Authors: Brenda Joyce
Sofie gazed back, confused. He seemed familiar, but she could not recall who he was, nor could she recollect ever meeting him. He must be a friend of Suzanne’s, or of Benjamin’s. But why was he staring at her so relentlessly?
Suddenly he looked away. Sofie watched him melt into the crowd. She glanced back at the landing where Lisa stood with the marquis, her father, and Suzanne. The crowd was applauding. To Sofie’s surprise, Suzanne was also staring after the man—and she was white with shock.
The marquis withdrew a small jeweler’s box from his pocket, casually flicking it open. Briefly he held it up; the crowd gasped and Sofie’s eyes widened. The ring was incredible, obviously a priceless heirloom belonging to his family, a huge ruby set in diamonds that was sparking like fire in the ballroom’s bright lights. As the marquis placed it on Lisa’s third finger, the crowd began to applaud another time.
Sofie clapped, too, praying that Lisa would come to her senses and call off the wedding before it was too late. She knew that Lisa was right. St. Clare did not love her—in fact, he seemed exceedingly unhappy with the engagement.
The band began to play. The marquis led Lisa onto the dance floor, his face expressionless, took her in his arms, and effortlessly they began to whirl around the dance floor.
They were a stunning couple. He so tall and powerful, so blond and male, she so pale and delicate, so dark and so utterly dainty. More applause filled the room, until it was thunderous. Only Sofie knew, from Lisa’s tight, ravaged expression, that she was vehemently fighting tears.
More couples began to dance. Benjamin took Suzanne onto the dance floor as well, but Sofie shook her head
when Henry asked her to dance. Briefly she succumbed to an intense yearning and an intense, aching loneliness. It seemed as if everyone was on that dance floor, waltzing with the natural, profound grace of butterflies—it seemed as if everyone had someone with whom to feel complete, except her.
Sofie straightened her spine. To feel sorry for herself now, when she had borne so much already, was sheer nonsense.
And then Sofie’s nape prickled. Her heart stopped. A feeling of horror engulfed her. And with it, an intense, shattering feeling that could almost be described as joy.
Sofie knew that Edward had appeared. In the next instant, she saw him.
Edward was coming down the hallway, devastatingly handsome in his black tails, his stride long but casual, and he was staring unwaveringly at her.
“Oh, God,” Sofie whispered. She clutched Henry’s arm. His eyes were brilliant with fury—and he was coming directly to her.
S
ofie could not move, no matter how her mind told her to turn and run, to flee.
And a traitorous part of herself looked at the man she loved and felt a fierce exultation. For hadn’t it become clear that she could not really live without him?
Edward halted in front of her, unsmiling, eyes blazing. Sofie’s unease crystalized into fear. His lips turned down and he darted a glance at Henry, who held her arm. His regard moved back to her. “We are going to talk.”
Sofie drew in a deep breath, but could not find any sense of calm. “E-Edward. We c-can talk later—”
His hand whipped out. Before Sofie knew it, he had gripped her arm and jerked her forward to his side. Sofie cried out.
“Later?” he asked, both incredulous and furious. “I have spent four weeks chasing you across the Atlantic and you tell me we will settle this later?” His expression was thunderous. “No. We are going to talk, now. We are settling this, now.”
Sofie was helpless to refuse and she nodded, restraining a whimper. What did he wish to settle? The fact that she had fled with Edana—or the marriage he insisted upon?
“Sofie.” Henry came forward, pale. He turned to Edward. “Unhand her, Delanza,” he said thickly.
Sofie’s eyes widened at Henry’s display of courage.
And Edward faced Henry, a snarl marring his perfect features. “
Get lost.
”
Henry stiffened. “Unhand her. Before I am forced to make a scene.”
Edward released Sofie abruptly, visibly seething with
rage. His fists curled closed at his sides. “Go right ahead,” he said softly, dangerously. “Come on, Marten. I’m going to enjoy taking you to pieces.”
Henry blanched.
Sofie cried out. “Stop it!” She was in a state of abject disbelief. These two men were fighting over her? Over her? It seemed impossible—but it was not, it was real. “Henry, I am fine. Really.” She tried to smile and failed.
“You don’t have to go with him, Sofie,” Henry said.
“No,” Edward snapped, his fist close to Henry’s nose. It shook. “She has to go with me. Marten—she has no choice in this. None. When she left France in the dead of night,
with my daughter, denying me my rights,
she forfeited all of
her
rights.”
Sofie swallowed, wet her lips. Guilt made her flush. He made it sound terrible—running away with his daughter. Taking his daughter from him. God—it was terrible. But if only he had been more understanding and less demanding! If only she did not love him so.
“Every human being has inalienable rights,” Henry shot, but he was sweating, his brow beaded with moisture.
Edward laughed rudely. “Spoken like a damned lawyer! So you know? Then you know that you have
no
rights where Sofie is concerned, and that I have
every
right as the father of her child!”
Sofie looked from Edward to Henry, dumbfounded that they were still fighting over her. Then she realized that they were drawing a small crowd. For the men’s adversarial stances were unmistakable—as was her own frightened posture.
Had people overheard their conversation, as well? Despite her determination to survive as an unwed mother, her stomach curdled with more anxiety. She dared not look around her now.
“I have rights,” Henry said with great dignity, keeping his voice low. “Because I wish to marry her.”
Edward turned stark white. He stared. A dozen seconds must have ticked by. He said grimly, “Then that makes two of us.”
Sofie looked at Henry, who still appeared as tenacious as
any bulldog. She looked at Edward, who was itching for a physical battle.
“Henry, it is all right, I assure you,” Sofie said quickly. “Edward only wishes to talk. We will be gone a few minutes, no more. Edward—let’s go outside and continue this discussion privately.”
Edward swept his arm out, the gesture mocking and angry. As Sofie walked past him, leaving Henry appearing both doubtful and anxious, the hairs on her nape prickled with unease yet again. Her stomach roiled with the same dread she had been afflicted with all night.
Only now did she recognize that it had been a premonition of doom.
The night was black and cold. A thousand stars glittered like diamonds over their heads in the cloudless purple sky. Sofie flinched when Edward took her elbow in a viselike grip. She had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. She was afraid to start any conversation, afraid of where any words would lead, so she did not ask him where they were going.
The pale stones of the circular driveway glistened like pearls in the glow of the bright gaslights. Dozens of carriages and several automobiles lined it, and many more conveyances were double and triple-parked on Fifth Avenue outside the front gates. Edward paused before a long, round-nosed, gleaming black motorcar with a stark white leather interior. Before Sofie knew it, he had opened the door and shoved her inside and had climbed in beside her. He leaned over her and locked her door, then turned to stare at her.
Panic rose up in her. “You can’t lock me in this car!”
“No?” One brow rose. “I just did.”
Sofie trembled and hugged herself. “Where are we going?”
“We’re not going anywhere. Not until we’ve resolved things between us.”
Sofie’s teeth chattered, not as much from the cold as from his dire words.
Not until we’ve resolved things between us.
Edward’s gaze dropped to her mostly bare shoulders. Sofie tensed. It dropped lower, to the voluptuous curve of her
very bare bosom, swelling above the neckline of her dress. His jaw tightened. His eyes flicked away.
And he shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and settled it on her shoulders.
Sofie turned her face away from him, gazing blindly at the Ralston lawns, fighting the sudden urge to cry.
“How could you?” he said harshly, bitterly, staring at her again. “How could you have been so selfish and so cruel?”
Sofie’s gaze flew to his. “Edward, I’m sorry.” She was, more sorry than he could ever know.
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid. Of you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Sofie flung precaution to the wind. “I cannot marry you without love, Edward.”
Time stood still. Her heart beat so hard and so loudly, she was sure he could hear it, too. His face grew stark and the myriad muscles there all tightened. He stared out over the steering wheel, bound in braided black leather, at Fifth Avenue. “I see.”
Sofie was swamped with dismay. For if he had any feelings for her at all, he would have told her, giving her a chance to compromise her position and accept his proposal. For perhaps she could live with his affection, perhaps it would be enough.
But he only wanted Edana. Sofie hugged his jacket to her. His profile was bold and beautiful, but his eyes were bleak, frightening. She lowered her face, buried it against the warm, black wool. She could smell him. Faintly spicy, faintly musky, terribly male.
Edward faced her again, expressionlessly. “I want to see Edana.”
Sofie could hardly believe that they had settled the issue of their marriage so easily, and she almost sagged, but whether it was in relief or disappointment, she refused to consider. “Of course.”
“Is she all right?”
Sofie nodded, forced herself to speak. “Rachelle came with us. She is with Edana now.”
“Rachelle? The woman with the red hair?”
“Yes.”
He studied her, his emotions buried so deeply that they were impossible to read. “Where are you staying?”
“A boardinghouse. I’ll take you there. You can visit Edana anytime.” Sofie forced a bright smile to her face. All the while thinking,
He was not going to force me into marriage after all.
How happy she should be—how thrilled.
He stared at her. His gaze dropped. Sofie had let the jacket fall open, exposing her lush cleavage, and she pulled it closed abruptly. Now that the crisis was past, desire kindled between her thighs, forbidden but too powerful to pretend it did not exist.
“Do you wish to marry Marten?” he asked as one might ask a stranger for a weather forecast.
Sofie tensed. “I … I am thinking about it.”
His nostrils flared. “I see.” Fury sparked in his eyes. “Should I take that to mean you love him?”
Sofie drew back against her door. She wondered if he was afraid of losing Edana to another man. “Edward, you don’t have to worry,” she began quickly.
He gripped her shoulders and pulled her across the seat and into his arms. Sofie cried out, too late. He pushed her backwards so that her head fell against the plush leather headrest while his hands slid around her waist. And then his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her with all of his explosive rage.
His embrace was steel, and Sofie could not move a single muscle. Edward tore his mouth from hers, ending the punishing kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers. Sofie was afraid to move, afraid to speak. She was afraid to trigger his anger again. He was panting, but so was she.
And then she felt his hands on her waist, caressing her through the taffeta of her gown.
Strong, lean fingers moved high, then low, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
He moved against her again. His chest crushed her breasts, his mouth brushed her lips. A moment later he was pulling her lower lip very gently between his teeth. It was a request.
Sofie reached for his shoulders and whimpered and opened and he covered her mouth completely.
She had forgotten what it was to be kissed like this. Edward sucked her lips, mated with her tongue. Sofie entwined with him helplessly, eagerly. His hands slid down her hips, kneading greedily. As greedily, Sofie clasped and unclasped his shoulders. She strained against him, on fire now, wishing desperately that he would trail his kisses down her throat and to her achingly sensitive breasts.
Instead, his mouth locked voraciously with hers, his hands slid up her rib cage, thumbs splayed, and then over her breasts. An exhilarating pleasure swept over Sofie. She arched into him. Edward molded her, thrusting his tongue deeper still into her mouth, and suddenly Sofie found herself lying on her back, with Edward on top of her.
She cried out at the feel of his loins, massive and hard, her hands sliding down his back. Any coherent protest she might have wanted to make died deep in her throat.
Edward lifted his face from hers, his big body shuddering. Their gazes met. Something wild and fierce filled Sofie at the sight of his eyes, filled with hot male lust. She had never felt more wanton, more womanly, or more beautiful than in that moment. Tenderly she touched his cheek.
He said, “Does Marten make you moan and thrash the way I do?”
Sofie gasped.
“Does he?” he demanded.
His words were as hurtful as the lash of a whip. “No.” She writhed to push him off of her. “Please, let me up.”
Edward sat up immediately, staring at her.
Sofie struggled to rise. She saw where he was looking, and hot color, some of it shame, flooded her features. She pulled up the bodice of her dress, then slid as far away from him as possible. “Why? Why would you say such a thing?”
His smile lacked any humor. “Curiosity.”
She bristled. “The answer is no.”
He appeared indifferent and he shrugged.
Tears came to Sofie’s eyes and she blinked them back furiously. “Why did you do that, Edward?”
“You have to ask?” He was incredulous, bitter, and mocking.
“Why would you try to seduce me?”
He said nothing, staring, eyes hard and bright—reminding Sofie of the diamonds he was notorious for smuggling.