Emily French (5 page)
Authors: Illusion
Confusion and a strange kind of fear thudded with Sophy’s heart, which was pumping in quite an uncertain manner. As Seth’s fingers closed over hers, her insides churned and she felt a deep throbbing wave of excitement. It was startling and disturbing to react as strongly as this to his touch.
I shouldn’t be here, she thought, staring blindly at the preacher. She knew nothing of love, so it wasn’t so bad that they didn’t love each other. Seth was marryring for security and she was making a respectable bargain, the kind many women in her position struck. It was just that she felt uneasy. Besides, it was too late now to change her mind.
Sophy felt a moment of panic, and her throat was so tight that the “I will” demanded of her would hardly come out.
There! It was done! She was married to Seth Weston.
Seth Weston...
He stood beside her, in stiff military style, a soldier girded for battle. She heard his responses, firm, strong and, in some way, completely impersonal.
Somehow, that bothered her. An unaccountable tension gripped her. She felt as though she were standing on the brink of a very wide, very deep chasm.
“—what God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”
Lost in thought, Sophy scarcely realized the ceremony had concluded. Seth, too, stood as if made of stone, not moving, staring into space. The silence was awkward.
Finally, Cousin Pieter, who had acted as groomsman, gestured toward Sophy. “Go ahead and kiss the bride, Seth.”
Sophy was overwhelmingly conscious of the tall, powerful figure at her side. Face aflame, she forced herself to meet her husband’s eyes. A quickening shivered through her middle. She attempted a smile, but her mouth felt soft, tremulous.
The deep glow in his eyes was suddenly so intense that she was forced to look away or be scorched by the heat. Why was he looking at her that way? It was vaguely unnerving, and it took a great deal of courage not to step back. Instead, her small, pointed chin rose in challenge.
Seth paled considerably. He drew in his breath sharply, and his eyes blazed with the sizzling heat of a lightning bolt. Then he appeared to reach a decision. Sophy had the feeling that he always made decisions that way, quickly and surely.
What would it be like to be kissed by him? Sophy’s eyes widened. She knew he was going to kiss her, and she knew she wanted him to.
Yet, at the same time, she felt trapped, unnerved by the strange feelings coursing through her. The quickening rippled outward from her belly, into her limbs.
I can’t,
she thought in panic. She sucked in a quick breath, and turned her head sideways. Seth’s breath was soft and warm in her ear and she felt chills on her arms as his moist lips landed just above her earlobe.
she thought in panic. She sucked in a quick breath, and turned her head sideways. Seth’s breath was soft and warm in her ear and she felt chills on her arms as his moist lips landed just above her earlobe.
Sophy could see the sudden flush on his cheekbones, and his blue eyes seemed to see right through her head. Crystal eyes, frost eyes. And they were filled with a brilliance that subtly invaded her being, causing her to shiver, to remember that her first impression of him had told her that he could be a dangerous man.
She watched Seth’s mouth draw downward, his weight shift to one hip, heard his intake of breath, which mocked her.
“I beg your forgiveness, Mrs. Weston. My aim is not what it was.” There was something slightly contemptuous, or was it scorn, in his tone? She looked up at him and saw in his eyes an almost blazing anger that was quite unmistakable.
Startled by the extent of his reaction, Sophy’s throat tightened on a sudden urge to cry out. She had not intended any offense. It was merely a spur-of-the-moment act of self-defense. So why did she suddenly remember one of Aunt Ella’s maxims?
Who digs a pit shall fall therein.
Who digs a pit shall fall therein.
Chapter Three
“T
eatime, Sophy.”
eatime, Sophy.”
Intent on her work, Sophy was busy cleaning out the numerous drawers of her tall Empire secretary. She gave the maid a quick smile.
“Put it on the table, thanks, Tessa. I’ll join you in a minute, Aunt Ella. I’m just about finished here.”
Boxes of books and papers, all precisely wrapped and labeled Mrs. Seth Weston, were neatly stacked, awaiting the removers.
Mrs. Seth Weston.
She frowned. What a mess, a frightening, overwhelming mess her life had become. Nothing was going as planned. Even her wedding day had not gone as anticipated. It seemed as though she had taken a wrong turn and, without warning, found herself on the lip of a great abyss.
From that moment in the church when Seth had faced her, his eyes twin blue flames, the marriage had been a debacle. For a shattering second she had been torn between running into her new husband’s arms and running as far away from him as she could.
True, he had been a perfect gentleman. She could not fault his manners. A small smile curving his mouth, he had bowed, brought her hand upward and kissed the delicate flesh on the inside of her wrist, before placing it on his extended arm.
There had been something in that smile that wrung an instant response from her, something intimate that she was too inexperienced to define. Blood-pulsing. Nerve-tingling. As though he knew of, and understood, her dilemma perfectly.
She had groped for something to say before they turned to greet their guests, but it was too late. Whirling in upon itself, her mind paralyzed her tongue, and the moment passed.
Color flowed under her skin, staining her cheeks a dull pink at the memory. She’d been scared by that kiss! Terrified by the churning inside her. In vain she tossed the memory aside, but perfunctory though the gesture might have been, the spot he kissed still tingled and throbbed.
Tossing a sheaf of notes into the wastepaper basket, Sophy had the uncomfortable feeling that she had been outmaneuvered. It was difficult to recall, even now.
Dredging it up was like opening the edges of a slowly healing wound and probing for the nerve. Although he held her arm, she had not dared to look at him. She was conscious of his nearness, conscious, too, that he was tense.
The relief was there in her eyes when a servant had handed Seth a telegraph. She knew it, but couldn’t disguise the emotion when he paused in the act of reading the message, and met her eyes very directly. His blue eyes narrowed, he explained he had to leave for Chicago immediately.
That had been two weeks ago. The days had passed for Sophy in a flurry of activity as heavy trunks were filled to overflowing. Seth had decreed that Richard Carlton, his New York agent, would give any assistance she might need.
“Drink your tea, Sophy. You’re looking quite pale.”
Aunt Ella sat on the edge of the settee, ramrod stiff. Sophy’s ceaseless activity was disturbing to say the least.
“If I stop now, I’ll never get everything organized.”
Sophy locked the center drawer of the walnut writing desk and dropped the key into her capacious apron pocket. The closer the hour of Seth’s return, the more apprehensive she was becoming.
She was not quite certain what she had expected from this marriage, but she knew she was feeling a decided sensation of pique and neglect. Whoever heard of a husband going off the very day of the marriage?
“What’s the matter?” Despite her rigid back, Ella’s teacup rattled in its saucer, belying her calm. “Are you regretting your reckless decision to marry in haste, my dear?”
Sophy laughed lightly. “No, of course not! I simply want to have all my personal bits and pieces unpacked before Seth returns.”
By keeping herself frantically busy, she was able to keep her uneasiness, her doubts, at bay. But despite her attempts, one question throbbed in her brain. Had she made a dreadful mistake? After all, she hadn’t made a very good start. She knew so little about the man. Still, it was said that all things in life balance themselves out. She hoped so.
Timidly, Ella expressed her own reservations, “Perhaps it would have been better if you had considered the consequences of marriage, Sophy. A woman is only a secondary consideration to a man beside his work, or where his interests are concerned.”
“It’s too late to fret, Aunt Ella. We must deal with reality. The deed is done.
Until death us do part. ”
Until death us do part. ”
Sophy dismissed her aunt’s qualms with a facetious shrug, and picked up her cup. Her nose crinkled at the dark, syrupy brew. Sometimes, Aunt Ella’s concoctions tasted quite poisonous. There was a brief silence between the two women as Ella drank her tea and Sophy contemplated how she was going to greet Seth.
Would it be permissible to kiss him? In her fertile imagination, she could see Seth holding her gently, stroking her hair, murmuring soft endearments. Beyond this point, there was no form or substance, only an ill-defined longing which made her weak. Mostly because she was a bit vague about the next bit. She had only a dim knowledge of sexual matters, and was not at all sure what “doing your duty” entailed.
Unable to sit still, Sophy wandered over to the one set of bookshelves that had not been denuded. Idly she plucked a thick, red, Moroccan leather-bound volume off the bottom shelf.
A small package fell from between the pages, to land with a thud on the carpet. She instantly picked up the packet, and warily turned it over in her hands.
Ella sat her saucer on the table in front of her. The cup rattled again, and her back straightened even more. “What is it, dear?”
Sophy carefully undid the knotted red tape and unrolled the folio. Pressing it flat against the desk, she stood studying it for a long moment. Eventually she looked at her aunt, dark brows raised in curious question.
“Did you know Father owned property in Greene Street, Aunt?”
To her surprise, Ella blushed and looked away quickly, as if she was anxious not to let Sophy see her expression. It was almost as if she knew something.
“Nicholas never discussed business with me.”
Sophy frowned over the faded ink record of ownership. It was hard to believe that her father kept secrets from her, or that Ella might have been privy to that information. So it was with deliberation that she faced her aunt.
“I remember he often mentioned appointments he had in Greene Street. Once when I wanted him to put a proposal to John Rockefeller regarding an investment in the Cleveland oil refinery, Father said it was ‘a convenience and a delight’ to transact business there. Do you know what he could have meant?”
Just as deliberately, Sophy studied the older woman’s reaction. Ella’s expression was closed and she looked uncomfortable, even as she shook her head.
Relentlessly, Sophy continued, “This seems most mysterious. I think I will visit Greene Street. Don’t you think that will be amusing?”
“No,” Ella replied with the gloom of one who knew that, like Pandora, Sophy might do best not to pry.
The night was almost silent, except for the tick of the tall clock set in the angle of the stairs, and the muffled hiss of the gas fire, which burned softly in the grate. Sophy came awake suddenly. Something had disturbed her.
Was there a noise? The question remained unanswered. She wasn’t sure whether it was a sound, or whether it was the beating of her own heart.
In any case, she was awake. Better to investigate than to lie in bed worrying. Her mouth a little dry, her heart beating a little faster than usual, Sophy searched for a weapon. Picking up a silver candlestick, she crept down the stairs and along the corridor, toward the soft, muted sounds she now identified as coming from the kitchen.
She heard her own footsteps echo on the marble hallway. They seemed to echo very loudly. At the kitchen door, Sophy paused, straining to pick out any movement. A slender, uncertain little figure, she stared wide-eyed into the gloom. Relief flowed through her as she recognized the tall figure and gleaming head of her husband.
A wide smile lit her face. She was too delighted to do anything but exclaim breathlessly, “Seth! I didn’t know you were back!”
In the dim light, Seth’s elegant broadcloth suit glimmered richly like polished obsidian, and his crisp white linen shirt created an illusory pedestal on which rested the chiseled form of his handsome head.
“Didn’t you?” A trace of amusement flitted over his face at the obvious pleasure she did not know she had betrayed. “You must have missed me, to greet me so enthusiastically,” he added softly, indicating the silver weapon still clutched in Sophy’s hand.
Self-consciously, Sophy thrust the candlestick onto one of the kitchen benches. “I thought it was a nocturnal intruder.” The words came out in an unsteady rush.
“You look...mussed. Did I waken you?” As he moved toward her, his halting stride unhurried, his face was shadowed.
Sophy cared little for his words, only his presence. She smoothed her hair, feeling such a flood of warmth and pleasure that she felt weak. “It doesn’t matter. Welcome back.” Her voice was shy as she gave him her hand.
Seth’s jaw muscles went tight. In dishabille, her feet bare and with her hair flowing like a length of ebony silk about her shoulders, his wife looked very young and very fragile. Like a drop of morning dew waiting for the sun. The illusion of sweet, trembling innocence was heightened by her demure, white cotton negligee, trimmed with broderie anglaise.
Mildly irritated, he realized something about his pixiefaced wife had gotten to him. The determined lift of her chin, the mouth wide and ready to smile, the sweet clarity of her eyes drew him.
Curse her. Curse her. Curse her. She had already stripped him of his pride, his self-respect. Never in his life had he envisaged marrying a woman for her money, or having a wife who was richer than himself.
He had to be strong, or he was in danger of losing his honor, as well. The answer was simple. He must overcome this weakness induced by a pair of guileless dawn gray eyes and three years’ abstinence. Resist the temptation to press himself against her, beg her to let him make love to her.
He took a slow, steadying breath. Hell, where had that idea come from? It put him off-balance. He smiled in selfderision, taking her hand to his lips in a practiced, masculine gesture.
“It is nice to be back, Mrs. Weston.” His voice was low and thick.
Sophy’s brain was awhirl with delicious confusion. She had forgotten the sound of his voice, the low but distinct quality that seemed to intimate much more than the simple words he spoke.
It shook her to her core. She trembled involuntarily, and she could not think why. “I daresay you are tired after the rail journey from Chicago,” she heard herself say, still somewhat unsure of herself.
He let go of her hand and bowed slightly, as if he were a mechanical doll. “I am, a trifle.”
His voice was dry, but before Sophy had time to dwell on it, he had adroitly changed the subject by asking about the possibility of getting a hot drink.
Sophy studied Seth in silence for a moment, noting the tautness of weariness around his mouth and the shadowed hollows over tired eyes. A rush of compassion made her forget his neglect, whether it was real or fancied, and want to assuage that utter exhaustion glimpsed in his face.
She struck a match and lit the gaslight, adjusting the jet on the wall sconce, an air of sudden determination in her eyes. “Sit down and make yourself comfy. I’ll make some coffee.”
His brows went up. “Here?”
“It’ll only take me a minute to make some. Would you like something to eat? Some cold meat? An omelet?”
“You can cook?”
He made a faint curl of his mouth, not quite a smile, but not quite an insult. Sophy’s answering grin was both taunting and triumphant.
“I’m not just a wealthy heiress. Not only can I cook, but I’ve a talent for organizing business affairs. I am a master when it comes to keeping accounts and I have a gift for solving riddles and puzzle. That’s how I know you’re hungry now.”
She pertly tilted her head to one side, studying him, her eyes wide with a quaint mixture of concern and eagerness in their depths. Their message all but shattered his reserve, and her gamine smile touched a place within him that no one had touched for a long time.
Seth felt as though he had received a blow. He felt the impact deep in his body, and winced. It was as if something vital had disintegrated inside him, collapsed in on itself, solidified and condensed in his loins, taking what he had of himself with it, leaving an empty shell that stood there like an idiot, unable to function.
He released a soft rush of breath, and smiled whimsically. “I hadn’t realized the extent of your accomplishments. You’ve whetted my appetite. I’d love an omelet.”
The quiet words broke the spell they had been bound in, and Sophy set to work briskly. As she calmly broke eggs into a bowl, she was pleased the kitchen was a modern one, with a new gas cooker and icebox, even if, somehow, the room seemed smaller when Seth was in it. Certainly there was a sense of unreality in having him sit there, watching her prepare a midnight snack.
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