The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (15 page)

“Damned good idea, my girl. I’m feeling a bit
parched myself.” He hefted his body out of his seat and hoisted her
with him. “Follow me. I’ll show you how to wind through the crush.”
He towed her along behind him as he fought his way through the
throng with a single-mindedness that bore no resemblance to
courtesy or decorum.

How she longed for the quiet country life
she’d recently been forced to leave. London was noisy, impersonal
and unforgiving. There was no peace or tranquility to be found
here. People roamed the street at all hours, women of the night
selling their bodies as easily as a street vendor selling his
wares. Even the horseback ride in Hyde Park the other day had been
congested and showy. Men and women went there to gather attention
and cast lures, not ride horses. One more week and she could return
home. She refused to think beyond that.

The crowd thickened as they neared their
destination. Sophie was jostled, bumped, pulled and she even
thought there was one occasion where someone patted her bottom. It
would have been much less wearing on her person had Thomas Jameson
traveled with the flow instead of forcing his large body through
the crowd, cutting his own path and effectively throwing people
about. He received more than one scornful look from bejeweled,
ornately-dressed women as well as threatening glares from the men,
young and old alike. Sophie attempted to keep her head bent as he
propelled her through the crowd, thankful she was among strangers.
Her betrothed appeared unaware of the stir he created and
therefore, did not slow until he had his port in hand and had
gulped a healthy swallow.

Sophie sipped her claret and casually
observed the crowd. She’d never seen such a display or jewels;
rubies, diamonds, emeralds, even amethysts, twinkling on necks,
fingers, wrists and hair, creating a fairytale image. The men
looked perfectly tailored in their cutaways of black or gray with
snow-white cravats immaculately displayed.

As she perused the gathering her gaze fell
upon the broad back of a man standing several feet away. She took
in the enormous shoulders, the narrow waist, the longish black
hair. Everyone else, including her betrothed, who was gulping down
his third drink, faded away.
The man reminded her of Holt.
His hair was shorter but his height, his build, even the arrogant
stance of self-assurance, reminded her of him. Her pulse skipped
three beats as the man tossed his head back in laughter. Rich,
deep, sensual tones resonated to her, held her, drew her closer.
She must see his face
.

She had tortured herself in this manner many
times before. The glimpse of a tall, broad figure with black hair
would drive her to near insanity, until she saw the man’s face.
Each time, she prayed it would be Holt, but it never was. After
each disappointing discovery, a mixture of sadness and relief
flooded her. What would she do if one of these nameless men
actually turned out to
be
Holt Langford? The man laughed
again, a soft, velvet ripple breathing through her. And then, as
though sensing someone watched him, he turned and met her gaze.
Navy eyes pierced her and stared straight through her as though he
had not seen her. Without a backward glance, Holt Langford, Earl of
Westover, casually strode away, a blonde beauty clinging to his
arm.

“I say, my dear,” Thomas Jameson’s words
slurred slightly as he grabbed Sophie’s arm and snagged her along,
“we best get back to our seats before the second act begins.”

Sophie looked away from the retreating
figure. She could not go back to her seat or anywhere she might
encounter Holt. “Forgive me, I’ve come down with a horrible
headache and fear I must leave at once. Would you be so kind as to
see to my wrap?”

“You don’t say?” Thomas Jameson eyed her
suspiciously.

“Yes, I am truly sorry.”

“Of course, my sweet.” A speck of a smile
washed over his fleshy lips. “In two week’s time, we’ll have the
rest of our days,” he winked, “and nights to spend together.”

***

Holt threw down another whiskey, his third.
He remained oblivious to the noise at White’s. As a matter of fact,
he’d been oblivious to everything for the past two hours. He
squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memory of Sophie’s beauty to
disappear. Who was he fooling? She was more beautiful than ever.
The burgundy velvet gown she wore tonight had clung to her
exquisite body, molding and shaping itself around her as she moved.
Her auburn hair had been gathered high atop her head, held in place
with ruby combs in such a way as to permit a few tendrils to escape
and trail down her neck. The emerald eyes that had held his gaze
were more vivid than he remembered, lush and green as a forest. But
there had been something different about her, something sad, almost
defeated. When she’d looked at him he hadn’t missed the glimmer of
hope in those sparkling eyes, a hope he’d squelched the instant he
turned his back on her.

She tormented him daily and his attempts to
purge himself of her through women and drink had all proved
unsuccessful. Even the sea, his greatest source of joy and solace,
had left him wanting. He’d begun to seriously consider taking over
his responsibility and accepting the earldom and had almost
convinced himself he could return to Ellswood without being
affected by her proximity. He hadn’t made it five days. He and
Jason had been enjoying their rendezvous in London, escorting
different ladies about each evening and staying out all hours of
the night. Tonight changed everything.

Tonight was why he was slowly and
deliberately drinking himself into a good, solid state of
drunkenness. Holt leaned back against the heavy oak chair and
closed his eyes. He’d just begun to relax when a hand settled
heavily on his shoulder, jerking him awake. He jumped up, nearly
toppling the table and sending his empty whiskey glass crashing to
the floor. He grabbed his assailant by the cravat and pulled
hard.

The other man choked and sputtered. “Stop!
It’s me.”

“Christ.” Holt released his brother and slunk
back into his chair. “I need another drink.”

Jason said nothing until the drinks were
served and Holt had taken three healthy swallows. Then he pinned
his brother with eyes that saw more than they should. “This little
drinking spree you’ve engaged in doesn’t have anything to do with
Sophie, does it?”

“I told you she’s not a topic for
discussion.”

“And I told you I would not mention her name
again, but I also know you saw her tonight and your behavior since
has become irrational. Which leads me to believe she’s the reason,”
Jason gestured to the half empty glass, “for this.”

“I saw her.” Holt scowled, staring into his
glass.

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“She’s getting married.”

The words sucked the air from his lungs. He
told himself he would not care. She could marry a man with three
heads for all it mattered to him. “Who would be the lucky man?” He
didn’t even realize he’d asked the question.

Jason shifted in his chair. “Thomas
Jameson.”

“That lecherous old bastard?” Holt grabbed
the end of the table to stop from punching someone.
Thomas
Jameson?
And then, he released his death grip on the table and
sat back. “Perhaps I should not have rescued her at the soiree.
Maybe, she wanted to be caught by the likes of that fool.”

“If you believe that, then
you’re
the
fool. Word has it she had no choice. Seems her old man harbored a
huge guilt over keeping her off the marriage mart. His death-bed
wish was to see her married posthaste and the only candidate
willing to take the other sister was Jameson.”

“Christ.”

“You know how much she hated him. She’s doing
this because she has no choice.”

“She’s of age to do exactly as she
pleases.”

“Not everyone does as he pleases just because
he’s able to,” Jason said quietly. “Sophie has other commitments,
mainly to her sister. I’m willing to bet she’s doing this to
protect Caroline.”

“The bastard will destroy her.”

“Yes.”

Holt said nothing. Damn, the alcohol wasn’t
working quickly enough. He didn’t want to feel pain and aching
emptiness, yet tonight, drinking only intensified those emotions.
No matter how strongly he denied it, he cared about Sophie. Very
much.

Chapter 18

The urgent knocking on the bedroom door
awakened Sophie from her semi-slumber. She sat up slowly, still
fully clothed and stifled a yawn. “Who is it?”

“It’s Clyde, Lady Sophie. There seems to be a
bit of confusion which requires your immediate attention.” The
butler cleared his throat. “There’s a gentleman come to see you who
won’t give his name and refuses to leave.”

Sophie hurried to the door and opened it.
“Thank you, Clyde.” She smiled at the old man, trying to allay his
obvious concern. “Please show the gentleman into the salon. I shall
be there momentarily.” Once the butler left, she attempted to
rearrange the combs in her hair which had fallen out while she
slept. It proved a futile effort, one she soon abandoned.

Who would be calling at such an hour? Only
one man ignored decorum so blatantly. But Holt Langford had given
her the direct cut tonight. It would not be him. Or would it? Equal
amounts of dread and anticipation built as she raced down the
spiral staircase, slowing her pace just outside the salon. She
inched open the heavy oak door and peered inside. A tall, imposing
figure faced the fireplace, his strong hands clasped behind him.
Holt
. He turned, rendering her incapable of word or thought.
She stood frozen to her spot as he advanced with panther-like
moves, his gaze trained on her.

“Still the beautiful temptress,” he said, his
voice low, his eyes caressing as they roamed her body.

It was almost too much. She’d waited so long
for his return and now he stood so close she could smell the spicy
scent of him, see the blueness of his eyes. Eyes that burned into
her with an intensity that frightened her. She stepped back. “Why
are you here?”

He moved closer. “Now there’s a question.”
His beautiful mouth curved into a ruthless smile as he fingered a
lock of hair that had escaped from one of her remaining combs. “So
beautiful,” he murmured. “And so deadly.” Frowning, he dropped his
hand and stepped away. “I’ve traveled halfway across the world to
extend my congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. And of course,
to meet the man who succeeded in winning your hand when I obviously
could not.”

Unable to bear his cruel taunts, she tried to
flee but he grabbed her, making escape impossible. “Why have you
come to torment me?”

His hold on her gentled. He was so achingly
close. “Do you really want to marry him?”

“The choice isn’t mine to make.”

“Who in the hell’s choice is it, if not
yours?”

She remained silent. She must carry out her
duty to Caroline even if it meant marrying a man she detested.

“
Answer me,” he
demanded.

She shook her head and turned to leave before
the tears started.

“Sophie.”

Holt hauled her against his chest and found
her mouth, his tongue delving inside. He backed her against the
door, wedging his knee between her legs until his hardness pressed
against her woman’s heat. It had been so long. She let out a
desperate moan as his fingers brushed her left breast and settled
on the hard object nestled against her bodice. “What the hell is
this?”

Sophie shrieked and pushed him away. He
stumbled, still clutching the object inside her bodice as ripping
fabric filled the salon. His gaze shot from Sophie’s exposed breast
to the source of her struggle lying in his open palm. She seized
that moment to throw open the door and run.

Holt stood alone in the salon, staring at the
object in his hand. The ruby medallion winked back at him,
tormenting in its brilliance.
She’d kept it, all this time.
He needed answers, but judging from her reaction, he would get none
from Sophie. His gaze narrowed on the jewel, his mouth set in grim
determination. For better or worse, the course was set. Sophie was
right. She really had no choice.

***

Vivian sat in the darkened library clutching
the paper. The heavy, emerald draperies prevented the morning sun
from reaching her. She liked it this way. Cool and dark. She’d
never believed in fate or anything remotely close to hope, but as
she stared at the bank draft which had recently been delivered to
her, she thought perhaps divine destiny existed after all. She had
a responsibility to see it carried through and she would not
disappoint. Soon. Very soon.

She closed her eyes and centered on events of
long ago, events she revisited daily.

From the moment she met Edward Langford, Earl
of Westover, she entertained very personal plans for him. It
mattered not that we was married or that he was neighbor, best
friend, and business partner to her brother, Arthur. She’d been
drawn to Edward because she sensed in him a dangerous side he kept
well hidden from friends and family. Nonetheless, it existed,
throbbing just below the surface of propriety. Secretly drawn to
the dark and forbidden herself, Vivian had been terribly excited by
her desire to discover if her perception of the man was indeed
correct.

The affair began the very week after Vivian’s
arrival at Waverly Manor. It was so easy really, because there was
no need for pretense. Both craved sexual adventure, both demanded
fulfillment. There were times when Edward used her so roughly every
muscle in her body ached. Vivian never complained. Rather, she
exulted in the sensations. She believed that while he might be
married to another, Edward Langford
needed
Vivian’s willing
body and insatiable appetite. Perhaps one day they would even
discuss a townhouse for her where he might spend all his
nights.