Married to a Stranger (14 page)

‘It would be pleasant to stretch my legs,’ she added in a more moderate tone. ‘I had thought to go to Hatchard’s, and I have some trifling shopping, but I can do that this morning, it is nothing of importance. I must buy more silk stockings, I laddered a pair at Mrs Sommerson’s musicale last night.’

‘Very well. I will see you at luncheon at one o’clock.’ Callum folded his newspaper, picked up his coffee cup and went out, leaving her to finish a mental shopping list. It proved remarkably difficult.
Tooth powder, a nice big bath sponge … I should tell him that he can come back to my bed. Stockings. Better get silk ones and some cotton ones. Shall I go and tell him now? But it will make it sound as though I am lusting after him. But I miss him … Don’t think about it. Tooth powder …

Chapter Fourteen

S
ophia was still brooding on the best way to convey that she was ready to welcome Callum back to her bed as they walked the short distance down Half Moon Street to cross Piccadilly and enter Green Park. Callum certainly appeared to be in an amiable enough mood. He had complimented her on the luncheon, admired the moss-green walking dress with darker green pelisse and matching bonnet with grosgrain ribbons.

Now there was nothing for it but to meet his eyes when he guided her across the road and turned back from flipping a coin to the crossing sweeper. ‘I—’

‘I think perhaps we should discuss the … disagree-ment we had on the subject of mistresses,’ Callum said. Sophia was so taken aback that she stumbled on the kerb and he had to catch her hand to steady her. ‘I rather lost sight of my sense of humour,’ Callum continued. He kept hold of her hand, which was rather pleasant. ‘Or perhaps I should say that you touched my conscience on a sore spot. You have not mentioned it again, but I sense it is not forgotten.’

‘Forgotten? No, I have not forgotten. I was … tactless and naïve. Why should you have a guilty conscience about having a mistress in India when you had no obligations elsewhere?’ Sophia freed her hand, slid it into the crook of his arm and let him guide her down the diagonal pathway.

‘I did not say it was logical.’

‘I thought you were—logical, I mean. The organised brother, the sensible one.’

‘Sensible?’ Callum snorted, but he did not explain his amusement and his expression, when she glanced up at his profile, was rueful. ‘Yes, I suppose I am. Most of the time.’

‘And Daniel was not?’

For a moment she wondered if she was wrong to ask him to talk of his twin, then he shrugged. ‘Daniel was not … Daniel was impulsive. He let himself feel and then acted on those feelings without, sometimes, thinking it through.’

‘Such as the time he proposed to me?’

‘Perhaps. He was spontaneous and open and generous.’

‘You are generous,’ she offered.

‘But not spontaneous and open.’

‘That does not mean you do not feel, that you do not care. That you do not have as much emotion inside, even if you do not show it on the outside.’

‘Would you wish me to be more open about my feelings, Sophia?’

She looked up from under the brim of her bonnet and caught a glimpse of heat that made her heart skip a beat. Did he mean physically? ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I would.’ He said nothing, simply tucked her hand more firmly into the crook of his arm. ‘I like it here,’ Sophia remarked a few minutes later when it seemed that the subjects of mistresses and feelings were to be put behind them without further discussion. In the distance she could see the towers of Westminster Abbey floating like a mirage above the trees.
I really am in London,
she thought.
This is my new life.

‘London?’

‘Green Park. I do not feel ready to face the fashionable throng in Hyde Park, even if it were proper that I should.’

‘Because you are shy?’

‘I am afraid so!’ She laughed at her own nervousness. It was absurd that she, who only weeks before had been resolved upon making her own way in the world by finding employment, should become anxious when she had a gentleman to protect her. Or perhaps that was the problem: Callum would tell her what to do, provide for her, and she would become a grateful, obedient puppet.

There was that uncomfortable thought about independence again. Well-bred ladies observed certain constraints on their behaviour, of course, but she had as good an education as a girl could hope for, she had ideas in her head, some talents to her name. She wanted to spread her wings, to be herself.

‘You have no need to be shy,’ Callum said when she did not expand on her admission. ‘You are personable, you have all the social arts. You were a great success at the party last night. You enjoyed it, did you not?’

‘Thank you. Yes, I did find it entertaining.’ And she had. How foolish to have accepted a marriage of convenience and then wish for more.

Callum pointed out some of the fine buildings overlooking the park and they stopped to admire the elegance of Spencer House. ‘Rather more splendid than our little dwelling,’ he said. ‘A house in Half Moon Street is hardly up to what you might expect after Flamborough Hall.’

‘But it is a very fashionable street and well located. What on earth would I do rattling around all day in something the size of the Hall?’ she asked. ‘I never expected a large town house.’

‘When I am able to sort out my affairs, and can see how I am placed now I am settled in England with this new post, then we will find something larger. Half Moon Street is too small for a family, in any case.’

Startled, Sophia looked up at him and realised her free hand had gone to her belly in an instinctive gesture. ‘Well, that will not be for nine months at the very least,’ she said. ‘If you want … I mean, it is convenient again …’ Her voice trailed off.

Was he thinking about lovemaking too, or her failure to conceive yet? His arm tensed, pressing her hand tighter to his side and he shot her a dark, smouldering glance that made her toes curl in her kid half-boots and sent a shaft of heat into the pit of her stomach. Goodness, that answered that question! When he looked like that he disturbed her too much for her own peace of mind. She still hoped that when they made love she could overcome whatever it was that seemed to stop her giving way to the feelings she knew hovered just out of reach. But she had told him to be more open, she had invited this.

‘Shall we walk on?’ Callum changed direction, back into the centre of the park, and Sophia struggled to find a safe topic of conversation.
Do you mean to take me home and make love to me in daylight?
was probably an inadmissible question.

‘Would it be considered fast if I were to come here to sketch?’ she asked as they approached a small stand of trees ringed by shrubs. ‘I would bring Chivers, of course. Or should it be a footman?’

‘A footman might be wise, just in case some park saunterer takes a fancy to annoy you,’ Callum said. ‘That looks a pleasant spot.’ He strolled towards a bench that stood in a green glade almost surrounded by bushes. Sophia’s pulse gave a little kick of anticipation, but all he said as they seated themselves was, ‘Tell me more about your art. You said it was the most important thing to you after your family.’

‘Mainly I draw in pencil or in chalks and pastels. I draw anything and everything,’ she added. ‘Portraits, landscapes, still life … But I am only an amateur.’ Even as she said that she felt uncomfortable to be belittling such an important part of her life, her creative expression. She knew many gentlemen would consider it unsuitable for their wives to have an almost professional interest in what should be a lady’s genteel diversion. If Callum knew she was contemplating selling her drawings he could not approve, she was certain. A dutiful wife would not even contemplate it.

‘I suspect it will be better than that.’ Callum shifted on the bench and laid his arm along the back of it behind her shoulders. ‘I can recall when Daniel was courting you that you were always smudged with charcoal or leaving white fingerprints from chalk. And there were attempts at portraiture that Daniel bore very patiently.’

‘They were very bad,’ Sophia admitted, recalling the best of them, the miniature that she kept with his letters. Those had stayed behind in her old room in Hertfordshire.

‘But I cannot believe you have not improved with practice,’ Callum said.

‘I hope so, or I am seriously deluded!’

‘This is a good spot. We will come here one day and I will try again with watercolours and you can sketch—or perhaps learn from my daubs.’

‘I would like that. Thank you.’ It felt as though a barrier had been breached between them.

Callum set his high-crowned hat on the seat beside him and leaned closer, his attention fixed on her right cheekbone.

‘What is it? Do I have an insect on my face?’

‘No. Speaking of art has made me study the nearest lovely thing more closely.’ She shook her head at the arrant flattery, but he continued to look at her face. ‘Only the faintest little heart-shaped freckle. Just … there below your lashes.’ His fingertip touched her skin, then trailed a quivering trace of sensation along the top of her cheek. ‘Are there any others? I haven’t noticed any, but by candlelight they may not be so easy to find as in the daylight.’

‘I don’t know. I used to have freckles, but Mama made me use Denmark lotion and I thought they had all gone.’ Her voice was shaking and she tried to steady it, but to do that she must control her breathing and that was all over the place and he was leaning closer now. It was the first time he had ever caressed her during the day and they were in the open, in public.

‘A pity. Poor little orphaned freckle.’ Callum’s lips pressed against the place where his finger had touched. His hair, almost as dark as hers, tickled her face and she put up a hand to steady herself against his chest.

‘It might not be the only one. You could look,’ Sophia suggested, greatly daring.

‘I could. What a provoking suggestion, my dear.’ His voice was growing husky and he moved, just enough to bring his mouth to hers, so close his breath brushed her lips and made her laugh. ‘I have missed you.’

‘That tickles!’ He laughed too and her wariness was gone, replaced by a new, strange sensation that was making her tense, but in the most delightful manner. Was this desire? ‘I missed you too,’ Sophia ventured. If only she had the courage to reach out to him, not to make love, but for closeness and companionship. But if she did, and he found that intrusively familiar, it would hurt too much. She must wait for him, it seemed. Married couples were not supposed to be demonstrative, Mama had warned her about that.
Coward
, she told herself.

Behind Callum’s head she saw movement and pulled back. ‘Someone is coming.’

‘Damn. I had hoped to kiss my wife in sylvan solitude for a while.’ He sat back a little, just enough for propriety, but he did not turn and his expression held wicked promises for when they could be alone. ‘Who is it? A picnic party or a governess with a swarm of infants?’

‘Neither, just another couple, strolling. I expect they will pass us soon enough.’ They looked a very happy pair, about the same age as Callum and her. They walked arm in arm, his head bent close, she looking up into his face and smiling. ‘No, they are stopping, she is adjusting the ribbons on her villager hat. I do like that style.’

‘Then you must buy one.’

Sophia dimpled a smile at him. ‘I had one and you knocked it off in the lane.’ She went back to studying the other couple. The breeze was getting up and the woman was having trouble setting the wide, flat hat with its low crown back on her head. Her companion reached to help her. ‘Oh, no! She has accidentally stabbed him with a hat pin—she’s dropped it—now the breeze has caught the hat—he is giving chase.’

With one hand holding his own hat in place the man set off at a run after the disc of straw plait as it tumbled over the cropped grass. The woman watched for a moment, smiling, and then walked on. She was aiming, it seemed to Sophia, for a bench just past the one she and Callum occupied. ‘Oh, now he has lost his own hat.’

The hatless lady laughed, a clear, bright peal of laughter and Callum froze.
‘Averil?’
He turned on the seat and stared. ‘Averil!’ Then he was up and running to her. He caught her in his arms and she flung her own around his neck, clinging as he bent his head and kissed her.

Sophia stumbled to her feet and stared. There was passion in the way the two figures held each other. This was no peck on the cheek between close friends, this was something more, a lot more. A sickening jolt went through her and she almost moaned aloud with the pain of it. Jealousy, anger, loss all jumbled together. He had forgotten her, had not even troubled to pretend to her—
his wife
—that he did not know this woman.

She stood rooted to the spot in a paralysis of unhappiness, her hands fisted at her side. To stay? To leave? But her feet would not move. There was a shout and something—someone—hurtled past her. The other man, she realised, as he fell on the entwined couple and took Callum by the shoulder.

He was going to hit him.
Good,
she thought, furious and shaken that he could kiss another woman like that, minutes after those intimate caresses. The other man was taller, broader and utterly menacing.
Excellent.

‘Chatterton!’

‘D’Aunay!’ No, they were not about to fight, they were embracing and the lady Callum had kissed was beaming with pleasure. ‘When did you get back to town?’

‘Just yesterday.’ The other man was striking. Not good-looking, not with that aggressive beak of a nose and stubborn chin, but he had a commanding presence. ‘Our honeymoon was interrupted by the demands of their Lordships at the Admiralty a couple of times, but it served its purpose: Bradon has recovered from his fit of chagrin over losing his betrothed to a half-French adventurer—his words—and we can mingle in society without risk of gossip distressing Averil.’

‘I am sorry, we burst in on your private conversation. I am the Countess d’Aunay. Miss—?’ Sophia turned to find the woman at her side.

‘Mrs Chatterton,’ she said icily. ‘You were kissing my husband.’

‘Your husband? You are married to Callum? But he was not betrothed, Daniel was.’

‘Daniel is dead,’ Sophia said, staring at the stranger. This was a madhouse. ‘I am Sophia Langley.’

‘
You
are Daniel’s betrothed?’ Averil Heydon stared at Sophia, her face stiff with what must be disapproval.

‘Yes.’ Sophia felt her chin lift; she was not going to be criticised, not by a stranger.

‘Oh, I am so sorry for your loss. But you and Callum have each other now—Daniel would have been glad.’ No, it was not condemnation on the countess’s face, but the effort to hold back tears.

‘I hope so.’ Sophia felt a lump forming in her throat and swallowed hard, embarrassed by their shared emotion. There was a pause, then both women looked towards their men.