The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (5 page)

“I wouldn’t advise trying that again,” he
warned. “You may be the daughter of an earl, but we both know you
are no lady.”

“Blackguard.”

“Venture near me again and it will be at your
own risk.”

“Venture near
me
again, and I shall
have you shot,” she countered.

Gregory Thurston studied her a long moment
before he slowly released his grip on her wrist, threw back his
head, and laughed.

***

“Did you see Sophie and Mr. Thurston this
evening?” Francie Bishop laid the silver brush on her dressing
table and turned to her husband. “They were standing exceptionally
close.” Her eyes sparkled. “Did you happen to notice?”

Alexander Bishop tied the belt of his
dressing gown and shot his wife a warning. “Do not even start,
Francie.”

“I am only making a simple observation.”

“Which will turn into another matchmaking
attempt, just like all the others.” He sifted his fingers through
her reddish-gold curls and said, “Need I remind you how those
turned out?”

“Misunderstandings, all of them. Had Lord
Winson not taken Lady Mulingen’s comment about his scrawny neck to
heart, they might well have suited.”

“She called him a chicken and said she would
rather marry a convict at Newgate.”

“Clarissa was a bit overwrought when she said
it.”

Alexander lifted a brow. “Indeed.” Would he
ever get used to his outspoken wife who ran about the grounds
barefoot and swollen with child? In their scant years of marriage,
she had brought light and hope and love into his life, and given
him a son they named Harry. Unfortunately, Francie suffered one
fatal flaw which proved damned disturbing to Alexander’s state of
mind; she believed everyone should experience the joy of marriage
and thus had embarked on a crusade to play matchmaker.

She had been horribly unsuccessful.

But in typical Francie fashion, she refused
defeat, stating her less than favorable attempts were the results
of incorrigible candidates and not inadequate matchmaking
skills.

“Sophie is quite capable of tending to her
male suitors,” Alexander said, stroking the slender column of his
wife’s neck.

“If that sourpuss aunt of hers has a say, she
shall marry a man twice her age with a stooped back and rotten
teeth.”

He planted a kiss behind her left ear. “You
have a most vivid imagination, my dear.”

“Have you seen Lord Groland, her latest
prospect?” She let out an indelicate snort. “He has five children
and
a mistress.”

“Sophie has given no indication of joining
the husband hunt.”

“Of course she has not made it officially
known she is reconsidering her position on marriage but I caught
Mr. Thurston watching her overlong from the corner of the ballroom.
And when Lord Potsdane introduced them, I thought she might
actually swoon, and Sophie is no silly nilly.”

“Hmmm.” He ran his tongue along the rim of
her ear. God, but he couldn’t get enough of her.

Francie’s voice faltered. “They would make a
stunning couple.”

“Would they now?” Alexander slipped his hand
inside the front of Francie’s dressing gown.

She shuddered and met his gaze in the mirror.
“He is very large,” she murmured, “and while not handsome, there is
a certain presence about the man one might find appealing.”

“Appealing.” He brushed his fingers over her
breast, stroking a nipple lightly. “I do not think I like my wife
regarding other men to determine their appeal.” He smoothed his
other hand along the outside of her dressing gown, tracing the
outline of her protruding belly. “And I am certain Harry’s little
brother or sister would not approve of his or her mother gazing
upon men in order to determine their appeal.”

Francie sighed as his fingers dipped lower on
her belly. “Oh, Alexander . . . ”

“Yes, wife?” He smiled and eased his fingers
along the inside of her thigh, achingly close to her woman’s
heat.

“I fear I am on fire.”

“You don’t say?”

She arched to meet him as her eyes fluttered
shut. Now he would see what she had to say about Gregory Thurston’s
appeal. Knowing his wife, she would soon give herself up to the
pure sensual ecstasy that enveloped them whenever they touched. The
intense needing had not stopped since the first time they lay
together. In truth, he feared it might never stop, and he would
remain forever a desperate, besotted fool in love with his wife.
There were worse punishments he decided as he bent to capture a
pink nipple. Much worse, indeed.

***

A gush of wind and a burst of laughter
announced the return of Sophie and Caroline from their morning
ride. The two sisters rushed through the front door, almost
toppling Clyde in their haste. Sophie turned to Caroline and moved
her hands in gestures of speech which brought a huge grin to
Caroline's wind-blown face.

"Oh, how I do enjoy our rides.” Sophie leaned
close and whispered, “Soon, we shall begin practicing astride. Then
you will fly across the estate with lightning speed and grace.”

Aunt Vivian took that very moment to emerge
from the shadow of the stairs. “Your father requests your presence
in his library.” Her gaze drifted past Caroline. “Immediately,” she
added, turning to disappear down the long hallway.

Sophie placed a protective arm around her
little sister's shoulders, and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Run
along and search out Mrs. Jeffries for some lemon cakes. I shall
meet you directly.”

Caroline nodded and raced off toward the
kitchen. Once she was gone, Sophie drew in a deep breath. What
could Father want that was so urgent? Had he muddled the ledgers
again? Not that he handled the accounts on any regular basis, but
there was the rare occasion when he still wanted to control the
books, which never lasted past an empty bottle.

She eyed the closed library door as a new
possibility seeped into her brain.
One of the gentlemen from the
Potsdane soiree wanted to call on her
. Which one? Sophie cursed
the black-haired devil who had made this blasted husband hunting
necessary.

Just then, the library door burst open,
slicing her thoughts into jagged pieces. Her father stood in the
doorway, an excited glaze covering his rheumy eyes. “Sophie, my
dear, come. We have a guest."

It
was
a suitor! “Father, I am hardly
prepared to accept a visitor.” She gestured toward her riding habit
and boots. “If you will allow me but a few moments, I shall make
myself presentable.”

“Bah! You’re lovely as you are. Come. I’m
certain our visitor will not be concerned with your dress. He is
himself, ah, shall we say, a bit unconventional. Yes,” he said with
a faint twist of his lips, “unconventional would be an appropriate
word.”

Unwilling to risk the loss of her father's
sudden good spirits, Sophie moved toward him, attempting to smooth
the wrinkles from her riding habit. Not only was she unable to do
so, but upon closer inspection, she noted mud splattered on her
boots. She groaned and tossed her head, which sent a few errant
pins skittering across the floor. Dear Lord, she would certainly
frighten away any would-be suitor, but she’d have to make the best
of it. She pasted a smile on her face and followed her father into
the library. A man sat in a chair facing away from her which made
him indiscernible save for his very long, very muscular thighs
encased in fawn breeches and black boots. Sophie rounded the chair
just as the man stood.

The shock of Gregory Thurston’s compelling
navy gaze boring into her caused her to stumble and careen forward.
He reached to catch her, but she righted herself before he touched
her, at which time she took several steps backward.

“Lady Sophie, what a pleasure to see you
again.” A slow smile slid across his lips.

“Thurston just informed me the two of you had
met before,” her father called from the sideboard.

“Briefly,” she replied, ignoring Gregory
Thurston’s insolent gaze.

“Yes,” the blasted devil interjected
smoothly, “we had a very enjoyable evening at the Potsdane soiree
discussing shipbuilding and the like. Your daughter is a most
informed companion.”

Her father smiled and handed her a glass of
sherry. “Well then, Sophie, you must already know Mr. Thurston is
planning to purchase a fleet of ships. He’s looking to us to build
them and has requested you accompany us to the docks and take an
active part in providing information and such. I’m inclined to
agree that aside from me, no one understands our business as well
as you.”

“But Father,” Sophie sputtered, “surely you
can't be serious. It would be quite improper for me to accompany
Mr. Thurston anywhere, and most certainly not to the docks.”

“Child, Mr. Thurston is a gentleman and I
will be present. Besides, when have you concerned yourself with
properness? I daresay,
that
word has never been part of your
vocabulary.” He took a healthy swig of sherry and focused on his
visitor. “Thurston, my man, consider it done. My daughter and I
will visit the docks tomorrow.”

“Father, did Mr. Thurston inform you he’s
staying at Ellswood?” There, let the man convince her father to
trust him after he admitted he resided with their enemy.

“He did. Seems he and Jason Langford were
friends at Oxford. Can’t fault a man for that, now can we?”

“If Mr. Thurston intends to purchase a fleet
of ships, why is he not building with the Langfords?”

“Hmmm.” This question gave her father pause.
“What did you tell me, Thurston?” He scrunched his thin nose and
said, “Oh, yes, I remember. Word abounds our ships are superior to
Langford’s. No surprise there, is it?”

“And there is the rash of recent fires at
Langford Shipping,” Gregory Thurston added. “I would not like to
see my purchases in flames.”

Her father coughed and emptied his glass.
“Yes, well, there you have it.”

Chapter 5

Three short days after Gregory Thurston’s
introduction to Seacrest Shipping, Sophie grew certain the man from
the gamekeeper’s cottage had been a mere figment of her overactive
imagination. The Gregory Thurston seated in the carriage across
from her and her father looked and dressed like the man from the
cottage, but this one proved a study of exemplary manners and
grace. Gone were the predatory looks so similar to a wild animal
stalking a delicacy. Gone also were the hot gazes that could strip
a woman of her clothes and her inhibitions in an instant and
promise pleasures which could not even be imagined.

Even the man’s voice had lost its seductive
timbre, replaced with a brisk business tone. And the ruby medallion
might still be resting against his massive chest, but how would one
know with such a buttoned-up, acceptable shirt and jacket?
What
had happened?
And why on earth did it bother her so much?

Sophie mulled over this strange occurrence,
growing more perplexed and agitated as the days passed. The man was
too
polite. Of course he had asked several relevant shipping
questions and even appeared interested in her answers, but aside
from that, he’d ignored her. So much for mutual attraction. That
certainly had not lasted over long, at least on his part, Sophie
grudgingly admitted.

Smoothing her royal blue gown, she refolded
her hands in her lap and gazed out the window, pretending interest
in the city streets. Dear Lord, the very sight and smell of the man
proved too overwhelming for her to concentrate on anything else.
She snuck a peek at him; he did indeed strike a compelling figure
even with a
buttoned
lawn shirt. There was no cravat, a
direct cut to society's dictates, which Sophie secretly applauded.
His black mane was still much too long and tied at the nape to
expose the gold hoop in his left ear which no well-bred lady should
find appealing. Drat, she rather liked it. Double drat . . .

From the corner of his eye, Holt watched the
play of emotions cross Sophie Seacrest’s face. The longer he
studied her, the more urgent his desire grew to touch her again.
But she would want more than he could give. For the briefest of
moments, he wondered what it would be like to settle down, in one
place, with one woman.

For the past few days, he’d tried to be
polite but distant and though appearances might prove deceiving, he
was failing miserably. The very sight of her snapped the tight
control he held over his emotions. She was the most exasperating,
annoying, contrary, bewitching, electrifying woman he had ever met.
Blast it all! The whole situation confused and angered him for he
prided himself on being a man of decision. It was time to take
control and execute his plan. Sophie Seacrest was but a beautiful
pawn in his carefully orchestrated scheme to ruin Seacrest Shipping
and he would do well to remember that.

***

The woman watched the couple emerge from the
carriage.

He was so tall, so devastatingly male.

She wondered if he still slept on his belly.
Naked. Visions of thick, black hair and brilliant blue eyes swarmed
her brain.

She had waited so long.

She missed him so.

Finally, he would be hers again.

Soon.

***

The gas lamps burned low signaling the
lateness of the hour. Shadows flickered across the room but Sophie
remained unaware as she pulled the ivory-handled brush through her
hair in a slow, methodical motion. She did not hear the chamber
door open or the footsteps padding toward her.

“Daydreaming about Mr. Thurston again, are
we?”

Sophie spun around and met the inquisitive
stare of her aunt. “I didn’t hear you enter.” She forced herself to
remain calm, lest her aunt notice the agitation her question
created.