The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (9 page)

Their behavior toward one another did not go
unnoticed. Jason usually attended the same functions and more often
than not, Sophie was also present. It was as though each desired to
make it known to the other that whatever had passed between them
was insignificant and forgotten. Both failed miserably. Jason often
noted how Holt's jaw tensed and his speech grew stilted whenever
Sophie danced with a man or stood among a swarm of suitors. Not
that his brother showed his jealousy but it was there, seething
just behind the feigned indifference. Jason had never seen two more
unhappy people in his entire life and after several weeks of
witnessing such absolute misery, decided to put an end to it and
cornered Holt the morning after another evening of debauchery.

“You look like hell.”

Holt glanced up from his ledgers and said, “I
have a business meeting in an hour, so if you don’t mind . . .”

“Actually, I do have a rather pressing matter
I wish to discuss with you. Unfortunately, I don’t think it can or
should wait any longer.”

“What is it? Is it Julia?”

Jason slouched further in his overstuffed
chair, waiting for just the right amount of silence to pass.
“Julia’s fine. She’s traipsing all over the continent like a
bohemian and should be returning soon. What has been bothering me
for weeks now, is when you and Sophie will settle your differences
and admit your feelings for one other.”

“There’s nothing between us.”

Had Jason not witnessed his brother’s
behavior in the presence of Sophie, he might have believed such
nonsense. “Since she means nothing to you, then it will matter
little that Peter Hatherton is planning to offer for her.”

Jason didn’t miss the quickened breathing,
the tight set of the jaw, the rigid manner in which his brother
held himself, as though his whole body were about to explode. The
telling tale was the intensity of that navy gaze that burned with
anger and frustration. And something else that Jason could not
identify. But when Holt spoke, it was not to admit tender feelings
for Lady Sophie Seacrest.

“Give my regards to the happy couple.” With
that he stood, slammed the ledger shut, and strode toward the door
leaving Jason staring at his back.

***

The garden was alive in a brilliant array of
golds, reds, purples, and greens. Sophie dug furiously in the soil,
oblivious to the smudges of dirt smearing her cheek or the grass
stains on her gown. When Caroline tapped her on the shoulder, she
jerked back and fell on her behind, right into a patch of dirt.
There she sat, pretending to glare at Caroline and when she could
maintain the guise no longer, she burst out laughing. Heavens, it
was good to laugh again, even for a moment or two. “You think to
sneak up and scare the wits out of me? Well, two can play at that
game!” Sophie scurried to her feet and raced after her disappearing
sister as Caroline bound through the gates toward the front of the
estate and the tall line of shrubbery.

Her sister’s speed and the sun’s heat soon
brought Sophie to a panting halt in front of the estate. Wisps of
hair clung to the side of her face and the nape of her neck.
Dampness hugged her gown as she doubled over, clutching the stitch
in her side. “Come out and show yourself, Caroline. We should not
play such games on the front lawn. What if a gentleman caller
should appear?” She laughed and dropped to the lawn, lifting her
face to the sun. She closed her eyes to revel in the serenity it
offered, staying just so for several moments until a cloud passed
overhead, blotting out the sun. “My beautiful sun, taken away,” she
murmured, opening her eyes. But it was not a cloud blocking the
sun; it was Gregory Thurston.

Holt watched Sophie turn crimson and attempt
to stand without calling attention to her disheveled appearance. He
took it all in at a glance; the unbound hair softly framing her
face, the flushed cheeks, the parted lips. Even the smudge of dirt
trailing across her cheek. His gaze traveled to her heaving bosom
and the wide expanse of bare calf peeking beneath a soiled gown.
She was a mess. An utterly filthy disaster. Certainly not a paragon
of the upper crust. He thought her beautiful.

Desire pounded his body as he continued to
stare. She stumbled to a standing position, ran her hands through
her mussed hair and over her wrinkled gown. The effort proved
futile but Holt didn't care. He longed to touch her. Taste her.
Inhale the very scent of her. Instead, he glared and when he’d
gathered enough control to speak, his words fell out in a biting
reprimand. “It appears you are no more adept with children's games
than you are adult ones.” With that remark, he turned on his heel
and strode toward the mansion.

“I want to marry your daughter,” he blurted
out the moment Rendhaven admitted him to his study and before
common sense could stop him.

“The hell you say.” Rendhaven set down his
glass and scratched his jaw. “My daughter refuses to even speak
your name, yet you wish to wed her?”

“I do.”

The old man blew out a long sigh. “What does
Sophie say to all this?”

Holt cleared his throat. Twice. “She doesn’t
know yet.”

Rendhaven’s laugh bounced off the burgundy
walls. “Good luck, my boy. You’ll need it.”

Two whiskeys later, Holt left the library in
search of his soon-to-be betrothed. He’d originally set up the
meeting with Rendhaven to propose a design for a new ship which
could show great profit if handled carefully as well as draw
Seacrest Shipping away from the Langford market. He no longer
desired to sink the business and believed if the two companies
weren’t competing, the blood lust between the families might be
somewhat tempered.

He refused to admit he’d labored over the
design and modifications in the hopes one green-eyed enchantress
would let go of her hatred for his family. He told himself several
times daily Sophie Seacrest meant nothing to him, was in fact
little more than a tease and he was glad to be rid of her. If he
repeated the litany often enough, by the end of the night when he
was filled with drink and his latest woman, he almost believed
it.

But today when he saw her on the lawn, so
innocently seductive and inviting, he knew it had all been a lie.
There hadn’t been one single moment of one single day since she’d
refused to be his mistress, that he hadn’t wanted her, hadn’t
regretted his thoughtless words. He should have realized she was
not a woman to be toyed with or handled with casual disregard.
Sophie deserved to be someone’s wife; protected, cherished. Loved.
He didn’t believe the emotion existed, but he did know about
passion. That, he could give her and vowed no other man would ever
touch her, especially not a popinjay like Peter Hatherton.

Holt shielded his eyes from the sun, taking
in the wide expanse of lawn where he’d last seen her. There was
nothing save the gentle imprint where she’d lain. Perhaps she had
escaped to her room. He couldn’t blame her for avoiding him after
the abominable why he’d treated her. He was about to head toward
the estate when he caught a glimpse of blue hidden in the nearby
shrubbery. He approached cautiously, his eyes stuck to the spot of
blue cloth. The cloth moved and a young girl bound from the
shrubberies and tried to run. “Hold!” He grabbed the girl’s arm and
said in a gentle voice, “I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

The child lifted her head and he stared into
a pair of arrestingly familiar blue eyes.
His eyes.
By God,
she had his eyes! He quickly scrutinized the rest of her. Waves of
thick, black hair floated around her shoulders, having escaped the
ribbon which had bound it earlier. He didn’t need to touch her hair
to know its silken texture or bring her full-force into the
sunlight to search for blue highlights. Did Sophie know? Was that
why she so carefully shielded the child from strangers? In his many
visits to Waverly Manor he’d never once seen the child, who looked
to be twelve, perhaps thirteen. Holt knelt and clasped her small
hands. “I’m a friend of your sister's. Do you know where I might
find her?”

Cold fear shone in those blue eyes as she
attempted to yank her hands from his grip. When he held fast, tears
sprung to her eyes. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He hesitated,
before continuing, “I know you can’t speak, but could you show me
where she’s gone?”

The little black head shook a vigorous
no
, despite the silent trickle of tears down her cheeks.
When Holt loosened his clasp on her hands, she reached into her
pocket and produced a pad and writing instrument. She scribbled
something and thrust it at him.
You made her cry.

Yes, he had done that and much more. As he
looked back into those achingly familiar eyes, his tone gentled
even more. “I did make her cry and now I must tell her how very
sorry I am. I will try my very hardest not to make her cry again.”
The child eyed him a moment longer and then bent over the writing
pad once again to hastily scribble a word.
Riding. “
She went
riding?” When the little head bobbed in affirmation, Holt smiled
and swiped a tear from her cheek. “Thank you. I look forward to
seeing you again very soon. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m off to
see if I can dry your sister's tears.”

Chapter 10

Holt rode over Seacrest property for a full
fifteen minutes, constantly scanning the lush countryside for a
glimpse of Sophie, but even as he traveled the property, he knew he
wouldn’t find her there. His gut steered him toward the
gamekeeper’s cottage.

He visited the cottage when he went for his
morning ride. Each time he entered the tiny abode, his gaze locked
on the bed and the promise of unspent passion. As he reached the
small clearing, he spotted Sophie’s mare tethered outside. He was
eighteen again, gangly and awkward as he dismounted and thought of
how she might greet him. Would she accept his proposal? Would he
give her a choice? Holt eased open the cottage door and stepped
inside. Sophie lay huddled on the bed with her back to him. He
approached her quietly, torn at the sound of her muffled sobs.

“Don’t cry.”

She stiffened.
He
was here, right in
the very same cottage where they’d first met. What did he want?

“Sophie?” He touched her shoulder. She
flinched. “Sophie, please.” She inched toward the wall, trying to
get away from him. “Dammit woman, look at me!”

She didn’t speak until she could pretend
indifference. “What could you possibly want, Mr. Thurston?”

“I spoke with your father.” Pause.
“Arrangements have been made for the marriage.”

Marriage? To whom?

“Sophie? Did you hear me? We are to be
married.”

He
was the groom? Her brain could not
process the words and her lips would not open.

“Sophie?”

Slowly, she eased herself off the bed and
stood next to him. “You want to marry me. Why?” Somewhere in the
breadth of an instant, she had become the predator and he the
prey.

Gregory Thurston shifted uneasily, his eyes
darting around the room. “I’ve decided we would suit well.”

The arrogance of his words did not surprise
her. Mere weeks ago, he’d vowed he would never marry and now he was
informing her she was to become his lucky bride. “You . . . believe
we would suit.” Her voice rose an octave with each word.

“Exactly.”

“And because you think we would suit, then we
should marry.”

“Right.”

“Because you have
decided
for me.”

A small smile tugged at his lips.
“Exactly.”

She smiled as well. “Then I shall give you my
answer. I am permitted an answer, am I not?”

“Of course.”

“No.”

His smiled faded. “No?”

She shook her head. “No. But thank you for
the generous offer.”

“You’re afraid aren’t you?” He moved
closer.

She backed away. “No. Why would I be afraid?”
Why
would
she be afraid?

He ran a finger along the lace of her
neckline. “Because I make you feel things.”

“That’s absurd.” She swatted his hand
away.

He smiled again. “It’s true.” He placed a
chaste kiss on her cheek, another on her chin, a third on her
neck.

Sophie held her breath. Oh, yes, he was
definitely making her feel things but she’d cut out her tongue
before admitting it.

“Mmmmm.” He flicked his tongue along her
neck.

She cleared her throat, trying to gather her
wits which had scattered with his first touch. “I don’t think this
is a good idea,” she managed.

“No?”

Good lord, he’d worked his way to her throat.
And that tongue! How did he manage to carry on a conversation when
his mouth was otherwise indisposed?

“Sophie?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut
and tried to concentrate. “Could you . . . would you mind stopping
that?”

“This?” He gently sucked her neck. “Or this?”
He licked her earlobe. “Or perhaps this?” He dipped a finger inside
her bodice.

“Yes,” she sighed.

“Yes?” He inched the bodice down.

“Mmmmm.” She leaned closer.

“Does that mean ‘yes’ continue or ‘yes’ I
want you to stop?” he murmured against her lips.

“Don’t,” she managed.

“Don’t?” He brushed his lips over hers once
more.

“Don’t . . . stop.”

“Never.” He took her in his arms and gently
kissed her.

“Gregory,” she whispered. He groaned and
cupped her buttocks, pressing her to his straining arousal. She
welcomed the sensation, rubbing against him, seeking relief from
the burgeoning ache spreading through her.

He carried her to the bed and laid her down
gently. “I won’t stop, my sweet. Not until I’ve tasted every
delicious inch of you.” He trailed his fingers along her cheek to
her neck, pausing at a swell of breast. He sought a nipple through
the thin fabric of her gown and stroked his thumb over it in small
circles.
Oh, but he was driving her mad!
Sophie strained
toward his touch, the ache in her body building. Gregory traced the
laces of her chemise and began untying them with slow precision.
“So beautiful.”