After Innocence (44 page)

“I know.”

Tears filled her eyes. It was hard not to reach out and grab his hands and cling to them like a lifeline. “Yes.”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t have to worry anymore. Not about that—not about anything.”

Sofie closed her eyes, sinking back against the seat. How stupid she had been. Edward loved his child—he would support Edana, and undoubtedly Sofie as well. She should have realized that he was her salvation in this instance. It was very hard not to be overwhelmed with gratitude. It was very hard to want to resist this man. “Thank you.”

Edward said nothing, sliding out of the car and helping Sofie out, too. He held her arm firmly, guiding her over the ratted road and then across the uneven planking of the boardinghouse’s dilapidated front porch. Sofie extracted the key she had been given. Edward took it from her and opened the front door. Unfortunately, Sofie felt that they were acting very much as any married couple would. Except that married couples did not reside in rotting boardinghouses on the docks of the East River. If they were a married couple, he would be opening the door for her to a very different kind of house.

And Sofie knew that there would not be the stiff tension that simmered palpably between them. A tension bom of mistrust, betrayal, and hurt, on both their parts. A tension that was also hungry and sexual.

He had said that his rough desire was due to her dress, but her dress wasn’t visible now, and Sofie knew he was still as aware of her as she was of him. She derived some
small amount of satisfaction from the thought. Somehow, in the past year and a half, a transformation had taken place. Very much like an ugly duckling turning into a swan, the crippled child had become a seductive woman.

And not only for Edward. It was somewhat amazing, but Sofie was jolted by the realization that Georges Fraggard had also found her desirable, as did Henry Marten. Two years ago Sofie would have ridiculed the very notion of any man—much less three men—finding her enticing. And perhaps even more important, two of those three men had confessed to loving her, as welt.

Sofie knew it was dangerous to dwell on these kinds of thoughts, for already angry sorrow was trying to root in her heart. She focused on seeing through the house’s dimly lit shadows. The stairs creaked as they went up. She opened the door to her room and slipped inside. Edana slept in her makeshift cradle, made from a milkman’s crate. Sofie bent over her to fix the small bedcovering. It was horrid that Edward should see his daughter this way, in a wretched, shabby room, asleep in a wooden box, covered with Rachelle’s red wool shawl.

She tensed when he came to stand beside her. Unable to restrain herself, Sofie glanced up at him. Edward stared down at his daughter, his expression close to tears, the tip of his nose red. “I thought I had lost her,” he said harshly. “I was afraid you had taken her away and I would never be able to find either one of you again.”

Sofie hated herself for what she had done. “Oh, Edward, what I did was wrong, terribly wrong—please forgive me!”

His gaze met hers, somber and searching. Sofie held her hands to stop herself from touching him. He had been anguished because of what she had done, and her instinct was to comfort him. But to touch him invited disaster. Sofie knew she could not resist the temptation he offered as a man.

They stood staring at each other for a timeless interval. Something passed between them, something strong and potent. Some kind of timeless bond, already forged, became recognizable. In that instant, Sofie knew that Edana would
bind Edward to her in one way or another forever. She was glad—fiercely so.

Edward’s mouth tensed. His body shifted towards her.

“Chèrie,
you are home too early!” Rachelle said. “Oh!”

Sofie inhaled, trembling, almost certain that, had Rachelle not appeared in the doorway between their adjoining rooms, Edward would have kissed her. She stepped away from him, hugging herself, telling herself that this was for the best. She must not get involved with him, she must not. She must not let her heart lead her astray. She could not withstand the hurt a second time around.

“
Pardonnez-moi
,” Rachel murmured, her gaze flying between the two of them.

“You have interrupted nothing,” Sofie declared, a bit too loudly and much too emphatically. “Rachelle, you remember Edward.”

Rachelle nodded. Edward’s glance flicked over her, and Sofie realized with a start that he did not like her dear friend. In Paris she had assumed that he found her attractive, as all men did.
“Bien sûr,”
Rachelle murmured.
“Enchanlée. monsieur.”

Edward nodded curtly, and he turned to Sofie. “You can’t stay here.”

She started. “What?”

“You cannot possibly stay here. I cannot allow Edana to be raised in this kind of environment. Don’t tell me that you
wish
to stay here, Sofie?”

She was frightened, wary—hopeful. “What are you suggesting?”

“We will let you a suite at the Savoy until a more suitable arrangement is found,” Edward said flatly.

Sofie nodded slowly. “All right.”

“Pack up whatever you have now. There’s no point in waiting until tomorrow to get all of you out of this rat infested hellhole.”

Sofie had only been at the Savoy once before, when she had deliberately thrown herself at Edward in the hope of becoming his paramour. She had not paid any attention to her surroundings then. But now she, Rachelle, and Edana,
who slept in Sofie’s arms, stood in the wide-open lobby of the hotel, watching Edward as he checked them in at the front desk.

It was after midnight, and the lobby was shockingly quiet. No one else was present except for the hotel staff, which relieved Sofie. Coming here like this was making her feel uneasy, and very much like a fallen woman. At any moment she expected the hotel staff to lift their heads and stare and point accusingly at her.

Edward turned and strode to them. Sofie’s heart danced a little as he approached. It was impossible not to be affected by such a man. And clad as he was in his black tuxedo, he was stunningly elegant. But especially now, when he had rescued her so heroically and when she was exhausted beyond words from the strain of the past week and at her most vulnerable, did she find him almost larger than life. “I am afraid that there are no more suites available,” Edward announced.

Sofie tried to hide her dismay. “We can manage with a room, Edward.”

“Forget it. You can have my suite. I’ve already taken a single room for myself.”

“Edward.”

“Shh. You will not change my mind, it is made up.” And for the first time that evening, his mouth quirked, revealing his dimples ever so slightly. His eyes, holding hers, were suddenly warm. It was the man she had known and loved so thoroughly almost two years ago.

Sofie ducked her head, cuddling Edana. The four of them piled into the brass-doored elevator. A few minutes later they alighted on the fifth floor. Edward threw open the door to the suite that had previously been his. “Fortunately there are two bedrooms. I was using the smaller one as an office, but tomorrow I will come and remove all of my things. Sofie, the master bedroom is directly ahead.”

Although Sofie had come to this hotel in search of him once before, he had not allowed her inside his suite. She was quite certain that this was the same set of rooms. Very curious, and very awed, she glanced around.

She stood in a circular foyer. The floors were beige marble, the walls painted in a trompe I’oeil, and it appeared as if one were looking into a huge and sumptuous salon. But the real salon was directly ahead. Blue Oriental rugs covered more beige and white marble floors. There were two seating areas, one with chintz sofas, another with a red damask love seat and a pair of red and beige striped bergères. A floor-to-ceiling mahogany breakfront covered one wall. Opposite it was a marble-manteled fireplace. Red damask draperies covered the windows overlooking Central Park, and some very nice eighteenth- and nineteenth-century French and English works of art hung on the walls.

There was a dining area to the left which could seat eight, a small kitchen just behind it. Also on the left was the second bedroom Edward used as his office. Sofie could see that he had already been working at the small escritoire there, where papers cluttered the leather writing surface.

He took her arm, guiding her across the salon. Sofie ignored the heat of his hand, and when his thigh brushed against her taffeta skirts, she vowed that she did not care.

They paused on the threshold of the master bedroom. His room. Sofie looked at the oversize, canopied bed and realized that he had slept there last night, and the night before that as well. The bed had been made up since then, of course, and now the yellow silk covers were turned down, revealing darker gold sheets beneath. It was shameless, but Sofie wondered if he had slept there with another woman. She despised the very thought.

He had released her arm. The moment was too intimate for Sofie. It was difficult enough to be taking over his suite, his bedroom, his bed. He should have known better than to escort her within. Sofie looked for a place for Edana to sleep. She knew her cheeks were heated.

He said, “I have asked that a cradle be sent up. It should arrive immediately.”

How had he guessed her thoughts? Sofie was afraid to meet his eyes. She moved to the bed and laid Edana down in the center of it, but did not dare sit down beside her, afraid he might think it an invitation of sorts. She stroked the silk counterpane, her back to him. “Perhaps you had better
leave before the cradle arrives,” she said, trying not to think about all the ramifications of being in a public hotel with her daughter—and taking over Edward’s suite. Trying not to think about the ramifications of Edward having entered her life once again.

She was too tired. Tomorrow she would unscramble her thoughts—and her feelings.

“All right.” Edward nodded, hesitant. Then he moved swiftly forward. Sofie froze, but he bent over Edana, not her, and brushed his mouth to the baby’s temple. He straightened, locked gazes with her. Sofie could not move.

“Good night.” He bowed slightly, politely, formally. Then he spun on his heel and crossed the room. Sofie clutched the silk bedcovering, watching him cross the salon. A moment later he had entered the foyer and was lost from view. She heard the front door open, and close. With a ragged sigh, she lay down beside her daughter.

“What am I going to do now?” she whispered to herself.

Rachelle had taken Edana alter her dawn feeding, as was customary. Sofie had fallen back to sleep immediately. Never had she slept as deeply, as dreamlessly, as she did in those few hours after sunrise. Now she awoke gradually. She became aware of the sunlight streaming through the bedroom’s windows. Briefly she was confused, certain that the drapes had been drawn when she went to sleep last night.

Then Sofie realized where she was. She was not at the waterfront rooming house. She was at the luxurious Savoy Hotel—in Edward’s suite—in his luxurious bed. She snuggled more deeply under the plush down-quilted covers. For the first time in a long time she felt safe, secure, almost free of worry. It was a tremendous relief not to awake to fear.

Sofie turned over. The sheets beneath her bare cheek, her bare arms and legs, were smooth satin and faintly erotic. Sofie sighed. Last night Edward had charged into her life the way a knight in shining armor might in a fairy tale, rescuing her the way beautiful damsels were
rescued, in a moment of great distress. Something fluttered more insistently low in Sofie’s abdomen, muscles knotted more tightly in her thighs. Desire. Fierce and burning bright.

She turned again, this time onto her back, shoving the covers down to her waist. This was not the first time that she had awakened to throbbing need and fanciful thoughts of Edward. But it was the first time she had awakened to such thoughts while in satin sheets in his bed, and she was more undressed than dressed, having been too tired last night to exchange her worn shift for a full-length flannel nightgown. Fully awake now, she wondered why she was not ashamed of what her body was feeling, why she had never been ashamed of the desire he had taught her once so long ago. Perhaps it was because when they had made love that one single time, it had seemed exactly like that, like making love. It had been wonderful, not duly or lewd or unclean. But it
had
been so very long ago. She wondered how she would resist temptation, how she would resist him.

Shivering slightly, Sofie sat up. Her hair was loose instead of in its usual nightly braid, and she shoved the wild mass back and off her shoulders. She flung the covers off her legs and slipped to the floor. Two paces later, her steps slowed.

Suddenly she froze. Afraid that she was being watched.

Her heart skidding, Sofie turned slowly, and froze yet again.

Edward stood in the doorway, regarding her intently.

She could not move. Sofie became utterly still, except for the fierce, wild beating of her heart.

His gaze was blue smoke. His eyes were as piercing as a hunting hawk’s.

Sofie felt panic bubble up in her breast. For the dark gleam in his gaze left her in no doubt as to the nature of his thoughts.

And she realized exactly how she looked. Her hair was loose but as tangled as a bird’s nest. She wore only a thin, threadbare, thigh-length chemise. She was naked beneath it. She looked as wanton as her body was feeling—she was sure of it.

She told herself to move, to run. He had the look of a predator about him. But her legs refused to obey her mind—which was functioning only halfheartedly.

She met his gaze. As she had feared, he was looking through her undergarment—and down her slim white legs and at her breasts, which were hardly contained by the chemise. His hungry blue eyes moved to her mouth.

Sofie came to life. She jerked the entire yellow silk bedspread off the bed and wrapped herself in it. “What are you doing in here?” she asked hoarsely.

“Enjoying the best view in Manhattan.” Without another word he whirled and stalked from the room.

Sofie stared after him, shaking with hot, liquid desire, and with a curious mixture of both disappointment and relief. And she was furious. Furious with him—furious with herself—and most of all, furious with Life.