Emily French (11 page)
Authors: Illusion
But Sophy had changed that. She was the last thing he had expected in a bride. She had stirred long-forgotten emotions, turned his staid upright world upside down. From her audacious wedding bargain to her outrageous visit to a bordello, she filled him with a vague expectancy, an uncertain anticipation, and not knowing quite how to cope with it.
He had the uncomfortable feeling that if he insisted that she do as he ordered, she would defy him. Perhaps for the moment, at any rate, it was best to let her have her own way, although, God and His angels knew, he would have to put his foot down sooner or later. This decision made, he went about his business and left Sophy to her own devices.
Time hung heavy upon Sophy’s hands. In desperation, she looked for something to take her mind off her troubles. She busied herself planning a new wardrobe, selecting fabric, poring over
Harper’s Weekly
and
The Season
for hours and choosing the latest fashion styles. She conducted interviews and appointed several additional domestic staff, including a new cook. But she did not visit Madame Bertine.
Harper’s Weekly
and
The Season
for hours and choosing the latest fashion styles. She conducted interviews and appointed several additional domestic staff, including a new cook. But she did not visit Madame Bertine.
On the morning of the fourth day, Sophy was already seated at the breakfast table when Seth entered the room.
How long this charade could continue she dared not guess, but she was determined to break this impasse. As he passed her, she held out a detaining hand. His muscle flexed under her palm.
“Good morning, Seth.” She raised her face.
He did not move toward her, or away. A grim smile hovered about his mouth, then he bent and touched her forehead with his lips.
“You’re down early.” His voice was noncommittal as he moved around to his place at the breakfast table, but his eyes burned like twin blue flames.
Seth opened the morning paper, a barrier as palpable as a steel wall. When Sophy had greeted him at the breakfast table, turning toward him with her wide eyes, a primitive need rose up in him.
He could actually feel the blood coursing through his veins, and his heart beating against his ribs. Behind the protection of the newspaper, he drew a deep breath and made an attempt to control his emotions.
Sophy, gnawing at her underlip, poured out his coffee in silence. Her hand was unsteady, and some of the steaming liquid slopped onto the saucer. She set down the pot with a bang.
This was not as she had imagined it would be. She had a feeling that it would not be in her husband’s nature to take her confession with complacence.
Sophy swallowed hard, and found her voice.
“I wanted to have a word with you in private.” She spoke with a restraint that made the words sound cold. Her accursed tongue again!
Seth lowered his paper a fraction at the crisp demand in her voice. He tilted his head sideways to study her face, his eyes lazy looking, almost hooded.
“This farce has continued long enough and I...” Her voice trailed off at the sudden blaze in his eyes. She drew in a quick breath and continued before he could speak.
“I ... I think I ought to tell you....”
Chapter Six
S
ophy was saved from having to confess her deception by a frantic hammering on the front door. Then the morning room door burst open with a bang, heralding the tempestuous entrance of Bernard van Houten, breathless and hatless.
ophy was saved from having to confess her deception by a frantic hammering on the front door. Then the morning room door burst open with a bang, heralding the tempestuous entrance of Bernard van Houten, breathless and hatless.
“Bernard! What brings you here at this hour?” Sophy gasped, and half rose from her seat. Her voice took on the sharp edge of anxiety. “Is something wrong with Aunt Ella? Aunt Ilsa? Uncle Heinrich? Pieter?”
“No, of course not! Why on earth would you think that!” Impatiently, Bernard turned to Seth, who had risen to a standing position. “Pieter says the
Orion
berthed last night, sir. Can I come down to the docks with you and watch them unload her?”
Orion
berthed last night, sir. Can I come down to the docks with you and watch them unload her?”
“Sure.” Seth eased himself back into his own chair. He was relieved to have the subject changed. He didn’t want to hear what Sophy had to tell him in case it upset the rigid control he had over his emotions.
The thought brought back all the turbulent desires of a few minutes ago. Her intrusion into his life, his mind, had become dangerous, almost made him forget the gentleman he’d been raised to be.
How long could he hold out? This attraction he felt to her was not part of his plans. It was foreign to his nature to bow to the whims of a woman, even if she did send the blood coursing to his head. He could not let her defeat him too easily.
If he allowed her to gain the upper hand now, she would laugh and dance across his heart like a dragonfly over a stream, when all the time her feet would be as heavy as lead. He would not allow Sophy to govern him the way Abigail Lethbridge ruled poor Charles.
Marriage should be a partnership, not a battleground. There had to be a winning situation for both of them. He was being foolish, of course, but still ...
He slanted Sophy a speculative glance. It was an instant caught in crystal. She gave him a tentative smile. His face softened. What a fascinating blend of intelligence, sweetness and coquetry! It was impossible to be mistaken about the appeal he saw in those unusual violet-gray eyes. He capitulated.
“Would you like to join us, Sophy?”
“Oh, what a splendid idea!” Sophy’s eyes lit up, and her mouth tilted upward in her first real smile in four days. She felt absolutely buoyant, as though she might float up to the ceiling. “I’ll just go and get a bonnet.”
The prospect of an outing was like a draft of heady wine. For two days a steady downpour had pelted from leaden skies, accompanied by a chill wind that dashed the last of the leaves from the trees and sent them swirling into mushy little piles.
The world today was brighter and much more pleasant. Though even this morning conditions were less than ideal for unloading a vessel, with a good westerly wind and fitful sunshine.
As they moved along, Sophy pressed her face to the carriage window, looking at the fine brownstone buildings that drenched Manhattan like coffee. When the carriage swept into South Street, she could scarcely contain her excitement. Her gray eyes sparkled.
Seth descended from the carriage, and turned to assist his wife to alight. She was too quick for him and jumped eagerly to the ground. With a merry smile in Seth’s direction, she sped after her impatient cousin. Her full skirts rustled vigorously as her tiny feet danced along the timber wharf. Seth’s arms dropped stiffly to his sides.
In another woman, he might have suspected coyness, but in Sophy it was again that elusive quality, as if at the very moment of discovering her, she had gone. He found himself walking almost blindly, enmeshed in his own turmoil, toward the river. As he stalked toward the vessel, his limp was more pronounced than ever.
The
Orion
was easily identified, a tall, aloof, self-conscious presence among the trim sloops and cutters, the lemon-sailed craft of the fishermen, the long schooners and the heavy working barges. The gray-green water, a little agitated by the wind, slapped lazily against the clipper’s hull.
Orion
was easily identified, a tall, aloof, self-conscious presence among the trim sloops and cutters, the lemon-sailed craft of the fishermen, the long schooners and the heavy working barges. The gray-green water, a little agitated by the wind, slapped lazily against the clipper’s hull.
Bernard scrambled nimbly across the narrow gangway. The lift and surge of the craft terrified Sophy, but she gamely followed him, slipping and sliding, across the wet planking.
She was wearing her new woven extension skirt, which she was learning to use in place of hoops. An ingenious cage affair of graduated steel springs and taped weavings, it was lighter and cooler than the bulky crinolines, but at the moment she missed the added stability of the old style.
Suddenly, strong hands gripped her waist and the wind rushed through her lungs. Exhilaration did a sharp rigadoon inside her. As she spun, the green waters of the bay were beneath her, the timbers vibrating, the whole platform shaking, the world blurring out of shape. Her eyes closed as her legs flew freely in space like a rag doll’s.
Seth swung her onto the deck as if she weighed no more than a kitten. She was aware of his breath upon her ear, light and airy as blown sea spray. Of the way his hands, warm and hard, fit around her waist so perfectly, his body only inches away from hers. Her breath came faster. He released her with a soft laugh.
It sounded like bells to Sophy. Mellifluous. Sweet. She could hear the creaking of cordage, the slap of the water, and the mewing of the great gulls that were circling all about them. A paean of joy. Of exultation. For a moment she was caught up in the sound. She wanted to run, jump and shout with the joy of it.
“You can open your eyes now, Sophy.”
Seth’s voice was just a whisper. His breath rustled her hair. Sophy could feel his heat, his strength, the tension in his body. Her hands clung to his shoulders until the earth stopped spinning. Slowly, she opened her eyes, letting reality settle around her.
Boots planted wide, Seth gripped the rail as though he had need of its support. Or was he bracing himself against pain? There was an odd expression on his face, and for the life of her, she couldn’t begin to interpret it.
Sophy’s heart missed a beat as she realized he was without his cane. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, applied. “You’ve hurt yourself!” She looked around for her cousin, but he was nowhere in sight. Her expression softened. “Will you be all right while I fetch Bernard?”
Seth straightened. Aware that he was leaning too heavily on his injured leg, he shifted his weight to the opposite foot. A groan, quickly choked off, escaped him. Tentatively he released the rail. The vessel moved and he stumbled. Grasping for support again, he cursed softly, fluently and with great depth of feeling.
Sophy shot him a doubting glance, and stepped forward. To his surprise, she slipped her arm about his waist and moved his arm about her shoulders. “Here, let me help you.”
The feminine scent of her was all around him. He inhaled, long and slow. Heat began to spiral through him, centering in his groin. The soft promise of her body, so tantalizingly close to his, was an open invitation to cast aside the facade of indifference he had sheltered behind.
He was torn between caution and desire. Caution won. He grinned down at the feathered confection of a bonnet, which barely came to his shoulder.
“Perhaps if you handed me my walking stick I could manage. It is over there, by the bulwark.”
Sophy caught the gentle mockery in his voice. Mortified, she drew her teeth over her lower lip, and handed him the cane. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, gripping the knob of his walking stick, and staring at her mouth.
Her heart tripping fast in confusion, she swallowed convulsively. She knew he wanted to kiss her, and she smiled so he would understand that it was all right. Without a word, he turned away and limped along the deck toward the bridge. Pink and flushed, Sophy silently followed him.
An hour later, she was back on the wharf following a whirlwind inspection of the clipper, her mind still sorting her glimpses of a jam-packed hold, furled canvas, gleaming brass instruments and the narrow bunks of cramped living quarters.
From the shelter of the shipping office, she stood entranced, listening and watching, as barrels and bales of merchandise were hoisted from the ship under the supervision of the boatswain. As the goods came ashore, these were checked off against a ledger Seth held open on his knees.
Richard Carlton was there also. A heavily built man who seemed huge, his shoulders broad and powerful looking. He wore a dark jacket and plaid trousers. He had a wide face and big but pleasant features, with dark hair cut short and standing upright. There was no pomade on it, and it gave him a kind of unfinished look.
He smiled and put out a hand. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Weston. Settled in okay?” His eyes were velvety brown in color, and very clear.
“Yes. Thank you for your assistance.” Sophy put her gloved hand on top of his.
“You’re welcome.” He looked past her. “Hello, Charles. You’ve met Mrs. Weston?”
The two men made a sharp contrast. Charles Lethbridge was a head shorter than Richard Carlton, and thinner. He had a shortish nose sprinkled with freckles, finely chiseled lips and hazel eyes. His hat was pushed to the back of his head, showing wavy, sandy-colored hair.
Sophy damped down the sudden sense of distrust. There was nothing about the man to suggest skulduggery.
“Yes.” Charles nodded. He bowed stiffly, but did not accept Sophy’s outstretched hand.
He was staring at her so strangely that she was afraid he could guess what she was thinking. She felt as if she were being weighed on a mental balance. Just for a moment she was discomposed. Then she gathered her wits.
“You don’t sound as if you approve.”
“Not at all. Glad to see Seth married so advantageously, even if the news came as a surprise.” The words sounded innocent enough, but somehow the smile that played across his lips seemed false.
Sophy tucked her hand back into her muff. “Life is full of surprises. That’s what makes it so interesting.”
The papers Richard Carlton had been studying were lists of the various manifests that had been unloaded in the past month. She gave a high-pitched little giggle.
“Don’t you find it difficult to concentrate on all those silly figures?” That deceptive cloak of cherubic innocence fooled a lot of people.
It did not fool Charles. He looked stunned, as though he knew she concealed a motive behind every word and action, and was setting up a mark. He opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to think better of it.
Richard Carlton’s smile didn’t change. He folded the papers and put them into a flat metal box he held under one arm. “You’ve reminded me of work, Mrs. Weston. Please excuse me. On my desk at the moment there are manifests for seven different clients, all awaiting my attention.”
“I’m going onto the
Orion
to do a couple of quick sketches. I’ve got an idea for a design with a nautical motif. See you around.”
Orion
to do a couple of quick sketches. I’ve got an idea for a design with a nautical motif. See you around.”
The chill in his voice sent shivers up her spine. She was letting her imagination run riot. The thought made her angry with herself. She had to stop being so suspicious of Seth’s friend.
A clock struck somewhere far down in the town. Shortly afterward, when Seth picked up his books and went off to speak with Richard Carlton, Sophy roused herself. Holding up her bombazine skirts on each side and picking her way cautiously around a stock of cotton bales, she wandered among the piers that bristled along the waterfront.
As she passed the shelter of the shipping offices, the keen cold air hit her like a blow in the face. It stung her cheeks, making them glow, and sent the ribbons of her bonnet fluttering, and her black cloak flapping. Wisps of hair, coming loose from her long, coiled braid, framed her cheeks.
It was filthy, noisy, smelly and exciting, especially the odors, from the distinctive boat smell of tar, paint, shellfish, to damp hemp and bilge water. The sun was strong and the glare intense. It was nearly low water, and there was little traffic on the river.
Sophy was studying a collier brig with consuming interest, when Bernard materialized beside her. He took advantage of the opportunity to air his knowledge.
“That one unloading over there is the timber barge
Belle Rosa.
She brings logs across from New Jersey.”
Belle Rosa.
She brings logs across from New Jersey.”
Alight with excitement and too full of energy to need any encouragement, Bernard began to explain the process, pointing out the huge grappling hook that caught the logs and unloaded them from the barge.
A dimple appeared on each side of Sophy’s mouth. Her young cousin’s enthusiasms were always all-absorbing and passionate. She listened with half an ear and smiled as Bernard talked, but she scarcely heard him.
Her attention began to drift, so engrossed was she with her own thoughts, and the problem that was nagging her: Seth’s pride and her own sense of honor.
Having zealously delivered his wisdom on timber barges, Bernard had just begun to expound on the advantages of steam over sail when one of the men standing by the barge semaphored with his arms. “Hey!”
Bernard whistled to indicate he had understood the signal. Arms akimbo, he stood and watched the engineer as he stood to his levers. The main line holding the logs in place began to spool slowly in on the drum. The line tautened like a fiddle string, and the ponderous machine vibrated with the strain of its effort.
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