Emily French (30 page)
Authors: Illusion
Seth’s abrupt unease melted. He knelt and put his arms around her. “You taste of chocolate,” he whispered, tilting her chin upward and sampling her lips. “Share it with me. It makes the medicine go down.” His voice was thick.
“Are you making fun of me?” Sophy muttered suspiciously.
Both hands moving to frame her face, he held her a little away from him and stared at the wet hair cascading down like a stream at midnight.
“What do you think?” Teasing laughter lit up his eyes.
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it,” Sophy countered, rubbing herself with furious energy and using the activity as an excuse not to meet those piercing blue eyes. She was all a-prickle of gooseflesh, but her face was afire.
Arm resting on one bent knee as he crouched beside the tub, he reached for an oval bar of ivory-colored soap. “Perhaps I can help make up your mind,” he informed her with smiling intent.
Touching the pulse at the base of her throat lightly with his lips, he began to lather her back. Sophy felt acute excitement course down her spine and she twisted into the warm fingers. Her body had begun to sing its deep irresistible song.
“Don’t be so impatient, little one,” he breathed, with a small smile of satisfaction. His teeth sank lightly into her earlobe in an exciting caress that made Sophy shiver in anticipation.
He was very thorough. His fingers danced around her nipples, drew warm, damp patterns down to the curve of her stomach. Picking up each foot in turn, he soaped between her toes. His movements were deft and sure. Her tiny ankle, the flesh of the calf, the extended knee, the slender sweep of her thigh.
When he came to the tops of her thighs, Sophy pressed them together, trying to resist his questing fingers. Before she allowed this feverish excitement to overwhelm her, she must tell him about her deception.
She would tell him. Now. Today.
Loving Seth had made her realize the truth. Their marriage must not be based on illusion, all tangled up with pride and resentment and deceit. Everything had to come together, all the divergent strands, for true love to occur.
His hands went behind her, cupping her rounded buttocks. The softness of her slender body was irresistible. “A woman would only use a bath with fancy plumbing if she wanted to entice a man to share it,” he teased, eyes glinting.
Ignoring the damage to his silk dressing gown, Seth placed one hair-rough leg between hers, splitting them apart. Water splashed over the floor. His knee nudged between her thighs, while his soapy hand stroked her gently.
Her protest died beneath the sharply indrawn breath that she found herself gulping as his thumb found her feminine core. Soon his experienced touch was sending little rivers of pleasure down the insides of her legs.
“Seth,” she began softly, a little uncertain how to say it. Don’t be foolish, she upbraided herself. It’s nothing so terrible. Tell it and have done!
Seth surged to his feet, sending water flying in all directions. He leaned over, planted his strong hands on her waist and effortlessly plucked Sophy out of the tub.
“I have something to tell you.” Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. The muscles of her thighs jumped and all strength seemed to seep from her legs.
His eyes glittering darkly, Seth laughed gently, caressing her back and her tumbled hair. His tongue circled the delicate area of her ear. Instinctively, the primal dance of male and female began, their hips pressing slowly, rhythmically, against each other.
It might help to tell her, he suspected, but the throbbing hardness of him overcame all notions of wanting a conversation. He would do it later, when his throat was not so clogged and tight.
“And I have something to tell you,” he managed to get out, sliding down her body as if his flesh had turned to rainwater. “But not now. Not now.”
Tomorrow would be soon enough, Sophy told herself. And abruptly all her thoughts were as insubstantial as the wind.
The benches were well spaced out. Charles was at one, transferring designs for the Engraving Department. There a hand loom would be used to work out different combinations of textures, tensile strengths and general suitability.
Seth stood beside the artist, absently staring at a particular design, a rich red color without a motif. It reminded him of Sophy. All fire and passion. He smiled almost invisibly.
“That one’s for the connoisseurs. Sumptuous but discreet. It would suit Sophy,” he said with such complete satisfaction that he gave himself away.
Charles arched a speculative eyebrow, not fooled by the almost whimsical tone of his friend’s voice. He shrugged.
“It’ll be difficult to get the proper tone — red, but as if lit up from behind with a fire. And the weaving will have to show the complicated pattern by texture.”
“Have you heard anything from George?” Seth asked quietly.
Charles pushed aside the patterns and put his fingertips together, elbows on the bench. “No. But a new shipment is due in any day. George is to send a message, ‘Walls of Jericho,’ when he is certain.”
“I think we’ve got the Judas this time.” Seth levered himself onto a stool. He stretched his leg and sighed. “The assault code is ‘Alas Babylon.’”
Charles pursed his lips contemplatively. “What about Sophy? I think she is on to something.”
“I’m keeping Sophy so busy she hasn’t time for the prescribed audit at the shipping office.” Seth tried to stifle a grin and failed.
Charles inserted some patterns into a folder, meeting Seth’s satisfied look with understanding. “Marriage is a desperate thing. We have to be careful of the illusions we weave lest they become reality.”
“On whose great authority do you make that pronouncement?”
“My own!” White teeth flashed in a very engaging smile. “Sophy sure is something. She discovered Abigail has no head for figures, which, as you know, is a constant source of domestic tension in our household.”
Charles tented his fingers under his chin. “Sophy has designed an accounting system for Abigail that includes a weekly budget. Thank God, it seems to be working!”
“George tells me she discovered his age, hobbies, club memberships and income in one short session!” Seth said, obviously proud of his wife’s acumen.
Charles shot up a sandy eyebrow. With the shadow of a frown behind his eyes, he issued words of caution. “We’ll have to watch her.”
Seth gave a pensive smile but said nothing, contenting himself with shuffling the piles of paper littering the bench.
Charles gave him a sideways grin. “Relax. No needle is sharp at both ends, but just in case Sophy does solve the riddle, I’ve laid a few false trails.”
“I don’t want Sophy involved in this.” There was clear command in Seth’s voice, and his blue eyes had a hint of steel in their depths as they met the perceptive hazel gaze.
Charles let that hang in the air, before making a clear effort to change the subject. “Let’s hear what you think of the lithographs.”
They studied them with craftsmen’s eyes, discussed designed and cost. No further mention was made of their initial exchange.
Sophy’s path had diverged, and she was in the large bleaching rooms. She wanted to see the cloth they were processing. Seth had said, “You’ve got to feel the material. You get a seventh sense in your fingers. I can tell blindfolded where it came from, what quality it is, how much it cost.”
Should she tell him now of her deduction? Everything she had heard from the gossip mill and had seen for herself suggested her husband was a levelheaded businessman, accustomed to giving orders, convinced that profit was the only value, and not one to be taken in by parasitic friends.
Intuition warned her this was more than dissecting profit and loss columns. She decided she would say nothing to Seth. She would wait, and watch.
There was a small frown on her face when she turned away from the door and started back to the office. Once there, she flipped open a folder and began scanning the thin report inside.
She was still there when Seth and Charles walked in. Her sweet smile, filled with warm delight as she looked up from the papers, was purely unconscious, but Seth felt it like an open fire.
Unable to resist the unspoken invitation, he came over to where she was sitting. Feeling quite reckless, he leaned forward and kissed her. The feel of her, the sight of her, the scent of her, all combined to transfix him, so that he experienced again that upsurge of unexplained, oddly exciting sentiment.
Sophy pushed a folded paper toward him. He took it, his glance going to the knotted coil of hair, which had been clipped to the back of her head. Succumbing to the impulse, he tweaked a wispy tendril that trailed down the back of her neck above the low, round collar of her gown.
At the casual sign of affection, Sophy felt the red wash her cheeks. Unconsciously, the tip of her tongue touched the edge of her lip as she tried to resist the sudden surge of feminine pleasure, and concentrate on Seth’s next statement.
“Good news, Charles.” Seth turned to meet the designer’s laughing eyes. “George Henkels, the Philadelphia furniture maker, is interested in a line of our fabrics. Weston’s can produce the lines he wants, to rival those done in Europe, but less expensive.”
“People are becoming more conscious of the decor of their homes.” Sophy was relieved that her voice sounded light and neutral. “They follow fashion there as well as in their clothes.”
“Any success in the audit?” Charles changed the subject, one sandy brow lifting curiously before shifting his glance toward Seth, who was lowering himself carefully into a high-backed leather chair.
Sophy guessed Charles was trying to decide whether or not she had discovered anything. It would be a logical move. It also seemed that a small smile curled the corners of Seth’s mouth.
She glanced down thoughtfully at something she had written in the report, and quite suddenly everything came sharply into focus with stark clarity. It was simple, really. Seth must be protected at all costs.
“Nothing that can’t be remedied.” She shrugged lightly.
“I’m relieved.” A smile dragged the corners of Charles’s mouth. “There is nothing more encouraging or of greater use to a man about to face his challenge in life than a woman’s kindly criticism.”
He leaned forward, reaching for a file.
Something in his tone nettled Sophy past bearing. With an exclamation of profound annoyance, she gathered up several sheets that were covered with figures, stacked them together and put them in a pile just slightly out of his reach.
“The level of criticism might depend upon how much pressure is brought to bear on certain people to answer certain questions. That could be inconvenient.”
Charles was staring at her intently. “What on earth do you mean?” He said it with a grin, but his tone had a cutting edge, which made outrage at the duplicity she had uncovered flash through her.
Sophy didn’t think, or reason. Her response was automatic. “Who supplied designs in several forms, including drawings, engraved plates and fabrics to Globe Printworks in Massachusetts to be released under the label name
Fallon?
”
Fallon?
”
She hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if Charles had anything to say. Sophy knew suddenly she wanted him to deny her accusation. She glanced at Seth. The expression on his face was a rather alarming combination of anger and hard ruthlessness as he watched his friend’s freckled hand idly tap a pencil on the wide desk.
Charles had the grace to flush. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “How many more trade secrets did you pick up while you were in the office?”
“Quite a few,” she replied in a very low, very intense voice.
Her mind was extraordinarily calm. She could think only of Seth, and of the injustice done to him. “And I promise never to divulge them to a rival. But who is currently trading on his connection with Weston’s Textiles to negotiate with Ebenezer Butterick to manufacture packaged paper patterns?”
Silence, a heavy breathing silence. The dropping of the proverbial pin would have made quite a clatter.
Sophy stood, her body shaking with shock and fear for the consequences of her flare-up of temper, unmeaning and unmeant. She smote her hands together in a passion of frustration. What had she said, done, or what would he do? She felt the blood run to her cheeks.
Suddenly her throat was dust dry, She swallowed. “I’m sorry, Charles. I didn’t mean...my wicked tongue...forgive me...” Her words trailed off to confusion.
Seth surged to his feet, the metal edge of the pattern book clattering loudly on the table as he set it down abruptly. He stood aggressively across the desk from her, his feet slightly apart and braced in a challenging stance. His eyes were shards of ice.
Charles pushed back his chair and stood up. His slender shoulders lifted and fell. He had to stop Sophy somehow. There was too much at stake. His voice was sharp.
“You are an absolute menace, Sophy Weston! You can pin a lot of stuff on me if you want, but forget this. I don’t cheat on my friends. Why don’t you check out your own laundry first?”
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