Читать книгу Temptation Has Green Eyes - Lynne Connolly - Страница 7

Sophia was sick of fielding questions about the young men she might consider marrying. Her father, his good mood flowing over to the dinner they held that night, kept the gentlemen in the dining room longer than usual, and Sophia, perforce, had to entertain the ladies in the drawing-room.

One lady suggested that John Hayes would be growing impatient.

He could get as impatient as he liked, but he wasn’t coming anywhere near her again. She forced a smile and gave a non-committal, “Really?” with a touch of aspersion.

She’d trusted a man who had traduced and despised her. He’d only wanted her for her money, nothing else, but she’d believed every lying honeyed word that had dropped from his lips. Until that afternoon when he’d taken matters too far. Her father had ejected him from her life. She was surprised she hadn’t felt a jot of regret, not even recalling the times John was so charming to her. She didn’t miss him one bit.

“But I daresay we’ll be hearing an announcement soon?” Mrs. Cleverly said.

If Sophia said anything other than, “I don’t know,” the news would be all over London, at least the part of it that mattered most to her. She gave a wan smile. “We found we didn’t suit. I believe he has found a position elsewhere.”

Enough of a hint to suggest the fault was on his side. As much as she dared, anyway.

Mrs. Cleverly’s carefully penciled brows rose a fraction. “I thought you were almost declaring for each other.”

Sophia shook her head. “We never took matters that far.”

Another lady, a younger one, and the wife of one of London’s most daring investors, said, “But what about that handsome marquess?”

Immediately Sophia’s thoughts flew to the Marquess of Devereaux, and inwardly she groaned. He barely noticed her, probably didn’t know her name. “He is my father’s business associate. I admit he is handsome, but City and County don’t mix, do they? More tea?” She lifted the pot, shaking it a little to make sure there was enough left.

She’d noticed him from the moment his tall, lean form entered the banqueting hall at the Guildhall, at the formal dinner she was attending with her father. He’d made her feel underdressed and inconspicuous, but not from anything he did. He was punctiliously polite. He had exchanged a few innocuous words with her and moved on, leaving her gaping at his sheer masculine beauty and his elegance.

He probably wouldn’t remember her name if she met him again. Or perhaps his impeccable manners had led him to commit it to memory. Sophia wasn’t fooled, though. He’d only spoken to her because he was courting her father. No gleam of interest sparked his astonishing green eyes, no warm words or a request to visit her home. Not that he could, because Sophia had done away with chaperones a year ago and firmly declared herself perfectly able to run her own affairs.

More fool she. If she’d allowed her tedious aunt to stay, she wouldn’t have got into the pickle with John.

Half an hour later, she closed the door on the last guest with a weary sigh.

She picked up the silver snuffers, extinguished the candles in the sconces, crossed to the table, and extinguished the others. The fire and the moonlight glimmering through the gap in the window shutters produced the only remaining light. Unearthly, it streaked across the room to cast the portrait of her mother in a silvery glimmer.

If Sophia were superstitious, the ethereal light would worry her, but she’d seen that effect more than once. Merely a product of the situation of the portrait and the way the moonlight hit it. Instead of running screaming, she stared at the painting of the lovely woman who’d died six years ago.

She smiled up at her mother. Lady Mary Howard was depicted at the height of her beauty, holding a fan in her satin-clad lap. Although Sophia shared her mother’s coloring, she didn’t otherwise resemble her much. Nor her father. Perhaps she looked like her grandparents, but since both her mother and her father’s parents had died before she could properly remember them, she could only speculate.

The door opened. A figure stood shadowed against the light from the hall. “Sophia, are you all right in here with no lights?”

“I was just putting them out, Papa. The servants will bring their own once they come to clear up. No sense wasting best beeswax when there’s nobody in here.”

“Ever the housekeeper. Sophia my dear, come and talk to me. I have some news for you.”

She couldn’t see his smile, but she could hear it in his voice. She couldn’t pull her watch from her pocket to check the time in this light, but she was tempted to depress the repeater to hear it chime the hour. Her father would hear it too, so she resisted. “Father, it must be ten o’clock. I thought you’d gone up to bed.”

“I have some news for you, and I don’t wish to wait. Come.”

Unusual for him to be so uncharacteristically impatient. Sophia followed her father out of the dining room and downstairs to his study. Her father conducted some of his business from here.

She knew it well, from the legal documents tied with red tape to the tall account books he kept here. With fire a constant threat, her father always had two copies of every important document written out. The original for the office, one for here, and another for the house in the country. Somehow Sophia doubted London would see another Great Fire, but as he often said, “You never know.”

The familiarity gave her assurance. Wait—he’d left to sign the agreement with the marquess earlier today. Had the deal gone awry?

Her heart in her mouth, she waited for him to say that the contract was null. She’d labored long hours copying out that document. She’d hate it to go to waste.

He took a seat, leaned back in his chair, and motioned to the one on the other side of his huge desk, the one she customarily used.

Sophia smoothed her skirts and sat, finding it mildly uncomfortable to be here in her evening silks and not her daytime wool and linen.

He didn’t appear put out, no trace of a frown between his brows. “My daughter, you are well?”

That was more than a courteous inquiry after her health. John’s behavior had distressed her, and although she’d tried not to reveal the level of her distress, her father had discerned it. “Very, thank you, Father.”

“I am extremely pleased to hear it.” He glanced down at the papers before him, picked up his gold-rimmed glasses, and propped them on the high bridge of his nose. “I have some news that affects you directly. You recall I was signing the contract with the Marquess of Devereaux today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That went without a hitch. We discussed a few small matters, which I would request you add to our copy tomorrow, but nothing that materially alters the agreement.”

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. “I’m glad. That will benefit us considerably.” And the employees of her father’s company.

“Indeed. I’m glad to have it done. But we discussed another matter.” He regarded her in silence for a moment before speaking again. “You are four and twenty and a considerable heiress.”

“I am aware of that, Papa.”

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Until recently, I had ignored the implications of those simple facts. However, it was borne on me recently that I should pay serious attention to the matter.”

Sophia repressed a shudder. “I am fine, Papa.”

“A society lady would have had a companion or a chaperone.”

With a curl of her lip, she replied, “I am not a society lady. You provide me with a footman to protect me outside the house, and indoors I need nobody. Neither am I a girl fresh from the schoolroom.” Her father had seen that she learned what she needed, but her training in account-keeping went far beyond maintaining the household records.

He harrumphed. “You are not. But you are ready to wed.”

What was this? Although startled, Sophia knew better than to deny his assertion. Opposing her father wasn’t the best way to make him see reason. He would dig his feet in and insist, and then there’d be no budging him. She would find another way to avoid her father’s concerns.

He had meant for her to marry John, and she’d been happy to comply, especially after John’s careful courtship, but that had of course come to nothing. She had thought herself safe for a year or two at least.

Distracting him with business usually worked best. Preparing to listen, she folded her hands in her lap and pasted an expression of mild interest on to her face. “Some women don’t marry until they’re nearly thirty, Papa.”

“I spoke with the marquess at some length today and offered him a new contract to accompany the other.”

“Oh?” The implications of what he was leading to struck her after her mild expression of interest. Her father had spoken before of her going back into society. Perhaps he wanted the marquess to sponsor her re-entry, under the aegis of a suitable female relative.

She didn’t want that. Her debut had been a disaster. Nobody had taken any notice of her, until they learned how rich she would be, and she left the ballrooms of Mayfair with nothing but relief, vowing never to return.

Her mother had been disappointed, but shortly after that first season, she had died, so Sophia had never returned. And she’d never been missed.

A light approach would work best. “Does the marquess know a suitable candidate?” Her heart beat faster, and she tried to breathe normally. Her laces were tighter than usual, so her bosom would reveal her state of agitation if she didn’t take care.

“He does.” Her father’s sly smile sent chills running through her.

“Papa, I am of a mind not to marry for some time yet. Do we really need to consider it now?”

“What? Yes, we do. I was deeply deceived in Hayes, and I would not have that happen again. It must not.”

Because it diminished her reputation, came close to destroying it? Sophia had worked hard to rebuild her reputation, and she was nearly there. Without compromising and allowing another chaperone into the house. What was she, some society miss who couldn’t go outdoors without a footman?

Sophia had a cordial relationship with her father, one that didn’t lead either of them to vouchsafe their most intimate emotions. Even after John’s attack, her father had been more concerned with her physical condition. In other words, was she still a virgin? She could assure him on that point, although had a few more moments passed, she might not have been.

She would never forget that feeling of utter helplessness as John pinned her legs open and held her hands above her head. That had been the worst, even more than his gloating expression as he loomed above her, his breeches open.

Her heart beat faster, and the breath caught in her throat. With an effort, she forced her mind off that track. Reliving that scene never did any good.

Now her father was talking, and unusually for him, avoiding getting to the point. He was discussing the incident with John as if it were the topic of the conversation. But that was done, and she didn’t want to think about it any longer. As soon as she had controlled her breathing she broke into his monologue. “Papa, I appreciate your concern. I will never allow myself to be in a room alone with a man again.” She offered a smile. “Except for you, of course.”

He shook his head. “No, that will not do. Your potential fortune will increase with this new venture and others I have in mind. So much that few men will find themselves able to resist you.”

She hadn’t thought of that. He was right. The greater her potential fortune grew, the greater temptation she became to fortune hunters. She might have to let Aunt Jane back after all.

“If your mother and I had had more children, that would have helped to dissipate the effect, but we did not.” He regarded her steadily.

She was forced to glance down, using the pretext of tidying a pile of papers. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t remarried. Perhaps he would yet. But after her mother’s death, he’d immersed himself in work. Then they had become comfortable with each other and settled into a routine that did not include another woman. He’d seemed content enough, and so was she.

“As well as signing the original contract, we agreed another. Your marriage contract with Lord Devereaux. You will sign it on Friday, when it has been drawn up properly, and marry on Monday.” He smiled broadly. “Daughter, I saw how you looked at him at the Guildhall dinner. You wanted him. I got him for you.”

No, oh no.

What she didn’t want, what she feared more than anything else, was being married as an object, someone unimportant in herself, whose fortune was more important. She’d so nearly succumbed to that with John. For all his protestations of love he had never wanted her, only what she represented. Every day she remained unmarried was another when she didn’t have to face that fate—to be a thing. Now, with the Marquess of Devereaux, she was confronted with it again.

The world knew how hard his lordship had worked to restore his fortunes after his father had spent it. Of course he’d take her money, even if she went with it. He barely noticed her. He would continue the same way, wife or not.

That gave her an idea. She got up and hurried to the bookshelves ranged against one wall, finding what she needed almost immediately—the book that detailed the peers of Britain, the one she and her father used when some aristocrat came to them, cap in hand. Over the years, she and her father had made notes that they might find useful. Such details could prove immensely useful in negotiations.

Flipping through the pages quickly, she came to the one she wanted.

“Papa, listen to this. If this doesn’t persuade you that I’m unsuitable, nothing will.” She began to read.

“The Devereaux title dates back to the Elizabethan era, and the present holder of the title can trace his ancestry back directly to the courtier who took to the High Seas and brought the queen a fortune. The family’s fortunes have gone up and down, and are currently flourishing. Lord Devereaux owns one of the largest houses in the country, Devereaux Place, which might as well be termed Palace. It is reported to have one room for each day of the year. Despite the magnificent pile, his lordship prefers to spend his time in town. He is unmarried and has one sister. 1753.” She’d made the extra notes last year, after the fateful meeting at the Guildhall.

“I can’t marry someone like that, Papa. What do I know about houses in the country?”

Her father regarded her closely, but said nothing for a moment. When he did speak, it was in that quiet, determined voice that told her she would win nothing by arguing. “You will learn, if necessary. The deal is made, and you should spend your time preparing yourself.”

With another man, she might make something—a relationship, a friendship—but with him, she doubted it. Her feet itched with the desire to leave the room, but if she left now, she’d concede defeat.

Her father’s cold statement filled Sophia with pure rage. Never, ever had she felt so furious with anyone. That it was with her father didn’t surprise her, because he was one of the few people in the world who could affect her mood. Arguing reasonably be damned. At least she’d say what she thought.

Her heart pounded, and heat rose to her cheeks. “Do I have no say in this agreement?” In the circumstances she considered her words calm and collected, but she couldn’t make them warm or prevent the telling tremble in her voice.

Her father watched her. An old trick to use silence against her, but he’d taught her that tactic himself, so she was not affected by it. She waited until she had swallowed down some of her betraying emotion.

“I have nothing but consideration for you,” he said eventually. “You need a husband, and I have obtained the best possible candidate. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” However hard she tried, Sophia couldn’t control her trembling. “Should you not have consulted with me first?”

“Since we were at the lawyer’s office, I took the opportunity to request the contract signed with the other. It’s a standard marriage contract. You will not find yourself disadvantaged by it.”

“Not financially,” she snapped. “What about my personal happiness?”

He looked at her. Just looked, until she shook her head.

“I cannot marry him, Papa.”

“Why not? Has he shown you a lack of respect? Or worse?”

“He hardly notices me,” she said bitterly. “We spoke once only.”

“Then it’s your pride that’s hurt?”

He was too perceptive, but she’d always known that. “No. But I would like my future husband to show some preference for me.”

He brushed aside her protests with a careless wave of his hand. “Pooh! You will no doubt have preference to spare once you are wed. This is not a romantic association, but it will make you part of an alliance that will affect society. Perhaps history. Do you not want that?”

“All I ever wanted was to do my best. I have no desire to make history.” Even though her father wasn’t exaggerating.

He lost any semblance of geniality, his mouth tightening into a thin line. She was in deep trouble. He had made up his mind and there was no changing it. “Do you deny that your emotions get you into trouble?”

She said nothing.

“This is an association, an alliance. The marquess is a sensible man; he will listen to your advice. And I will leave certain matters in your hands. Your erstwhile inamorato has been spreading rumors about you and your so-called wanton behavior. You know how badly that will go down in some quarters of the City.”

By “City,” he didn’t mean the geographical area. He meant the men who ran the financial matters that spread worldwide. Yes, John’s malicious lies had some people doubting her morality, and thus her veracity. Consequently her father’s too, however unfair that judgment was in reality.

He wasn’t finished. “And children, do you not want them?”

She refused to answer any more. She knew what her father was doing; he would drag her into paths she couldn’t win, place arguments against her that would force her to agree with him. So she would make her statement and then leave with all the dignity she could muster. Perhaps he would consider her objections, perhaps not. It remained to be seen how much stake he’d put on this deal.

“Papa, I respect your views, and I owe you obedience as my parent. However, I also have a life that will continue for some time, and I have no wish to spend it with someone I hardly know. I would like at least the pretense of courtship. He is marrying a fortune, not me. I’m marrying a marquisate, not him.”

“You cannot deny you took a fancy to him. You must be married, my child. You are too much of a temptation to those who would take advantage of you. You will obey me in this,” he continued softly.

Her father rarely raised his voice; he didn’t have to. “You have three days to change your mind. I don’t expect to see you until you are ready to sign the contract.”

She left the room.

He called after her, “And that is on Saturday.”

He ordered her to stay in her room and had her fed on bread and water. That hadn’t happened since Sophia’s childhood.

He also had her maid remove her books and writing materials, except a copy of the Bible. “To give you a chance to reflect on your decision and pray for the correct outcome,” the note he sent told her.

Why was her father was so determined that she marry Lord Devereaux? She hadn’t considered her papa so intractable before, and unafraid of his temper, she could usually talk him around to her way of thinking. Not this time. He refused to consider anything but acceptance. A marchioness? Worse, his marchioness? She couldn’t do it.

Then her father sent his ultimatum. On Friday afternoon she stared at the note in horror. “The Marquess or the country. Your choice, my child.”

If she continued to refuse, he would send her to the country, leave her to molder away without the opportunity to return to the life she loved. He could destroy everything she had worked for and reduce her to utter tedium, and that would drive her mad. Her father had complete jurisdiction over her, and if she didn’t obey, he’d do it. The notes he’d sent over the past three days gave her no doubt.

She drifted over to the window and gazed out at the street she’d seen all her life.

Carriages went by below, the constant sound of trotting horses a background she hardly noticed. But no more, if her father had his way, and he would. She couldn’t stop him.

She had to do something. Obviously her life was about to change, and she’d prefer some say in how it did so. Time to take action.

Leaving her room, Sophia called for her maid. Her father was out of the house and she had a call to make. Bedamned his stricture to keep her in his room. She’d go anyway, and he’d be glad she did. Damn her reputation, too. If she destroyed it utterly, the aspirants to her hand might finally leave her alone. Including the marquess.