He sighed deeply, reluctantly, and let her go. Her lids were heavy over her eyes, her skin flushed, her lips—mon Dieu, he had better not look at her lips or he would fall into kissing her again. ‘Sophia?’ It took a moment for her to focus. ‘I thought that you wanted—did I misunderstand?’
She shook her head. Her smile was faltering. ‘No, I wanted—you didn’t misunderstand.’
Husband, she had called him. Had she been acting the innocent? He could not believe it. And yet there had been a peculiar naivety to her kisses. But The Procurer would surely never have sent him a virgin to play his wife. Unless—was this the reason for the terms she had imposed? Impossible. But if it was true, he had no designs on taking her innocence.
‘Was it an act, Sophia? I need to know, because I am confused. The kisses,’ he elaborated, for now she looked just as confused as he. ‘Were you playing the innocent, the wife who had not yet been kissed or...?’
‘Why do you ask?’
She looked so vulnerable, he was tempted simply to tell her it didn’t matter. But it did. He had to understand, no matter how painful the conversation. ‘Because if it was not an act,’ Jean-Luc said gently, ‘then I won’t do it again. It would not be right.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I am not the kind of man to take advantage of a woman’s innocence. I thought that this—this fear you have of my touch, I assumed it was because some other man—but if it is because there has been no other man at all, then I will not take advantage of this situation, to be the first.’
She was quite ghostly pale now, her beautiful mouth trembling. He longed to pull her into his arms and to comfort her, though for what, he had no idea. ‘I’m not an innocent. It is just that I...’
He waited, holding his breath, expecting her to change the subject, but to his surprise, she lifted her head to meet his gaze, reached out to touch his hand. ‘You are a truly honourable man, Jean-Luc. I am not—I don’t know if I have been unfortunate, but I have not met anyone like you before. I am not an innocent. You are not taking advantage of me.’
He took her hand in his. She did not resist, clutching at him as if she were drowning, and again, he had to fight his urge to pull her into his arms, to keep her safe, somehow, to protect her. He knew it was simply a reaction to her appearance. He’d noticed it the first day, hadn’t he, that combination in her, of fragility and steeliness. It was simply that the vulnerable side of her was at the forefront at the moment. She didn’t need him to protect her.
‘Yet your kisses,’ Jean-Luc persisted, ‘were not the kisses of a woman experienced in the art of lovemaking.’
‘I’m sorry to have disappointed you.’
He was surprised into a gruff laugh. ‘I did not mean to imply they were not delightful. Merely unpractised.’
‘Kissing is not—was not—I have limited experience.’ Her colour had returned. ‘Unlike you, I think?’
‘How am I to answer that? I am not a gentleman but I am...’
‘An honourable man.’ Sophia astonished him by lifting his hand to her lips, pressing a brief but fervent kiss to his palm. ‘Truly honourable.’
Their gazes were locked. The air around them seemed to sparkle with tension. He was breathing, he must be breathing, but it felt as if he was not.
Sophia raised his hand to her mouth again. This time her kiss lingered. ‘I may be inexperienced, but that is not to say I would not be amenable to repeating the experience. Out of curiosity, you understand.’
He was hard. She had done nothing more than kiss his hand, and he was hard. ‘Sophia, there is nothing I want more than to...’
‘Then please,’ she said, with a smile that sent fresh blood surging to his groin, ‘do.’
* * *
He did, and this time Sophia gave herself over to the kiss, because this time it felt like another step in their conversation, and in that conversation she had felt herself sparkle. Like the blood fizzing in her veins as Jean-Luc kissed her, those fluttering, teasing kisses were like an invitation. She accepted, pressing little kisses back, and then following his lead to open her mouth, shaping her lips to his and tasting him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her head to allow him to kiss her more deeply. And then his tongue touched hers, and there it was again, a frisson, the most delightful sensation. His tongue touched hers again and she liked it. She liked it very much. And then the kiss deepened further, and there was heat, and tingling and his hand feathering up and down her spine, and his hair was silky soft where her fingers tangled in it, and their kisses made her weak, so that she leaned against him, and brushed against the unmistakable evidence of his desire, and when that happened, her body instinctively froze and went limp. Jean-Luc released her instantly. ‘Sophia?’
She could not meet his gaze. What could she say? Her throat was dry. She cleared it. She shook her head. ‘Please, don’t be angry with me.’
‘I am not angry, I am confused.’
She nodded. Tears were horribly close. She would not cry. ‘Understandably.’
He sighed. ‘At least you admit I have cause, even if you won’t explain it.’
‘I can’t.’
He took a step forward, his hand raised as if he would touch her cheek, but clearly thought the better of it. ‘I have had lovers. To make love, it is something that two people share, two people enjoy. If you wished me to stop kissing you, you only had to say. And if it was more than that, if you thought for a moment that because you asked me to kiss you, I would have demanded more...’
‘I didn’t.’ Mortified, she forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘I promise you, that’s not what I thought.’
He was not angry. It was worse than that. There was pity in his gaze. ‘You say that, but it’s not how you acted.’ He made a helpless gesture. ‘You say you trust me. You say that you truly believe that I am an honourable man. But your actions reflect none of those assertions.’
‘You are going to send me away,’ Sophia said flatly. ‘I’ve failed at the first hurdle, that’s what you’re trying to tell me.’
‘For someone so very intelligent, you can be very foolish. Kissing is not part of your remit and we would probably both do well to remember that. I have no fault to find with you playing the role of my wife, and I am certain that when you meet Mademoiselle de Cressy tomorrow...’
‘Tomorrow!’
‘Tomorrow, we will easily persuade her that we are married.’
‘We will, I will make certain of it.’
‘Good.’ He waited, but she had nothing she could think to add to this, and so to her utter relief, he shrugged, turning away. ‘Well then, Madame Bauduin, perhaps you will share your wifely opinions on what should be done with this dilapidated wing of our home.’
* * *
They made their way through the connected rooms of the empty wing. Sophia, who had obviously inspected them already, had a host of ideas, which she recited from a notebook. They were excellent ideas, Jean-Luc thought approvingly. As he had suspected, she had impeccable taste, and what’s more it chimed with his own, in her preference for maximising light, for muted colours, and for a lack of clutter. He listened. He encouraged her. He volunteered ideas of his own, which complemented hers. He occasionally disagreed with her. He gave the impression that his full attention was on the household renovation they were discussing, but mostly, he was studying her and trying to make sense of what had occurred between them.
The simplest solution would be to forget it. She was here to play his wife, he had no doubt that she would make an excellent job of it, but she was not actually his wife. He had the tangle of his own past to unravel without concerning himself with hers. But he was already far more intrigued than he should be. Was it precisely because she was so grudging with her history? What did he know of her? She was clearly well born. Her mother died young, her father died relatively recently. Most likely he h
ad left her in straitened circumstances, else she would not be here. But why was she not married? She was twenty-six, well past what society would deem to be an eligible age. Had she devoted her life to her father? Was that likely, given that she admitted to having a difficult relationship with him? Surely marriage would have been preferable, a convenient escape route. And if not, when he died—even if she had no dowry, a woman like Sophia could not have lacked offers.
Perhaps she had been married. Why hadn’t that occurred to him before! There had been a strange comment when they were concocting their own story over dinner on the second night—what was it she had said? Something about lies offered in exchange for promises. But hadn’t she implied that such a marriage was better avoided? Or had he misunderstood her? Yet she had admitted she was not an innocent. So she had been married then, and she regretted it—yes, that made sense. Her marriage had been unhappy. That would explain a great deal. Except the kissing. Or perhaps it did. A loveless marriage, such as the English gentry were reputed to routinely make, based on bloodline and on land and on influence. The consummation of such a marriage would be—Jean-Luc baulked at trying to imagine such a union. Not lovemaking, but breeding. Sacré bleu, that would indeed explain a good deal.
Then why not admit to it? She had nothing to be ashamed of. It could be, he supposed, that she wanted to put it behind her, to forget all about it, or even pretend it had never happened. Small wonder that her aim was independence. Smiling, nodding in agreement with her suggestion that this salon would make an excellent library or snug, Jean-Luc felt quietly satisfied that he was beginning to understand her. Whether these insights explained her kisses—now that was a very different matter.
Why had she kissed him? Husband, she had called him. Was she practising? But there would no call to kiss in such a way in public. Why had she broken her own rules? Was it a simple matter of attraction? She could be under no illusions about his desire for her, but hers for him? Any other woman, he would be happy to accept such a simple explanation. But Sophia...
‘What have I said to amuse you?’ she asked.
Jean-Luc shook his head. ‘It is nothing you have said. I was just thinking that you are like no other woman I have ever met.’
‘That is why you married me, remember.’
Which, in Sophia’s language meant, let us not discuss the matter. Jean-Luc smiled in token acknowledgement. If his little paradox was more relaxed playing Madame Bauduin, then so be it. ‘You are perfectly correct, ma belle, that is exactly why I married you.’ He took her arm, leading her into the last of the rooms.
‘Jean-Luc, why aren’t you married—I mean why aren’t you really married?’
‘I told you, I have been too absorbed in my business. And I have never met the right woman.’
‘Yes, but you know it’s quite unusual for a single man to purchase a house like this, unless he is thinking of settling down.’
‘That is a very good point. We will tell people that it is evidence that I was already contemplating marriage, so that when I met you it was a case of the fates colliding.’
Her smile was perfunctory. ‘That is not the real reason though.’
‘I’m afraid the real reason is rather prosaic. My business is not about selling a few bottles of wine to men to drink with their dinner, Sophia. I sell to suppliers and to wealthy connoisseurs—men who wish to stock their entire wine cellars. And my trade is international. It is expected that I entertain these men from time to time, and I could not do that while in lodgings.’
‘So it is a business asset, then?’
‘You could say so. That is one of the reasons I’ve left this wing untouched. Under the previous owners, it was the nursery.’
‘Of course, I should have realised. I’m assuming that you don’t foresee the need for it in the near future?’
‘You assume correctly. I currently have a wife who is not my wife, and a woman who claims that she should be my wife. That is more than enough for any man to wrestle with. Taking a real wife, and populating a nursery is not something I care to contemplate at all, for the near, middle or even distant future.’
‘So, no nursery then.’
‘No nursery. Your suggestions, with the changes we’ve discussed, are perfect.’
She beamed. ‘I am glad to have been of help.’
‘You have.’
Her smile faded. ‘I should tell you that my trousseau arrived today.’
‘Good. Is that one of your new dresses?’
Her face fell. ‘It is one of twenty-eight.’
‘Well, it is an easy enough matter to arrange another appointment, there is no need to be upset.’
‘I’m not upset that I’ve ordered too few, I’m upset that I’ve ordered far too many,’ Sophia exclaimed. ‘Twenty-eight gowns and heaven knows how many pairs of shoes and boots and hats and coats and—and other items that need not concern you.’
Those other items interested him the most, but he doubted Sophia would wish him to tell her so. Nightgowns. Stockings. Chemises. Petticoats. Unfortunately, he’d never get to see her wearing any of those most alluring garments. ‘I told you not to worry about the expense,’ he said. ‘It is important that you are adequately clothed.’
‘What I consider adequate, and what Madeleine—but it is not her fault,’ Sophia amended quickly. ‘The fault is mine. I am so very sorry. I don’t know if some of it can be returned, but...’
‘You will do no such thing. How do you think that would look, for my bride to be sending back her trousseau?’
She grimaced. ‘I hadn’t thought. But you can have no idea how much such clothing costs—oh, or perhaps you do.’
‘No, I don’t,’ he snapped. ‘I have never purchased any item of clothing for a woman in my life. I have had lovers, Sophia, not mistresses.’ She flinched. ‘I do not mean to offend you by being so blunt, but it is an important distinction to me.’
‘And to me.’ She bit her lip. ‘Being Madame Bauduin is taking some getting used to.’
‘Perhaps I was too modest when I informed you of my status. Let me assure you that I am a very, very, very rich man, and you, ma femme, must dress like the wife of one. Twenty-eight gowns does not seem to me such an outrageous number.’
‘It does to me, but to Madame Bauduin—no, perhaps not.’
He smiled. ‘Then that is an end to the matter. I trust there is something suitable in that vast collection to impress Mademoiselle de Cressy.’
‘Oh, dear heavens, I had forgotten. Where is the meeting to be held? And at what time? Will it be just the three of us?’
‘At Maxime’s office, in the morning, so there will be four of us.’
‘And what will you—what will we...?’
‘We will tell our story. We will show to Mademoiselle de Cressy that we are madly in love. And we will tell her that though she is the first to have the honour of making your acquaintance, we have accepted any number of invitations. Soon all of Paris will be talking of the beautiful Madame Bauduin.’
‘Will they? What invitations?’
Jean-Luc shrugged. ‘They will arrive in numbers, once the marriage announcement, which Maxime has placed in today’s newspapers, is circulated.’
‘So you can’t get rid of me now, even if you wanted to.’
‘If that was a joke, it was a very poor one.’
‘It was, a very poor one, I mean. I’ve lost my sense of humour of late.’
‘And your self-esteem,’ he riposted, ‘has that been a recent loss too?’
He had not meant to speak so harshly, would have retracted the question instantly, but Sophia forestalled him. ‘No,’ she said, ‘that is something I doubt I had to lose in the first place. My father,’ she added, further astonishing him, ‘was a man whose high opinion of himself could only be maintained by a correspondingly low opinion of everyone else.’
‘He sounds like a man most charmant,’ Jean-Luc said sardonically.
‘He could be, actually, when it mattered. His public persona was very charmant.’ Sophia’s smile was mocking. ‘At home, behind closed doors, we experienced the other side of his personality. Although you could say Mama had the last laugh. The greater part of her trust fund returned to her family when she died. My father blamed me for that. She had taken me for a walk in the park, you see. I slipped and fell into an ornamental pond. She fished me out but subsequently took a chill and never recovered. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, you can’t possibly be interested.’
‘And it is against the rules, do not forget that.’
‘I did though.’ She smiled tentatively. ‘I have broken them twice today.’
‘Once, to allow me to get to know you better and once, most delightfully, to allow me to kiss you. Do you regret your lapses?’
‘No, because I know that you won’t press me to confide in you unless I want you to, and I know that you won’t kiss me again unless I ask you to. You really are an honourable man.’
‘I fear your prior experience of men has led you to adopt very low standards. From what you have said of your father...’
She laughed at that, but shook her head. ‘That is true, but I don’t compare you to him or to...’ She gave herself a little shake. ‘It occurred to me that it might be a good idea for us to host a dinner or soirée. It is the custom, you know, for newly married people to do so, and since you said that it was vital that people believed in our marriage—what do you think? I’d be happy to take care of it. I have experience of both arranging and hosting such social gatherings. All you have to do is give me a list of the people you wish to attend. Obviously we can accommodate a good many more if it is a soirée.’
‘Then it shall be a soirée. That way we can spend less time with more people.’
‘Very well then. Canapes and a supper. I shall ask Monsieur le Blanc to compile a menu. How exciting!’
‘My wife, the gourmand. I forgot. I think you were born in the wrong country. I’ll tell you what, we will visit the market together, and you can instruct me on the best produce.’
From Courtesan to Convenient Wife Page 8
