Married to a Stranger (4 page)

At least, he had kept out of it until that last day when he had tried to stop her tying herself to Daniel. Why had he done that? At the time she had been too hurt and indignant to puzzle over it, too distressed at Daniel’s departure to worry about what Callum thought. He had been perceptive, it seemed, and had had his twin’s best interests at heart. The love had not lasted—at least, not on her part. She could not guess at Daniel’s feelings.

She brought her mind back to the present and found Callum was taking a back lane through the woods. ‘This is charming. And mysterious,’ she added as they came out of sunlight into shade. The great beeches soared on either side; their smooth grey trunks rose like pillars in an outdoor cathedral, and the tracks that led off on either side wound their way deep into the wood.

‘I came this back way because I wanted to see if the house is still as I remember it, and this is the way we came when I was a child,’ Callum said. ‘You are going to love it or hate it, I think. It is not possible to be indifferent.’

The lane became a track, swung round to the right and opened up into a wide clearing. To the left there were views over the valley and a decent metalled carriage drive heading off to the valley road. To the right stood the house. Or, rather, there it grew, for it was hard not to think about it as anything but organic, rooted in the earth. It was built mainly of soft pinkish-red brick with a section of white stone that looked as though it might have been robbed from a ruined castle, and here and there were the signs of an oak frame, twisted with age. The roof was of clay tiles, moss-covered and irregular, and chimneys sprouted in profusion.

‘I love it.’ Sophia stared, enchanted, not realising that she had put out her hand until she found she had covered Callum’s bare fingers. He did not move away, and after a moment he curled his fingers into hers. She wished she was not wearing gloves, could feel the texture of his skin, whether he was cold or warm, sense his pulse. She gave his fingers a little squeeze, needing to share the moment.

‘I like it, too. I have only a vague recollection of it; we did not come here very often, for Great-Aunt had fallen out with Grandmama and was a trifle eccentric.’ He freed his fingers and jumped down to tie the reins to a branch. ‘Shall we see if it is as welcoming inside?’

‘You feel it? The welcome?’ That was good: they seemed to be in agreement over it.
I am thinking as though I have decided. Too fast … I need more time. He is a stranger after all these years.

Callum reached to lift her from the seat, his hands hard at her waist, and she caught her breath as his eyes darkened. He let her down, slowly. Her toes brushed against his boots, her hems must have touched his thighs. Her heart thudded and she was uncertain whether it was more with nerves or desire. ‘I am down now,’ she said after a moment when he still held her.

‘On
terra firma
?’ His thumbs just brushed the underside of her breasts and a strange aching shiver ran through her.

‘I am not certain I have been on that since you walked back into my life,’ Sophia confessed and Callum laughed and released her.

He opened the door with a huge old key that had been left under a stone by the path and stood aside for her to enter. The house was not musty exactly; rather it smelled of old wood and fabric, faded lavender and the ghost of wax polish and wood smoke. It creaked a little as they stood there.

Somehow it swept away her jittery nerves. ‘I love it,’ Sophia repeated as they stood in the hall. ‘It feels warm, as though it wants to hug us.’ It sounded fanciful as soon as she said it, but Callum did not laugh, only looked at her a trifle quizzically.

‘Perhaps it does. It sounds almost alive. Listen. Like a ship riding at anchor,’ he murmured. ‘Shall we explore?’

They wandered through the old house, drawing back the curtains, peering into cupboards, finding odd flights of stairs that went to one room only, almost falling down the cellar steps.

Sophia caught Callum by the wrist as he peered down the precipitous, dusty steps into the dark beneath. ‘Don’t you dare go down there! Do you remember that day we played hide and seek together at the Hall and I hid in the wine cellar and you and Daniel pretended you didn’t know I was down there and locked the door?’

‘And left you to those great big hairy spiders and the mice and the mouldering skeletons that hung in chains, which is what you accused us of when we relented.’

‘Did I say mouldering skeletons?’ She tugged him firmly back into the kitchen passage and closed the door.

‘No, that’s what you were screaming about when you threw a bottle of Papa’s best crusted port at Dan’s head.’

‘You caught it.’

‘Of course,’ he said and for a moment there was something unspoken, more than just the recollection of a childhood prank. Callum had saved the port, saved his brother from a possibly serious injury and her from the consequences. ‘If you will not let me explore downstairs,’ he said, ‘I dare you to come up to the bedchambers.’

‘Why?’

‘To assess their suitability and condition.’

‘You did not want to look at them at Wellingford,’ she said.

‘We had agreed by then that we did not like the house. There was no point.’ He cocked his head to one side and studied her. ‘Are you suspicious of my motives?’

‘Yes,’ she said frankly.

‘My dear Sophia, if I was intent on seducing you I could do it as well on the drawing-room sofa, the kitchen table or here and now.’

‘You could? Is that not very uncomfortable?’ Disturbing images flitted through her imagination. Callum raised one dark brow and took a step forwards. Sophia threw up both hands. ‘Oh, no, that was not a challenge! Come along then, let us see what is upstairs.’

Finally, they arrived in a great bedchamber dominated by a four-poster of age-blackened carved wood, so high that there was a wooden stool set to help the sleeper climb into bed.

‘Well?’ Callum stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, and studied her face.

‘I adore it,’ Sophia confessed. ‘I want it. But that is quite irrelevant; I cannot marry a man because I have fallen for his house.’

‘Liking the house is surely on the positive side of the scales. There are other reasons to marry. You would not permit me to attempt to seduce you downstairs, but this is a proper bedchamber and a very comfortable-looking bed.’

‘You are not going to seduce me!’

‘Am I not?’ Callum tossed his hat and gloves on to a chest and came purposefully towards her.

‘You are far too much a gentleman to seduce a virtuous lady,’ Sophia said with all the conviction she could muster.

‘Certainly not one I have no intention of marrying,’ he agreed.

Sophia edged around a stool. ‘But I haven’t said
yes
yet.’ It came out as an undignified squeak.

‘True. May I not kiss you? Are you quite certain you wouldn’t like to be kissed, Sophia?’

‘Well, yes,’ she said so promptly that he blinked. ‘Now don’t look so shocked! I am curious. Here I am at six and twenty and I have hardly been kissed, certainly not for ten years. The prospect of a good-looking man demonstrating how it is done properly is undeniably intriguing.’

‘Are you always so honest?’

‘I hope so.’ Of course, to allow Callum to kiss her when they were not even betrothed was a shocking and unwise thing to do, but she had been wanting to kiss him for the past hour at least, despite that.

Partly it was curiosity, as she had admitted. But mainly it was the good-looking gentleman himself. He annoyed her, he teased her and she sensed a deep inner darkness in him that he was hiding and showed no signs of wanting to share. On the other hand he would, she was certain, make her a good husband and, when she was not feeling like she wanted to shake him, she found him curiously easy to get along with. Perhaps it was simply the shadow of their childhood acquaintance.

Sophia bit her lip and looked at him standing there patiently for her to make up her mind. As patient as a cat at a mouse hole, she thought.

‘Shall we get rid of that bonnet?’ She began to untie the bow, her fingers all thumbs. ‘If you are considering marriage, you must expect your husband to want to kiss you,’ Callum remarked. Sophia turned her head away, unable to think of a single sensible thing to say. She was beginning to find her focus was oddly blurred, as if she might be coming down with a fever, and it was difficult to read his face. ‘But, if this is making you uncomfortable …’

‘No. I would like to be kissed, I think,’ Sophia said, placing her hat beside his on the chest. It was only a kiss, after all. Another fast thing to be doing, but hardly something to be frightened of. It was ridiculous, at her age, never to have been kissed properly. ‘But that’s all.’

‘I thought you might say that,’ Callum said. She had no time to wonder whether that was a joke or whether he was deadly serious before he pulled her into his arms.

Chapter Four

I
t was a disturbingly pleasant sensation, being held by Callum Chatterton. Part of her was shocked at being so intimately close to a man, but it was hard to summon the appropriate outrage when she was being held fast against his body and he was tipping up her chin to look down into her face. After all, she had asked for this.

He was very good-looking, even more so close up. Now she could study the fine lines of his lips, the subtle colours in his hazel eyes, the uncompromising masculinity of his bone structure. He was not a pretty youth, he was a man, complete with a bump on his nose which looked like a break, several small scars and faintly tanned skin that gave him a most exotic air.

Callum let her study him, his face as serious as hers must be, then he bent his head and took her mouth. Sophia almost jumped at the intrusion of his tongue between her lips, the pressure that opened them to him. Was this normal? It felt indecently intimate. She quivered and his arm tightened around her, supporting her, almost, not quite, constraining her. He felt very determined.

She could taste him, which was shocking. And she could smell him, which was even more so. He was clean, of course, but under the smell of ironed linen and good soap there was something dangerous and faintly musky, overlain by spice and sandalwood.

He was holding her very firmly, which might have been frightening. Sophia flirted for a moment with a feeling of alarm, the instinct to struggle, then let herself relax into Callum’s hold. He was too strong to fight. His mouth was insistent now and she let him do as he wished, and, increasingly, what
she
wished, as her tongue learned to play with his.

It made her body feel most strange. There was an ache, low down, and the urge to mould herself tightly against him
there
as though that would ease it. She realised that his body was hard against her belly and that was … worrying. It made the ache worse and so did pressing against him. Then Callum’s hand cupped her breast and he began to play with her nipple through the fabric of her bodice and the ache turned into a stab of sensation that had her whimpering into his mouth.

This is far more than I expected. Far more.
But it was a fleeting thought, easily dismissed. This was the man she was going to …
no,
might marry. She must learn to respond to his lovemaking. Then the kiss deepened, became more demanding, and Sophia lost awareness of everything except the sensation that was singing through her, the strength of Callum’s hold, the urgency of their bodies. So this was proper kissing … She was drowning. It was overwhelming.

‘Sophia?’

‘Oh.’ Callum had stopped kissing her. How long had she been standing there, her brain reeling, her heart pounding and her senses quite disordered? What must he think of her? She wanted to run and hide, from herself as much as him.

‘Have you
ever
been kissed before?’

She blinked and he came into focus. He looked pleased with himself and faintly amused. Amused by her old-maidish ignorance, she supposed.

‘Not like that, no.’ It seemed she could articulate, at least.

‘Dan never—’

‘Certainly not. We kissed … but it was different. We kissed a little and held hands. He put his arms around me. He touched my … my breasts once.’ She felt her cheeks getting hot. She wanted Callum to kiss her again, to touch her. And he knew it. He must be feeling sorry for her, poor frustrated spinster that she was.

Gradually her pulse calmed and she felt her colour rising under that steady gaze. She had very little experience of men, but she knew he was aroused. That was only to be expected, she supposed. But had he thought she was so … so desperate? Frustrated? Potentially wanton that she needed to be kissed until her legs trembled?

She felt the anger sweep through her and know it was for herself, not really for him. She had been frustrated and she had not realised. She had been desperate for a man’s caresses. What might she have done if he had not stopped—or would the apprehension that was trembling just under the confused desire have made her flee?

‘Are you all right?’

‘No,’ Sophia said. ‘No, I do not think I am
all right.
What have you done to me?’

‘Kissed you,’ he said. ‘There is some basic attraction between us, I think.’ From the way he smiled he seemed to find that amusing. ‘Sophia, that was passion, that is all.’

‘Very basic,’ she snapped. ‘I am obviously far more ignorant and innocent than the women you are used to associating with,’ she added bitterly. ‘I did not want passion! I only wanted a kiss in a decent manner. There was no need to virtually ravish me,’ she hissed and slapped him, hard, right across his handsome face. She might not be heavy, but she was fit and tall and she put a great deal of feeling into the blow. It rocked him back on his heels, she was pleased to see.

Callum lifted one hand to his face and touched his cheek with his fingertips. ‘A
decent
manner? That was the sort of kiss that lovers exchange. The sort of kiss married couples exchange. If I had wanted to ravish you, believe me, we would be on that bed by now.’

Bereft of words, Sophia turned and walked down the stairs and out into the sunlight. And now she was going to have to sit beside Callum for half an hour, so close that she could feel the heat of his body next to hers and all the while he would be smirking with male superiority over reducing an ignorant spinster to such a pitiful puddle of need.

The horses looked up and whickered softly at the slam of the front door and she stared at them in sudden speculation. Perhaps she was not trapped here after all. She could drive a gig with one horse. How much more difficult was it to drive a pair? These had been well exercised and seemed biddable enough.

She ran across the clearing, untied the reins and climbed up on to the high seat. It took a moment to sort out two pairs of reins, but she had been watching Callum’s hands as he drove and she found the knack of it.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ He had come out at last, but there was the width of the clearing between them now. ‘Sophia!’

‘Get up.’ Sophia clicked her tongue and the pair responded as Callum began to run. She slapped the reins down and they broke into a trot, then a canter. As the carriage swayed up the rutted track she heard a shout behind her, but by now she was too concerned with not overturning the curricle to heed him.

The track sloped uphill, which helped, and she had the pair steady by the time it turned on to the road. They settled into a walk again and she did not try for more speed. As it was, the instinct to hang on to the side of the vehicle with her free hand was hard to fight.

But the pair’s docility calmed her. It left her with nothing to do but brood on what had just happened.
How could he? Why did he not ask? But he did, in a way,
a small voice cut into her tumbling, angry thoughts.
He asked to kiss me, it was not his fault that I was so shamefully carried away by it. I gave myself up to his kisses far too easily. I did say I agreed.

She managed a wry smile. Now she knew something about herself that was a revelation. She had felt physical desire and she had also been frightened by the force of it, the sheer physical power of him. His brother had never made her feel like this, needy and shy and confused and almost out of control of where her passions might take her. Memories of Daniel had not made her want to moan with frustration. The gentlemen she encountered at the modest country gatherings had never tempted her in the slightest, she admitted as she negotiated the village street and a flock of sheep. Her body kept murmuring that it expected more. Sophia tried not to listen to it.
More
meant surrendering everything to Callum Chatterton.

‘Confound the woman.’ Cal stopped at the top of the hill and surveyed the lane down to the village; it was mercifully free of wrecked carriages. The breath rasped in his lungs from running for a mile, but he took a grim satisfaction that he was not panting. He had dragged himself from the lethargy of grief and had thrown himself into physical activity, those past months in London. Boxing, fencing, riding. Sex. They had all helped heal him, helped bring some balance back as well as strengthening his body.

He surveyed the road. If Sophia had got this far, then she was probably sufficiently in control to get home safely. He had chosen steady horses so he could concentrate on her and they had been well exercised. Now he should stop worrying that she had broken her neck and face the fact that he had badly mishandled that kiss. She truly was an innocent and he had shocked her, not so much by what he had done, but by the reactions he had provoked in her.

He had not set out to shock her, Cal told himself as he strode down the hill and into the inn yard. He had intended to kiss her, with restraint, and convince her that marriage to him was nothing to be afraid of. And then she had quivered in his arms and he had sensed the innocent natural passion and sensuality so he had given a mental shrug and found himself taking, demanding, far more than he should.

Sophia’s total surrender in his arms would be flattering if it were not for the fact that she had probably simply been overwhelmed by the novelty of it all. And now the physical desires he had been suppressing when he was near her were all on the surface again. The taste of a woman, the feel of her in his arms, was as powerful as a drug. No, not just a woman.
This
woman. He wanted Sophia Langley very badly indeed.

‘ Anari murkha,’
he muttered in Hindi. ‘Worse than a fool.’

‘Sir? Sorry, sir.’ An ostler emerged from the stables.

‘Not you.’ Cal unclenched his teeth and tried for a more pleasant tone. ‘I require a horse to get to Flamborough Hall; I’ll have a groom bring it back later today.’

Having to deal with a suspicious ostler who could not understand why a gentleman should arrive sweaty, horseless and without his card case or more than a crown in his pocket, and then riding a slug of a nag home, did nothing to improve Cal’s mood.

He had tried to be honest with her. He could not find it in himself to love, to risk caring so deeply, ever again. Life was too uncertain—how could he cope if he allowed himself to feel for her and then lost her?

Did she understand the difference between physical passion and love? He did not want to hurt her, break her heart all over again. And yet … An errant smile curled the corner of his mouth as he thought of Sophia’s reaction to his kisses and caresses. She had felt glorious in his arms, despite her inexperience.

He was still musing on that as he rode up to the front of the Hall and tossed the reins to the groom who ran forwards to take them. ‘This belongs to the Black Swan in Long Welling. Have someone take it back at once, will you?’

‘Yes, sir. Miss Langley called with the curricle, sir. Wilkins drove her home.’

‘She has won her wager, then,’ Cal said lightly. ‘Most improper. You and Wilkins won’t speak of it, I trust.’

He strolled into Will’s study, his mind full of interesting memories which his body, relaxed by vigorous exercise, was eagerly endorsing.

‘There you are! How did it go?’ His elder brother tossed down his pen and looked up, his expression lightening. ‘You look better—so much colour in your face. Sophia said
yes
, then?’ Will had been enthusiastic when Cal had returned to the Hall and told him of his intention to marry Sophia. Cal suspected that he had been worried about the Langleys, but had been unable to penetrate their polite reserve.

Cal found himself staring at the triple portrait of the three brothers that hung over the fireplace. There was the man Sophia had loved. He forced his attention back to Will. ‘At first she said,
maybe
. We went for a drive and decided we did not like Wellingford and we did like Long Welling. Then there was an … incident and now I do not know.’

‘Incident?’ Will’s left brow arched up.

‘Incident,’ Cal repeated, returning a look devoid of expression. ‘She will, however, be marrying me whether she likes it or not.’ He looked away from his brother’s speculative gaze to Dan’s painted smile. Once, just thinking about Daniel had been enough to trigger the instinct that he was there, listening. Now the void inside echoed with emptiness. He stamped down on the feeling.

‘I will let her sleep on it,’ he added. It was tempting to go straight over to the Langleys’ house and have this out, but years of negotiating contracts had taught him to wait and keep the other party guessing. Sophia was angry and embarrassed now; by morning he would wager she would be unsettled.

I need an heir; I would like several children, in fact.
He had said that to her and, until the words had left his lips, he had not realised that they would be true at a deeper level than the simple need for a successor. And the way she spoke about children made him think she wanted them, too. He glanced back at the portrait. A wife and children. More hostages to fate.

There was a silence, then Will said, ‘She deserves happiness.’

‘Of course,’ Cal agreed. He would do his best to make her content, just as long as she did not expect love.

Sophia paced up and down the bedchamber floor.
I will say no,
she thought, sinking down on the end of the bed. It was shameful how he had made her feel—wanton and vulnerable and yearning. And ignorant. She was playing right into Callum Chatterton’s wicked, clever, hands.
He
had not been shaken to the core by that kiss, that was for sure. Mr Chatterton knew what he was doing. No doubt being bedded by him would be a shattering experience. Not that he was likely to enjoy it much, for she could hardly measure up to the skills of the women who had been his mistresses over the years.

A husband who loved his wife would not be disappointed in her ignorance, would be faithful to her. But this was to be a marriage of convenience and under those circumstances a wife was not supposed to take any notice if her husband took a mistress.

Which was not fair. But then life was not fair and she was not some young girl who could afford to dream of fairytales and princes.