All I Ever Needed (36 page)

The ache behind Sophie's eyes pressed tears to the rims of her lower lashes. She blinked first, trying to hold them back, then dashed them away with her fingertips. She took a handkerchief from under the long sleeve of her gown and pressed it to each eye in turn. "I am a waterworks of late."

Eastlyn took the linen from her hand and gently wiped the tears that had fallen onto her cheeks. "It is the child, I suspect. You would not admit it is caused by any softening toward me."

The subtle mocking timbre of his voice engaged her watery smile. "No," she said. "I would not admit it." With very little effort on East's part Sophie felt herself being drawn to his side. She fit so naturally into the curve of his arm that she wondered that she was ever comfortable anywhere else. She closed her eyes when she felt his lips against her hair. "I think you mean to wear me down."

"That is my plan precisely," he whispered.

"I see."

Eastlyn merely held her. Her breathing was soft and even; his breath ruffled her hair. The scent of her provoked sweet memories of her mouth under his and her fingers tripping lightly down the length of his spine. The sensation was so real that he nearly shivered with it. She drew her feet onto the sofa, curling them to one side. Her shoulder lay more heavily against him. East counted off the minutes on the clock at ten before he felt her stir again. "You fell asleep."

"Hmm."

He spoke quietly and knew full well he was taking advantage of her weary state of mind. That, after all, was the plan. "I want to stay here, Sophie. A fortnight, if you will permit it. You should know at the outset that I will—"

"Yes."

"—sit on that little bridge at the front and make a nuisance of myself to your—"

"Yes."

"—neighbors and you until you relent. I will—" He stopped this time because he vaguely heard her voice coming to him as though from a distance. "You said yes."

"Twice." She reached behind her and patted him on the arm that was lying across her shoulders. "You are to be congratulated for your plan. It seems to be a very good one."

"Then you approve that it does not involve chamber pots."

"I do."

He nodded. "Good."

"You have thought of some way to explain your presence here, I collect. The good people of Clovelly have not been overly curious about me, but that is bound to change with your arrival. You attract notice, my lord."

"I don't mean to."

"I know. You cannot seem to help it." She turned her head and looked up at him. "Who shall we say you are?"

"Your husband returned from the dead?"

She gave him a disapproving look. "Not likely. I told everyone he broke his neck in a fall."

Eastlyn rubbed his nape as if he could feel the bones crunching there. "I don't suppose you mentioned that you pushed him."

Sophie ignored that. "You could be my brother. I have always wanted a brother, and Mrs. Trumbull seems to think you are a good one."

"I suppose that would suit as long as you don't begin feeling sisterly toward me, or worse, acting upon it."

She laughed. "I think that is most unlikely."

"Very well. You must call me Gabriel, then."

"No."

"That is what my sister calls me."

"Your mistress, too, no doubt. I would rather call you East as you invited me to do before. Your friends call you East, and above all things, I should like to be your friend."

The comment about his mistress made one dark eyebrow jump. He regarded her askance and managed to say, "I also desire your friendship, Sophie. I cannot say, though, that I desire it above all things."

"For now, then."

He nodded. "For now."

Sophie settled back once more into the shelter of his arm. "What does your family expect of you?"

East knew this was no idle question. She probably had been wondering at it since he arrived. "They expect me to do what is right."

"That is not always so easy to know, is it?"

"No."

"I regret that I had to take my leave of your sister and her husband so suddenly. They must think I sorely abused their hospitality. I am quite certain that the letter I left behind did little to assuage Mrs. Trumbull's fears. She has every reason to be vexed with me."

"Yes. She does. Your brief acquaintance with Cara should also have assured you that she has a generous heart. She knows that I am the villain of this piece."

"The villain? Hardly that. And she is your sister. She will forgive you anything. She said as much herself when we were speaking—"

Sophie's abrupt end caught East's curiosity. "Yes? You and Cara were speaking of...?"

"We were speaking of you, of course."

"There is more. There is always more with you, Sophie. You were not so shy about speaking your mind a moment ago."

"Very well. We were speaking of Mrs. Sawyer. Your sister is not inclined to feel at all charitable toward her. I can't believe that she would be more disposed to me. Mrs. Sawyer has done naught but bedevil you with sly tricks, like those you might have encountered at Hambrick. She has not presented you with a swollen belly and claimed that you are the cause of it."

"I must point out that you have not done that either," he said dryly. His hand hovered over the flat of her abdomen. "May I?"

Sophie nodded and for a moment could not breathe. She watched Eastlyn's palm lower the fraction necessary to cover her belly. "She does not move yet," she told him. "Mayhap it is only my imagination but I feel a heaviness there."

"Is that why you think we will have a daughter?"

"No. I think it because it must not be otherwise."

Eastlyn measured the silence that followed as so complete he knew Sophie would not explain herself. He was not surprised when she trapped his hand under hers and asked him about his former mistress instead. "She has not been under my protection for a very long time. She ended our arrangement before I made my first proposal to you. How did you learn of her?"

"She is the one who began the rumor, isn't she?" When he did not answer, Sophie added, "Tremont says it is so. Your sister also led me to believe it."

"Then there is no point that you should hear it from me as well."

"It is good of you not to want to speak ill of her. You are very kind in that regard." She glanced at him and saw faint color rising in his complexion. It made her smile. "Your sister told me Mrs. Sawyer's name. Before that, long before, I knew you had a mistress. It is only that I had no name to put to her. She is a widow?"

"Yes. Her husband was a soldier. He was killed fighting in Belgium."

"That is very sad for her," Sophie said, meaning it. "I imagine she was not left well off. It could not have been easy."

Eastlyn kept his tone carefully neutral. "She has managed."

"Your sister said Mrs. Sawyer hoped that you would marry her."

"Cara says a great deal and knows very little." He sighed. "You will not be moved from this, will you?"

"No."

"The truth is, I do not know if Cara is right, though I suspect she is. Mrs. Sawyer was not so straightforward as you, Sophie. If she had been, she would have asked me directly to marry her and not practiced roundaboutation."

"You are usually quite good at comprehending the meaning just below the surface. I wonder that you were not more certain of Mrs. Sawyer's hopes in regard to you."

"Perhaps I did not want to be." East's hand slid away from Sophie's midriff, and he laid it on the arm of the sofa. "It was a comfortable arrangement in many ways, so comfortable that I did not realize how utterly boring it had become.
 
Mrs. Sawyer knew before I did that I was preparing to end it. She found another protector and gave me my walking papers. It was a civil parting. There was not a cross word exchanged."

"It sounds rather cold."

"Yes. Did you think she loved me, perhaps? That was not her way at all. It is likely that I had finer feelings for her than she did for me."

"Then I am sorry for you both. It must be a very bleak sort of bargain that is struck between a gentleman and his mistress."

"There are benefits," he said wryly. "And no, I will not discuss them. Why is it important to you?" He felt her shrug. "That is no answer. Is Mrs. Sawyer the reason you refused me, Sophie? Did you think I meant to keep her as my mistress?"

"It occurred to me. I did not know the arrangement was at an end when you first proposed; however, it did not weigh as anything in my decision to turn you down. Gentlemen have mistresses. It is done all the time. I suppose one comes to find a certain convenience in the arrangement. I have had experience learning to tolerate all manner of intolerable things. A husband's infidelity would scarcely cause me a moment's lost sleep."

"Liar." He said it with the gentleness of an endearment.

"It is not all a lie. I did not refuse you because you had a mistress."

"But you will not permit me to continue such an arrangement when we are married."

Sophie thought he was being overly confident in supposing they would be married, but she was of no mind to have that argument now. He had said it in just that fashion to tweak her. "I do not know if it is the sort of thing a wife can stop, but I doubt I should ever become accustomed to it."

"You will not have to. There will be no mistresses."

She was quietly skeptical.

"I am serious. No matter what you have come to believe, it is not done by everyone. I can name any number of men who do not engage in the practice of setting up a mistress once they are married. My father has never done so. North either. Southerton and West are unattached, and neither has anyone under his protection."

"Paragons, every one of them."

He chuckled. "I do not think I would go so far as to say that."

Sophie felt the rumble of his low laughter against her back and shoulder and knew a sense of such longing that she ached with it. She closed her eyes again, afraid the sudden press of tears would spill over. There was a hard lump at the back of her throat, but she managed to get words around it. "Would you have me as your mistress?"

The question was not entirely unexpected. East had posed it himself several times on his long ride to Clovelly, and in each instance the answer was the same. "No," he said after a moment. "No, I would not. Would you want to be?"

"I never thought so."

"If you are at all uncertain now, it is because of your present situation. You are not Mrs. Wendell Frederick, late of Stoke-on-Trent. You are Lady Sophia Colley, and becoming any man's mistress is not done. A woman like Mrs. Sawyer may place herself in a man's protection and society will accept it, even going so far as to privately admit that she is doing what she must to survive. It would not be like that for you. Among the ton, you would not be my mistress, Sophie. You would be my whore."

In spite of the warmth of his arm about her shoulders, Sophie shivered. His words were as frank as those she had spoken to herself.

East's fingers found the comb that tamed the curling length of Sophie's hair into a twist. He nudged it free and smiled when he heard her soft sigh. The heavy, honey colored strands poured over the back of his hand. He sifted through them and touched her nape, massaging the knot that kept her head so stiffly upright. In time she simply melted against him, and he was not at all sorry for it.

Eastlyn waited until Sophie was asleep before he eased himself away. He laid her carefully on the sofa and covered her with his own greatcoat. Except to pillow her head on her arm, she hardly stirred.

He left the cottage and rode to the inn in nearby Bideford where Sampson was waiting for him. After arranging for one trunk and a valise to be sent to Sophie's home in Clovelly, East informed his valet that he should return to London for the Christmas holiday. Sampson did not own to being shocked by this, but East suspected that was the case, though whether Sampson disapproved of him taking up residence with Lady Sophia or managing his own wardrobe for a fortnight was unclear.

The carriage and team would remain behind at a livery in Bideford, and Sampson and the driver would avail themselves of the public coach on the return. Eastlyn was generous in the funds he provided for this trip, knowing they both found this mode of transport lowering.

Sophie was awake by the time he returned, and the house was filled with the warm aroma of the meal she was preparing. East stamped his feet just inside the doorway and dropped his hat and gloves onto the table beside Sophie's bonnet. He glimpsed Sophie giving him an over-the-shoulder glance from where she stood at the table.

"You did not wear your coat," she said in disapproving accents as East approached. "It is a mistake for you to think the weather will not turn cold."

"I wore my hat."

Her mouth flattened. "You should have worn the Carrick and not left it with me."

"How else would you know that I meant to return?" He came up behind her and placed his hands on her waist. "In any event, you were sleeping soundly under it when I took my leave. I was of no mind to disturb you."