truth of that statement. Suddenly, the realization that male eyes would be on her, ogling her, and that men would be undressing her in their imaginations plowed into him. His chest tightened, and the urge to protect her grew strong. Before he could change his mind, he left his bench for hers and settled himself next to her. Her scent of apple blossoms wafted around him, making him wonder if she’d brought a bottle of the perfume with her. “If you must converse with gentlemen, pretend they are one of your brothers. That will make it easier.”
On everyone. The last thing he needed was interrupting his mission to chaperone her if she suddenly attracted a bevy of potential suitors… or pluck her from their clutches.
A frown pulled the corners of her mouth downward. “I’d rather you not leave me alone in the midst of strangers.”
“I shall endeavor not to.” Unable to stop himself, he encouraged a thin tendril of her escaped hair to curl around his for
efinger. The silky strands clung to his glove. “Sophia.” He brushed his fingers along her nape, and a tiny tremor moved through her. He forced a swallow into his tight throat. “It is merely a part of the mission. You are not attempting to bring a duke up to scratch. You will do fine. Trust me. Trust yourself.”
She turned her head, so close that their lips nearly touched. “How can you possibly know that?” Her breath warmed his cheek.
Jonathan tightened his hand on her neck. He traced her collarbone with the pad of his gloved thumb, cursing the fabric that kept him from feeling her skin. So delicate, so innocent. “I just do.” So intoxicating. How had he never seen her in this light before?
Panic beset him. He was getting too close. Contracting feelings for a woman he neither wanted or needed would only cause folly. He pulled away. She exhaled. Was it in relief or disappointment? A distraction was needed. Shoving a hand into a pocket of his greatcoat, he withdrew a velvet pouch. “I… uh, I learned from Lady Archewyne to always come prepared for every contingency.” Untying the strings, he dumped a wad of silver jewelry into his palm.
“What is it?” Excitement and awe wove through her voice.
“The finishing touch your ensemble needs.” He held up a necklace. In the dim illumination from the passing street lights, aquamarine stones, each a half carat, sparkled with smaller diamonds between. All the stones were oval in shape and there were at least four of each. “Turn for me. In the meanwhile, you can put this on.” He dropped a matching bracelet into her hand.
“How well, exactly, do you know Lady Archewyne?” she asked as she twisted on the bench beside him.
Was that… jealousy in her voice? Surely not. She hated him at best. Why would she care who he associated with? Still, he chuckled. “She is the wife of my best friend. We spend holidays together. Plus, she’s saved my life twice over. It is natural that we are close.” If it hadn’t been for her rather dogging care after he’d lost his leg, he would have no doubt killed himself. In France during the Lancelot Stone affair, she’d taken a ball that had been meant for him shortly before they were both plunged into the Seine. “I am grateful to her.”
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 10
