Authors: Illusion
Emily French (23 page)
A quick throb of anger shot through Sophy, and exploded inside her like a burst dam. She could have stamped her foot in pure vexation.
“What does ‘quite sure’ mean? A hunch? Blind faith? Or have you evidence? Have you forgotten he’s been around at each of the so-called
accident?”
accident?”
A lengthy pause. She watched Seth get to his feet and come away from the table to her side, conscious of the slight uncoordination of his stride. The cane remained where it was, leaning against his chair. For short distances he no longer used it.
He captured her chin, cupping it so that she looked directly into his eyes. Their blue fire was sending out a tangible heat that she could feel throughout her senses.
From some far-off vacancy, she heard his voice, soft and compelling. It seemed to have substance, both burning and cool.
“Of course he’s not trying to murder me,” he said, smiling, and kissing the tip of her nose. “It may not be prudent, but I trust Charles in the same way I trust you.”
Words failed Sophy. Her throat constricted. Every sinew and bone seemed numb. There was a singing in her ears and a misting of her sight that seemed suddenly, somehow blinded.
Sophy had dismissed her maid and begun to brush her hair when she heard a sound behind her. Seth stood like a dark shadow in her bedroom doorway, his tall figure an agreeable, but distracting image in the mirror. From the indulgent smile on his face, he seemed quite pleased with himself.
Seth came forward with his uneven step and stood behind her. Her hair was down, a gleaming blue-black cascade stretching straight down her back. He watched her in musing silence for a long moment, as if considering how to begin.
Heart beating fast, Sophy continued brushing her hair, glancing at him from time to time in the mirror. The ivory-backed brush was rising and falling like a tide through the river of her dark hair.
Looking thoughtful, Seth picked up a strand, ran it gently through his long fingers. He bent to her with a laugh in his eyes.
“You certainly know how to put the cat among the pigeons, my dear. I’ve had notes from Matt, Richard and Charles suggesting I find alternative methods to amuse my wife. Any suggestions?”
Sophy’s heart gave a throb. Men and their damnably complicated codes and conventions! Unable to think of a suitable way to neutralize the masculine ambush, she shook her head. Her long hair swung, swaying with her motion.
She rose gracefully and made a small movement of one hand toward him. Quite suddenly she found it grasped in his. He leaned forward slowly, deliberately, pushing against her hand, forcing it back, finally trapping it between his hard body and her soft cotton-covered breasts.
“Did you think to escape retribution, my little brown elf?” He laughed again with a hint of mockery, letting her feel the promise of him.
Sophy let out a long sigh. “I could if I wanted to!”
“And do you want to?” His voice was very deep.
She shook her head, her long dark hair straying across his cheek and shoulder. Seth grinned with satisfaction and bent his head once more to hers.
Much later, at the edge of sleep, Sophy came awake. It was important for both their sakes that any doubts about Charles Lethbridge be dissolved. Seth trusted Charles in the same way he trusted her. Charles was his friend. Did that mean he trusted her with his life?
She curled herself against Seth, her eyes soft and glowing. Proving the designer’s innocence would be the most important job she had ever tackled. Seth’s trust must not be found wanting.
Her own happiness was at stake.
Chapter Twelve
A
raw wind howling across the Hudson from the mountains of New Jersey brought the first stab of winter. A vaporous fog was rolling in, billowing across the streets just high enough to reach a man’s calf as Seth and Sophy negotiated the slanting passage to the ferry at Twenty-Third Street.
raw wind howling across the Hudson from the mountains of New Jersey brought the first stab of winter. A vaporous fog was rolling in, billowing across the streets just high enough to reach a man’s calf as Seth and Sophy negotiated the slanting passage to the ferry at Twenty-Third Street.
The sky was a sullen mass, low and roiling, spitting clouds like steam from a kettle. Half-seen in the gloomy sky, great gray gulls wheeled, crying plaintively.
From the gangplank, Sophy could make out two or three high yellow sails of the fishing boats maneuvering carefully away from the quay. Like ghostly galleons they floated eerily in ethereal splendor, their undersides hidden by the mist.
She could hear the creak of the pilings, the wash of the water. Suddenly it seemed she was standing on the brink of a very wide, very deep chasm. A boat hooted upstream, the rhythmic rumble of its steam engine reaching her as a vibration up her legs until it passed, its tall smokestack lost in the haze.
Her body bent against the wind, Sophy stepped up beside Seth, and put one arm through his, her grip tight and secure. The other clung to the rail, as if she feared falling overboard. She flicked him an appraising glance from beneath her lashes.
“It seems to me that the weather is being perfectly unreasonable. It sets my sensibilities whirling.”
A strong gust of the wind, sharp and bitter, whipped the words from her mouth and tossed them skyward like a kite. For a moment, Seth was not sure whether he had heard her right, but the slender arm threaded through his was quivering as delicately as a cicada’s wing.
He flicked an assessing gaze over her, noting how the heavy woolen cloak outlined the curve of her breasts as she inhaled deeply to catch her breath. He thought he could see her entire body beat with the rhythm of her pulse. Her lips trembled.
Seth turned up the high collar of his coat. He pursed his lips, blew a warm breath. Condensing in the frigid air, its mist hung in front of his face, making his voice soft. “We get this kind of weather when the wind’s the wrong way.”
Sophy moved closer, as if needing his warmth, but unable to quell the vague amorphous fears that invaded her mind. She looked up at the sky, full of incipient rain. Nothing. She looked down at the water, dark and light. Nothing. Only a feeling, a kind of kinetic vertigo, as if she had just stepped off a merry-go-round.
The smell of salt and coal enveloped her. Her mind was whirled by the same currents and tides as the river below, full of something dark and ugly. Not normally given to visions or fantasies, she could sense death’s dark dominion in the river today. A sick feeling slashed through her.
“It’s a different perspective, quite alarming really, like riding high above patchy clouds,” she murmured doubtfully.
Taking another step up the narrow ramp, Seth gingerly shifted his weight onto his cane, and felt the hand on his arm tremble convulsively.
“What are you thinking?” He halted, swinging toward her, waiting patiently.
Sophy’s head came up, a frown etching the corners of her mouth and knitting the finely arched brows. She looked at his face without really seeing it.
In her mind she still spun in the grip of some nebulous undertow. The terror tightened in her throat, crept up to her eyes.
“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
“I’d believe anything you told me.” He shivered a little, and drew her closer.
“What a foolish thing to say. Especially here and now.” He shrugged. “However, it’s perfectly true.” He drew her closer to him as if needing her warmth. “Tell me what is on your mind.”
Sophy shook her head. Tears welled from beneath her lowered lids, turning to minute rainbows, despite the lack of any direct light. The effect was startling.
Seth felt compelled to break through the genuine fear he saw in her face. He had seen it often enough to recognize the real thing. Strange how it was nearly always invisible dangers that were the most terrifying.
“I thought you promised me
no tears.
Breaking your bargain, already, Sophy?” he baited softly, hoping for a reaction.
no tears.
Breaking your bargain, already, Sophy?” he baited softly, hoping for a reaction.
He got one.
The biting remark startled her, as he had intended it should. Sophy winced inwardly as she saw the undeniable glint of challenge in his eyes. Her eyes squeezed shut and she shook her head with sudden vehemence, irritation flaring within her.
“Of course not!” Her eyes snapped open, all traces of incipient tears vanished. “If you think that a bit of fog and a vivid imagination truly frighten me, Seth Weston, you can think again!” Her voice was like an ice floe. “If anything, this is a lesson on how foolish it is to travel without the beneficial effects of an early breakfast!”
Seth nodded, as if he fully understood. A strange tingle of relief spread through him, as Sophy responded to his challenge. Better to have her angry than fearful, he decided as they reached the top of the gangway.
Sophy deliberately withdrew her hand from Seth’s arm. Her gloved hands were still shaking, but she told herself it was from the cold. Without a backward glance she made herself walk, not run, to the safety of the cabin.
Seth grinned with satisfaction, his eyes bright and alive, as he slowly followed her. The air seemed brighter, the haze fainter. It was an illusion. Above, a distant rumble of thunder punctuated the surly sky. Below, the fog settled like spilled cream on the dark, surging water.
The day went surprisingly smoothly after that. Sophy was unnaturally quiet until they cast off. But once they were moving, her apprehension seemed to slip away.
It was as if the episode on the near shore had never occurred. Seated not too uncomfortably on one of the wooden benches in the tiny first-class cabin, she soon dismissed her foolish fancies and began to enjoy the commotion.
Oddly the sounds heartened her. Somehow, the screaming calliope, the hoarse commands of shirtsleeved deck officers and the mournful, reechoed whistling of other riverboats complemented the feral wind.
The vessel began to swing as the ferry gathered momentum and drew away from her mooring. They were now moving out at a tangent, away from the shore. A deep humming filled the air, permeating it until it seemed to flutter before her eyes.
To get a better glimpse, Sophy twisted her head over her shoulder and peered, eyes straining, through the condensation clouding the glass windshield. This put her profile into prominence, so that Seth could see the arch of her wide forehead, the straight little nose, the angle of the high cheekbones and stubborn jaw, the long delicate sweep of her curving throat.
He knew without having to see them now the cheerful sparks of her soft gray eyes, the sweet, feminine line of her mouth. Her eyes always reminded him of a dawn sky, clear and serene. Genuine eyes. Generous lips. He could tell any nuance of changing mood just by a glance at those lips.
Seth sat down beside her, propping his cane against the bench and stretching out his legs, feet slightly apart. A boy handed him two cups of coffee, grateful for the modest tip.
“I’ve ordered some refreshments from the stall near the pilothouse. Not terribly appetizing, but I guess the coffee’s hot and the food’s edible. I’m afraid I’d forgotten an army marches on its stomach.” He didn’t realize how gentle his voice had become.
The sharply delineated profile dissolved into sweeping shadow as she turned her head to look in his direction. At the heat in his glance, Sophy felt as though her throat had constricted so much that not even air could pass through. There was a beat of silence before Seth grinned, and leaned forward holding out one of the cups as a peace offering.
Eyes wide, lips slightly apart, Sophy gratefully accepted, feeling unexpectedly lighthearted. She liked seeing him smile. Color rushed to her face, and she hurriedly took a sip of coffee. It was hot and sweet, but it could have been brackish water for all she tasted it.
“I am hungry enough to eat anything,” she replied lightly, taking her tone from his.
Deep down in the core of her being, she felt an inexplicable movement. It was as if her loins had turned to water. Her gloved hand tightened around the cup, and she turned to watch the shore retreat steadily, as powerfully thrusting machinery imparted to the vessel a gentle, jouncing motion.
Seth felt her presence close and warm beside him and he wondered if it had been prudent to bring her. He thought not. He drank deeply from his cup.
Well, he thought in mild irritation, whatever I may feel now about the matter, the die is cast, and she is here beside me, wriggling like a friendly puppy. The sensuous rustle of silk against firm flesh seemed louder to his ears than the muted conversations around them.
Out of habit, one hand strayed to his leg. He rubbed his palm up and down his thigh as if it ached. Somehow, Sophy’s hand crept beneath his. It felt warm. He flicked her a speculative glance.
There was nothing furtive in her movements, nothing carnal. Her fingers flexed. The side of one breast pressed against him. He kept his body very still.
Sophy felt a constriction fluttering around her heart, and for a moment, thought that it would burst through her chest. Her belly knotted and unknotted. Every iota of rational thought told her to remove her hand from his leg. But the reality was that she couldn’t bear to think of him in pain.
He didn’t move, but she could feel the tautness in him. It fairly sizzled across the space between them, enveloping her and feeding her own tension.
She took a deep breath, let it out as a shudder and marshaled her attention to their conversation. Her voice was very soft.
“I concede your superior knowledge of strategy. Dawn raids are often the most successful kind. If we’re to take advantage of the element of surprise, I agree it’s best that we arrive at the factory early and unannounced.”
Unconsciously Sophy rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his jacket. Along the ridge of injured flesh she tenderly stroked the tight muscles. It was an astoundingly intimate gesture, coming as it did in the midst of a crowded ferry, even if this was modern, liberal-minded New York.
Seth felt his blood pounding. Her fingers seemed weightless as she rubbed them steadily back and forth over the thick broadcloth. Warmth spread upward into his groin. He willed his body not to respond, but it ignored him. He felt a tightening in the region of his hard, flat belly. The stroking became rhythmic, the pressure more insistent.
I must stop this
. The thought fuzzily entered his mind.
I must!
Yet he could not seem to muster the willpower he needed to demand that she cease her ministrations. He scarcely dared to breathe lest some precipitate move of his embarrass them both. He curled his hand over, staring at the back, fingers clenched, knuckles white.
. The thought fuzzily entered his mind.
I must!
Yet he could not seem to muster the willpower he needed to demand that she cease her ministrations. He scarcely dared to breathe lest some precipitate move of his embarrass them both. He curled his hand over, staring at the back, fingers clenched, knuckles white.
The ferry’s horn sounded at regular intervals, hoarse and mournful. Voices of other passengers, muffled and odd sounding, echoed within the confines of the small cabin.
The boy returned with their meal. For a moment, he stood frozen and staring down at the immodest tableau. His thin hands fluttered like birds as he set down the tray of food, his face all smiles at the tip he received for so little effort. Deceit was a currency he understood.
Sophy gasped and withdrew her hand, a swift convulsive movement, as if she suddenly realized what she had been doing. At that moment, Seth experienced an acute and inexplicable sense of loss.
There was an awkward pause, but the food seemed to restore Sophy’s equilibrium like magic. As soon as they began to eat, she started to question Seth about the factory at Paterson.
The food had also restored her common sense. There were certain items to be investigated, and a few specific details she would like to follow up when she visited the warehouse at Forty-First Street.
She continued talking, staring up into his eyes. Under her intense gaze Seth felt himself suffused with a peculiar feeling. Her lips opened and she said something. It might have been as mundane as “Do you want this?” He couldn’t tell. He was so acutely aware of her, it was almost painful. He felt as if he were a stringed instrument and something he could not see had plucked a thawed cord.
He stared down at his coffee as if he might find answers there. He wondered what it was about her that drew him so powerfully. And could not even decide why it seemed so important for him to know. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, settled back more comfortably in his seat, and answered her questions.
A deep humming filled the air. The general din of conversation slackened as passengers prepared to disembark. Sophy and Seth remained seated, talking of inconsequential matters, until at long last the calliope emitted a final, wheezing gasp and, dribbling condensed steam, fell into a blissful silence.
At the top of the narrow aisle, Seth carelessly threw one arm around Sophy’s shoulders and tucked her close to his side. A strange smile played briefly around his firm mouth.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll take advantage of your meager height and lean on you. I find the cane awkward on this sloping ramp.” It was a sheer fabrication and Seth wondered whether she knew it.
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