Two Sinful Secrets (7 page)

His smile widened, white teeth flashing like those of a pirate in a romantic novel
just before he ravished the hapless heroine. To her surprise, she saw he had a dimple
set in his smooth-shaven cheek, which would have made any other man seem younger,
sweeter—harmless. But it just made him seem more like an alluring, seductive predator
than ever.

Sophia had been the prey too many times in her life, at the mercy of men since the
day she was born. She was done with being helpless, even if a part of her wanted very
much to be caught by Dominic.

“Mrs. Westman, I presume,” he said. He spoke quietly, politely, but the deep, slightly
rough timbre of his actor’s voice seemed to echo above the music and laughter of the
party. “What a superb job you and Madame Martine have done with this establishment.
You seem to have a great success on your hands.”

Sophia made herself hold her smile in place, not turn and run. There had to be a reason
he was here in Paris, here at La Reine d’Argent, and she wanted to know what that
was. “I am afraid you have the advantage of me, monsieur,” she said. “You know my
name, but I have failed to find out yours.”

One of his golden brows arched and there was flash deep in his extraordinary eyes.
Sophia knew that he could see she was lying, that he had the instincts of a gambler,
but she would fall to the floor in a faint before she would let him see all she was
really thinking. And she
never
fainted.

She definitely wouldn’t let him know how much she wanted to press her lips to that
enticing dimple…

“How very rude of me,” Dominic said. He swept her a low bow. “Allow me to introduce
myself, since I have no friends here to do the honors at the moment. I am Dominic
St. Claire. I met Madame Martine at the Café Anglais, and she kindly invited my brothers
and me to her soiree tonight.”

“Ah, yes. The actor from London.”

“Acting is one of my professions, yes. We are embarking on a guest booking at the
Theatre Nationale this week. Do you enjoy the theater?”

“I used to, but I haven’t been to London in a long time and I rarely have the opportunity
to indulge in the pastime.”

“Then you must come to our opening night performance. You and Madame Martine, of course,
if you can be spared from your duties here.” Dominic’s sharp gaze studied the crowded
ballroom. “You and your friend have done an extraordinary job in a short time.”

“You are a habitué of gambling clubs, monsieur?” Sophia said. She couldn’t help teasing
him a bit. Even when she knew better, her flirtatious nature insisted on surfacing.
Especially when he looked down at her that way.

Dominic laughed, a wonderful, rich, dark sound that made Sophia’s heart feel strangely
lighter. “Another of my professions is part-owner of just such a place in London.
Perhaps you know it, Mrs. Westman? The Devil’s Fancy in Mayfair.”

Sophia laughed. “I told you, monsieur—I have not been to London in a long time. I
am sadly behind on all the gossip of what is
au courant
there.”

“I would be happy to tell you all I know. At the Café Anglais after the theater, perhaps?”

Oh, Sophia was tempted. A quiet supper, laughter over champagne, a kiss in the shadows—she
could envision it all, and she wanted to give in. To fall into those eyes and never
escape. It would be far too easy. But she knew she could not, not with him. She knew
that many, many unfortunate ladies must have felt just the same way she did now. “I
have no time for fun anymore, I fear,” she said. Those words were much too true. Life
with Jack had been nothing but fun at first, and look where that had brought her.
She had to be respectable now, or try to be anyway.

“Oh, come now, Mrs. Westman, everyone has time for fun,” he said with another of those
enticing grins. “Dance with me now and I will show you.”

Sophia glanced at the dance floor. The last song had ended, and she hadn’t even noticed
because she’d been so occupied with Dominic. The orchestra was
tuning up for the next set as the couples moved into place for a waltz.

“I can’t dance tonight,” she said wistfully as she watched them. She used to love
to dance so much. “I have so much to do…”

“Too much to oversee. Believe me, I perfectly understand. But the proprietors of a
club set the tone for a place. Patrons like to see them enjoying themselves. It makes
them relax, as if they were at a party with trusted friends. And that in turn makes
them play deeper and longer at the card tables.” He gave her a roguish wink. “And
that is always desirable, isn’t it?”

Sophia had to laugh. She had no doubt that he charmed his patrons at the Devil’s Fancy
into losing a great deal of money indeed. They probably even enjoyed doing it, as
she once had. “Yes, most desirable.”

“Then one dance. Come, Mrs. Westman. What can it hurt?” His eyes narrowed as he looked
down at her. “Unless there’s something you fear? I would not have thought you a timid
lady.”

Oh, surely he could not be daring her. She had never dealt well with dares. They always
brought out that wild, reckless side of her, a side that was never buried deep enough
anyway.

She studied his broad shoulders beneath the cut of his fine coat, and she wondered
how it would feel to touch them again. To feel his arms around her as they spun around
the floor. She hadn’t danced in so long, and she was quite sure Dominic would be a
fine dancer.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was being timid, which wasn’t like her. What could
one dance hurt?

“Very well,” she said with a toss of her head. “One dance, that is all. Because I
want to hear about your club.”

Dominic laughed again, and it made Sophia smile against her will. Oh, yes, she thought—this
man could surely charm the moon from the sky. But she was done with charming men.

“Very well, Mrs. Westman, one dance only,” he said as he offered her his arm. “For
now. But I warn you, I am still holding out for that supper.”

Sophia slid her arm into the crook of his elbow, the lace of her glove sliding over
the fine wool of his sleeve. She kept her touch light and polite, but she couldn’t
help but feel his heat through the expensive cloth. His muscles were lean and hard,
tense under her touch, and she thought whimsically that he surely didn’t spend all
his time sitting at a card table.

He led her onto the dance floor and into a place amid the other couples. Sophia smiled
at them, looking to make sure they were all having a good time, but they all seemed
to blur together and vanish when Dominic put his arm around her waist and pulled her
closer to his tall, lean body. It felt as if a spark flashed through her when his
hand curled around her.

She looked up at him as she took his hand and heard the music swell around them in
a familiar rhythm. A half-smile lingered on his lips and he watched her closely, but
she couldn’t read his expression.

And it just made him all the more intriguing, damn him.

They swung into the first steps of the dance, and Sophia found she instinctively remembered
the patterns of the waltz she had once loved so much. Dominic led her smoothly into
a swaying turn, and he was just as fine
a dancer as she thought he would be. He knew just how to move, to lead her so lightly
she scarcely knew where she was going until she was there. His hold on her was polite,
but she felt very close to him, their bodies moving together in perfect, instinctive
concert.

He spun her around a corner so fast her skirts wrapped around his legs and the other
couples turned in a bright blur. She laughed with pleasure and heard him laugh with
her. They settled back into the turns and patterns of the dance.

“I haven’t waltzed in ages,” Sophia said, breathless.

“Really? You dance as if you did it every day,” Dominic answered with one of his half-smiles.
His fingers caressed her waist as they turned, the merest brushing touch, yet she
seemed to feel it to her very core.

“Only because you are a good partner,” she murmured.

Dominic laughed. “A compliment, Mrs. Westman? I am astonished—and flattered.”

“I am quite sure you hear such things from every lady you dance with.”

“Not every lady.” His smile slowly faded. “And none that are quite like you. I’m surprised
our paths haven’t crossed before.”

Ah, but their paths
had
crossed before, and she had the sense he knew it, too, that he played with her in
some way. But she just smiled and kept dancing. “I’ve been living abroad. I haven’t
been back to England in many months. But you
did
know my name.”

“It’s only polite to know one’s hostess,” Dominic said. “And only wise to know one’s
business rivals, even when they’re in a different city.”

“I’m not your rival, Mr. St. Claire; I am only an
employee here. I’m a simple widow who has to make her way in the world now.”

“One thing I am quite sure of, Mrs. Westman—you are not a
simple
anything. I’d like to know more about you. I wish you would let me take you to that
supper, so I could hear your story.”

And Sophia wished she could go to supper, more than she could ever let him see. But
she had to be careful now. She remembered Mary’s journal, her sad tale of what happened
when a St. Claire met a Huntington. “I have no story. At least nothing that would
interest a man like you, Mr. St. Claire.”

“Ah, but you have no idea what might interest me, Mrs. Westman. I want to let you
know that as well.” The music rose to a crescendo, and Dominic whirled her to a stop
at the edge of the floor. But he didn’t let her go. “I do enjoy a mystery.”

Sophia shook her head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not at all mysterious.”

He smiled but didn’t answer, just offered her his arm again and led her from the floor.
Sophia felt as if she should say something, some light, careless comment that showed
him she really wasn’t different, wasn’t mysterious. Yet for once she couldn’t find
any words. She just wanted to be away from him and how he made her feel.

“Dominic, you devil! Of course you would be monopolizing the most beautiful woman
in the room,” a man said.

Sophia turned, still holding on to Dominic’s arm, to find a tall, lanky young man
smiling at them. He looked a bit like Dominic might in a warped, wavery old mirror:
taller, thinner, with an untidy sweep of lighter brown hair falling over his brow.
He wore expensive, fashionable,
black-and-white evening dress, but unlike Dominic’s casual, careless elegance, the
clothes hung on him somewhat awkwardly. But he had those same bright green eyes.

He had to be related to Dominic in some way. And she didn’t need another St. Claire
in her life, no matter how open and friendly his smile was.

“James, you know our hostess, of course,” Dominic said. “Mrs. Westman, may I present
my younger brother, James St. Claire? He is also an admirer of yours.”

A faint flush spread across James’s high cheekbones as Sophia slid her hand from Dominic’s
arm and held it out to him. “I do hope you’re enjoying your stay in Paris, Mr. St.
Claire?”

“Enormously, Mrs. Westman! It’s a beautiful city.”

“I would love to hear more about what you’ve seen while you’ve been here,” Sophia
said. “I’ve been so busy myself I’ve only had time for a bit of whirlwind sightseeing.”

“Would you care to dance, then?” James said eagerly. “We could talk there.”

Sophia laughed. “If we could hear each other above the music. But yes, I would love
to dance with you, Mr. St. Claire.”

James led her onto the dance floor just as the opening notes to a lively mazurka sounded.
He was not as skillful a dancer as his brother, but in his arms she felt none of the
heady confusion she had with Dominic. She could just enjoy the music and the easy,
pleasant conversation.

They chatted about the sights of Paris, the churches and museums, the people. As he
twirled her around in a turn, a thought struck Sophia.

“You know, I think we might share an ancestor,” she
said, thinking this would be an amusing conversational tidbit.

“I don’t see how we could,” James said with a laugh. “I would surely have remembered
you
from a family gathering.”

“Well, it’s not a close connection. It was about two hundred years ago, and I don’t
think she had any children. But before I was Mrs. Westman, I was Lady Sophia Huntington,
and a woman named Mary St. Claire married a Huntington in the Restoration era. It’s
quite a fascinating tale. I have her diary, though I haven’t read it all yet.”

James’s face suddenly went white. His smile faded, and his hands tightened on her
shoulder and her wrist. She sensed he would have dropped her if sheer politeness hadn’t
held him still.

Sophia was surprised. She certainly hadn’t expected her trivial little conversational
gambit to earn such a reaction.

“Perhaps you already know something of her,” she said carefully.

“I—yes, I know something of her,” James answered. He still looked down at her, but
Sophia had the sense he saw something else entirely. “You say you are a Huntington?”

“I was once. But I haven’t seen my family since I married. They don’t exactly approve
of me. What have you heard about Mary?” Sophia said.

“Just old family fairy-tales,” he said. “I would like to read her diary one day.”

“It’s very old and fragile. I keep it locked away and only read a few pages at a time.”
Sophia found she didn’t want to share Mary’s diary. Somehow she felt protective
of her. She had the distinct sense there was more to this than “family fairy-tales.”

The music wound to a close, and James escorted her to Camille’s group at the edge
of the room before he bowed and left her. As Sophia watched him, he made his way to
Dominic and spoke quietly in his brother’s ear. Dominic glanced across the room at
Sophia, his eyes narrowed.

And she wondered exactly what was going on with that far too intriguing man…