Temptation Has Green Eyes (4 page)

Sophia had a cordial relationship with her father, one that didn’t lead either of them to vouchsafe their most intimate emotions. Even after John’s attack, her father had been more concerned with her physical condition. In other words, was she still a virgin? She could assure him on that point, although had a few more moments passed, she might not have been.

She would never forget that feeling of utter helplessness as John pinned her legs open and held her hands above her head. That had been the worst, even more than his gloating expression as he loomed above her, his breeches open.

Her heart beat faster, and the breath caught in her throat. With an effort, she forced her mind off that track. Reliving that scene never did any good.

Now her father was talking, and unusually for him, avoiding getting to the point. He was discussing the incident with John as if it were the topic of the conversation. But that was done, and she didn’t want to think about it any longer. As soon as she had controlled her breathing she broke into his monologue. “Papa, I appreciate your concern. I will never allow myself to be in a room alone with a man again.” She offered a smile. “Except for you, of course.”

He shook his head. “No, that will not do. Your potential fortune will increase with this new venture and others I have in mind. So much that few men will find themselves able to resist you.”

She hadn’t thought of that. He was right. The greater her potential fortune grew, the greater temptation she became to fortune hunters. She might have to let Aunt Jane back after all.

“If your mother and I had had more children, that would have helped to dissipate the effect, but we did not.” He regarded her steadily.

She was forced to glance down, using the pretext of tidying a pile of papers. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t remarried. Perhaps he would yet. But after her mother’s death, he’d immersed himself in work. Then they had become comfortable with each other and settled into a routine that did not include another woman. He’d seemed content enough, and so was she.

“As well as signing the original contract, we agreed another. Your marriage contract with Lord Devereaux. You will sign it on Friday, when it has been drawn up properly, and marry on Monday.” He smiled broadly. “Daughter, I saw how you looked at him at the Guildhall dinner. You wanted him. I got him for you.”

No, oh no
.

What she didn’t want, what she feared more than anything else, was being married as an object, someone unimportant in herself, whose fortune was more important. She’d so nearly succumbed to that with John. For all his protestations of love he had never wanted her, only what she represented. Every day she remained unmarried was another when she didn’t have to face that fate—to be a thing. Now, with the Marquess of Devereaux, she was confronted with it again.

The world knew how hard his lordship had worked to restore his fortunes after his father had spent it. Of course he’d take her money, even if she went with it. He barely noticed her. He would continue the same way, wife or not.

That gave her an idea. She got up and hurried to the bookshelves ranged against one wall, finding what she needed almost immediately—the book that detailed the peers of Britain, the one she and her father used when some aristocrat came to them, cap in hand. Over the years, she and her father had made notes that they might find useful. Such details could prove immensely useful in negotiations.

Flipping through the pages quickly, she came to the one she wanted.

“Papa, listen to this. If this doesn’t persuade you that I’m unsuitable, nothing will.” She began to read.

“
The Devereaux title dates back to the Elizabethan era, and the present holder of the title can trace his ancestry back directly to the courtier who took to the High Seas and brought the queen a fortune. The family’s fortunes have gone up and down, and are currently flourishing. Lord Devereaux owns one of the largest houses in the country, Devereaux Place, which might as well be termed Palace. It is reported to have one room for each day of the year. Despite the magnificent pile, his lordship prefers to spend his time in town. He is unmarried and has one sister. 1753.”
She’d made the extra notes last year, after the fateful meeting at the Guildhall.

“I can’t marry someone like that, Papa. What do I know about houses in the country?”

Her father regarded her closely, but said nothing for a moment. When he did speak, it was in that quiet, determined voice that told her she would win nothing by arguing. “You will learn, if necessary. The deal is made, and you should spend your time preparing yourself.”

With another man, she might make something—a relationship, a friendship—but with him, she doubted it. Her feet itched with the desire to leave the room, but if she left now, she’d concede defeat.

Her father’s cold statement filled Sophia with pure rage. Never, ever had she felt so furious with anyone. That it was with her father didn’t surprise her, because he was one of the few people in the world who could affect her mood. Arguing reasonably be damned. At least she’d say what she thought.

Her heart pounded, and heat rose to her cheeks. “Do I have no say in this agreement?” In the circumstances she considered her words calm and collected, but she couldn’t make them warm or prevent the telling tremble in her voice.

Her father watched her. An old trick to use silence against her, but he’d taught her that tactic himself, so she was not affected by it. She waited until she had swallowed down some of her betraying emotion.

“I have nothing but consideration for you,” he said eventually. “You need a husband, and I have obtained the best possible candidate. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” However hard she tried, Sophia couldn’t control her trembling. “Should you not have consulted with me first?”

“Since we were at the lawyer’s office, I took the opportunity to request the contract signed with the other. It’s a standard marriage contract. You will not find yourself disadvantaged by it.”

“Not financially,” she snapped. “What about my personal happiness?”

He looked at her. Just looked, until she shook her head.

“I cannot marry him, Papa.”

“Why not? Has he shown you a lack of respect? Or worse?”

“He hardly notices me,” she said bitterly. “We spoke once only.”

“Then it’s your pride that’s hurt?”

He was too perceptive, but she’d always known that. “No. But I would like my future husband to show some preference for me.”

He brushed aside her protests with a careless wave of his hand. “Pooh! You will no doubt have preference to spare once you are wed. This is not a romantic association, but it will make you part of an alliance that will affect society. Perhaps history. Do you not want that?”

“All I ever wanted was to do my best. I have no desire to make history.” Even though her father wasn’t exaggerating.

He lost any semblance of geniality, his mouth tightening into a thin line. She was in deep trouble. He had made up his mind and there was no changing it. “Do you deny that your emotions get you into trouble?”

She said nothing.

“This is an association, an alliance. The marquess is a sensible man; he will listen to your advice. And I will leave certain matters in your hands. Your erstwhile inamorato has been spreading rumors about you and your so-called wanton behavior. You know how badly that will go down in some quarters of the City.”

By “City,” he didn’t mean the geographical area. He meant the men who ran the financial matters that spread worldwide. Yes, John’s malicious lies had some people doubting her morality, and thus her veracity. Consequently her father’s too, however unfair that judgment was in reality.

He wasn’t finished. “And children, do you not want them?”

She refused to answer any more. She knew what her father was doing; he would drag her into paths she couldn’t win, place arguments against her that would force her to agree with him. So she would make her statement and then leave with all the dignity she could muster. Perhaps he would consider her objections, perhaps not. It remained to be seen how much stake he’d put on this deal.

“Papa, I respect your views, and I owe you obedience as my parent. However, I also have a life that will continue for some time, and I have no wish to spend it with someone I hardly know. I would like at least the pretense of courtship. He is marrying a fortune, not me. I’m marrying a marquisate, not him.”

“You cannot deny you took a fancy to him. You must be married, my child. You are too much of a temptation to those who would take advantage of you. You will obey me in this,” he continued softly.

Her father rarely raised his voice; he didn’t have to. “You have three days to change your mind. I don’t expect to see you until you are ready to sign the contract.”

She left the room.

He called after her, “And that is on Saturday.”

He ordered her to stay in her room and had her fed on bread and water. That hadn’t happened since Sophia’s childhood.

He also had her maid remove her books and writing materials, except a copy of the Bible. “
To give you a chance to reflect on your decision and pray for the correct outcome,
” the note he sent told her.

Why was her father was so determined that she marry Lord Devereaux? She hadn’t considered her papa so intractable before, and unafraid of his temper, she could usually talk him around to her way of thinking. Not this time. He refused to consider anything but acceptance. A marchioness? Worse,
his
marchioness? She couldn’t do it.

Then her father sent his ultimatum. On Friday afternoon she stared at the note in horror. “
The Marquess or the country. Your choice, my child.
”

If she continued to refuse, he would send her to the country, leave her to molder away without the opportunity to return to the life she loved. He could destroy everything she had worked for and reduce her to utter tedium, and that would drive her mad. Her father had complete jurisdiction over her, and if she didn’t obey, he’d do it. The notes he’d sent over the past three days gave her no doubt.

She drifted over to the window and gazed out at the street she’d seen all her life.

Carriages went by below, the constant sound of trotting horses a background she hardly noticed. But no more, if her father had his way, and he would. She couldn’t stop him.

She had to do something. Obviously her life was about to change, and she’d prefer some say in how it did so. Time to take action.

Leaving her room, Sophia called for her maid. Her father was out of the house and she had a call to make. Bedamned his stricture to keep her in his room. She’d go anyway, and he’d be glad she did. Damn her reputation, too. If she destroyed it utterly, the aspirants to her hand might finally leave her alone. Including the marquess.

“My lord, there’s a young lady to see you.”

He had wanted a few hours’ uninterrupted concentration. Sitting at his desk bent over a set of papers, Max gave his butler a fulminating glance. Rayne never showed an iota of emotion when on duty, but Max could have sworn the man’s eyebrows were a fraction higher than usual.

Was one of his lady loves creating a scene? Surely not. He hadn’t had one for some time, and Rayne could cope with a woman of that ilk with one hand tied behind his back. “Well, what’s the problem?”

“She’s alone, sir, and she appears respectable.”

“Do you by any chance have a name?”

Rayne’s lip gained a distinct curl. “Miss Russell.”

“Ah.” That came as a surprise, to say the least. “And does she have what is generally known as a respectable female with her?”

“She does, my lord. But in my opinion, the respectable female appears more in the nature of a maid.”

What the devil did she want? He was seeing her tomorrow at the lawyer’s office. Was that not soon enough?

“Show her into the parlor, if you please.”

The choice seemed to mollify Rayne, as he bowed, his usual demeanor of a frozen sheep restored. “Yes, my lord. Should I serve refreshments?”

“Tea, please. And some of those little sweet things ladies like.”

“I shall have it brought to you directly, sir.”

Max had hoped for a quiet hour or two sorting through his invoices before he had to leave for an evening affair. Already dressed in his eveningwear of satin breeches and heavily embroidered waistcoat—although, this being a mild day, he wouldn’t put on his coat until he had to—he got to his feet. He gave Rayne time to show her to the parlor before he got to his feet.

Perhaps he should have received her in the salon upstairs, but in truth, Max preferred the smaller, less grand room, the morning parlor at the front of the house where he received more informal guests and spent his evenings, when he had the chance. His voice didn’t echo so much, and he could keep an eye on the world outside. The furniture was less…spindly.

He went in prepared to send her away. But at the sight of her, something echoed inside him—something he couldn’t define—that defied description. Not pity. Sympathy was the nearest he could get to it.

A young, slender woman with dark hair sat staring into the empty fire grate. Since he was planning to go out, Max hadn’t ordered a fire set there today. Now he wished he had. Despite the warm weather she looked cold. Her body hunched over, her hands tightly clasped.

Her hair gleamed in the candlelight, and Max wanted to test it with his fingers to discover if it was as silky as it appeared. Odd, since he’d never felt that way toward her before. Inconvenient. He didn’t wish for anything but a business partnership from his upcoming marriage.

She should not be here. “Ma’am, I’m afraid you find my mother away from home. I will have you escorted back to your house.” Disturbed by her presence, he turned to leave the room. She was alone. She’d left the respectable female in the hall. Nothing about this situation was right.

“No, please. I have to talk to you.”

He’d considered his future bride a biddable female, quiet and unassuming. But a woman who came to visit him, risking wrecking her reputation all over again? She was anything but quiet and unassuming.