The Secret Lover (24 page)

He nodded pointedly in her direction, tried to relay what he was thinking. Several around him turned immediately to see whom he would acknowledge.

A fan tapped on his arm; Caleb reluctantly dragged his gaze from Sophie to Lady Paddington. "Mr. Hamilton, would you be a dear and fetch a punch for a parched old woman?" She followed that request with a coy smile.

Right. His charge for the evening. "I'd be delighted, Lady Paddington."

He set off in the direction he had just come, but not without overhearing Lady Paddington remark to Mrs. Clark, "He is
so
nicely mannered in spite of everything, is he not?"

Yes, that was right. A nicely mannered bastard, he was.

Caleb found the dining room, which had been set up with all manner of punches, wines, finger sandwiches, and an amazing number of fig tartlets.

He fetched the punch like the good little bastard he was, thinking he would deliver it and then make his way through that insufferable crowd to Sophie. God, but she looked radiant tonight. He had not seen her smile quite like she just had or felt the weight of it quite so strongly.

He strode back to the main salon, prepared to take a temporary leave of Lady Paddington, but the moment he stepped over the threshold he was distracted—by almost walking directly into Trevor's back.

His half brother stood stiffly behind his father, who had, apparently, entered the room on his own two feet, albeit unsteadily, aided by a cane.

He seemed oblivious to everyone around him but Honorine, who was instantly at his father's side, helping him navigate the throng to a huge, leather wingback chair she had arranged in a prime location. Caleb watched as she helped him to sit, then fussed about him like a hen. Even when Father waved her away, she continued to stand close by, her hand lightly on his shoulder as she regaled the guests around them with some story Caleb could not make out.

He stared blindly at the punch in his hand and swallowed a lump in his throat. It was painful to see his father like this—he had always been larger than life to Caleb, a big man with a big smile. His hero. Seeing him like this, so physically undermined, was almost unbearable, and Caleb was almost lost to his memories for a moment, until a palpable tension began to seep into his consciousness. He looked up; Trevor stood before him, staring daggers.

"Good evening, Trevor," he said, and watched without surprise or emotion as his brother turned sharply on his heel and disappeared into the crowd, to the great titillation of the many guests around them.

From across the room, Sophie watched the exchange between the two men and felt a stirring in the cold dread lying in her belly. She had warned Honorine of the disaster that awaited them, but had never suspected it would have to do with Caleb. Although the sight of him elated her, she was not prepared for this. She wondered madly why he had come, and with whom? What did he think to do here, knowing the entire
ton
would be in attendance? But there was no time for that now—Trevor was pressing through the crowd toward her now, his gaze boring a hole right through her.

Sophie managed to force a smile to her lips, but by the time he had made it to her side, her smile had degraded. Trevor nodded curtly, glanced at her bare shoulders, and she could see the displeasure in his eyes. She did not care for his expression at all, not at all. In fact, his whole demeanor made her uncomfortable, and as they exchanged an obligatory greeting, she began to feel as if she had done something wrong. There was something ugly about his manner, the way he stood so rigidly, looking at her shoulders so disapprovingly—it reminded her of William, an abrupt and almost violent reminder that kicked her in the gut.

She suddenly felt a desperate need of air.

"You look rather peaked," Trevor said authoritatively, and grasped her elbow as if he had the right to do so.

Sophie surreptitiously tried to dislodge it from his grip, but his fingers sank into her flesh. "It's the heat, I think," she said. "I am quite all right, really."

"You could use a breath of air. Let's walk on the veranda, shall we?" He did not wait for her answer, but began to propel her through the crowd.

Sophie unconsciously looked over her shoulder, to where Caleb had been standing.

She could not see him anywhere.

Trevor moved purposefully, pulling Sophie along with him, his eyes locked on one of four pairs of French doors leading onto the veranda. The music for the second set of dances was just beginning to drift across the lawn from the orangery as they stepped out onto the veranda. Couples who had come out on the lawn to cool off began to move languidly toward the music, their laughter spilling out onto the night air as Trevor led Sophie to the railing. She thanked him, turned her head to the gardens and took a deep breath.
Where was Caleb
?

Trevor said nothing, but stood by as she breathed in the cool air, then sighed impatiently. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you." She looked away from his frown, to the crowd moving toward the orangery.

"Splendid. Then perhaps you will do me the honor of a turn about the dance floor?"

Sophie closed her eyes, tried to shake off the feeling of aversion.

"My dear?" he pressed her.

She turned halfway toward him; he was already holding out his arm for her, impatient to move on. There was no graceful way out of it, nothing she could do to escape this dance, not without causing a scene. "Umm, yes. Yes, of course," she mumbled, and put her hand very lightly on his arm.

Trevor quickly covered it with his own and squeezed possessively. "I understand that you are a bit anxious. After all, it has been many years since you turned a waltz in London. As I recall, you did not turn many then, hmm? But you mustn't fret—I am an expert dancer and I will not let you falter with so many eyes upon you." He patted her hand.

Sophie almost bit through her tongue in her effort to keep her mouth shut.

Apparently unaware of her resentment, Trevor led her down the veranda steps and across the lawn, crowding in behind the others into the orangery.

The room had changed dramatically from the dusty old structure it had been several weeks ago, transformed into a kaleidoscope of color and opulence. Gone were the cobwebs and old drapes, and in their place, crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. The large floor-length windows were bare, reflecting the light of dozens of candles back into the room. The women moved about in brightly colored, jewel-encrusted gowns, softly muted by the candlelight. At the far corner of the room, the string quartet sat surrounded by various potted plants. A host of servants moved about with crystal flutes of champagne on sterling silver service trays. But not Fabrice and Roland. They were openly enjoying the ball as if they were invited guests, each with a flute of champagne in his hand.

Trevor immediately swept Sophie into a waltz that had just begun, looking down at her with what could only be an expression of great surprise. "My, my, you dance very well, Sophie, very well indeed!"

"Did you expect that I would trip and fall?" she asked, unable to bite her tongue another moment.

Trevor blinked, then laughed lightly, and, Sophie thought, insincerely. "I suppose I rather thought you had not had opportunity to perfect your skill these last few years."

Sophie merely nodded, choosing not to tell him precisely how many balls she had attended and in how many corners of the earth. Instead, she hoped fervently that the first waltz would be done with quickly.

Under Trevor's guidance, they moved woodenly about the dance floor.

He was smiling now, his gaze rather wistful. "The evening is quite fine," he remarked.

Sophie nodded.

"But all in all I'd say the summer has been rather stifling."

What, the weather
again
? Well, she could hardly fault him, could she?

After all, they had not had a discussion of it in what, two full days now?

"Yes, quite hot," she agreed, her gaze wandering to the people standing along the wall.

Trevor suddenly twirled to the left, taking them out of her line of sight.

"I don't recall a time it was quite so unbearably hot," he continued.

She nodded absently.

"Ah, there now, you mustn't be distressed," he said. "Naturally you are the object of great curiosity, what with the old scandal and all."

That certainly caught her attention; Sophie jerked a horrified gaze to Trevor.

But he merely smiled. "If I may be so bold, Sophie—a private life in the country would surely afford you a peace and a distance from the scandal that you will not easily achieve in London."

" I beg your pardon ? "

"The scandal would not follow you there, I would see to it."

"There?
Where
?" she asked, incredulous.

"Surely you have noticed my interest in you, my dear. I think that in spite of your unfortunate past you would make an excellent wife to me in the country… and a fine influence for Ian. I can rather imagine you quietly reading or sewing at Hamilton House."

The suggestion was so unexpected, so absurdly inconceivable that Sophie swallowed down a burst of hysterical laughter.

"And frankly," he blithely continued, leaning into her so that he might whisper in her ear, "I can rather imagine you in another, less pure, circumstance."

Sophie instantly jerked backward, away from him, but Trevor held her tightly to him. She squirmed, tried to be free of his grip. "The waltz, sir, it has ended!"

Trevor looked up, smiled sheepishly. "So it has," he said, and abruptly let her go in the middle of the dance floor.

Feeling the dozens of eyes on them, Sophie clapped politely, too flabbergasted to know what to say or do next. The next dance would undoubtedly be a quadrille—she could not abide the thought of any further discussion of this topic, at least not now, not
here
.

"I think I should like a champagne," she said, and began to move off the dance floor, hardly caring if he followed her or not.

"I'll fetch it for you," he said, and in a move that was becoming all too familiar and all too resented, he grasped her elbow, leading her to the edge of the dance floor. "Wait here for me," he said, as if he already owned her, and walked away.

Incredulous and somewhat panicked, Sophie stared at his back, still unable to believe what he had said,
how
he had said it. And she was still standing there when Trevor returned, paralyzed by her repugnance and the growing realization that she would be pushed headlong into a match if he should ever utter those words to anyone else. But as he handed her a cup of punch—she had asked for champagne—Sophie heard the voice that made her heart pound.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I should like to stand up with Lady Sophie, if she will do me that great honor."

Trevor spasmed oddly at the sound of Caleb's voice behind her; in her haste, Sophie almost spilled the punch on her gown as she whirled about.

Oh my
… He was heavenly, terribly handsome in his black coat and immaculate white shirt. His forest-green waistcoat perfectly matched his neckcloth, making his green eyes more vivid than usual. She had never seen him in such finery; she had not expected to have her breath taken away by his magnetism. She smiled warmly, hungrily, at him, wanting to feel his arms around her, his breath on her lips. For a blind instant, she was deaf to the growing murmurs of the crowd as they strained to hear the exchange between the two would-be brothers, deaf to Trevor's heavy breathing.

"What in the
hell
do you think you are doing?"

The low tenor of Trevor's voice dragged Sophie back to a cold reality.

"Asking Lady Sophie for the honor of a dance," Caleb said calmly.

"You've had your turn about, old boy. Why not step aside and let someone else have a go of it?"

"What bloody nerve," Trevor snapped through clenched teeth. "You don't belong here! Run along now and return yourself to whatever rock from under which you crawled!"

Caleb chuckled, belying a gaze as hard and cold as ice. "I beg your pardon, sir, I did not understand that
you
were hosting this affair."

Trevor's breathing turned horribly ragged; Sophie instinctively moved, positioning herself between the two men. "
Please
," she whispered. "Do not think to disgrace your father!"

That earned a growl of pure disdain from Trevor, and part of her withered instantly, reacting to an ancient, buried fear. "Make no mistake, madam," he said coldly, "this man has no father here!"

The contempt dripping from his voice sent a chill down Sophie's spine, but Caleb chuckled lightly as he took Sophie's hand and removed the punch. "Oh, now, really, sir," he said cheerfully to Trevor as he placed the cup aside and put her hand on his arm. "You cannot be entirely certain of that, can you?" He did not bother to receive Trevor's response, but simply smiled down at her as if everything were perfectly normal. "As for that dance, Lady Sophie, might I have the honor?"

A hush had fallen over the room—everyone seemed to stand in rapt attention, feasting on the scene between the two brothers. Sophie could feel Trevor's fury, could feel everyone watching her, holding their collective breath. For the first time since she had donned her princess gown, she felt her old awkward self, the center of unwanted attention, uncertain what to say, how to act. But when she looked up at Caleb, the warmth of his smile seeped into her skin, the distractions around them began to fade to distant noise. With his hand locked firmly around hers, she could almost believe there was nothing but the two of them, no one standing in their way.

She drew her courage from the gentle squeeze of his hand.

Unthinkingly, she nodded. She did not hear the hiss of breath Trevor drew, or the gasps behind her as Caleb led her to the middle of the dance floor and took his place across from her. She did not even sense the awkward moment when everyone looked frantically about, wondering who would join them on the dance floor. Caleb held her gaze as one couple joined them, then another and another, the smile in his eyes mesmerizing her.