Lord Harry's Daughter (23 page)

“Indeed, sir. She is a wonder, is she not? So talented, so clever. It is hard to believe she is quite real, isn't it, sir?"

“Yes, Richard, it is,” his uncle replied softly under his breath as the young man dashed from the room to go in search of his partner with the good news. “Hard to believe it at all, but true."

Chapter
40

True to their agreement. Sir Fenton excused himself from their party the next day. The rest of them spent the morning rowing on the ornamental water and playing croquet. Watching the younger set. Mark came to the unnerving conclusion that instead of being amused by his nephew's endearingly obvious admiration, Sophia appeared to be flattered by it. He found it difficult to believe that a young woman who had grown up among young men should find this one any different or any more intriguing than the hundreds of young officers she had known all her life, but apparently she did, for she spent nearly the entire day in Richard's company and it seemed to Mark that every time he turned around, Sophia was laughing at something his nephew had said.

Mark had known Richard since he had been in short coats, and though he considered him pleasant enough, he would never in a thousand lifetimes have called him amusing. That someone as clever as Sophia should enjoy the company of his unsophisticated nephew after having known Wellington and his staff was ludicrous in the extreme. Surely she was not attracted to him?

Mark knew that Richard's fair hair, open countenance, and bright blue eyes were accounted handsome by many young women, but surely not Sophia. Surely she had known too many men of real character to be drawn to his exuberant, hail-fellow-well-met air and undiscriminating enjoyment of everything and everyone.

If she could not possibly be attracted to Richard's person or his mind, did it mean that she was attracted to his station? It hardly seemed likely that the prospect of becoming the Duchess of Cranleigh could influence someone as independent as Miss Sophia Featherstonaugh, but perhaps Mark was wrong to think that. God knows he had been wrong about a woman before, and not so very long ago.

By the time afternoon rolled around. Mark was in a thoroughly bad humor, and it did not help matters to overhear Richard and his sisters begging Sophia to show them her other pictures as she sat sketching in the rose garden. Hating himself for not being able to ignore it. Mark edged closer to the group as they leafed through the sketchbook and exclaimed over the remarkable likenesses of the portraits she had drawn during the evenings.

“Why, Uncle Mark, here is one of you,” Richard called out. “I say, you do look rather a cold, dangerous fellow."

“Oh I would not say that.” Mark strolled over to look at the picture he remembered from Saint Jean, but it was not the same picture, not the same one at all. Eyes that had appeared to glow with passion now looked bored under drooping lids. Lips that previously had seemed to urge men to follow him into battle, now twisted cynically into a smile that was closer to a sneer. Mark felt the cold shock of recognition as though someone had tossed a bucket of water in his face. Too stunned to speak, he could only stare at the sketch in front of him.

At last he found his voice. “Do I ... do I really look like that?"

Sophia flushed uncomfortably. “You are a good deal changed, you know,” she temporized before turning to answer a question of Maria's about perspective and landscapes.

Ignored once again by the young people. Mark snorted bitterly and turned away. He had been deceived again. The woman he had trusted to be more true, more honest than most of his fellow men, had turned out to be no better than the rest of her sex.

Disgusted with the entire world, but most of all himself, Mark strode off in the direction of the stables. At least Caesar remained loyal. He needed a long ride to clear his head of all thoughts of a woman over whom he had almost made a bigger fool of himself than any other women in his life, even the condesa.

Returning from his ride, less angry, but no less disillusioned, Mark resolved not to seek out Sophia's company anymore, a resolution he broke the moment she stepped onto the terrace before they gathered for dinner. The others, involved in a noisy game of jackstraws, were completely oblivious to the absence of two members of the party.

Sophia strolled over to the edge of the terrace to look down at the ornamental water. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts that evening. The past few days, trying to fulfill the major's expectations and identify the scoundrel in their midst, had been something of a strain. Besides that, she had been troubled by the major's attitude toward her for the past day or so. Gone was that special smile that he reserved only for her. Whenever he glanced in her direction, his eyes had seemed as cold as slate, his expression hard and unyielding as though he were angry at her. She could not think what she had done to offend him, but it was obvious that something was amiss, and it made her feel, she admitted unhappily to herself, absolutely miserable.

A footstep behind her made Sophia whirl around to find herself looking into the very eyes she had been thinking of. “Major, I did not expect you."

“Expecting someone else, were you?"

“Someone else?” She looked genuinely puzzled.

“Richard, perhaps?"

“Your nephew? Why would I be expecting him?"

“You tell me."

Her expression remained completely blank. Either she was a very good actress or completely innocent of any of the designs on his nephew that he had been imagining.

“You and he seemed to have reached an excellent degree of understanding."

“Richard?” Sophia began incredulously. Then with dawning anger, she continued. “How dare you insinuate such a thing! Richard is a nice boy. I grew up with hundreds of nice boys like him, too many of them not to recognize a genial weakling when I see one. How you could think I would be so blind or so stupid as to ... oh, it goes beyond all credibility. I have never been so insulted in my life! And by you of all people!"

She whirled around and ran angrily away from him toward the French windows that opened onto the terrace, but he caught her before she reached them and pulled her away from the view of the others.

“Miss Feather ... Sophia, I did not mean it. Please, you must understand."

He turned her around to face him. Tears filled her eyes and one glistened on her cheek. Gently, he wiped it away with one finger. “Please let me explain. I never would have said such a thing if I had not been crazy with anger. There was that picture. How could you think I had turned into such a man as that? And in addition to seeing me as cold and cynical, you seemed to hang on every word of his. What was I to think?"

“At least he enjoys life. He does not sneer at it. It is refreshing to be with someone like that."

“Refreshing, perhaps, but you would be bored within a week. He is not the man for you."

“How dare you!"

Sophia raised her hand as if to slap him, but Mark caught it and pulled her roughly to him. “Because I am.” His lips came down on hers, hard and demanding, forcing her to acknowledge the truth of what he said.

For an instant she yielded, kissing him back with all the passion that he had known was in her. Then she wrenched herself away. “How dare you!” she hissed again, and then she was gone, through the French doors and into the house.

Sophia did not reappear that evening. It was obvious that she had gone to bed, and Mark, not wishing to see or to speak to anyone else, soon retired to his own chamber, where he downed multiple glasses of brandy and then threw himself fully clothed on the bed waiting, hoping, for oblivion to come.

Sophia barely made it up the stairs and to her chamber before she was overcome by tears of anger and outrage. She had thought he was her friend, that he respected her, even admired her, but now he had grabbed her and kissed her like any other woman who threw herself at him, like Diane de Gonsalvo y Coruna. The fact that she had kissed him back was something she refused to acknowledge or deal with at that particular moment. She had though that Mark was different, that he was sensitive, understanding, sympathetic even, but he had turned out to be as self-centered as other men, as self-centered and unreliable as her father. Furiously she undressed and climbed into bed, where she cried herself to sleep.

Awake before dawn the next morning, Sophia lay in bed until it was light and then she arose, donned her riding habit and her boots, snatched up her hat and gloves, and went to the stable to find Atalanta.

The horse whickered a greeting as Sophia threw on her saddle and bridle and dug in her pocket for lumps of sugar, which the mare devoured eagerly. Leading her from the stall, Sophia climbed the mounting block and threw herself on the horse's back and they were off, galloping across the park as Sophia tried to put all thoughts of Major Lord Mark Adair out of her mind.

She was successful at this for a few moments only, then the pounding of hooves told her that she was being followed, and followed by a rider good enough to catch up to her. There was only one such rider she knew of.

Sophia dug in her heels, but it was no use. Caesar was soon upon them and a powerful hand reached out to grab her reins. Atalanta struggled to keep her head, but it was no use. She was no match for a determined cavalry officer.

The horses slowed to a halt. Mark jumped down and came around to help Sophia dismount. Ignoring his outstretched hands, she slid off herself, but the instant her feet touched the ground he caught both her wrists and pulled her to him.

“Sophia, look at me. Listen to me. I apologize for last night, but ... no, actually, I do not apologize. I only beg your pardon for thinking ill of you. For the rest of it, I do not apologize. I was crazy with jealousy. I know that does not excuse my behavior, but perhaps it explains it. I have missed you horribly for months. Not having you to talk to, to share things with, has been miserable. I did not know how miserable I was until I returned home and saw you sitting in the ballroom, smiling at me, giving me a place in the world where I belonged, where I was understood and appreciated. I thought, I mean I hoped, that maybe I did the same thing for you, but now I am not so sure. The general said you knew too much about cavalry officers to fall in love with one, and there are so many men who can offer you a life that is the complete opposite of all that, but none of them can care so much about your happiness, none of them can possibly love you as much as I do."

Unable to think or speak, or even to breathe, Sophia gazed up at him. The look in his eyes, pleading, loving, was almost more than she could bear. She closed her eyes, felt his lips on hers, tender, caressing at first, and then more demanding as he pressed her to him, planting kisses along the line of her chin and down her neck. She gave herself up to the ecstasy of being wanted by the man she had ached for for so many months. But then, the memory of another cavalry officer, and a woman who had given herself to him so recklessly many years ago, came to her mind. “No, I cannot."

“Why, Sophia? I love you. I want you. You love me. I know you do. Your kisses betray you."

“I cannot. It is madness to give in to such a thing."

“Is it madness to spend the rest of our lives together?"

“It will not last. Papa..."

“Sophia.” Mark shook her gently. “How dare you compare me to Lord Harry? He joined his regiment because he had no other choice.
I
joined because I wished to do something with my life, as you wish to do something with yours. I wished to rid Spain of France's tyranny. Your father only wished for excitement. He was selfish and reckless, he got himself killed, after all. I may take risks, but I am never reckless. I am not even being reckless now. I think I have loved you forever, since the moment I saw you sketching landscapes in the middle of a war."

Still she hesitated. She longed to believe him, but she did not want to be what her mother had been once. She did not want her happiness to depend on another person, even if that meant being alone for the rest of her life.

“Please, sweetheart, trust your instincts. In your heart you know the sort of man I am. You drew that man once. The man you drew later was a man who had been duped by another woman and then forced to live without you for months. With your help I can be the man I want to be, the man you want me to be. And I think I can help you be the woman you want to be. Trust your instincts, Sophia, as I trust your instincts, as I have always trusted your instincts ... with my life."

She wavered, tormented by years of doubt and mistrust. She looked up into the eyes smiling down into hers, loving and true. How could she not believe in him? And what did it matter anyway? She could not let her head deny her heart. After all, it was the heart that had produced all her pictures, and her pictures had always spoken the truth. “I love you, Mark. I want to be with you, too, the rest of my life."

“My darling love.” He pulled her back into his arms and held her as though he would never let her go, never again risk their chance at happiness.