The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (6 page)

“I’ve come to warn you of your foolishness.”
Her beady eyes glittered. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.
I’ve seen you looking at Mr. Thurston when you think no one is
watching.” Her voice dipped to a raspy whisper. “He’ll use you and
toss you away.”

“Please stop.”

“He’s just that type of man. I’ll wager he’s
known more women than you could imagine. A man like that is only
interested in you as a temporary diversion. Once he’s stolen your
innocence, do not think for a single moment he will be so honorable
as to wed you.”

Sophie clutched the brush so hard her hand
ached. Listening to her aunt's cruel words and trying to appear
unaffected proved a supreme effort. “You needn’t worry. I’ll not
get caught up with schoolgirl foolishness.”

“Do not disgrace this family.”

“I do not intend to. Mr. Thurston is Father's
business associate, nothing more.” She met her aunt’s dark stare.
“Trust me, Aunt Vivian, I know exactly what kind of man Mr.
Thurston is and I am well aware of my obligations to this family.
Now, if you will excuse me, I’m deathly tired and wish to
retire.”

Her aunt hesitated a moment and then said in
an almost kind voice, “It’s better to marry a man you don’t love,
for he’ll never be able to hurt you.” With that, she turned and
swept from the room in a swoosh of black, leaving Sophie deflated
and aware she’d played the utter fool where Gregory Thurston was
concerned.

Chapter 6

“Well brother, have you made your decision?”
Jason eyed Holt over the rim of his glass and waited for an
answer.

Holt threw back the remainder of his drink,
rose and peered out the window. Summer enveloped the countryside
with fragrant blossoms and green landscapes. Soon, another season
would arrive and still, he had not made up his mind.

Did he want to accept the title or head back
to sea? Truth to tell, he struggled with this decision many a night
and angry though it made him, he conceded a certain auburn-haired
temptress played into the decision. Oh that she ever knew how she
affected him in any but the blandest of ways, she would turn his
life into an interminable hell. Because of the little witch, he’d
spent night after sleepless night, tossing and turning, only to
awaken with thoughts of her suffocating his brain. Because of her,
he was not interested in other women, could not even look at them
as objects of desire, because he did not find them desirable.
Because of her he was now in a very foul mood.

“Holt?”

He forced Sophie Seacrest from his mind, but
it was a damnable struggle. “I haven’t the slightest idea what I
plan to do yet. The business is making positive strides and it’s
obvious you don’t need me to manage the estates. In truth, I still
haven’t decided whether or not my presence would make any
difference at all.” There, he’d successfully avoided mentioning
her
name.

“Are you jesting? You have the servants
eating out of your hand as well as the merchants we do business
with and I must admit, even Rendhaven! Now that I never thought to
see. A Langford doing business with a Seacrest again.” Jason's eyes
twinkled as he added, “And not just one Seacrest, but two.”

Well, there it was, by God. He just knew her
name would have to crop up. Jason was worse than a bloodhound on a
scent when something intrigued him. Holt poured himself another
port and continued pacing.

“Yes, just think of us doing business with
Rendhaven,” Jason said. “How on earth did you manage it?”

“Subterfuge, of course,” Holt replied,
staring into his glass.

“I daresay, when they discover your true
identity, we won’t be smiling. Sophie always did have a temper if I
recall. Quite willful and headstrong,” Jason ventured.

“The damned chit is still as willful and
headstrong as ever, except now she’s rude and insolent as well.”
Holt scowled as he recalled several of their recent encounters. “I
can handle her when the time comes.”

“You can handle her? Forcibly? This is polite
society, you can’t haul someone over your shoulder and force them
to do your bidding. I say if you want half a chance with the girl,
you had better come clean and fast.”

“Who said anything about the girl? Did I?”
No, indeed he had not. “She’s nothing more than a bossy bit of
baggage.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. She’d drive a husband to Bedlam
within the week. Enough of this talk. Is there not a soiree of some
sort this evening? Perhaps even a few of your lady friends for us
to entertain? This monk's life is wearing on my nerves.” He was
suddenly determined to rid himself of Lady Sophie Seacrest once and
for all, even if he had to exhaust himself by bedding half of
England. “Jason, what will it be?”

His brother grinned. “I’ve no great desire to
claim a monk for a brother. It would make me too responsible for my
own actions. Let us be off to find some toothsome wenches and a
soiree.”

***

“Annette, please stop fussing over me so. I
could stand in a storm and my hair wouldn’t budge for all the pins
jabbed into my head.” Sophie shook her head in an attempt to
dislodge the dastardly pins but her coiffure remained perfect.

“Lady Sophie, I know you detest being poked
and prodded, but it’s necessary if we are to find you a suitable
husband. Tonight could prove very important for you.”

“Ah yes, society dictates. Thou shall stuff
oneself into one’s gown as snugly as possible with the assistance
of one’s stays. Thou shall also pin and curl and comb until one’s
hair in no way resembles one’s natural locks. And let us not
forget, thou shall speak and act demurely, never voicing one’s
opinions lest one appear to possess a brain which might well
indicate the ability to gainsay one’s future husband. How is that,
Annette?”

“Overly accurate, I’m afraid.”

“Agreed. Let me think a bit longer and I’ll
continue to elaborate on a few more of society’s dictates. Hmmm.”
She tapped a finger to her chin, gazed heavenward and added, “Thou
shall not act as though one enjoys kissing a man.”

“Goodness! Miss Caroline is in the room!”

Caroline looked up from her sketch pad and
grinned.

“I was only teasing. Husband hunting is quite
a serious business and though a task I do not relish, I’ve decided
to find small touches of humor in my predicament. Think of all the
pretense women are expected to display when searching for a
suitable mate. It’s no wonder so many are doomed; the man marries a
figment of his imagination and the woman marries a title. When the
trappings are cast aside, hers in the form of clothes and a
soft-spoken manner, his in the form of a title with no warmth or
personality beneath, you have nothing more than two disillusioned
strangers destined to live quiet or not so quiet lives of absolute
desperation.”

“Lady Sophie, how exactly do you plan to
avoid a life of absolute desperation with your future husband?”
Annette asked ever so softly, eyeing her mistress with sad
eyes.

A tiny smile slid over Sophie’s lips as she
confided, “I have full advantage of knowing exactly what to expect
and will not hold onto any grand illusions. Ease of compatibility
is the most I can hope for.” She sighed. “I shall surround myself
with children and those who are most important to me.”

Two hours later, Sophie wondered if she’d
committed a fatal blunder in her husband hunting plan. While she’d
resigned herself to marrying a man she did not love, she had not
considered settling on a man who bored her to sleep.

“And so you see, Lady Sophie, I will soon be
managing all of my father’s estates. It is indeed a huge
responsibility, but one which I am more than equipped to handle.”
The young man beside Sophie droned on and on in self-importance.
Lord Atherton was tall and slender, a verifiable dandy in a green
satin jacket and matching pin-striped trousers. His pale skin and
white-blond hair gave him a sickly appearance that did not speak of
a strong constitution. He eyed her as a faithful pup would his
master and asked, “Would you honor me with this next dance?”

Sophie forced a smile and followed young
Atherton onto the dance floor. What a disaster tonight had been.
The men were either old as Croesus or just out of nappies. If she
heard one more tale of inheritance and family lineage, she would
truly strangle the man with his own cravat!

One, two, three, one, two, three,
turn
, danced through Sophie's head as she moved to the steps of
the waltz. Lord Atherton stepped on her slippers four times,
blustering a string of apologies each time. She was never more
pleased as when the music ended and she could hobble back toward
the safety of her seat.

She had taken but a few steps when a portly,
middle-aged man blocked her path. He wiped the sweat from his bushy
brow with an oversized crumpled handkerchief that had suspicious
looking spots on it. His clothes were ill-fitting and she noted a
few buttons on his burgundy jacket straining. The man’s faded blue
gaze latched onto Sophie’s neckline as he announced, “I am Thomas
Jameson and it is a delight to meet you, Lady Sophie. I’ve been
admiring you all evening and couldn’t wait a moment longer for an
introduction.” His mouth curved into a gape-toothed grin as his
gaze slipped even lower.

Thomas Jameson, oh yes, she had heard tales
of the man. He was a widower twice over with five children who kept
a tight rein on the purse strings. Rumor had it his first wife died
in childbirth and his second grew so miserable living with him she
swallowed a bottle of laudanum. It was also whispered he chased
everything in skirts, including his servants and their daughters
and was now on the prowl for wife number three.

She would be well in her grave before she’d
wed the likes of him. Sophie turned a dazzling smile on the
despicable man and said, “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Jameson. I do wish we could spend a few moments chatting, but I am
otherwise obligated by a previous commitment, so if you will excuse
me?”

The odious man devoured her, licking fleshy
lips as he bowed slightly and grasped her hand. His sour breath
smacked her in the face, reeking of cabbage and port. “I do so look
forward to seeing you again, Lady Sophie.” He lifted her gloved
hand, turned it over and placed a wet kiss on her palm. Had he just
licked her glove? Repulsed by this man and his bold actions, she
jerked her hand away and buried it in the folds of her gown.

His pale eyes sparked at the slight, even as
his lips curved into a false smile. “Until we meet again.” Sophie
breathed a deep sigh as he turned on his heel and strode away. Good
heavens, pray she’d seen the last of him!

***

From the far corner of the room, Holt
Langford cursed under his breath. “Did you see that bastard pawing
her? I’ll flatten him if he goes within twenty paces of her
again.”

He cursed once more as he watched the
retreating figure of Thomas Jameson. He wanted to tear the man
apart for looking at Sophie as though she were a puff pastry he was
dying to taste. And then the bastard dared touch her. Holt had been
watching Sophie from a discreet and as yet unnoticed distance since
he and Jason arrived. His brother stood next to him, providing a
veritable wealth of knowledge concerning each of her dance
partners. Dandies, the lot of them.

“Hol...er..I mean Gregory, can you not let it
go? She’s unharmed and Jameson has left, most likely chasing
another skirt. The man is filthy rich, though very tight with the
coin, but I imagine there are women who may try to rest him from
his purse.” Jason slid a glance in Holt’s direction and sighed.
“Was this not to be a night of wenching?”

Holt grumbled a reply. He would find Jameson
and yank him from the soiree by his overstuffed cravat.

“Since we arrived, you’ve done no more than
play watchdog from a distance, and a lovesick one at that. Either
make your feelings known, which by the by, you refuse to admit
exist, or stay out of her affairs. Which is it to be?”

“Lovesick? I would act the same toward any
young woman who did not possess adequate protection or the good
sense to know she needed protected.”

“Indeed?”

“Of course. Enough about the woman. She’s
brought me nothing but trouble since the day I laid eyes on her.”
Holt straightened his jacket and added, “I do believe the supper
hour is upon us.”

***

“Try the pork, Sophie,” Francie Bishop said.
“It’s scrumptious.”

“I haven’t taken two bites of the curried
lamb you dumped on my plate seconds ago. Or the fish.”

Her friend threw her a sidelong glance and
grinned. “We’ve several more platters to sample. What about a scoop
of creamed potato?”

Sophie laughed and shook her head. “No,
Francie. You may be eating for two but I have only one stomach to
feed.”

“Pooh.” She bit into a buttered biscuit and
sighed. “I’ve been ravenous these past few months. Alexander says
he’ll have to reinforce the bed if I don’t slow down.” She lifted
her glass and smiled across the table at her husband who merely
shook his head and went about forking a slice of roast beef.

Sophie had known Alexander Bishop for years;
he’d even been to Waverly Manor on occasion to see her father who
said the man could make money multiply faster than King Midas. Had
she ever heard him laugh? Even a small chuckle, perhaps? No. Never.
One would not deem him a handsome man though Francie called him
‘exquisitely beautiful,’ a phrase Sophie rather preferred pinning
on marble busts or Chinese vases, not a man with haunting silver
eyes and rare smiles.

“Darling,” Francie said, “you must taste this
plum pudding.” She plunked a large spoonful in her mouth and
sighed. “Exquisite. Perhaps better than Cook’s but we mustn’t tell
her.” She took another spoonful and lifted it toward her husband.
“Darling?”