Emily French (3 page)
Authors: Illusion
“First door on your left. You go on up. I’ll just tell Tessa to bring the refreshments there.”
Sophy’s light, musical voice sounded distracted to her own ears, but she did not want to humiliate Mr. Weston by making reference to his affliction. While issuing instructions to the maid, she watched him surreptitiously as he made his way up the stairs.
He limped, barely able to move his right leg, and there was a way he held his shoulders that made her think every step he took was painful.
Every instinct urged her to offer assistance to her visitor to mount the stairs, but she knew pride would result in an angry refusal. So she allowed him five minutes before she ran lightly up the steps. He was standing composedly by the fire in her drawing room.
“Warmer in here, isn’t it? I’ll leave the door open so all will be correct.”
Sensing his instinctive withdrawal at the comment, she waved toward an antique silk-upholstered sofa. They did not speak again until coffee had been served, each busy with private, uncomfortable thoughts.
How neatly he had been backed into a corner by Matt Tyson, Seth reflected bitterly. A yoke of matrimony hanging about his neck to weigh him down, or the loss of all he had labored for over the past ten years. He couldn’t let that happen, whatever the cost.
Sophy absently stirred her coffee. The war was over. Had been for nigh on six months. Yet still the legacy of misery lingered. She did not know how much excruciating agony Mr. Weston must have undergone, but he still seemed in pain.
Sometimes the test of courage was not to die but to live. It would be good to ease this man’s hurt. Deliberately she took a grip on her thoughts and looked up at him through her lashes.
“Did you want to tell me the reason for your visit, Mr. Weston?”
Seth watched her face for a long moment. His blue eyes seemed to see right through her gleaming head. Then he appeared to reach a decision. Leaning forward, he set down his cup on the low cherrywood table, an air of sudden determination in his eyes.
“I wanted to talk to you, Miss van Houten, on a very personal matter. With the war and all—” indicating his leg “— I’ve been out of commission for two years, and become a social hermit, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, I suppose you have,” Sophy replied slowly. A fleeting smile touched her lips, and she looked him straight in the eyes. “I promise to do whatever I can to help you.”
“I know it’s asking a great deal, but...”
Hell, this was more difficult than he’d thought. Damn, but Matt Tyson had put him in one hell of a spot, Seth fumed. Another six months and he could have traded out of his financial quagmire.
“Go on, Mr. Weston.”
Seth ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t have another six months and Sophy van Houten was looking at him so intently, with such unblinking fervor, he felt as though she were reading his mind.
She sat, hands folded in her lap as she waited politely. He was aware she had rejected dozens of offers of marriage. His would be another. It seemed a calculating look had entered her cool gray eyes.
She was probably enjoying herself immensely! Fresh as the violets tucked into her belt, she appeared a product of the present day’s spoiled, overindulged young womanhood. Such a creature could be of no interest to any thinking man, except for one aspect, and he was much too busy to bother with such things at the moment.
“In order to be honest, I shall tell you I have numerous assets, including several factories, but no ready cash for working capital. The trouble is that even with hard work and a lot of luck, it will be years before modern manufacturing methods can be introduced.”
Seth looked at her just a trifle savagely as he leaned forward in his seat, absently kneading his right thigh. His resolve was diminishing with each passing second.
Fresh autumn air, gray eyes and pink velvet cheeks, to say nothing of a Cupid’s bow cherry mouth that owed nothing to artifice, were upsetting factors. The most insane desire flooded him to kiss those dusky eyelashes and crush the little fragile body in his arms.
As he pulled himself together with a jerk, a scowl settled upon his stern face. If he wanted her fortune, he would have to marry her. He looked at his hands and took a deep breath.
“It goes against the grain to appear mercenary, but it’s been borne in upon me lately that the only real solution for me is to acquire access to a reliable source of funds. To be blunt, to marry an heiress.”
Sophy’s eyes widened in shock. His honesty touched her. All her previous offers had been accompanied with vows of undying love. This man offered no such commitment.
Here was the first man who was plainly not dazzled by her. She had been hoping for this, but she had not expected it. A faint blush started over her cheeks and she began to speak, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“I do not want to marry except for the reason I’ve given, but I’m not in love with anyone.” His lips curved wryly, revealing even white teeth. “Don’t believe I could be. All the romance was knocked out of me long ago. So, well, what I’m leading up to, Miss van Houten, is this. Would
you
consider marrying me?”
you
consider marrying me?”
Chapter Two
T
he question hung in the air. Sophy sat as still as death while she felt her face grow scarlet and then drain of color. Pricked by a sudden doubt, she waited to recover herself before she answered.
he question hung in the air. Sophy sat as still as death while she felt her face grow scarlet and then drain of color. Pricked by a sudden doubt, she waited to recover herself before she answered.
“I, too, would like to be honest with you, Mr. Weston. While my father was alive I became accustomed to organizing my own finances. However, my trustees feel that these same funds would be better utilized under the firm control of a husband. I don’t relish the idea of giving up my freedom.”
Sophy’s voice was deceptively calm. Her cheeks were wild roses once more. The thought of being made to play the role she despised so completely infuriated her. Her vexation gave a new charm to her glowing face.
Seth could not fault that sentiment, even if it was a radical one for a woman. “I, too, would want the advantages of being married, without giving up anything of myself,” he assured her.
Sophy’s eyes snapped toward him. For a moment she studied his face. The marks of the past four years were on it, a disturbing intensity in the strong features. While she did not want to appear reluctant to become his wife, she could not help but worry at the bitter edge of cynicism in his voice, the contained tension of his body and the despair reflected in his countenance.
To her surprise, Seth Weston became distinctly uneasy under her assessing scrutiny, and moved restlessly.
For a few seconds they sat looking at each other and then, almost roughly, he said, “Miss van Houten, I had thought this over, of course, but I didn’t realize how it would all sound until I spoke those last words. I think the proposition I just made you is actually insulting, and I hope you’ll excuse me. It was an impulsive thing to do and I’m ashamed of it. So forget it. I’ll see myself out.”
He had the silver knob of his cane in his hand when Sophy found her voice. “Mr. Weston, I would like to accept your offer.”
Seth’s head came up. “You mean you’ll marry me?”
He leaned toward Sophy, his eyes narrowed, as if taking her measure, a measure that somehow puzzled him.
It did. The woman was rich and exceedingly attractive. Why connive an arranged marriage with a man she didn’t know from Adam? He found himself watching her mouth. On lips firm and full, a soft, mysterious, somehow inviting smile bloomed. Behind their protective lashes, a secret, pleased look flared in her eyes. It was an echo of her sensual smile. Seth felt his features lock into an unrevealing mask.
Sophy smiled faintly, finding it difficult to conceal a strong sense of elation. She had succeeded in her plan to break the trust. Now she would have only a single male to contend with... her husband.
Husband.
The word made her insides squeeze all sick and scared. Husbands usually meant knowing each other in an intimate way! Sophy felt her stomach leap to her throat.
The word made her insides squeeze all sick and scared. Husbands usually meant knowing each other in an intimate way! Sophy felt her stomach leap to her throat.
Husbands meant babies! Her stomach flipped again. Her whole body stiffened, and she felt her panic growing. Maybe he wouldn’t want her in that way? Maybe he would be content with her money? Her words were sober, but her eyes betrayed her.
“You’ve made your points very clearly, Mr. Weston. One thing, though, you didn’t mention. Since this would be a marriage of convenience, did you mean it would also be what I believe is called a ‘marriage in name only’?”
Seth paled. A frown creased his broad forehead into a network of lines, and something undefinable flickered in his eyes. He looked off over her head. There was a long pause. Sophy began to suspect she had offended him.
“Well, no,” he said slowly, his voice soft, deep as summer midnight, richly textured as plush velvet. “I didn’t mean that, I guess.” He stretched out his weak leg, absently rubbing his thigh through the fabric of his trousers.
Sophy nervously touched the round silver disk suspended from a delicate chain at the base of her throat and stifled a pang of fear. How had she expected him to react? The truth was, she hadn’t thought it all through that far. Just as she hadn’t considered she was being totally unreasonable in expecting him to forgo the expectation of a normal marriage and children.
She needed to think logically and calmly about the situation. Perhaps if she told him the truth, he would understand. She drew in a quavery breath, searching for cushioning words.
“I want only honesty between us. You seem to understand my situation, and I had hoped to come to some arrangement with you.” Sophy managed the words with a steadiness that surprised herself. Inside she was a bundle of agitation and chaotic thoughts.
Seth looked at her curiously for a moment, his interest heightened by her sudden diffidence. Sophy’s eyes were on his face, but he felt as though she did not actually see him.
There was a darkness in her eyes, a fear in her face that he had seen before only in the eyes of men going out to battle. Then she held out her hand. He looked surprised at the gesture but took the slim fingers in his own large ones. They were icy cold.
“What is it?”
There was a deep note in Seth’s voice that reached out and touched Sophy, bringing her back to reality. Suddenly her eyes were focused on his, and for a moment both of them were very still. His strongly magnetic eyes seemed to enter her very being and cause some strange fluttering near her heart.
She waited, aware of a breathless feeling. Her fingers trembled in Seth’s large hand, and she knew he must have felt it. The lines around his mouth deepened, and a muscle flickered in his jaw. His voice was steady, without emotion. “I cannot help you, if I don’t know what is wrong.”
His fingers tightened on hers, and he smiled, but his eyes gleamed with an unreadable emotion. Sophy’s senses reacted to the subtle force of his personality. There was a cool perception and an underlying intelligence in Seth Weston that she would do well to acknowledge. Deception or lies would not sit well with such a man.
She licked suddenly dry lips. “If it would not... inconvenience you too much, Mr. Weston, would you consider a marriage in name only?”
There was a distinct pause, then Seth asked cautiously, “Are you afraid of me, Sophy?” The question hung in the air between them.
“No.” Abruptly, she felt a searing need to share her secrets. She swallowed and gathered her courage. If they were to start off their married life right, she was going to have to be honest.
“As a charity worker in the army hospital, I helped tend hundreds of wounded soldiers, both Union and Confederate prisoners. The agony and misery I witnessed affected me deeply. I have sworn that I will never bear a child and so perpetuate the terrible things that brother can do to brother.”
The harsh contours of Seth’s face seemed to harden at the depth of despair in her voice, but he did not release the grip on her fingers. “The idea still distresses you?”
She frowned uncertainly. “No. But I made a solemn vow. One which I intend to keep.” Her fingers flexed against his palm. “Now that you know I will never give you a child, do you want to withdraw your offer of marriage?”
Seth’s eyes narrowed to blue slits as he examined her face carefully. Her eyes were wide, reflecting an appeal of which she wasn’t aware as she waited for his reaction.
He found his gaze drifting to her mouth, observing the way the lower lip slid beneath small white teeth. Was the action to prevent its trembling? Or a contrived expression of mystery, sensuality and allure? Whichever it was, Sophy van Houten was not what he had anticipated.
He had expected a weak, easily led woman, helplessly adrift without the support of her father, and instead here was a creature who, though she looked fragile, possessed a devastating candor, an integrity, that set all his preconceived notions of women in a spin.
Humor flickered briefly in the set features of his face. “Is that all? You don’t want children? That is your terrible confession?”
Sophy’s chin rose at the trace of amusement in his voice. “I am constantly told I am too unconventional, too reckless, that I must curb my foolish thoughts.” A little ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I am also aware that, even in a city that prides itself in being on the cutting edge of the new morality, to go against custom is to invite ostracism.”
“Money will open most doors, and we’ve just finished four years of bloodshed to confirm all men are born equal.” He slanted her an odd glance. “In any event, one man’s rose is another man’s cabbage. It seems we have things in common, after all. Children are not high on my list of priorities from this marriage.”
Recognizing in the simple statement both the truth and the utter insufficiency of the words, Sophy closed her eyes for a moment, relief surging through her. He had no intention of withdrawing his offer, she thought, with a trace of wonder. It was comforting and slightly scary, but it also gave her an oddly warm feeling right behind her breastbone.
Silence fell around them. Sophy stole another look at him, wishing she could sit here and savor this warm, comfortable feeling for the rest of time. Her fingers quivered a little in the warmth and strength of his clasp, and she smiled brilliantly up at him.
“We can call it settled, then?”
Seth went still. The unnatural quietness in him was unnerving. Deep down, it sent prickles of a very primitive, very feminine alarm through her.
“Not quite.” His voice was gentle. “There is one detail I would like to clarify. It might not be fair to either of us to commit ourselves to the arrangement you propose on a permanent basis.”
Sophy marveled at the perfectly neutral tone of his words. Whatever happened, marriage or no marriage, would not be a neutral event to her. She leaned forward earnestly, breathing tremulously, searching his face for hidden meanings.
He was watching her with a startling intensity. “I know that you consider this marriage to be founded on necessity, so I am prepared to wait until you feel comfortable enough to fulfill the...er, shall we call it, duties of a wife.”
His thumb stroked the back of her hand, tracing the lines of the bones there. “I’ve tried to make it plain that I can’t give you romance. That part of me does not exist anymore.” His jaw tightened. “But I promise to be a faithful husband, Sophy, and I will not act the cuckold. Do you understand?”
Sophy could feel the tension emanate from his body, a tangible thing, matching her own. A deep wariness and a grim determination lit his eyes, as if he were silently setting down the rules of war. The challenge was there, in his eyes, waiting for her.
With a feeling of sliding from a great height, she responded, her fingers tight on his. The suggestion of warmth and laughter that was reflected in the curve of her mouth became a full-blown smile.
“Yes.”
It was all that she could manage, that one syllable, but nothing could halt the rush of red into her cheeks. She had won a glorious victory! The matter of marital intimacy had been satisfactorily resolved. She had control of herself and the situation.
Realizing suddenly what he’d agreed to, Seth pulled his hand from hers as if her fingers were a sheaf of snakes. Damn her to hell! Had he consented to a marriage he did not want simply to save a factory? Sold his soul to the devil for thirty pieces of silver?
No. Not quite true. Most men would kill for a smile like the one she had just given him. The smile that was on her face was like the rising of the sun. A sweet, feminine gift, which dazzled the senses.
For a second, he’d stepped into an illusion, allowing it to enclose him so completely that he’d felt her delight as if it were his own. And, in reality, the kind of marriage she was offering was precisely the type to which he was most suited.
They each had something the other wanted, or needed.
Sophy moved restlessly in her seat, hurt at his abrupt withdrawal. She wanted to leave her hand in his, warm and safe. The pain seemed to grow round her heart, but there was self-deprecation too. She should not have dared to show such foolish emotion before him. She glared at Seth as he poured fresh coffee from the porcelain pot on the cherrywood table.
An odd smile edged Seth’s mouth as he looked into those well-spaced gray eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her and held up the pot in salute.
“Well, Miss van Houten, it would seem that you and I have ourselves a marriage contract. I hope you consider the bargain worthwhile.” He shut his eyes in brief irritation when his leg protested angrily at the movement. He shifted position gingerly. “Would Sunday week suit you?”
“Whenever you wish. I won’t change my mind,” she said gravely, accepting the cup he passed to her.
Seth gave her a sharp look as though to detect levity, a slight frown hardening the lines around his mouth. When Sophy’s eyes solemnly met his fierce blue ones, her whole body went tense.
There was something about the way he looked at her that confused her. Something shrewd. Something dangerous. The taut strain in him was etched around his eyes, making her want to lift her fingers to soothe away the lines. A nervous tremor skittered along her nerves, and she tore her eyes from his, breaking the spell.
“I’ll wait on your uncles tomorrow to make the necessary arrangements.”
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