Married to a Stranger (18 page)

‘Learn French,’ Averil said with a grimace. ‘I must become fit to be the wife of a French count. Luc says—’

But what Luc said was lost as the men came in from the dining room. Somehow Sophia kept smiling and chatting and making small talk over the tea cups until the last of their guests left. Callum returned from seeing George Pettigrew off and collapsed on to the sofa next to her. ‘That went very well, Mrs Chatterton. You are obviously destined to be a great society hostess.’

‘Were you not tired? You have had a long day.’

‘No, not at all. I had an interesting day and it was good to see old friends again.’

‘I am excited about the ship.’

‘Good, I thought you might be.’ Callum stretched out his legs and draped one arm around her shoulders, his fingers playing with the necklace at her nape.

‘And proud that you and the others want to rename it after your wives. I worried that the majority owners might refuse, but Dita and Averil say that with the influence that Alistair and you can exert there will be no problem.’

‘A marquess is always a good card to play.’

‘And a man tipped to be a very young Director?’ she asked.

‘Hell.’ Callum sat up and pushed his fingers through his hair, destroying an elegant Brutus style. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Luc apparently hears all the Company gossip.’

‘Ah. It is exaggerated, of course.’

‘Is it?’ Sophia twisted round on the sofa to look at him. ‘I am very proud of you.’

‘Proud?’ Callum seemed utterly surprised by her words.

‘Of course! I was proud that you had secured a good post, I am proud that you work so hard and I am not in the slightest bit surprised that your reputation is so good—’ She broke off, confused by the shuttered look on his face. ‘Callum, I wish you had told me of this. Boasted a little.’

‘I am not used to discussing such things,’ he said, his face bleak. ‘If there was something to be proud about I did not need to mention it, Dan knew …’

She waited, something, love perhaps, giving her the patience to let him find his way through this.

‘I thought marriage would be something I could put in a box,’ he said slowly as though working it out as he spoke. ‘I would look after you, you would create a well-run home for me, entertain, produce children in the fullness of time. Then there was work, in another box.’

‘And your feelings?’ she asked.

‘Under lock and key,’ he admitted. Callum reached out and pulled her back close to his side. ‘That is not fair to you.’

‘Or to you,’ Sophia said.

‘Discussing feelings is not a language I know the grammar of. You must teach me, Sophia.’

It would be easy, and so much safer, to tug his head down for a kiss. He would take her off to bed and all these difficult things could be put aside. After a moment Sophia said, ‘Tell me how it was with Daniel. How you communicated. Could you read his mind?’

She felt his body tense against hers and thought he would not answer, then he said, ‘Lord, no. That would have been uncomfortable and embarrassing! I felt his emotions as though they were mine and yet I knew they were not, somehow. And I felt those emotions physically as I would my own.’

‘That must have been awkward under certain circumstances,’ Sophia murmured.

‘You learn to disregard that sort of thing,’ Callum said, and she heard the trace of a laugh in his voice.

‘So …’ she struggled to understand ‘… it was as though his feelings were overlain on to yours, like writing on glass, but slightly awry, so you knew it was not you?’

‘Yes.’ Callum put her away from him so he could look at her. ‘Exactly like that. How do you know?’

Because sometimes I feel your emotions, in just that way,
she wanted to say.
Because I love you.
‘I guessed it must be something like that. Do you mind, when I ask about Daniel sometimes? I will not if it is difficult for you.’

There was a long pause. Sophia studied Callum’s face, the lowered lids masking the thoughts she was beginning to be able to read in his eyes. ‘Yes, it is difficult and, no, I do not mind. No one else will speak of him, you see. The more I can talk about him, acknowledge that he has gone, the easier it will become, I think.’

Sophia snuggled closer into the curve of Callum’s body and let her head rest back against his shoulder. ‘We won’t forget him,’ she murmured. ‘Whenever you want to talk about him, I will be here.’

Chapter Eighteen

T
he long, companionable silence stretched on. The fleeting pressure on the crown of her head must be Callum’s lips, Sophia realised, warm with happiness.

‘Shall we go to bed?’ he suggested, his voice a rumble close to her ear. The familiar heat coiled low in her belly as she heard the hint of a growl in his voice. When he spoke like that, husky with wanting her, his eyes intent, his hands already changing their comforting hold to an incitement to desire as his fingertips stroked across the inside of her wrist, how could she resist him?

‘We could certainly do that. There were a few things that I would like explaining, perhaps.’ Sophia twisted round so she was looking at him and ran her tongue tip over her lower lip. Callum’s eyes narrowed. ‘If I did this—’ she touched him, cupping her hand over the straining hardness ‘—and then this, is it better than if I do
this?’
She scratched lightly with her nails and then closed her grip and laughed as he caught her hand.

‘Witch! Upstairs with you and I’ll discuss every inch that you want to explore. Or we could simply disrobe here?’

‘Callum! We cannot—any of the staff might walk in! Oh, you beast!’ Sophia protested as he stopped pretending to untie his neckcloth and stood up to sweep her off the ground and into his arms. ‘You cannot carry me upstairs at this time of night with the servants—’

It seemed he could, and would, and when they reached the bedchamber, and Chivers vanished as discreetly as a puff of smoke, Callum was as good as his word, letting her explore just as she would before demanding the same rights for himself.

Sophia woke to find the candles still burning and Callum asleep by her side, sprawled naked on his back, one hand behind his head, one knee drawn up, the sheet rammed to the bottom of the bed by his restless feet. It was the first time he had stayed after they had made love and she lay for a while, listening to the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing, savouring the pleasant tingle in her blood and the way Callum’s lovemaking left her limbs feeling as limp as velvet.

A clock struck one. She wasn’t sleepy now; in fact, the lassitude had gone. She rolled carefully on to her side and studied the unconscious figure beside her. It was the first time she had been able to study him naked for any length of time and the difference between their bodies intrigued her. Hairy where she was smooth; hard, flat planes where she curved and dipped; hands and feet so much bigger than hers. And his manhood, lax on his thigh—she moved a little closer and studied it, fascinated.

She had to draw him. Sophia slid from the bed, wriggled into her robe and went to find her sketchbook and pencils. She perched on a chair by the side of the bed and began making small studies first: his hand, palm up, the fingers flexed, a scar across the base of the thumb. His profile with the faint morning stubble just appearing, his lashes dark on his cheek, those mobile lips relaxed into a half-smile, his sex with all the detail she would lavish on a still life. Then she turned the page and began to draw the full length of him with every ounce of skill and concentration that she possessed.

When she finished she ran her hand over the drawing as she might over his naked body. It was the best thing she had ever done, she was convinced of it. Sophia wondered if Callum would be pleased with it or embarrassed as she closed the book and set it aside. It was certainly going to take her a little time to pluck up the courage to show him.

‘No!’

Callum’s face was stark with a horror that she could not see, his eyes tight closed, his body twisted. Sophia jumped to her feet, reaching for him. As she reached his side one outflung hand hit her a glancing blow, but she caught at his shoulders. ‘Callum! Callum, wake up!’

The wave was enormous, as high as a house, its foaming crest white in the moonlight, foam torn from it by the howling wind. ‘No! Dan!’ He seized the rail, struggling against the tilt of the deck. Below in the ship’s

boat faces were upturned, stark with horror. Averil, Dita, Lyndon already reaching for the women. Dan, white, his mouth open, shouting something that was lost in the scream of the wind and the terrible grinding of the ship on the rocks.

‘Dan—’ And then the wave hit and he was thrown across the deck to crash into something immovable, the breath crushed out of him as he began to crawl and stagger back to the side. And the boat was gone. Gone without trace. And Dan was gone too, gone from his head, gone from his heart.

Cal forced his body over the rail and launched himself into the chaos of water. If he could only reach him—

‘Callum!’ Hands on his shoulders, a desperate voice. Not Dan, a woman, but he had to help her, had to even if it meant abandoning the search for his twin.

‘Hold on!’

‘I
am
holding you. Callum, darling, I have you. You are safe. Wake up, please, wake up!’

Light against his closed lids. Light and silence. Stillness. Seaweed—no, long, unbound hair—brushed his shoulder. Hands held him, fierce, protective. He got his eyes open. ‘Sophia?’

Her face crumpled as though she was going to cry and then, with a visible effort, she had herself under control again. ‘It was a nightmare. You were having a nightmare about the wreck.’

Somehow he stopped the shivering that was racking his body, got himself under control. ‘I’m sorry. I must have frightened you.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Lie still. Let me get you warm.’ She pulled the covers up over their bodies, wriggling close to him. He felt silk slide over his skin, warm hands, cold feet. His wife. Yes, that was it, his wife. Cal shook his head, tried to drive away the remnants of the dream and find reality. He must have fallen asleep in her bed after they made love.

‘I should have gone. I didn’t mean to expose you to this. I thought I had got it under control.’

She had snuggled down, her head on his shoulder, her body wrapped around his, but at that she came up on to her elbows and stared down into his face.

‘You mean you dream like that every night?’

‘At first,’ he admitted. ‘Since we married, less.’ He could not tell her that the dreams now were as often of her, of losing her, as they were of the wreck. Her face was appalled. ‘It is all right, I am not going mad,’ he said to reassure what must be her greatest fear. ‘I spoke to doctors, they said the dreams would fade in time. You needn’t worry, I won’t stay again.’ He tried to get up and found himself entangled in soft, determined resistance. Without hurting her he could not move.

‘Yes, you
will
stay,’ Sophia said fiercely. ‘Don’t you dare suffer this by yourself, Callum Chatterton. Go to sleep now. In the morning you will tell me all about the wreck, every detail.’ Her voice cracked. ‘You are very brave, and very pigheaded, but you can’t fight everything by yourself. You have me now. Go to sleep.’

He had never tried to sleep after a nightmare. Always he had got up, walked or read or worked until dawn. Cal tried to fight the heaviness in his body, the warmth, the limbs twined around his, and felt himself sliding into darkness.

Cal woke to a clatter of china and hushed voices. He opened his eyes and found himself in his wife’s bed and Sophia, in a ridiculous confection of flounces and frills, seated at the little table in the window pouring tea.

‘What time is it? And what
are
you wearing?’

‘Nine. And it is a morning undress gown according to Dita, who nagged me into buying it.’ Sophia smiled, but her eyes were anxious. ‘I sent a message to Leadenhall Street to say you were detained. Come and have breakfast.’

‘Like this?’ He scrubbed one hand over his unshaven chin.

‘You had best put your robe on first,’ she said with a smile.

‘I can’t—’ He got out of bed. ‘I need a bath, a shave—’

‘Please, Callum.’

He looked at her sitting there, fresh and lovely and anxious and something in his heart turned over. He could feel her anxiety, her distress for him, so strongly. Where Dan’s feelings had once touched him, now he could sense Sophia’s emotions. It was different; he and his twin had been born with that link. This was something else, felt different, an empathy that had grown because he knew her now so well. Cared about her. No wonder he was dreaming.

He got up, pulled on his robe, ran his hands through his hair and sat down at the table.

‘Drink your coffee,’ Sophia said. ‘They will bring food up very soon. And then you will tell me about the wreck.’ She shook her head in answer to his instinctive movement of rejection. ‘You have told no one all the details, have you? Not even Will? Your mind has to let go of the horror somehow, I think.’

‘How can I burden you with it?’ Cal demanded.

‘Because I am your wife,’ she said simply. ‘And I care for you.’

You do?
He didn’t ask it out loud. The footmen came in with more coffee, covered plates; the moment was lost. But when they had eaten and he sat nursing his third cup of coffee Sophia murmured, ‘Callum?’ So he told her everything, every detail, from the lurch when the anchor began to drag and how Averil’s laughter at one of Dan’s jokes had broken on a gasp of shock to the moment when he had opened his eyes to find himself being nursed by Dita in the Governor’s House on St Mary’s on the Isles of Scilly and had realised that he was, for the first time in his life, alone.

Sophia was silent for several minutes when he finished and he wondered if he had been too graphic, too frank. How much had he revealed about himself, about his weaknesses? He had to be strong for her, that was what a husband owed his wife. But the relief of speaking, of pouring it all out, was almost shattering.

‘When you came to tell me that Daniel was dead you asked me to forgive you for not saving him,’ she said at last. ‘Do you still blame yourself? Do you truly believe there was anything that you could have done that would have saved him?’

‘No,’ Cal said and, by some miracle, he believed it. He had told himself over and over again that he had done all he could but, even as he had recovered, some small nagging part of his brain told him that there must have been something. He drew in a deep, ragged breath. ‘For the first time I do not feel guilty.’

Sophia smiled and he leaned across the table to run the pad of his thumb gently over the dark circles under her eyes. How much sleep had she had last night? ‘You go back to bed and rest. Thank you, Sophia.’

There was more to the way he felt than that burden of guilt lifting, Cal told himself as he rode eastwards. There was a new anticipation, a new feeling that was not quite pleasure and not quite apprehension that unsettled his mind and was giving him butterflies in the stomach, a sensation he did not recall feeling since the day he stood on the deck of an East Indiaman and watched the English shoreline vanish into the haze.

‘Damn it, is this how marriage makes every man feel?’ he demanded under his breath. Would his nights be utterly consumed with dreams of losing her now? The gelding, confused by his tone, sidled and curvetted across the road into the path of a mail coach and Cal jerked his attention back to where he was and what he was doing.

‘What’s the matter?’ As Cal entered the office George Pettigrew looked round from the huge wall-map of India that he had been studying.

‘Sorry I’m late. Minor domestic crisis,’ Cal said, as he slung his saddlebags on to a chair and hung up his hat.

Pettigrew’s very silence and the way he turned back to his map had Cal glancing at his reflection in the glass over the mantelshelf. The shadows under his eyes did not help, but he looked grim enough for a man going to his own hanging. Sophia was getting under his skin, into his heart where he had vowed never to allow anyone again. What if something happened to her? What if she grew tired of this marriage she had been forced to make? What if he hurt her?

Then the memory of her touch, her compassion, the tough way she would not allow him to shy away from talking about Dan, her sweet delight in their lovemaking, all came flooding back and he smiled.

‘Confusing state, married life,’ Cal said as he sat down. ‘As complicated as negotiating a contract with a Chinese silk dealer and about as comprehensible.’

‘Compromise would be the thing, I suppose,’ George offered. ‘You’ve got the good faith—at least you can take that for granted.’

‘Yes,’ Cal agreed and felt better. Good faith and a wife who came into his arms with a generous passion that took his breath away. Whatever else he felt about this marriage of duty, he knew that their lovemaking at least was right and that act, surely, stripped away all pretence. Was he falling in love with Sophia? Was this what it felt like? It must be love.
My God.

‘Pull yourself together,’ George demanded. ‘I want to have a sensible discussion about tea warehouses, but if you’re going to brood on married life I’ll go and see if I can get some sense out of Jorgenson instead.’

‘No, I’m not going to brood,’ Cal said with sudden certainty. ‘I know what I’m going to do about it.’ He was going to woo his wife. If it was possible to make Sophia fall in love with him, he was going to do it. And if he failed? His stomach gave a sudden sickening lurch as though he had stepped off a high cliff. If he failed, he did not know how he was going to live with it; it would be the pain of losing Dan all over again with the added torment of having to live the rest of his life with a woman he desired body, heart and soul and knowing all he could ever have were her caresses and her kindness.

Sophia did not go back to bed, but it was a long time before she could stir herself to do anything but sit and think. She had known, theoretically, how terrible a shipwreck must be, but she had not
felt
it, not allowed herself to dwell on the terror and the sheer crushing inevitability of the ocean once it had frail humans in its grasp.

But Callum had not been frail. He had fought and battled and even when he had known it was hopeless, that he would not find his twin, at the moment when he could just have given up, he had battled on to save the others who he did find, had held them on the upturned boat until help came, even though he was hurt and freezing and in utter despair.