Authors: Brenda Joyce
He closed his eyes hard and succumbed just for another instant to the illicit pleasure of the wet and thrusting kiss and to the raw agony of holding her in his arms while he throbbed and pulsed against her. She was panting. He derived immense satisfaction from the fact and was aroused impossibly more. Yet he wished to hear her moan in need, in ecstasy. With complete abandon. But he dared not prolong the encounter, dared not go any further, for if he did, he was afraid there would be no turning back.
And if he seduced Sofie, he could not live with himself.
Groaning, Edward tore his mouth from hers, forcing his eyes open. Her thighs still pressed against his, and he was very reluctant to move away, but finally he did, putting a few inches between their straining, overheated bodies. Startled, Sofie lifted her lids, and he saw that her gaze was glazed and unfocused and that she was flushed with genuine desire.
He was more tempted than he had ever been. He’d never had to fight the urges of his body before. Not like this. But of course, he’d never played this kind of game before, had never kissed a woman only to teach her to live and not to teach her to love. He swallowed hard and shifted away from her completely, pressing his cheek into the wall beside her, ignoring her small, raw cry, which only increased his excitement.
It was many minutes before he could move, and by then, she had slipped away from her position next to him. Edward straightened, inhaled deeply, turned. Sofie stood with her back to him, hugging herself tightly.
“Sofie?”
She stiffened, then slowly faced him.
He had been afraid she would be furious, but there was no trace of anger in her expression. Indeed, she was remarkably composed, far more so than he. But by now he knew that she wore her dignity about her as one would a big, hooded cloak—the better to hide behind.
He smiled. “If you tell me I am a cad, Sofie, I will not blame you.”
She searched his gaze. Her lips were very swollen. “Are you a cad, Edward?”
His smile disappeared. “To steal that kind of kiss? Yes. Unquestionably.”
She wet her lips, and he realized that she was still every bit as hot as he, and far more nervous. “I … I don’t mind.”
He was stunned. “Does that mean I may take such liberties again?”
She hesitated, still hugging herself. “Yes.”
“Sofie.” He paced forward, screeched to a stop. “Sofie—you must never allow
any
man to kiss you in such an intimate manner! Not even me!”
She said nothing, staring, unblinking.
He fought for calm, could not find it. “I did not mean to go so far,” he said truthfully, now rueful as well.
“What did you mean, then?”
“Just a kiss, a small, sweet kiss.”
Her breasts heaved.
“Sofie?”
“Edward, I think that now is as good a time as any to ask.” Color crept up her face in waves. “What are your intentions?”
The truth would never do! She was proud and she would be furious—she would kick him out immediately. So he smiled and pried one of her arms free and tucked it in his. “My intention is to be a good friend, Sofie. A true friend—one you will not forget.”
L
adies did not drink, except for the occasional glass of wine at supper and perhaps a sherry afterwards. They certainly did not sip delicious French wine at noon. Sofie watched the white-coated waiter hover over her, about to pour the pale golden Chablis into her wineglass. And she declined. “I cannot.”
Edward smiled at her from across the small table. His expression was both bold and intimate. “You can’t say no,” he said. “Not to me.”
Sofie looked at him, then dropped her eyes and turned to look around them. She felt as if she were moving in a dream, she was in such a state of disbelief. The most beautiful ladies she had ever seen, it seemed, were present that day in their brightly colored tea gowns and prettily matching hats. Their escorts were the most handsome, dapper men, some in dark business suits, others in more casual yet elegant sack jackets. Yet no gentleman present was as handsome or as dashing as her own escort.
Sofie trembled slightly. It hardly seemed possible that she was sitting right now in the oh-so-famous Delmonico’s with such a man. But she was. Nor did the events of that day seem even remotely possible, but they were. Edward had seen all of her work, had not just admired it, he thought it brilliant—he thought her brilliant. He had said so.
She shook yet again. And he had kissed her, the way he had kissed Hilary, with raw and scorching and sublime passion. He had kissed her deep and openmouthed the way she had secretly dreamed of being kissed by him, and more thoroughly than she had even thought possible.
Unquestionably he was a cad. Suzanne was right. He
intended seduction. And Sofie intended to be his very willing victim.
Sofie nodded wordlessly at Edward, accepting the glass of white wine. She watched the waiter pour.
Edward grinned, both dimples blossoming. “That’s my Sofie.”
Sofie looked up, shuddering with the force of her emotions, with fear, with excitement, with passion—but she must not fall in love with him, she must not. Sofie was no fool. Their affair was going to be glorious, or so she prayed, despite the fact that she was far less perfect than the other women he had known, and far less experienced. Their affair would be wonderful. She—plain, lame, eccentric Sofie O’Neil—would finally learn something of love and passion and life, it seemed. Who would have ever thought she would have such a chance—and with such a man? But it would inevitably end, perhaps sooner than later. She must not allow herself to ever lose sight of that fact, she must prepare herself for it even before they had begun. She must not allow herself to fall in love with him, no matter what happened.
Quickly Sofie reached for her wineglass, taking a sip of the almost sweet liquid, which seemed to float over her tongue as smoothly as silk.
“Good?” Edward queried, watching her closely.
“Delicious,” Sofie said truthfully. “I’ve never had better.”
While Edward ordered them a meal that they could never in a hundred years finish, Sofie look the opportunity to glance around yet again. They had a window table. The main dining room overlooked Fifth Avenue and the lush green park of Madison Square. Couples strolled on the paths below, ladies with their parasols to shield their complexions from the blazing summer sun, the men in jaunty straw hats or conservative felts. The sky was an extraordinary blue, and big, puffy clouds floated by.
And the restaurant itself was a sea of contrasts, of the ladies’ bold jewel-toned gowns, of the gentlemen’s gray wools and nearly white linens. The tables were all clothed in startling white, sparkling with crystal and silver, and
each was brightly festive with a centerpiece of fresh-cut rainbow-hued flowers.
“Who is going to eat all that?” Sofie asked after the waiter had left them. “And more importantly, who is going to drink all this wine?”
“We don’t have to finish anything,” Edward said. His tone dropped. “I want everything to be perfect for you, Sofie.”
She paused, playing nervously with her fork. Then her gaze met his. “It is perfect already, Edward,” she whispered. His stare was so intense, she looked away, taking another sip of wine. Her pulse was pounding. Clearly the seduction he had begun in earnest in her studio was continuing now. Sofie knew she should not be nervous, for Edward was undoubtedly a gentle and skillful lover. Would he want to take her somewhere private later, after lunch? Her wits seemed to scatter at the notion, her pulses soared.
“Why are you against marriage?” Edward asked.
Sofie almost lost her napkin. “What?”
He repeated the question.
Sofie stared. “That is the strangest thing to ask me just now.”
“Why? The moment we met, you declared that you never intended to marry.” Edward’s eyes were warm and amused.
“That
was strange.”
Sofie stared into his sparkling eyes, relaxing slightly. She
had
avowed her intention to remain unwed—she recalled it clearly. For the life of her, she could not fathom why she had said such a thing to a stranger, but she could guess why he was bringing up the subject now. He was not thoroughly dishonorable—Sofie had never thought that. He wanted to make sure she was not sacrificing her precious virginity to him when it should be guarded for her future husband. Sofie managed a smite. “Edward, need I remind you that I do not have suitors banging down my door?”
He was serious now, leaning forward. “So you intend to remain a spinster only because you think you cannot attract a suitor?”
Sofie flushed, eyes sparking. “There is more to it than that.”
“Is there?”
“Yes. I am completely devoted to my work. No man would be pleased to have his wife in her studio all day—and maybe all night—and you know that. Wives are supposed to run households and raise children, Edward.”
“So you are not interested in children?”
She froze. “I am not going to have children, Edward, because I am not going to many.”
“And you have no doubt that this is the course your life should take?”
She lifted her chin, refusing to admit that of course she had doubts. There were many times that she had longed to have what seemed to come so easily to other women—a home and family. But she refused to dwell on it. “No.”
He stared at her, and she saw that he did not believe her and it frightened her. She could not tell him that she would throw her shocking avowals aside if she might ever find love and be loved in return. But she knew enough to understand that men did not find her attractive because she walked with a limp, never mind that she was also an artist. Nothing could change that fact, no amount of secret yearning, nothing.
“Perhaps one day you will change your mind,” Edward finally said, slowly. His gaze still probed hers. “When you meet the right man.”
Sofie forced herself not to flinch and look away. Her thoughts rang loud and clear, unbidden.
But I have met the right man.
And Sofie was shocked and dismayed. She was afraid she had already fallen in love with him, and that must not happen, it must not.
“Why are there tears in your eyes?” Edward asked softly, covering her hand with his.
Sofie jerked her hand away. “There is dust in the air. Edward, this topic is ridiculous. I have no suitors and I never will. No man wants to marry me, and we both know why. Let us leave it at that.”
“No, Sofie,” Edward said, “you may think you know why, but I am hardly convinced.”
And Sofie was angry. Now she leaned forward. “Are you encouraging me to go on the marriage mart?”
He met her gaze. “I think that one day you should. When you are ready.”
Sofie smiled, throwing down her gauntlet. “I will seek marriage, Edward, when you do.”
He stiffened.
Sofie fell a moment’s savage satisfaction. “Well, you have made my private goals your affair—so you cannot tell me I am intruding.”
His smile was reluctant, tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Touché.”
Her eyes widened with mock innocence. “Oh, come, Edward. Confess. We both know you are a rogue right now, but surely you will one day seek to wed? All men want a woman to run their homes and raise their children.”
Edward’s smiled faded. “Not this one.”
Sofie stared, uneasy and genuinely surprised. “Are you serious?”
He nodded darkly.
“Why?”
His long fingers caressed the stem of his glass. “I have seen it all, Sofie. And life is not a garden of roses. It is rarely roses.”
“What a jaded thing to say.”
His gaze met hers, dark and somber as she had never before seen it. “You would be shocked if you knew how many married ladies flirt with me, attempting to entice me into their beds.”
“Of course, there are married women without morals. There are husbands equally unfaithful.”
“Yes. But I have found that fidelity is almost nonexistent in this world.”
Sofie almost gaped. “Surely you exaggerate. And are you saying that you will not wed because you could not bear it if your wife was unfaithful to you?”
His smile was a shadow. “I do not exaggerate, unfortunately. And I do not believe in love, having only witnessed lust. And yes, I could not bear it if my wife was unfaithful. You see, deep down, my values are somewhat old-fashioned.
As importantly, I could not bear my own lapse into infidelity—which, should I marry, would undoubtedly occur.”
Sofie was silent. Edward was either a very romantic man or a very disillusioned one. Or maybe a combination of both.
They lingered over coffee. The restaurant was mostly empty now, and they were the last to leave … and in no hurry to do so.
“This was wonderful, Edward,” Sofie said. She had consumed more wine than she should have, and it had diminished the nervousness she had felt earlier. In truth, there was only sweet, tingling anticipation now.
“I’m glad.” He looked at her with a gentle gaze. “Sofie, have you ever tried to sell any of your work?”
Sofie started, eyes wide, instantly alert. “No.”
“Why not?” Edward’s tone was casual, but his piercing look was not. “You haven’t thought of it?”
“Of course I have thought of it. I have intended to be a professional artist for years. But—I am not ready.”
“I think you are more than ready.”
Sofie stared across the table into his brilliantly blue eyes. Her hands, in her lap, were clenched together. She said nothing.
“Shall I ask around—find out who the reputable art dealers are? Perhaps make an appointment?”
Sofie was trembling. She was not ready, she knew it. “I know who the best dealers are,” she heard herself say.
“You are afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be. Rejection will undoubtedly be a part of your life. Even great artists suffered a lot of rejection in their early years.”
He was right. But Sofie was still afraid—and torn. It would be so easy to trust Edward and allow him to guide her as he willed. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s call in a dealer,” Edward said.
Sofie looked at him, as fearful as she was growing excited. “I don’t know,” she repeated.
“I think you should come out of hiding, Sofie,” Edward said abruptly. “Paint what you want. Openly. Sell your paintings. Risk rejection. Wear beautiful gowns, change your hair, go to society balls and teas and the races. Let men see you as you really are.”