The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (18 page)

“She’s right of course. We begged you and now
we’re here, and the consequences are ours to face. Besides,” Sophie
smiled slyly at him, “as long as your brother doesn’t appear from
behind a curtain, I shall be fine.”

Julia scrunched her nose. “Oh, please, do not
wish that old sourpuss on us tonight. He’ll bring his cloud with
him and spoil our fun. And,” she squeezed Sophie’s hand, “we
are
going to have fun.”

***

“Alexander?”

“Hmmm?”

Francie Bishop stroked her husband’s arm and
murmured, “Doesn’t Julia Langford look absolutely delicious this
evening?”

“Delicious?” her husband countered. “I wasn’t
aware the woman was a piece of food.”

She swatted his arm and laughed. “You know
perfectly well I’m speaking of her beauty. Look at her. She’s
beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Hmmm, I suppose her features are pleasant
enough.”

“Pleasant enough?” Francie stared at her
friend’s golden beauty as Julia whirled about the dance floor,
moving from partner to partner. “I daresay husband, you are in need
of spectacles if you believe her merely pleasant.”

He shrugged. “Beauty is indeed in the eyes of
the beholder.”

“Alexander, why do you possess such an
absolute aversion to Julia Langford?”

“Aversion is a rather strong word.”

“Dislike then?”

He shifted and sighed, “Francie, I haven’t
had enough interaction with the woman to like
or
dislike
her.”

“Then I wish you would cease your attempts to
prevent me from seeing her.” She frowned at her husband and
muttered, “It isn’t fair, Alexander. She’s my friend.”

His silver gaze narrowed on her. “I’m well
aware of your acquaintance with Julia Langford. While I may not be
particularly fond of her antics, I’ve never tried to prevent you
from seeing her, though that is a thought.”

“Are you saying you haven’t intercepted
invitations to Ellswood?”

“No.”

“Or neglected to inform me of her
visits?”

He scowled. “Absolutely not.”

“What about
my
invitation to her three
weeks past? The one she never received?”

“Francie,” he warned.

“You’ve never engaged in subterfuge to keep
us apart?”

“Never. Now enough of this nonsense.”

Francie wrinkled her nose and tapped her
chin. “If you didn’t, then who did?”

Chapter 22

He watched them from the far corner of the
ballroom as they laughed or joined in the dance. Lady Westover
remained at the center of attention, her dance card ever full. Men
hovered about, eagerly anticipating an introduction and an
opportunity to speak with the beautiful, charming new countess.

Holt cursed as he recognized the men circling
his wife like hungry jackals. There was George Townsend, Earl of
Braelton, smooth-talking and just a bit too handsome. It was said
he could talk a woman out of her corset in less than an hour.
Beside him, Jason Genson, Earl of Halingsford, leaned over to
whisper in Sophie’s ear. The man was a known rakehell who preyed on
lonely widows and married women. It would appear he had set his
sights on Sophie. After all, she was not here with her husband and
a brother and sister-in-law did not wash.

If anything, they might indicate a troubled
marriage and Halingsford was reputed to have the scent of a hound
in such matters. Holt spotted Edward Scofield, Earl of Treston,
advance toward Sophie. He detested Treston most, since their school
days when Holt had taken a beating for a misdeed committed by the
bastard. It was well known in polite and impolite society that
Treston possessed no morals and would make a deal with the devil if
it served his interest. There were even dark rumors he was a spy, a
traitor to his country. How could she even speak with that dredge?
The men were scheming, heartless bastards and though they might
possess titles and fat purses, they were less than the lowest
street beggars. Would his wife fall prey to their charms? He must
remain calm and observe the events of the evening. Would she prove
unfaithful? He had to know.

Holt was still contemplating his wife’s
unsavory companions, when Jason burst through the crush to reach
Sophie’s side. “I am responsible for Lady Westover’s welfare during
my brother’s absence,” he declared, wedging himself between Sophie
and her admirers. “I can assure you he would not be pleased to
discover you circling her preparing for the kill.”

“Jason!” Sophie gasped.

“These are not nice men, Sophie.” He threw
each man a disgusted look and continued, “I only regret I was
detained and could not get to you sooner.”

“Here now, Langford,” Jason Genson spoke up,
smiling at Sophie. “We mean Lady Westover no harm. We are
captivated by her beauty and intelligence and only wish to become
better acquainted.”

“Don’t insult me, Halingsford. I’m well aware
of how you acquaint yourself with females.”

“Perhaps you’re interested in the countess
yourself, eh, Langford?” the Earl of Braelton smiled slyly, then
laughed outright.

“Enough!” Jason yanked the man forward by his
cravat, twisting it about his neck, effectively blocking the very
breath from his lungs. The earl choked and sputtered, his face
turning crimson. Jason yanked on the cravat once more. “Your
thoughts are as sick as you are, you worthless piece of rubbish.
Next time, I’ll call you out for a comment like that.” Then he
flung him aside and grabbed Sophie’s arm. “Let’s get out of
here.”

They wound their way through the throng of
onlookers not slowing until they’d reached the far side of the
ballroom. “Thank you,” Sophie said. Jason scanned the dance floor
and did not respond. “They really were quite full of themselves,
weren’t they?” she ventured.

He stared at her, his gaze cold and hard. “We
should not have come. It was a foolish thing to do when I knew the
danger.”

“Very foolish, indeed,” Holt said. Jason and
Sophie turned toward him, dread splashing their faces. Holt
advanced slightly, his eyes on his wife. “It would appear my dear
wife has kept you quite busy trying to defend her honor and
protecting her from the likes of rogues and rakehells. Here I
thought she might be pining for me.”

“Hello, Holt.” Sophie’s voice was colder than
a lemon ice. “I take it you had a pleasant ‘business’ trip?”

He shrugged. “Business is business.”

“Indeed it is.” Her eyes flashed. “And
pleasure is pleasure, is it not?”

He chose to ignore the liquid sweetness of
her voice. How could a woman switch from lemon ice to syrup in a
matter of seconds, and make both sound equally formidable? “What
are you implying?”

“I’m not that naive. Everyone knows what’s in
London besides business.”

“Do tell, sweet wife, for there are many
things in London. What do you speak of?”

“I think you two should bring this
conversation to a more private location before we read all about it
in the morning paper.” Jason placed a hand on Holt’s shoulder as he
spoke. “I’ll stay and see to Julia.”

Holt threw his brother a dark look and
nodded. “You and I will discuss your misplaced devotion in the
morning.” And with that, the Earl of Westover placed an arm about
his wife’s waist and quit the ballroom.

***

Several minutes had passed since the carriage
pulled away from the Carlington estate and began making its way
toward Ellswood. Sophie had expected her husband to pounce on her
with recriminations and demands the very second they were settled
in the carriage, but that had not happened. Rather, he’d sat across
from her, staring out the window, saying nothing. She studied his
profile in the semi-darkness, grudgingly admiring his ability to
wear his looks with such casual elegance. It only served to make
him more appealing. More irresistible, she corrected. She balled
her fists beneath the numerous folds of her gown, digging her nails
into her palms as visions of her husband charming his London ladies
with his looks and his hands floated before her.

“I’ve missed you.”

His quiet words jerked her out of her
nightmarish imaginings. “You merely tired of your whores.”

“I did miss you, though with that waspish
tongue, I’m beginning to wonder why.”

“Spare me. You left our marriage bed the day
after our wedding without a by your leave to travel to London on
supposed ‘business.’ And,” she pointed a finger at him, making no
attempt to hide her outrage, “you left your brother to the
disagreeable task of telling me. You didn’t care enough to let me
know you were going or when you would return. Have you any idea
what it’s like to be deserted in your husband’s home the day after
your wedding? The day after, we . . .” She couldn’t say it for the
tears threatened and she vowed she’d kill herself before letting a
single one slip. “You humiliated me.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“One would have to care to be hurt, would one
not?” He’d never know she’d cried for three days and took no meals
for two. “I said you humiliated me. There is a difference.”

He showed no sign of emotion save the tiny
twitch on the left side of his jaw. The least the man could do was
argue with her, perhaps raise his voice so she would be justified
when she raised her own. She’d practiced this moment for weeks,
alternating sarcasm and venom into her tongue-lashing and now he
was taking even that from her with his ridiculous silence.

“Have you nothing to say?”
Speak damn you,
speak.
He shrugged with a nonchalance that made her want to
slap his arrogant face.
How dare he?

But she knew better. A man like Holt Langford
could dare to do exactly as he pleased because he cared for nothing
and no one but himself. “You bastard,” she spat out, determined to
unleash her fury. “You inconsiderate, arrogant bastard!” She lunged
at him, pummeling his chest with her fists. “I hate you. I hate
you!”

“Enough!” He grabbed her wrists and held
them. “I haven’t been with another woman.”

She was inches from his face but refused to
look at him.

“I said I haven’t been with another
woman.”

“And my best friend is a donkey.”

“Damn you, Sophie.” He pulled her onto his
lap and clasped her chin between his fingers. “Look at me.”

She shook her head.

“Sophie—”

“No.”

He let out a very long, very annoyed sigh.
“For some ridiculously insane reason, I don’t seem to want any
other woman.”

She stiffened.

“Did you hear me? I don’t want any other
woman, Sophie. Only you.” He placed a soft kiss behind her ear.
“Only my wife.” His mouth trailed along her neck, planting feathery
kisses that gave her goose bumps.

She would not be distracted. “You left
me.”

“I was a fool,” he whispered, tracing her
earlobe with his tongue. “An incredible fool.”

“Yes, you were.” She shivered as his fingers
eased down her back. “Very . . . foolish.”

“Abominably foolish,” he murmured as he
leaned close to nuzzle her neck.

Concentrate
, she told herself.

“I won’t leave you again, my love.” He
stroked his tongue along the column of her neck, drew a tiny wedge
of flesh into his mouth, and sucked.

She moaned.

“I promise.”

“How can I trust your promises?” She inclined
her neck to give him greater access.

The kisses stopped and Holt tilted her chin
to meet his gaze which burned into her. “I promise I will not leave
you again. I fled to London to break the spell you cast on me, but
I fear, it is too late. You are with me,” he laid a hand on his
chest and said, “deep inside, no matter where I go.”

When the tears threatened this time, she let
them spill for they were joy-filled. “Oh, Holt,” she murmured,
placing the softest of kisses on his mouth.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured,
stroking a hand from her breast to her thigh. “I have much to
repent.”

Sophie sighed, her body melting against his
as the last shreds of willpower evaporated with his words. And then
there were no more words as he turned her face to his and took her
mouth in a long, sweet kiss. Sophie gave herself up to him, opening
her mouth to accept his tongue, stroking it with her own,
whimpering with pleasure. Holt groaned, his hands devouring her
body, stroking, kneading, possessing.

“Kneel over me, my sweet,” he commanded
softly as he grabbed her hips. “Like this,” he said, taking one of
her legs and placing it on the outside of his thigh. His smile
spread as he watched her do the same with her other leg. “Now sit
back and let me pleasure you.” She followed his heated gaze to the
large bulge in his trousers.
Dear Lord!
When she cupped his
manhood, he sucked in a breath and jerked against her hand. “You’re
playing with fire.”

“Perhaps, I like the heat,” she murmured,
emboldened by his reaction. “Perhaps I enjoy the
burn
.” She
moved her hand over the bulge in his trousers and let out a throaty
laugh as he groaned and thrust himself into her open palm.

“You,” he continued through clenched teeth,
“are most definitely going to get burned.”

She laughed again, soft and low, as she
stroked the length of him with both hands. When he ran his fingers
along the neckline of her gown she caught her breath, aching for
his touch on her bare breasts.

It would seem he shared her desire for he
eased the gown from her shoulders and loosened her chemise.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, pushing the fabric aside to expose her
breasts. “So beautiful.” He captured a nipple in his mouth, gently
sucking while he caressed the other with light, circular strokes
that drove her mad.

“Oh, Holt,” she sighed.

He sucked again, tugging her nipple with his
teeth and the sigh became a moan. The need to touch that most
intimate part of him burst into a hot wetness between her legs and
she began undoing Holt’s trousers. After a few fumbling attempts,
his manhood sprang free. She touched him, gently at first, then
more boldly, increasing her strokes, measuring the length of him
until he was slick and heavy and thrusting into her hands with
hard, greedy strokes.