All I Ever Needed (22 page)

Eastlyn's mouth was warmer than his hands, infinitely more tender than his touch, and yet it was substantial and sure and held her so firmly that she might have been cradled in his arms. Sophie's eyelids fluttered closed, and she sucked in a small breath when he parted her lips. She remembered this kiss, remembered her promise and his that it would not be repeated and still it was happening. Sophie wished that she might be the one to draw back but acknowledged that she was more selfish than he and possessed of as little good sense.

East rested his forehead against hers and whispered her name a hairsbreadth above her mouth. It was part endearment, part curse, and she did not take issue with either. "I asked Tremont to arrange another room for me."

"I didn't know. Thank you."

Straightening, drawing in a steadying breath, East added "I didn't do it for you, Sophie. I did it because that door was too great a temptation." He watched her open her mouth, hesitate, and close it again. "You know I can get into your room by any means that I wish, but to have it so easily accessible was a challenge of a different nature. It occurred to me that I did not want to be tested in that manner."

"But—"

"I would fail, Sophie, and you would be compromised and we would be married. That is the truth of it."

"You are assuming I would allow myself to be compromised."

One of Eastlyn's brows lifted. "At the risk of being overly confident..."

Sophie placed both palms flat on his chest and gave him a solid push. "Out of my way, my lord."

Chuckling quietly, Eastlyn stepped aside and permitted her to pass. "I could not fail to notice that your clothes are dry," he said as she walked by him. He saw her step falter and knew he had her attention even when she kept going. "And that you are not carrying any wet garments." He did not look away when she turned her dark glare on him. "The next time you choose to swim in your wherewithal, Sophie, you will want to keep in mind that my tub is a great deal warmer."

* * *

Sophie made a point of not avoiding Eastlyn the following day. There was nothing to be gained by pretending he wasn't underfoot. She broke her fast with him in the family dining room and noted to herself that Tremont was conspicuously absent. She thought it was quite intentional on his part until Eastlyn casually informed her that her cousin most likely had a sore head.

"He drank rather a lot over cards," East said. He tucked into his eggs while he watched Sophie push hers around her plate. "You have no appetite?"

She did not, but was too proud to allow Eastlyn to assume it had anything to do with him, or her impulsive decision to take a swim the night before. Ignoring the uncomfortable roiling of her stomach, Sophie gamely swallowed a forkful of her scrambled eggs and followed it with a bite of toast. Aware that Eastlyn was watching her, she hoped that settled his concern. "Did Tremont beat you soundly at whist?"

"He did."

"You do not sound as if you are at all put out by it."

"It does not sit well," he said. "But then I haven't yet lost."

The enigmatic reply brought Sophie's head up. Her brow creased. "I do not suppose you will explain yourself."

Eastlyn pretended to consider it, then said, "No, I do not think I will."

Sophie wished he would not look at her with that perfectly agreeable smile when his words were to the contrary. She imagined he had been able to say all manner of outrageous things because of that roguish charm. Worse, she did not think he had ever consciously practiced it, but that it came to him as naturally as drawing air. She could not very well insist that he stop breathing, could she? "Tremont cheats, you know."

"Indeed. He is rather good at it." Eastlyn speared a thin slice of tomato. "I confess that I am surprised you realize it. Do you play cards with him?"

"No. He has never invited me to do so because it would place him in the untenable position of having to explain his hypocrisy. He would have me believe that cards are the devil's tools and games of chance have no place in a house where religion is practiced." Sophie realized she had said more than she meant to and that Eastlyn's interest was considerably piqued. She was cautious in her tone as she continued. "My father told me long ago that Tremont plays cards. He also told me I should avoid sitting at a table with him because he cheats. I have always been thankful I have never been placed in a position of having to refuse him. It would be awkward to explain what I know."

"Would you?" asked Eastlyn. "Refuse him, I mean."

Sophie did not answer immediately. There were certain ramifications to consider if she were to do such a thing. Defying her cousin by refusing to marry Eastlyn was a minor rebellion when compared against calling Tremont a cheat and a hypocrite. "No," she said finally. "I don't think I would." She was not entirely surprised when Eastlyn's eyes dropped to her bare arms. The short puffed sleeves of her simple muslin day dress left most of her arms exposed, and if there had been bruises, he would have seen them. Sophie pretended not to notice the direction of his gaze and therefore did not comment on his intent. "My cousin would find my playing to be poor entertainment for him. It has been quite some time since I held cards in my hands."

"You played with your father?"

She nodded. "Often."

Eastlyn sipped from his coffee cup. "If it does not distress you, I should like to know more about him."

"How he died, you mean."

"How he lived."

Sophie's eyes flew to his. Eastlyn's request was one that had not been made of her before, and her reflexive response was to flatly refuse. He had given her a reasonable excuse to do so. All she had to say was that it
did
distress her, and he would put the subject behind them. But then where would his curiosity take him? Would he apply to Tremont for information, or mayhap Harold? It was a certainty that Eastlyn was not in complete ignorance of her father's failures, as public as those had been, but where else could the marquess apply to hear an alternate account of her father's life, the one that was both bitter and sweet and could only be related through a daughter's perspective?

Sophie placed her fork on the table and her hands in her lap. Her fingers pleated the linen napkin instead of the fabric of her dress. Her chin came up slightly as her decision was made, and except for the steady movement of her fingers, a stillness settled over her. "My mother died when I was not yet three," she said quietly. "That is the place to begin, you understand, for there are those who believe my father killed her. I would say it is truer that he died with her. She was trying to bear him a son, you see, an heir, and it remains a fact that she was advised after my birth not to have another child. I do not know this from my father—he would never speak a word against my mother—but the snippets I have collected over the years from the servants make me think she was strong-headed and would not be denied. I know my father was very much in love with her, so perhaps it is no lie that by his weakness he had a hand in her death. He certainly considered it was so."

Eastlyn thought Sophie's eyes appeared brighter than usual, though it might have been only that her face had become so pale. He wondered that she had not chosen to beg off when clearly this was no easy subject for her. He understood there was pain here but was not prepared for the rawness of it. It seemed to him that he was witness to a wound that had never once healed. Questions occurred to him, and he let them pass, loath to interrupt.

Sophie smiled a trifle crookedly. "It is hard to know about love, I think. That emotion has consequences that are too often outside the province of happy endings." She thought that Eastlyn looked at her oddly then, but he made no comment and she continued. "My father was rarely in residence at Tremont Park after my mother died. When he visited he was hardly ever alone. He came with an entourage of friends, acquaintances, and hangers-on. You cannot imagine how this place came alive at those times. The rooms were full, the staff moved with heady purpose, and laughter spilled into the halls and stairways. There were card games and entertainments, fortune-tellers, musicales, poetry readings. There was dancing far into the morning." Sophie felt her breath catch as a memory grabbed her by the heart and squeezed. She went on because it seemed suddenly right that she do so; the opportunity to speak without fear of contradiction might never present itself again. "I would fall asleep sometimes on the stairs, just below the landing. I always meant to go to bed, of course, before I was caught out; but my intentions were rarely so strong as my curiosity, and Papa would find me in my hiding place and carry me to bed. I was never scolded for spying on the guests, though perhaps that had less to do with me and more to do with my father's guilt."

Eastlyn suspected that her father's guilt had nothing to do with spending so little time with Sophie. Indeed, the late Earl of Tremont probably had made more effort to see his daughter than was the habit of most fathers. The guilt, then, Eastlyn surmised, must have had at its source the earl's own belief that he had denied Sophie her mother. "He indulged you?" Eastlyn asked.

"Indulged? That hardly describes it. He spoiled me most terribly." She saw in Eastlyn's polished chestnut eyes the clear light of skepticism. "You do not believe me? You must apply to my cousin for confirmation. Tremont will be most happy to inform you of the truth of it."

East had no difficulty accepting that. He also knew he would not broach the subject. "I take it he does not countenance the spoiling of children."

She shrugged. "I am not so certain. He is tolerant of his grandchildren in a way I could not have predicted. I only know that he did not approve of my father's easy manner toward me. In time, I think, he no longer approved of me."

"So there is no love lost there."

Sophie nodded slowly, unwilling to share the whole of it. "You must appreciate that his lordship and I are often at loggerheads. You have only to examine my recent opposition to your proposal—and his response—to understand how it is between us." Sophie saw that Eastlyn shifted slightly in his chair. "Am I speaking too frankly?" she asked. "It was not my intention to discomfit you."

"I admire your forthrightness, Sophie, even when it tweaks my pride. I cannot say that you were wrong for refusing me. I have certainly come to understand that you paid a price for it, though I think I do not yet fully appreciate the exact cost."

Sophie did not find that his compliment or his understanding offered her any ease. Embarrassed, her eyes slid away from his as she picked up the threads of her story. "My father found amusements that diverted his attention from Tremont Park. I think that if I had not been in residence here, he would never have visited. I cannot say when he stopped thinking of it as his home, only that he did. I traveled with him to London on occasion, more so when I was much younger. You will know, of course, that my father was a frequent patron of the gaming hells. Being with him in town did not mean I was in his company. I preferred when he brought his friends to the Park, for at least I saw him then. We were never so distant as when we were residing together at Bowden Street."

Eastlyn had not realized the house at No. 14 was the same one where she had lived with her father. To have the house taken over by Dunsmore and his brood must have been lowering in its own right, but to have been confined to a room and residence where she had once been free to come and go could have been naught but a searing humiliation. He remembered how Sophie had tried to keep him from making his proposal and how he, in his need to acquit himself honorably, had disregarded her wishes. He began to comprehend how well she had understood the effect his proposal would have and how blithely ignorant, mayhap arrogant, he had been.

"Forgive me," Sophie said quickly, interrupting Eastlyn's introspection. He looked as if he meant to make an apology, though the purpose of doing such eluded her. There was no reason he should; yet she could not believe she had mistaken the glimpse of something akin to guilt in his eyes. She had seen it often enough with her own father to know the look of it in someone else. "I am being maudlin, and I have no use for it nor on any account wish to subject you to the same."

"I did not—"

Sophie pushed her plate away and stood abruptly. "If your lordship will excuse me, there are matters that require my attention elsewhere."

Eastlyn knew she was running from him, but he had no wish to say as much. He nodded once, rising as she quit the room. Her exit was not as hasty as he suspected she wished it might be, and his admiring glance followed her until she disappeared into the hall.

* * *

Sophie had not lied when she said there were matters in need of her attention, though the urgency was rather less than she had suggested by her tone. None of the tenants she visited that afternoon were ill, and while they all welcomed her into their homes, Sophie felt as if she were intruding instead of being helpful. She used the time to cast her glance surreptitiously about the homes and make a mental list of items the tenants were in want of. She could no longer trust that anyone would voice even a single need to her. If it were stiff-necked pride that kept them silent, Sophie would have known how to make it easier for them to accept her help. After all, what she would do for them was not charity, but an obligation, or at least she had always thought of it in that light.

Still, it was not pride that kept them quiet. It was resignation. They had surrendered to the idea that Tremont would do nothing to improve their lot, and more disturbingly from Sophie's point of view, they saw her as powerless to change that.