My Seductive Innocent (21 page)

“Miss Vane, do you want me to help you out of your gown?”

“No, that’s all right.” Sophia picked a string on her gown for a moment, wanting to ask Mary Margaret if she knew where Nathan was, but she was almost afraid to hear the answer. Which was the very reason she squared her shoulders and met the woman’s eyes. She had allowed herself to be cowed once by Frank, she’d not allow herself to be intimidated by another man ever again. “Do you have any idea where Scarsdale is?”

A deep crimson tinged the woman’s cheeks and she started to shake her head. Sophia clutched Mary Margaret’s arm. “Please don’t lie to me. His aunt says he’s at his mistress’s, whom he sent for last week. “Is that true?”

“I don’t know, Miss Vane, honestly. Do you want me to try to find out? The stable master may know where His Grace went.”

“Could you?”

Mary Margaret smiled. “Of course. And I’ll do so discreetly, so none of the busybodies in this household know anything is amiss. I’ll be back shortly.”

Sophia nodded. Once Mary Margaret quit the room and shut the door, she took off her gown and put on her night rail. Her heart wouldn’t stop hammering and her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing, so she gulped the remaining contents of the wine goblet down and lay on the bed. Her head immediately began to spin. It seemed she lay there for an eternity, her stomach aching with thoughts of Nathan touching another woman, kissing another woman, and holding another woman as he had just held her.

Angry tears welled in her eyes. Before Nathan had swept into her life, she had only held the smallest hope that she would one day find love. But that tiny, secret hope had given her something to dream about in her darkest hours.
Now
, she was in love, and she feared the devil was going to break her heart. And then what would there be to hope for?

S
ophia awoke the next morning groggy, with an aching head, and angry that she had fallen asleep before hearing what Mary Margaret had learned. She summoned her lady’s maid, anxious to hear what she had discovered.

Mary Margaret appeared within moments and dipped a quick curtsy after entering the room. Sophia found it peculiar to have someone dipping a curtsy to her, but she knew it was proper, given that she was to be a duchess. Maybe. If Nathan was sleeping with his mistress, she couldn’t possibly marry him. The fact that not doing so would leave her in dire straights paled at the moment compared to her aching heart. Determined to know the truth, she pushed the thoughts away and focused on Mary Margaret. “What did you learn?”

“Mr. Burk says the coachman did take His Grace to a lady’s house last night, but that’s all he could tell me.”

Sophia’s stomach clenched, and her entire body went cold, as if chilled by a winter wind. “Thank you, Mary Margaret,” she murmured.

The woman bit her lip. “There’s more, Miss Vane.”

Of course there was. Bad news always seemed to flow like a stream. “Go ahead.”

“His Grace did not come home last night.”

The clench in her stomach grew ever tighter, until it felt as if her insides were nothing but knots. “How do you know?”

“I asked the chambermaid. I thought you might want to know.”

Sophia nodded, though when she did, the pounding in her head grew tenfold. “Is His Grace home now?” she asked through gritted teeth. She was not some simpering miss to be trampled on by the man. She was going to find Nathan, tell him what she thought of him, and then she and Harry were leaving. Never mind the fact that she didn’t know where they were going. Anywhere was better than here with someone who thought he could bed her one moment, then turn around and bed another the next. That may have been the kind of marriage that was commonplace with the
ton
, but that was not the sort of marriage she wanted.

“I don’t think so, Miss Vane. Will there by anything else?”

Sophia shook her head, and as Mary Margaret closed the door, Sophia closed her eyes and let the tears flow down her cheeks. One good cry was all she was going to give that blackhearted devil.

N
athan awoke with a start and stared blankly at the deep-burgundy curtains drawn tight around the bed. His first thought was that he’d been drugged by whoever wanted him dead. But then why the hell wouldn’t they have simply killed him?

He squeezed his eyes against the pounding in his head, and when the noise died away, anger erupted and he surged out of bed with a bellow. He knew exactly where he was. He’d gone to see Marguerite the night before to tell her their relationship was over. “Marguerite!” he shouted as he circled the bedchamber, searching for his missing clothing.

The door swung open, and his former mistress sashayed in the room in a fluttering, pink dressing gown. “You hollered, Your Grace.”

Marguerite cocked her head and pushed her lips into a pout he had at one time found sensual. Now, he found it annoying.

“You put something in my drink,” he stated, not bothering to ask. It was the only explanation. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the parlor, barely holding on to his patience, explaining to her for the third time this week that she had to go back to London and that his arrangement with her was over, though he would make sure she was well cared for until she found another provider. And the next memory was of waking up moments ago, without his shirt or boots on and with the faint taste of laudanum in his mouth.

Of all the times for Marguerite to decide to take advantage of the house he’d rented for her here, this week had been astonishingly bad timing for her to do so, and she’d not taken it well at all when he had told her he was getting married. He didn’t suppose for a moment it was the loss of his attention that bothered her. The loss of his money was undoubtedly her biggest concern.

Marguerite strolled up to him and lifted her arms as if she was going to encircle his neck. Instinctively, he recoiled. It was going to be difficult enough to explain to Sophia why he hadn’t been present for dinner last night; he didn’t need the scent of another woman lingering on him to make matters worse. Not that he really had to explain himself, but he had just told Sophia she would have his fidelity and he’d meant it.

Marguerite frowned. “You needn’t act so testy. You looked like death, and I decided you needed some sleep, not to go back to that girl child who tricked you into marrying her. I gave you just a pinch of laudanum.” Her eyes twinkled. “You used to like laudanum, remember?”

She trailed a finger between the valley of her breasts, and a memory of his once licking laudanum off those breasts flashed in his mind and shamed him to the core.

The muscles in his jaw twitched at a violent speed as he stared at Marguerite. He couldn’t say why he hadn’t ended their arrangement before now, except that she’d made no emotional demands on him and he’d liked that. He’d made it clear to her after he had gotten his life in order once more that he would never dwindle into such depravity again and he hadn’t. He’d sought out Harthorne and Aversley once he was thinking clearly and no longer taking laudanum and earned their friendships back, though it had taken some doing. Now, he needed to set Marguerite out of his life once and for all.

It had been foolish to describe Sophia to Marguerite, even if his description had been accurate. It had been thoughtless, and after last night, he saw Sophia more as a forest nymph than an undeveloped woman. He glanced at Marguerite and saw something he had never seen before. He saw his mother. Bile rose in his throat. Marguerite was vain, prideful, and cruel.

“Scarsdale,” Marguerite purred and wound her hands around his neck.

He disentangled himself and thought of Sophia. She didn’t have an iota of vanity or cruelty. Pride she had plenty of, but it was a pure pride that was different from anything he had known in other women. “She didn’t trick me into marrying her,” he snapped. “I chose to do so, which I have explained to you repeatedly.” He turned away from Marguerite, located his shirt, and tugged it on. He thought to simply walk out the door after delivering an express order for her to leave, or a threat if necessary, but he realized his coachman was likely gone. “What did you tell my coachman last night?”

“That you wanted to stay in my bed,” Marguerite said, a wicked grin pulling at her lips. “You will come back to me, you know. Once you bed her and she proves to be a mousy, timid thing that hates the marriage act as all wives do.” Marguerite huffed in a breath he suspected was to make her chest rise above her gown and not at all because she was upset. “You will be begging me to be your mistress again. I’m sure I’ll have another benefactor by then, Scarsdale, but you are always first in my heart. You know that. I will take you back anytime you wish it.”

Nathan glanced down at her, positive he’d never wish it. Even if Sophia turned out to be as cold as his mother had been to his father once they were married, he’d not seek refuge in Marguerite’s arms. “I will never be returning to you. My betrothed is neither mousy nor timid or cold.”

Marguerite snorted. “Liar. All noblewomen are timid and cold.”

Nathan’s patience snapped. He snagged a finger under Marguerite’s chin and lifted it slightly. “Careful, my dear. You push me too far and you will find no gentleman who wishes to be your benefactor. I want you out of the house by tomorrow. You may use the London townhome for the next month, but I want you out of there after that. Do you understand?”

“Afraid your future wife will find out about me and deny you the marriage bed?”

“I’m afraid of no woman. Nor do I bow to any woman’s commands.”

With that, he stormed out of the house and started on foot to Whitecliffe only to meet his carriage coming down the road. His coachman rolled the carriage to a stop with a nod and a smile. “Enjoy your night, Your Grace?”

“No,” Nathan snapped. “That”―he motioned behind him toward the house, unsure why the devil he was offering an explanation to his coachman―“is not what you think.”

Wilson’s eyes widened with obvious astonishment. “Of course not. Shall I take you home?”

Nathan nodded, and after climbing into the carriage, he settled into his seat and stared blindly at the passing countryside. Emotion was starting to rule his actions and he couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. He’d lost hope in people before he’d met Sophia, and now she was making him feel hope. Whether that would last or not was the real question.

N
athan descended the carriage contemplating exactly what to say to Sophia and whether telling her the truth about where he had been was even wise. Before he could make up his mind, the front door of Whitecliffe swung open and Sophia came marching down the steps dragging Harry and their small, ancient trunk behind her.

He stopped at once, both astonished and amused by the sight of his betrothed, who looked surprisingly fetching in an emerald-green-and-white-striped day gown. Madame Lexington must have altered something she had on hand and sent it over for Sophia. It was amazing what a properly fitting gown could do for a figure, he thought absently as he stepped sideways to block her flight. Then it became obvious she had no intention of stopping.

She whipped her gaze to his, and he felt momentarily lost in the bright blue eyes made dazzling with obvious anger.