Everything I Ever Wanted (52 page)

Spent, they lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets while their hearts settled and their breathing calmed. He nudged her gently from her sideways sprawl and fit her against him until they were like spoons in a drawer. Reaching over India's shoulder, South turned back the lamp so that only a flicker of light remained. He thought she would sleep almost immediately, but she did not so much as close her eyes.

"India?"

It was as if he had asked an entire question with only that slight inflection of her name."I think I shall go to Marlhaven after all," she said quietly.

"You are certain?"

"No, not in the least." She took his hand in hers, threading her fingers through his. "But I find that when I try to put all that has happened behind me, it follows me everywhere, and when I put it in front of me, it blocks my path. I suspect the answer is to learn to keep it beside me."

"Like me."

"Yes," she said. "Exactly like you."

South pushed aside the heavy lock of hair that lay against her neck. He kissed her there. "Shall I go with you?"

"If you like."

"Then I shall."

She smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. In time her eyelids fluttered and eventually closed. Her lashes lay still in a dark arc against her cheek. The clasp of her fingers relaxed. South listened to the cadence of her breathing change and felt the subtle shift in the press of her body against his. It was no small pleasure he enjoyed, watching her fall asleep. "You may no longer need me to save you, India," he whispered into the near darkness. "But you cannot expect that I should fail Hortense."

Where his palm rested warmly on the slight swelling curve of India's abdomen, their child stirred.

The Compass Club returns!

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of East's story,

ALL I EVER NEEDED,

coming from Zebra Books in October 2003!

Dear Reader,

The Compass Club stories all begin at Hambrick Hall, an exclusive, though entirely fictional, school in London. The four boys who make up the total membership of the club remain fast friends into adulthood. Like all friends, they connect and collide and go their separate ways, coming together again when the need is there. The adventures of Northam, Southerton, Eastlyn, and Westphal do not happen one after another, but more or less at the same time. (How convenient, uncomplicated, and boring life would be if my friends would put their lives on hold until I get through my crisis!)

The books are independent of each other, yet you might experience a sense of deja vu as you read certain scenes. That's because there are some events that are played ou: again, though from a slightly different direction. Sometimes it's North's, sometimes South's, sometimes well, you get the idea.

All the best,

Jo

June 1818, London

There was a fluttering across the tip of Sophie's nose. She batted at it idly, too weary to open her eyes and identify the cause. A moment passed before the tickling visited her again, this time between her honey-colored brows. She frowned slightly, creasing the space just above her nose. When it came a third time it fluttered across her cheek. It was when the sensation flickered along her jaw from ear to chin that Sophie was roused to action.

She slapped herself lightly on the side of the face and was rewarded for her effort, not by trapping an offending insect, but by the echo of oddly familiar laughter. It struck her with more force than her hand had against her cheek. She knew the deep throaty timbre of that laugh. Even when heard in concert with his three friends she had always been Mrie to distinguish which thread of sound was his.

Lady Sophia Colley blinked widely and stared up into the amused countenance of Gabriel Whitney, the eighth Marquess of Eastlyn.

"May I?" he asked, letting his hand sweep over the expanse of blanket where Sophie sat. "It is a tolerably fine day for being out of doors and settled in the heart of nature's bounty."

The garden at No. 14 Bowden Street was hardly the heart of nature's bounty, but Sophie felt certain the marquess knew that. She wondered if he thought she was unaware of the same. Perhaps he believed her naivete extended to all manner of subjects. Sophie rose as far as her knees, quickly pushing the rucked hem of her dress to modestly cover her ankles. "You might find the bench over there more to your liking."

East glanced over his shoulder to the heavy stone slab supported by two frighteningly plump cherubs. He raised one eyebrow. "I don't believe so, no. I would not find it in the least comfortable." The eyebrow relaxed its skeptical arch. "But if you are opposed to sharing your blanket, I will avail myself of this patch of grass."

Before Sophie could protest that she had no objections, or rather that she would voice none, the marquess simply dropped to the ground, folding his legs tailor-fashion and resting his elbows lightly on his knees.

"Please, m'lord," Sophie said quickly. "Your trousers will be stained."

"It is good of you to warn me, but it is of no consequence."

"You will allow that your valet's opinion might be contrary to your own."

He smiled."You are right, of course." East moved to the blanket where he repositioned himself in the same manner as before. He pointed to the book at Sophie's side."What were you reading?"

Sophie could hardly make sense of the change of subject. She had to glance at the book to prompt her recollection of it. "It is my journal."

"You keep a diary, then. A worthy endeavor."

"Yes, I like to think so."

"Though perhaps not so interesting as woolgathering. Deep contemplation beneath an apple tree has much to recommend it. Or so North says." His rich baritone voice softened to a confidential tone. "I believe he has been inspired by Sir Isaac Newton's success."

Sophie's eyes darted into the boughs. Was it too much to hope that an apple would fall directly on the marquess's head? Barring that event, was it too much to hope one would fall on hers?

Following the direction of her gaze as well as her errant thoughts, Eastlyn casually remarked, "They're puny green things now, but if you will invite me to return in the fall when they're beautifully ripened and it takes no more than a hint of wind to nudge them from the branches, I can promise you that one of us will be most satisfyingly thumped on the head, thereby putting a period to all awkward moments between us."

Sophie was sure she did not like having her thoughts so easily interpreted by his man. On the other hand, it was somehow reassuring that he also found this encounter awkward. Sophie eased herself back against the rough bark of the trunk and let her legs slide to one side. Strands of softly curling hair the color of wild honey fluttered as she moved. She lifted her face and regarded the marquess with a certain solemn intensity. If the eyes that returned his amused gaze could arguably be described as too large for her heart-shaped face, there was no argument from any quarter that they were remarkably sober.

"I've been in anticipation of your visit, my lord."

He nodded, equally grave now. How like Lady Sophia to place her cards before him. She did not dissemble or play coy as most young women in the same circumstances would do. Even as her lack of pretense raised her in his estimation, he was also reminded that she was not so very young, at least not by the standards that were often set for a marriageable age among the ton . She was more of a certain age, one somewhere after lajeunefille and before ape leader, mayhap in her twenty-third year. He was heartily glad of it, if the truth be known. Had she been younger he would have had to tread more carefully, taking special pains not to trample a heart already foolishly attached to him.

Lady Sophia was hardly foolish. On short acquaintance, it was perhaps the thing he liked best about herif he was taking no note of her singularly splendid eyes. It was not their studied seriousness that had drawn his attention on their first meeting, but their coloring, which was in every way the equal of her hair. He supposed the color they approximated was hazel, but it was far too dull a descriptor to be leveled at these features. If her hair was honey shot through with sunlight, then so were her eyes. Sophia's radiance, though, came from within.

This last is what made her so totally unsuitable. She was very nearly angelic with her too-perfect countenance. The heart-shaped face, the sweetly lush mouth, the small chin and pared nose, the large and beautifully colored eyes, and finally the softly curling hair that framed her face like the Madonna's halo it was all rather more innocence than East believed he could properly manage. In principle he was in favor of innocence in females. In practice he found it was tedious.

He waited for Sophia to gather the threads of her thoughts, loath to interrupt her now that she was earnestly giving him her full attention. This was to be an odd encounter, prompted by even more peculiar circumstances. A sennight ago he, Eastlyn, discovered that he was rumored to have made a surprising declaration. It seemed that from among all the young women counted as suitable to be his wife, Lady Sophia Colley was the one he had chosen.

"I have heard the rumors of our engagement," she said. "I want you to know that I recognize they have no truth to recommend them. My cousin has admitted that you have not been in correspondence with his father, nor had any meeting with him in which you might have sought permission for my hand. Harold and Tremont would be happy if it were otherwise, but wishful thinking on their part cannot make it so. I am afraid they did nothing to dissuade people from believing as they will, and for that I am heartily sorry. The earl would count himself fortunate to have such a marriage arranged for me. I hope you will understand and go gently with such remarks as you might make to others. If they have caused you embarrassment by failing to deny any link between my name and yours, I apologize."

A crease appeared between Eastlyn's brows. He let his chin drop forward and rested it on his steepled fingers. "Surely it can't be your place to apologize, Lady Sophia."

Since she did not think either Harold or Tremont had the stomach for it, even if they had the vocabulary, Sophie couldn't imagine who else was in a position to make amends. "I am not without responsibility, m'lord. I did not deny the rumors, either."

East raised his head and let his steepled fingers fall. He plucked a blade of grass and rolled it absently between his long fingers as he leveled Sophia with his thoughtful gaze. "You had many opportunities, did you?"

"I that is, I" Sophie was unaccustomed to fumbling for words. She did not thank the marquess for having (hat effect on her.

"I am not mistaken, am I?" East continued. "You are not often away from home."

He was scrupulously polite. Sophie could allow him that. He was kind to couch his observation that she was not the recipient of many invitations, "I am away as often as I need to be," she said.

"I see." A hint of a smile edged his mouth. "Almack's?"

"On occasion."

"The theatre?"

"When there is something worth seeing."

"The park?"

"When there is someone worth seeing."

He laughed. "Which is to say that you rarely take your constitutional there."

Distracted by his laugh, Sophie nodded faintly. She looked past his watchful eyes and focused on a point beyond his shoulder. A swallow alighted on the stone bench behind him and paced the length of it looking for crumbs. Since Sophie had permitted Harold's children to take tea there only yesterday, the swallow was fortunate in his choice of picnic spots. "Perhaps I am about town more often than you suspect and it is only that I am outside your notice."

Eastlyn started to deny it but caught himself abruptly when she held up a hand. Her smile was slight, but genuine.

"You must not be gallant, my lord, and deny such a thing is the most reasonable explanation. I am fully aware that I am an unlikely female to command your attention. It will ease your mind to know that our initial introduction aside, you are not the sort of someone I would go to the park to see."

It did not ease the marquess's mind. In point of fact he was not insulted, but she had tweaked him rather sharply, and while he thought he should avoid hearing her explanation, he simply could not. When he left the Battenburn estate this morning, he was in expectation of a wholly different meeting with Lady Sophia. Though he had cringed at the possibility, he had forced himself to consider the prospect of tears and how they might be dealt with swiftly but with some compassion. The exercise had been a waste of gray matter, he realized now. Far from being near tears, the eyes that met him were frank and reasonable. Except for one brief lapse, Lady Sophia remained composed. Perfectly so.

"You would not go to the park upon hearing I would be there?" he asked. "Even if I were driving my new barouche?"

"Do not feign disappointment, my lord. It is badly done of you. You can naught be but relieved that I bear you no affection."

He was. Or at least he thought he was until she placed it so baldly before him. He wondered if she was entirely correct in assuming his disappointment was feigned. "There you have me," he said slowly, regarding her with new interest. "But you must allow that I am curious. What makes me so beneath your notice?"

"Oh, no." She shook her head and the halo of hair waved softly about her face until she was still again. "You misunderstand. It is not at all that you are beneath my notice, only outside of it."

"There is a difference, I collect," he said dryly.

"Certainly. The former suggests you are not worthy of my attention. I meant to say that you simply do not fix my attention."

"You are not making it any more palatable, you know. I cannot recall when last I was so deftly cut to the quick."

Sophie searched Eastlyn's face for some sign that she had indeed done him an injury. His fine features remained impassive during her scrutiny, giving nothing of his thoughts away, no hint of amusement or distress. Still, it was Sophie's conclusion that he was teasing her. Any other outcome would have been difficult to imagine, no matter what emotion he affected. Her words could not have truly pricked him. The Marquess of Eastlyn must know he was recklessly handsome.

"Are you quite all right?" Eastlyn asked. It seemed to him that Lady Sophie had become several degrees more sober, if such a thing were possible. The wash of pink in her cheeks was gone now; even her mouth was pale. He was moved to look behind him, suspecting that whatever had caused this change in her countenance must be at some distance beyond his shoulder. East saw nothing but the garden wall and the stone bench, neither occupied by any member of her family likely to induce such alarm. "Shall I get you something? Water? Spirits?"

His offer of assistance forced Sophie to collect herself. It required rather more effort than she wished it might. "I am all of a piece," she said calmly.

One of Eastlyn's brows kicked up and he made a survey of her face, flatly skeptical of her assertion."You are certain?"

"Yes."

Eastlyn regarded Lady Sophia's perfectly cast features with some consternation. Her expression was now one of absolute composure, yet East had the distinct impression she was no longer aware of him in any substantive way. It was just as she had said earlier: he was unable to fix her attention.

Devil a bit, but it bothered him. It was not an admission he particularly wanted to make, and having made it, not one that he wanted to dwell overlong on. In what way could it possibly matter that Lady Sophia Colley was as uninterested in him as he was in her? Surely that was the best of all circumstances. Everything was made so much simpler by her easy acceptance of their situation. She did not blame him for any part of it, though she must suspect it was someone he knew who gave the rumor its sharp teeth. She was not in anticipation of a real offer of marriage, or even a sham engagement to satisfy the rumor mill until one of them was in a position to make a dignified exit. He would have insisted that she be the one to cry off, of course, and lay the blame for their dissolution at his feet. His reputation would not suffer unduly. Lady Sophia would not be so fortunate if she were cast as the one who had done the injury.

It was all moot. There would be no engagement, in truth or in fiction, and that was certainly as it should be. Eastlyn did not welcome the prospect of carrying out his work while observing all the tedious conventions that an affianced couple must needs endure. There might be less pleasurable ways to pass part of one's life, but they didn't come immediately to East's mind.