My Seductive Innocent (36 page)

She was jolted out of her thoughts as the carriage came to a stop, and in a haze, she descended the carriage steps and forewent the offer for refreshments, instead choosing to head to her room. Halfway up the stairs, she remembered that she’d not had a chance to ask Aversley how it had gone taking Harry to Eton, but a familiar ache in her throat made it impossible to form words, anyway.

Even Harry was lost to her! He’d told her he was not a baby and preferred to be taken to Eton without her. He was likely sick of all her tears. When she felt better she would go visit him. Once she was in her room, she pulled the cord to summon Mary Margaret, who had agreed to accompany her to her new home, and she stood in silence as her lady’s maid undressed her and then helped her to bed. On Sophia’s request, Mary Margaret slid the heavy velvet curtains shut. Sophia wanted to block out the sun. Darkness seemed more appropriate to her mood.

“S
hould I be looking in here?” Colin asked his wife.

A dark glare was his answer, followed by Amelia crooking her finger at him. Once they moved out of the doorway of Sophia’s bedchamber and moved into the hall, Amelia shut the door with a soft click and set her hands to her hips. Damnation. Hands on the hips and a no-nonsense look from Amelia meant he’d made her mad.

“Do you see what I mean now?” she demanded.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was bleary-eyed from his quick trip to London and could barely see her lovely face, let alone decipher what she meant, but he knew better. Nor did he want her to question him about what he had gone to London for. He’d gone to see Sir Richard and asked the man to keep working on tracking down any information he could on the men who had worked for Ravensdale. If there was anyone left to pay for the deeds against Scarsdale, Colin was personally going to make sure they met their justice. So instead of saying what he felt, he rubbed the back of his knotted neck and thought carefully about exactly what to say. Questions were always good. They seemed to get him in less trouble than statements that could be misinterpreted. “You say she’s been in bed all week since I left?”

Amelia nodded.

“And the physician has been to see her?”

“She is not physically ill, Colin.” Amelia spoke in clipped words, which was very unlike her. “Her heart is broken.”

He forced himself not to react. “What does Dr. Jameson recommend?”

“Laudanum in high doses.” Amelia’s taut tone displayed her disapproval, not surprising given her mother’s former laudanum addiction.

“Jameson is dicked in the nob,” he said, confident that statement would be met with approval and not misinterpretation.

Amelia beamed before coming to her tiptoes and placing a quick kiss on his lips. “I’m glad you agree, darling! I knew you would. What shall we do? I’ve tried everything. Each day she slips further away. It’s as if she has lost the desire to live.”

His wife’s voice wobbled, and tears pooled in her eyes. He was done for, now. He wanted nothing more than to take to his bed and enjoy his wife’s body, but that would never happen while she was so distraught. “I’ll speak to her.”

“Will you?” Amelia asked happily and kissed him again. This one held the promise of a long, sweet night to come. “I was hoping you would say that. Give me a bit of time to rouse her and I’ll send her to your study.”

This night was becoming longer by the second. “I thought you said she would not get out of bed.”

“I’ll make something up.”

He didn’t doubt it. His wife had the heart of a saint but the scheming mind of a sinner. Instead of arguing, he simply nodded.

C
olin had never met a woman truer to her word than his wife. Which was why it didn’t surprise him in the least when, precisely twenty minutes later, a knock came at his study door, followed by Sophia’s weak voice asking if she could enter. Colin bid her to come in, and as she did, he experienced a moment of stunned shock at her ghostlike appearance, followed quickly by a burning, seething anger. Damn Scarsdale. He’d married this woman out of pity, she had fallen hopelessly in love with him, and then he’d gone and gotten himself killed.

Now the pity must have been transferred to Colin because he felt as if a hand was squeezing his heart. He motioned for her to sit down and took the opportunity to study her. Not that she would have noticed if he were openly gaping. She moved as if in a deep dream. Dark hair curled at her neck and around her face, which enhanced the stark whiteness of her skin. Too-sharp cheekbones defined her face, along with hollows where flesh should be. She was obviously not eating. Blue eyes that should have sparkled with youth stared dully at him, unblinking and unseeing.

He’d say just about anything to snap her out of her trance, but he hadn’t a clue what would work. He didn’t even know the entirety of her story or the details of how she had met Scarsdale and come to love a man who’d had no qualms letting anyone know that he’d sooner give his trust to a poisonous snake than a woman. Colin leaned back in his chair and drummed his hands against his thigh. In order to help, he needed to know all the facts.

“Tell me the entire story of how you came to meet and marry Scarsdale.” He’d purposely made his words sound like a command in hopes that she would simply obey.

For one second her shoulders visibly stiffened, and then she sagged into the chair. “Amelia said you wanted to speak to me about my brother.”

“Ah, yes. He loved Eton, and said to tell you he will write often.” The lie didn’t even bother Colin. The boy had been giddy at the sight of Eton, and Colin had practically had to box his ears to extract a promise that he would write his sister. The promise, given with much wiggling, grunting, and mumbling, was typical of a boy, Colin thought. But Harry had also said his sister was no longer herself. Colin promptly told the boy to get used to women’s moods, which changed more often than the wind.

“That’s nice to hear,” she responded in a small voice. “May I go now? I’m so tired.”

“I’d like to know how you met Scarsdale first.”

Her words came out hesitantly for a bit, but then picked up pace and began to flow. When she finished, Colin realized he had been gaping as she’d told her story. He snapped his jaw shut and tried to picture Scarsdale decorating his home for Christmastide and buying gifts for a woman he simply pitied. Suddenly, Colin had a gut suspicion that his friend may have married Sophia out of pity and a sense of honor to save her, but she had awoken, if not captured, his heart. The thought produced the conclusion that the best way to rouse Sophia from her melancholy was to fabricate a bit. He despised the word
lie
, and what he was about to say may have very well been the truth, or could have one day been so, at least.

“It is time you got out of bed. This show of weakness would have embarrassed Scarsdale. Why, when I saw him in London the night before he died, he could talk of nothing but you. How brave you were. How strong you were. How you would never crumble in the face of adversity. He would be astonished at how you are not picking yourself up and carrying on.”

He made his tone chiding at first, and then almost harsh. She didn’t need to be nudged gently; she needed a mental slap. He stood up and moved around his desk to grip her by the elbow, then forcibly helped her to stand. “And what of your brother? It’s scandalous to squander away the opportunity for him to have a good future. His acceptance into the
ton
will be difficult at best, but it will be near impossible if you do not become the lady you said you were going to become. A duchess does not overindulge in laudanum.”

Technically
, he had only known ladies of lesser titles who indulged in laudanum, so he wasn’t lying. His mother’s vice had been spirits. “A duchess does not go about with unkempt hair and bedraggled clothes. A duchess is daunting. Indomitable.” Had he forgotten anything? Good God, he was tired. “And flawless.” That should give her something to strive to achieve. “Can you become those things?”

Her eyes, suddenly sparkling with fierce determination, locked with his. “I can. Thank you, Aversley. Thank you very much.”

“Think nothing of it,” he replied. Amelia was going to be so pleased she’d likely do all sorts of sinful things to him. He struggled to keep a grin off his face as Sophia made her way to the door. She paused there and turned back to him.

“I’d like to visit his country house tomorrow so I can see for myself what sort of staff I will need to hire.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” He was brilliant! His talk had worked miraculous wonders! “I’m sure Amelia will be happy to accompany you and help you make decisions.”

“Will you come, as well?”

“I’d be happy to.” Instead of waiting for her to leave, he escorted her out of his study and up the stairs, and then they parted ways.

Candlelight flickered in his bedchamber, and Amelia lay draped across the bed in his favorite creation―nothing but her bare body. Desire throbbed to life as his wife rose to her elbows and gazed at him with slumberous eyes.

“Well?” Her husky voice made him hard. “Did you convince her to rejoin life?”

He nodded while stripping off his clothing in a manner of efficiency that indicated his need for his wife. Once he hovered over Amelia, she encircled his neck with her arms. “Tell me how you did it.”

“I convinced her that Scarsdale had loved her dearly and would be embarrassed by her lack of will. I gave her a speech about duchesses being indomitable and flawless,” he said with a grin.

Amelia puckered her brow. “But you lied.”

He brushed his lips against one of her taut nipples and then the other. She moaned and her eyes fluttered shut. Satisfaction coursed through him. “I stretched the truth. But darling―” he paused a moment and suckled her breast until she was squirming and making mewling sounds “―please can we finish this talk tomorrow? I vow I will tell you every word we said.”

“Tomorrow will be perfect,” she said breathlessly as he took her nipple in his mouth once more.

T
he next day Sophia stood in the portrait gallery of the home Nathan had left her and gazed up at the wall of family pictures. Aversley and Amelia stood silently beside her. A heaviness centered in her chest as she moved her gaze from one portrait to the next. The wall contained twenty portraits by her quick count—seventeen of Nathan’s mother, unsurprisingly. In them, she was lounging on a chaise with her hand clasping her hair, or pressed against the voluptuous bosom displayed, or grasping a dazzling necklace around her neck. One particular portrait depicted her dressed in a blazing-red riding habit with a tall black hat on her head and a hand planted firmly on her hip. Her face held a haughty expression. In another, she held a small, repugnant-looking dog in her lap, which she gazed down at adoringly.

There wasn’t a single portrait of Nathan and his mother together. Certainly, there wasn’t any loving family portrait. There was a portrait of Nathan’s father, a dark-haired, handsome man with a friendly smile. He leaned negligently against a pianoforte with one hand on his hip and the other splayed on top of the gleaming wood. One leg was crossed over the other and his sparkling coal eyes matched Nathan’s in color.