Two Sinful Secrets (11 page)

Still holding her against him with one hand, he moved
his other into her hair and pushed the pins and combs out of the heavy waves. Her
hair tumbled over her shoulders, and he buried his face in it. His breath was harsh
and warm on her neck, and she just wanted to be nearer to him. She whimpered and buried
her fingers tighter into his hair.

Suddenly a loud clattering noise broke through the blurry haze of her desire. Sophia
jerked her hands away from him and bent her head back against the wall. It was only
the sound of coal being delivered on the street below, but that everyday noise seemed
to shake her harshly out of her dream-state of lust.

Dominic froze against her, as if he had also forgotten where they were and what they
were doing. He slowly lowered her feet to the floor and stepped back. He raked his
hand through his tousled hair, and his eyes seemed dark as a nighttime sea when he
looked at her. It seemed as if he had never really seen her before.

Sophia pressed her hands back hard to the wall to hold herself up. She still couldn’t
quite catch her breath. “You want your brother to stay away from me,” she said hoarsely.
“But perhaps you should have warned me away from
you
instead,”

Dominic laughed ruefully and ran his hand roughly over his jaw. “Perhaps I should
have.” He looked away from her with a frown, and the look in his eyes made it seem
as if he suddenly was very far away, somewhere no one could follow him. Only a moment
ago, Sophia had felt so very close to him, closer than she ever had to anyone before.
Now it felt like miles were between then, and she couldn’t figure out why. Or why
it made her feel like crying.

But she would
not
cry. She had finished with tears long ago. She smoothed down her skirts and pushed
her loose hair back over her shoulders as the silence stretched between them. It was
broken only by the crackle of the fire and the rumble of the coal wagon on the street.

“You made me forget why I came here in the first place,” he said, a strange, faraway
tone in his voice.

“Did you not come here to warn me away from your brother?”

“James told me something else,” he said, that note still in his voice. He looked at
her, but he didn’t seem to
see
her.

“Oh?” she said, trying to sound careless and light, to not give away any of her own
thoughts. “And what is that?”

“That we share a common ancestress. And that you have her diary.”

James had seemed taken aback by her words when she told him about the diary, but now
Dominic wanted to know about it as well? It seemed very strange. No one had ever been
interested in Mary but her; no one else seemed to know anything about her.

“I do have her diary, yes,” she answered slowly. “I found it in my uncle’s library
years ago, and I have kept it with me ever since. She lived in fascinating times.”

“And she confided her secrets to those pages?” Dominic said, and Sophia didn’t like
something about the sound of his voice or the sudden, tense set of his shoulders.
She sensed he was holding something back from her, that his interest in the diary
was no mere idle curiosity. She had the feeling that she needed to protect Mary in
some way, which was ridiculous. Mary had been dead for hundreds of years.

“She writes the usual sort of things women do in their diaries,” she said cautiously.
“Household management, local gossip. I merely thought James would find it amusing
to know we had a shared family link, though a distant one. I can’t imagine why you
would be interested in reading such dull stuff.”

“Dull stuff?” Dominic’s stare suddenly shot up to her face, and she almost fell back
a step at the harsh glow in his eyes. What was it about the diary that made him that
way? “I would like to read it.”

Sophia shook her head. “It’s a delicate old book and I rarely take it out. But if
I were to find something pertaining to your family in it, I would be happy to copy
it out for you.”

Dominic went very still. “Are you refusing to let me see that book? I would pay you
for it. Whatever you like.”

Now Sophia was sure she did not want him to get Mary’s diary, not if he was so desperate
for it. “It is not for sale. And if those are the only reasons you came here, to warn
me off your brother and get Mary’s diary, you had best leave. It’s late, and I am
tired.” And she wanted to start reading the diary again immediately.

Dominic shook his head. “I would do anything for my family, Sophia. Just remember
that. I won’t let a Huntington hurt them again.” He gave her a stiff bow before he
spun away toward the door. He vanished through it quickly and silently.

Sophia hurried over to the window and stared down at the street below until she saw
him appear under a circle of gaslight. The light was blurry in the mist, and it made
him look like a ghost, slipping away into the night and leaving her with far more
questions than answers.

She slowly sank down onto the carpet, her skirts pooling around her as she buried
her face in her hands. He knew who she was—Lady Sophia Huntington. He knew she had
Mary’s diary and for some reason he wanted it. That same closed-in, hunted feeling
she had had when Lord Hammond tried to find her was descending on her again. Back
then she had run to Paris. But she knew she couldn’t run any longer, not from Dominic,
not from herself.

She had to find out why he wanted that diary.

S
ophia stared out through the carriage window at the dazzling mansion as they rolled
to a halt before the front doors. It was lit up like a Chinese lantern in the darkness,
every window ablaze. The lights shimmered on the white stone walls and cast sparks
off the guests’ jewels as they climbed up the marble steps and poured through the
open front doors. The faint strains of a waltz could be heard even from outside.

It was all very elegant, the epitome of Parisian style. No doubt the champagne would
be the best, the conversation the most intelligent, and the dancing would go on until
dawn. It was exactly the sort of evening she had always enjoyed.

But tonight she found herself strangely reluctant to leave the shelter of the carriage
and go inside. The long evenings at La Reine d’Argent, though undoubtedly fun and
profitable, had left her feeling oddly hollow inside. As if there should be something—more.

What that something could be she had no idea. She was just sure it had to be out there
somewhere. But probably not in that house. It would surely be all the same people
she had seen for the last few nights at the club.

For an instant she wondered if Lord Hammond would be there. She hadn’t seen him since
that day at the park, and she hoped he had left Paris for London already. She would
certainly have to worry about him once she returned to England and tried to contact
her family, but at least she would have some time to think before then.

If, however, he still lurked in Paris, their host tonight, who was a French duke,
was surely just the sort of person he would know. Yet Sophia wasn’t as worried about
Hammond as she was about seeing Dominic again. She seemed to make a fool of herself
whenever he was around.

“Are you ready, Sophie?” Camille asked.

Sophia suddenly realized the coach was at a complete standstill and a liveried footman
held open the door. She laughed, and smoothed her kid gloves over her wrists. “Yes,
of course. I’m sorry, Camille, I must have been woolgathering.”

Camille laughed in return as they stepped down from the carriage and joined the glittering
line up the stairs. “I have the feeling you don’t really want to be here tonight,
my friend. Did you not like the duke when you met him at the club?”

“No,
monsieur le duc
seemed perfectly charming,” Sophia said, though in truth she couldn’t quite remember
exactly what the man looked like. They had all begun to look rather alike. Except
for Dominic. She remembered every detail of him vividly.

“Then you have tired of parties?”

“Perhaps a bit,” Sophia admitted. “But I know that socializing is an important part
of your business.”

“So it is, an enjoyable part. Yet I am sensing you do not relish it as I do right
now.” Camille’s gaze was
sympathetic as they gave their wraps to a waiting maid and turned toward the noise
and sparkle of the ballroom. “You are still thinking of your family?”

“I do think of them,” Sophia said, though she knew she hadn’t been thinking of them
enough, if she wanted to persuade them she was ready to return. She needed to formulate
a plan to be respectable. “I must decide what to write them soon.”

“You must do what pleases you, of course,” Camille said. “But I still say you are
not made for stuffy English respectability.”

Sophia laughed, and they were swept into the very midst of the party. She had more
dance partners than she could fit on her card and was even enjoying herself as the
evening went along.

But then as Sophia spun around in the last turn of the dance, she glimpsed a tall,
dark, distinguished-looking figure standing in the doorway. At first she thought she
had imagined him, but when she twirled to a stop facing the door he was still there,
surveying the party with a cool smile on his face.

A footman offered him a glass of wine from a tray, but Hammond waved him off. He saw
Sophia watching him, and his smile widened. He stepped into the glittering crowd,
and for a moment he was lost to her view.

All of Sophia’s senses seemed to sharpen. The room around her felt brighter, warmer;
the laughter seemed louder. She knew she couldn’t panic, not here.

After the dance ended, Sophia had her partner escort her to Camille’s side. Her friend
stood near the cooling breeze of the open terrace doors, sipping champagne and laughing
with a few friends from the club.

“Sophie, you look flushed from the dance,” Camille said with a merry laugh. She snatched
another glass of champagne from a passing servant. “Here, have a drink.”

Sophia gratefully took the glass and gulped the bubbling liquid quickly, in a way
that certainly didn’t do it justice. Yet she still felt nervous.

“Are you quite all right, Sophie?” Camille asked.

Sophia nodded as she surveyed the swirling crowd in the ballroom. Only as the dancers
turned did she glimpse Lord Hammond again. He stood across the dance floor, flanked
by two very attentive ladies Sophia recognized as among the most expensive courtesans
in Paris. His gaze caught hers, and he spoke a quiet word to the women. They hurried
off in a flash of diamonds. One of them tossed him a wistful glance, but it was obvious
they would do nothing to contradict his orders.

It seemed he held that strange power over many people. Then he moved away and disappeared
into the crowd again.

“Do you know that man?” Camille said.

Sophia turned to her, still tense at the knowledge that Hammond was out there, watching
her. “Which man?”

“The one who was staring at you, of course. He looked like a hawk with a mouse.”

And that was exactly how he made Sophia feel—like a mouse. She didn’t like that sensation
at all. “We have met once or twice in Baden-Baden. Do
you
know him, Camille?”

“I have heard of him,” Camille said with a weirdly bitter note in her voice. It seemed
she really had heard tales, unsavory ones. “His name is Lord Hammond, yes?”

“Yes,” Sophia answered in surprise.

“He seldom comes to Paris, but I know he has his
finger in many businesses in the city. All across Europe, really. He claims it is
in his role as agent for his cousin, an English duke, but I have my doubts. Men like
him…” Camille frowned. “They thrive on power. They need it. And you say you know him?”

Camille suddenly took Sophia’s arm and led her to a quiet corner behind a bank of
flowering green plants. She opened her reticule and drew out a small gun.

Sophia gasped in surprise at the unexpected sight. “Camille, why do you have a pistol
at a ball?”

“Because one never knows what might happen, or who might appear.” Camille took Sophia’s
hand and pressed the gun into her palm. The delicate inlaid handle was cold through
her glove. “I have others, though. You take this one.”

“Camille, no,” Sophia protested automatically, though the weight of it did feel reassuring
in her clasp.

“Just in case, my friend,” Camille said.

Sophie didn’t want to take it. She had learned to shoot on her uncle’s estate, but
she had never liked guns, the noise and raw power of them. But Camille held it out
insistently, and Sophia nodded and tucked the gun away in her own reticule. As Camille
said, just in case. She could return it later.

T
he Theatre Nationale, where visiting companies from abroad presented plays and pantomimes
for theater-mad Parisians, was one of the grandest establishments on the rue Vivienne,
and as Sophia looked around her, she forgot where she was for a moment and just lost
herself in the beauty. When she was a girl in England, she hadn’t been allowed to
see anything but the Italian opera. She avidly absorbed every chance to vanish into
the world of a play.

She leaned her elbow on the gilt railing of Camille’s rented box and studied the lush
surroundings. The crimson velvet curtains at the stage were looped up with thick gold
cords and trimmed with beaded fringe, which was echoed in the draperies at the boxes.
Bright frescoes of the Muses, glowing with touches of lapis and gold leaf in the gaslights,
looked out from above the proscenium, and the ceiling was a soaring dome painted to
look like the summer sky.

And the audience was equally grand. A swirling mass of Parisians in their jewels and
satins watched each other avidly from the shadowed depths of the boxes and filled
the red velvet stalls below. There were whispers that some visiting German prince
and his entourage were soon to appear, and there was a French duke or two as well.
It was a sparkling, elegant scene.