Temptation Has Green Eyes (11 page)

Quickly, she flicked open her fan and passed it before her face, but he took it from her and performed that office.

His expression had turned grave. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” She prayed her heated face wasn’t resulting in a fiery blush, but she feared the worst.

“Can it be…?” He searched her visually, his sharp gaze missing nothing. “I won’t ask,” he said eventually. “I don’t need to.”

She needed to leave. On her own. Rising, she held out her hand, palm out to prevent him getting to his feet. “I’ll be back soon. I need some air.” That was often a euphemism for needing to use the necessary, and the excuse would stop him coming with her.

He inclined his head and shot a glance at her maid. French, sitting quietly at the back of the booth, stood and followed Sophia out.

“I’m hot,” Sophia said, strolling along the path that led to the groves. They were designed for a certain amount of privacy, so she wouldn’t enter one. Julius had drawn too close to her secret shame. Her husband hadn’t been near her bedroom since their wedding night. Hadn’t shown any desire to do so. When she’d caught him looking at her, it had been with a speculative air, not desire.

One time she’d seen pure animal lust, and it had frightened her out of her mind.

She’d had an admittedly limited experience of intimate relations, so she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she never wanted that to happen again.

So much that she thought she’d seen John Hayes by the Rotunda, dancing with a lady in pink. But after he’d attacked her, she’d seen him everywhere in her imagination, so it was probably a result of that.

She took deep breaths of the crisp, late spring air and forced calm into herself. Since she’d glimpsed that man who’d looked like John her breath had shortened and her heart beat faster, while panic threatened to overwhelm her. For no reason.

This was foolish and she hated it. Hated feeling helpless and fluttery when she saw someone who vaguely resembled him. And when she thought back, the experience hadn’t been too bad.

“Sophia.”

She spun around. No, no mistake. John Hayes in person. Wildly, her heart pounding, she looked about her. A few people wandered within screaming distance, but that was all. If she ran he’d catch her. But he didn’t look as if he was going to attack her. No, he was at ease, confident.

He was wearing his green coat, the best he owned, and a new waistcoat which glinted with silver and brilliants. He’d swept off his cocked hat but didn’t take his attention from her face as he bowed to her.

The air caught in her throat once more as if she’d never recovered from the initial ordeal. She would not give in, not allow him to see how much he’d hurt her.

He smiled, that self-confident grin she remembered. Strangely, that helped. It reminded her of the time when he was courting her, behaving like a gentleman. Civilized, almost.

Still, she kept her distance. She gave him a chilly nod. “Mr. Hayes.”

“Do I not merit a ‘John’? We are old friends, after all.”

If she succumbed to that, it gave him permission to use her first name. It would give him tacit permission to call a marchioness “Sophia,” and he could take advantage of that. She’d ignored his earlier use of her name, as to object would have been undignified and petty, but she wouldn’t give him explicit permission. She didn’t reply, and tilted her head. He stood between her and the booths, as no doubt he knew.

Breathe.

She forced a breath in, and then another. “I’m not Sophia Russell any more. As no doubt you know.”

A tinge of sadness entered his bright eyes. They were blue, not as deep and rich as Julius’s, but with an icy touch that chilled. Even now, when they were filled with warmth, that edge of coldness remained. “Of course.” He executed a low, graceful bow. “My lady.”

She inclined her head graciously, praying the pulse frantically beating in her throat didn’t show in the soft light. Flambeaux—flaming torches set in sconces—lit these paths, but the effect was deliberately limited to give lovers the privacy they craved. He was standing between her and escape.

“I have to congratulate you on your good fortune,” he said. “But to my demerit.”

Rising from his bow, he took a step toward her. If he leaped at her, French would have to run to the booths. Could she get there and back in time?

Sophia fought not to retreat. “Thank you,” she murmured. She’d have to walk toward him to get away, so she stayed where she was and recalled her father’s training. She removed her emotions and observed him. Studied him.

He was handsome, shorter in height than Max, with less…vitality, somehow. Max had an energy that was apparent in everything he did. John kept his thoughts to himself, so she had never been sure what he was about to do or say.

He wasn’t a monster, after all. Slowly his image had grown and developed in her mind until he became everything that was evil. As she breathed easier, her reason started working again, as if a blossom opened deep in her heart.

She would stay and exchange a few cold words with him, making it clear she didn’t want to know him anymore.

He watched her and he broke into a smile, as sweet as she remembered. Before that day, he’d amused her, persuaded her that she loved him. “I have missed you, Sophia. More than I can say. And yet I feel responsible for your…hasty marriage.”

He’d used her name anyway. She wouldn’t encourage it.

Now she’d forced rationality back into her head, she could assess his thoughts and she could almost see them, as if he’d written them down. Had she married Max because she couldn’t have John?

“I’m not unhappy.” Yes, she was, but he didn’t need to know that. Would never know it if she could prevent it.

“I see. And of course, the chance of becoming a marchioness is not to be sniffed at.”

She frowned at that gentle hint of…what? Did John want something? Patronage?

He gave her a small bow. “I’m currently working as a political secretary to a man of rank. I do hear more than I used to, and I wasn’t uninformed then.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, or was that because he’d tilted his head farther to the left? He glanced at French, but the maid stood her ground, watching him warily. Sophia had put off the clothes she’d worn the day John had attacked her and told French to get rid of them, not wanting to see them again.

“May we have a moment’s privacy?”

Sophia glanced at French and nodded. That gave her maid the opportunity to move past John, on the right side, ready to run for help should she need to. Fortunately, French seemed to have some sense and did exactly that.

John lowered his voice to an intimate level, but Sophia refused to venture any closer, as his tones invited. “What passed between us the last time we met… Sophia, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I cannot undo what I did. I can only pray I didn’t do too much.”

He flicked a glance up at her face. She kept her expression steady and waited for him to continue.

“I was carried away, and I thought you wanted what I did. I would have stopped before your father interrupted us, I swear, but nothing has affected me that deeply before.”

She didn’t believe him. He had shown no intention of slowing down, had resisted her when she fought him. She repressed her shudder.

“I regret so much what I did. It placed you out of reach, ensured that I would never win you.” Not to mention losing his lucrative place in her father’s company. “More than anything in the world, I wanted you. I still do, but believe me, I will only act as your friend. I’ll never behave inappropriately again, I swear.”

“I doubt our paths will meet.” Her heart pounded harder. An apology at last, but did he mean it?

“I fear they might.” His mouth turned down. “My new position puts me in places where it’s possible we’ll see each other. I wanted to speak to you in private to assure you that I will never, ever, behave like that again.”

A spark flickered in the depths of his eyes and then was gone, leaving Sophia wondering if she’d imagined it.

“Uninvited, unwanted. I frightened you and I’m more sorry for that than for everything else.”

She found her voice. “Shocked.”

John’s words sounded like a true apology, and after all, they’d only completed the act once. Out of all the times they’d spent alone together, only once had he attempted to go too far. She’d enjoyed his kisses and caresses before that last time, and he’d always stopped when she’d asked him to.

Already she was halfway to forgiving him, but she couldn’t be sorry she hadn’t married him. John’s persuasiveness could carry him far. She appreciated his thoughtfulness in speaking to her before she met him in public. If that was all he wanted.

So far her marriage hadn’t proved an unmitigated success. John had been kind, thoughtful, respectful, even, until that last time.

Why had he done it? Had he thought she wanted him to take her by force? Or was she so repellent that men had to force themselves to take her?

Probably
, she thought with an inward sigh. So far the two men who had shown any interest in her were either too enthusiastic or not enthusiastic at all. One had terrified her, the other bewildered her. Max had made her want him, had eased her fears, and then left her completely alone.

“I was shocked,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “What made you do it?”

“A demon,” he growled and put his hand to his head, giving his wig a twitch. “I wanted you, but I lost all sense of propriety. It was my fault entirely. Hotheaded youth, that was all. I was foolish.”

She could accept that, intellectually. With her head she understood, but her body still screamed at her to run, to get away. “And your reason for approaching me tonight was…?”

“Because I have burned to apologize to you, but events separated us. I believe your father arranged your marriage to keep you away from me, and I bitterly regret that.”

“And the rumors?” The ones that had nearly destroyed her reputation, brought her down, and put her father’s business in danger. If he couldn’t control her, why would people assume he could manage their investments?

“That was not me, I swear it. I would never spread such scurrilous gossip.”

If John had obtained a political secretary’s position, that spoke to his discretion. What if it wasn’t he who’d told her friends that she’d let him seduce her?

“So I have you to thank that I’m now a marchioness.” She gave him a slight smile, one she hoped appeared condescending and aristocratic. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His smile was broader. “I didn’t want you to meet me somewhere you didn’t expect and have a fit or something. Like Lady Danvers’s ball next week.” He shrugged. “I should be attending that, and other events too.”

My, he had come up in the world. He didn’t sound sorry for that. She presumed political secretaries would go to some of the larger gatherings, if only to collect information for their employers.

Lifting her skirts, as if to take care not to touch him, she gave him what she hoped was a gracious nod and stepped forward, her heart working double-time. “I doubt you’d have given me an apoplexy. What happened between us may be termed unfortunate. Nothing more. Let us forget it, pray.”

Not that she ever would, but he didn’t have to know that.

He moved out of the way, and she sailed back to the booth where Julius and Helena were waiting. Julius gave her a raised brow and a, “Better now?” to which she nodded. She could even drink her wine.

When she came down the stairs one evening a week after meeting John at Ranelagh, Sophia found her husband waiting.

She was attending yet another ball and not looking forward to it one bit, but she’d manage. This endless succession of routs, balls, and entertainments meant she spent the days replenishing her wardrobe and the evenings attending the functions. Sometimes she read about herself in the newspapers the next day. After the first time, she learned to accept it, if not like it.

The constant round of activity bewildered her. Before, she had a purpose, but now she wasn’t sure what she was doing. And that was what she said to Max when she saw him in the hall, ignoring his broad-shouldered handsomeness as best she could.

“Why do we do this?”

“What?” He brushed a fleck of dust off his sleeve and glanced at her. Then stilled, his hand not moving and his gaze fixed on her. He perused her, head to toe and then back again, and for some reason she shivered. It wasn’t a cold night.

She groped for the banister rail and went down the remaining steps with caution, until she reached him.

His handsome face broke into a smile. “You look lovely tonight. I like you in green.”

“I match your eyes,” was all she could think of saying. Stupid, but it came out so quickly she couldn’t stop it. She’d chosen the fabric for this gown because it reminded her of his eyes. Like it or not, her husband attracted her as no other man.

He flicked a glance over her head to the pier glass on the opposite wall. “So it does. Although that wasn’t the first thing I thought of when I saw you.” He put his hands on her waist, drew her closer, and lowered his head.

His lips met hers. She’d assumed he wanted to kiss her cheek, as he had in the past weeks from time to time. But he didn’t. He took her mouth.

They couldn’t nestle close. Her hooped petticoat wouldn’t allow it, but she stretched up to meet him and opened her hand on his cheek, the bristles prickling her palm.

His lips moved as they kissed. Bliss. He tasted her when she opened her mouth shyly against his, slid his tongue around her lips and moaned a little, the sound vibrating against her skin, deliciously teasing.

The kiss finished slowly, and he drew away from her slowly, gazing at her. “You’re beautiful,” he said.

That moment was so perfect, Sophia had forgotten the presence of the servants, something that usually inhibited her behavior. At home with her father, although the house was much smaller, they had fewer servants, and Sophia always had them knock before they entered a room. But Max had the aristocratic way of ignoring the domestics, unless he wanted something.

With a flourish, he held out his arm. She placed her gloved hand on it in the approved manner. He liked her. He thought she looked attractive. So why wasn’t he coming to her bed?