Temptation Has Green Eyes (27 page)

Only Sophia knew what that slight hesitation meant and she sighed in relief. He had the sense not to tell her their plans.

“I hadn’t realized how much some parts were deteriorating.”

“As money grew tighter, he economized.” She sighed. “But he didn’t stop. I begged him to, but he did not. You will do this?”

Max exchanged a glance with Sophia and reached out his hand. Gratefully, she put her own in it. He squeezed it, and his eyes sent her an apology that she felt no need of, but gratitude sent a warm glow through her anyway. “We ordered the inventory brought up to date. We’ll move from there.”

“You could sell some of the materials.”

Just as they’d discussed, but Max received the suggestion with thanks. “We may need your help, Mama. I can’t be there all the time, because I still have my investments to oversee.”

“You’d like me there?”

“Only if it doesn’t upset you.”

She scoffed. “I want to see it.”

At last Sophia understood the woman. She’d remained with Julius because she felt needed, and it kept her away from her home. The home she detested. Every new stone would have reminded her of her husband, every one a contributor to his early death.

Sophia left Julius’s house much relieved, and from the new spring in his step, Max felt the same way.

In the carriage he drew her into his arms and gave her a smacking kiss. “I feel so much better. I feared my mother would never talk to us again.”

“You did well.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to give you the credit.”

“I’m sure the notion would have occurred to you eventually.”

That dry remark earned her another kiss. “But you said it. We could have gone through the rest of our lives fighting to restore what was badly done in the first place, both of us dancing around the subject. Never do that. Promise me.”

“Never do what?”

“If you feel something, say so. If you want something, say so.”

How could she do that when what she wanted most of all in the world was his love? He didn’t trust her still. He didn’t confide in her, and he kept his bookroom, where he kept all his important papers, locked. Against the servants, she was supposed to think, but she knew better. So did he expect her to ask for that? She fell silent, not knowing what to say. Then recalled his words. “You must ask, too.”

“Oh, I will.” Heedless of the crowds surging outside, he kissed her properly, licking into her mouth with leisurely thoroughness.

That wasn’t what she’d meant, but it would do for now.

Sitting at his favorite table at Lloyd’s Coffee House, perusing his list of meetings and conclusions, Max lifted his head to order another coffee. He’d stay here for another hour, listen to the gossip, and let the place wash over him. If he missed anything about London, this was it. This place had given him so much, and he’d entered it as a welcome haven, away from the malicious rumors about his father and ruin.

A flash of bright color outside the window attracted his attention, and he glanced up to see something he knew. Someone. A gown, aquamarine with white flowers embroidered over it. Pretty, but Sophia didn’t like it. She’d asked her maid to get rid of it. He wasn’t in time to see the face of the woman passing by. But she wore a familiar broad straw bergère hat and a short cloak covered the top part of her body.

Sophia. On her own?

He started to his feet and, after throwing a few coins to the woman at the cash desk, heedless of the amount, strode out of the coffee house. What was she doing in the City on her own? She knew the place, few better, so what more reason for her to have at least a maid? Or was French somewhere close? He saw no one, much less a footman in his livery. She should have those two at least. Her father had warned her of the dangers of being an heiress. The dangers of people lying in wait to abduct her. That had been one of his main reasons for arranging his daughter’s marriage to Max. That she would be out of danger.

Not like this she would not. His anger rising, he pushed past a few urchins lurking around the coffee house. He covered his purse with his hand and carried on, but the short delay had been enough to let her get ahead of him.

Just as well she was wearing that gown. Anxiety for her safety warred with anger that she would do such a foolish thing.

He turned a corner and saw her ahead of him. She scurried down the street, not looking to right or left. Speculation filled his mind as he tried to race after her down the crowded street. The traders, beggars, and citizens seemed to be conspiring to prevent him catching up with her. Shouting wouldn’t do any good, as sound filled the air, noise he usually took for granted but now grated in his ears. People jostled him but he ignored the pleas for “Jest a penny, sir,” and “Chair, guv’nor?” and hurried along. He followed her through a pedestrian-only alley. More thronged the area, forcing him to slow his pace, and then he realized where she must be headed.

Covent Garden, away from the City and toward the West End. Fear overcame his anger. She could be waylaid, maybe robbed. He needed to catch up with her.

Another street, and then they emerged into the wide open space of the Covent Garden piazza. She was half way across the space, walking quickly on one side of the shacks that opened at night to spill out notorious madams and whores. Luckily, this being noonday, they were closed and shuttered. On the other side of her, cabbage-leaves and rotten fruit marked the site of the fruit market, but that had closed now, all but a few stragglers. All this was familiar to him, marked as he passed. But his attention remained on the figure in the bright blue gown now closing on a house at the far corner of the Square.

Max came to a sudden halt. Someone slammed into home from behind, apologized, and moved around him. Max hardly noticed. All his attention was riveted on the two figures. Two now. Sophia had reached her objective, it seemed, and was now busy lavishing John Hayes with kisses.

He held her tightly and returned what he received.

No. His head spun. How so? He lost all reason for a moment, and pure red rage flooded his soul, heating his blood to boiling point.

After all this, all he’d done, all he’d been through, to find this at the end?

Red fury filled him to the brim. He, who’d previously prided himself on his cool temperament. He would kill her. No, he’d send her into the country. She could stay there and rot, for all he cared.

* * * *

Sophia arrived home in plenty of time to dress for dinner. A letter lay on the salver on the demilune table in the hall. Without waiting for anyone to present her with it, she snatched it up. Hand delivered, and the seal on the back was plain. Interesting. Her father generally used his company seal, proud of the address he had every right to send a missive to, but perhaps he was in a hurry. Or one of his assistants addressed the letter for him, because she didn’t recognize the handwriting on the outside. Breaking the seal, she went into the back parlor, waving away the footman’s offer of tea. “I’ll have it upstairs,” she said absently.

The back parlor looked out over the garden. Light flooded in and apart from the distant sound of carriages in the street at the front of the house she could almost imagine herself in the country again. Standing in front of them, Sophia broke the seal and unfolded the letter, scanning it quickly. She’d have to answer it tomorrow or she wouldn’t have time to change for dinner.

Then she read it again.

She was right in that the letter was from her father. But not the father she knew. The other one, the Duke of Northwich.

My dear,

I hate to introduce myself in this way, but I see no alternative. My son said he met you at a ball. You were introduced to him by my secretary, John Hayes. Alconbury informs me that you have left the haven of the City and entered into matrimony with the Marquess of Devereaux.

This news disturbs me, especially since I have news for you that you may consider distressing. You have probably heard information over the last few days which is, to say the least, flawed. There is more, much more, and I need to tell you without delay. But personally.

Believe me, I mean you nothing but good. I can hint at some of the reasons for my distress. In my youth I was profligate, I admit that now. I had affairs with many women, but, my child, not with your mother. However, I know one who did.

The late Marquess of Devereaux, the father of the man you married, had a habit of following me, and sometimes he would take what I did not. I fear that has been the case here. Believe me, Lady Devereaux, I do not vouchsafe this information with any pleasure. I have incontrovertible proof of what I say, but I will not trust any messenger or third party with this.

I will say no more in this missive. If you wish to discuss this matter further, I will send a carriage for you. Believe me, I will be discreet. If you visit the Royal Exchange and take the south exit, the carriage will be waiting for you. Bring one maid, nobody else. The driver will ask you if you are Mrs. Smith. If you do not come, I will endeavor to make contact with you another way.

Believe me, I remain your servant in this matter,

James Northwich.

The flourish seemed almost insolent.

Unseeing, Sophia groped for a chair. She read the letter, and read it again.

What on earth could she do? If this were true… No, surely not. She could already be pregnant with a child born of incest. It didn’t bear thinking about. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she forced away the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. Memories of what she and Max had done came vividly to her mind, and her belly roiled.

She couldn’t tell him. Who could she tell? Julius was out of town. If she told Max, he’d move heaven and earth to discover the truth, probably storm around to Northwich’s house and try to throttle the truth out of him. Any excuse to confront the man who’d made his family’s life a misery.

Northwich said he had incontrovertible proof. She needed that proof. Maybe she should confront him herself.

Relief swept through her. She could confide in one person. Must, because she could think of nobody else.

The sound of voices in the hall brought her back to herself, and she screwed up the letter and thrust it into her bosom as she left the room. She had just enough time to change before dinner, barely enough.

She hurried upstairs and into her dressing room, where French had laid out the aquamarine. They were attending the theater later. She couldn’t quite remember what the play was. Not that she’d be going now, and certainly not in this gown.

She raised her voice. “French!”

Her maid came scurrying in. “I expected you would arrive in the bedroom, my lady. I beg your pardon.”

“Did you put this out for me to wear?” She fingered the aquamarine. It really was pretty, but she disliked it more now. She couldn’t think why she’d bought it. Too garish, too bold for her taste.

French touched the gown. “I thought you might like to try it on and see if your first opinion was the right one. It is exquisitely fashioned. You would perhaps try it out before you disposed of it.”

If she weren’t already agitated and distressed she might have taken French’s suggestion. As it was, she needed a scapegoat and an object would be better than a person. “Remove it. I don’t like it. I don’t care what you do with it.” Something caught her attention on the hem of the gown and she bent to examine it, eager to discover a flaw she could use. She hated to be thought of as capricious, even by her maid. “Is this mud? How on earth did this gown get mud on the hem?”

French frowned and joined Sophia in examining the gown. “It’s that dratted Daisy,” she said, naming her assistant. “I’m sorry ma’am, but she’s proving most unsatisfactory. Careless, and now I think she’s dishonest. I knew she was borrowing garments without permission. Probably to impress her beau farther along the street. I’ll see her turned off for this. See if I don’t.”

“No. Set her to work as a housemaid,” Sophia said. They were short a housemaid after one had been discovered to be in an interesting condition via one of the footmen. Sophia had turned off the footman and sent the maid to a foundling home to have her baby there. But that left her short-staffed, and while the footman had been quickly replaced, they were still down one housemaid.

Telling that she could think of that at a time like this. “I’ll see to the details myself, but I won’t be going out tonight. I’m not feeling well.”

“Oh, ma’am, do you need anything?”

French had been with Sophia for most of her life, coming to her when Sophia was thirteen, so she’d seen her mistress in several states before now. French had seen to Sophia’s personal needs without fuss and with efficiency. She would have to go tomorrow.

When she thought of the meeting, her stomach churned. She turned to the chamber pot. French held her steady while she brought back what she’d eaten that day. She gasped and clutched the edge of the chair on which the chamber pot rested.

“I’ll put you to bed straightaway, ma’am.”

Her eyes streaming, her throat sore, Sophia gratefully took the handkerchief French handed to her. “Let my husband know, if you please. I believe it was the patties I had earlier today. I thought they were a little suspect. Oysters are difficult.”

“My mother said you shouldn’t have oysters when there wasn’t an R in the month,” French said. “But it’s only just turned May. Unfortunate, my lady. I’ll see if the cook can find you something to settle your stomach. What should I tell his lordship?”

“Just that I’m not well and I won’t be going out. Tell him it’s nothing to worry about, I just ate something that disagreed with me.”

“Yes, my lady. And I’ll see to the other matter, while I’m about it, but I still think you should turn Daisy off. Dishonesty is dishonesty, and she’ll be making off with the silver next.”

Sophia waved French away. “She’s just a feckless girl who doesn’t think properly, but she’s a hard worker. Tell Foster to keep a close eye on her for a while. We’ll see how she does.” She couldn’t care less about Daisy, if she had taken clothes without asking. “You can send to the agency for another assistant in the morning.”