After Innocence (47 page)

Sofie froze, then darted a wild glance at Edana’s cradle. The baby slept blissfully. “Send her away,” she hissed.

“She said she must speak with you. Sofie, she has been crying. Perhaps—”

Sofie stiffened her resolve. “I do not care.”

And then Suzanne appeared in the doorway, behind Rachelle. Mother and daughter stared at each other, Sofie with frozen rage, Suzanne pale and distraught. “Please, Sofie,” Suzanne said. “Please.”

“Get out.”

“Sofie! You are my child and—”

Sofie said, “If you do not leave, Mother, I will be forced to call for the hotel staff and ask them to escort you out.”

Suzanne blanched.

Sofie refused to feel guilt, or anguish. But she was choking on painful emotions nonetheless.

Abruptly Suzanne whirled and ran out. She was sobbing.

Sofie collapsed on the gold floral love seat in front of the bed. Rachelle instantly came to her, taking her hands.
“Ma pauvre.
What can I do?”

Sofie shook her head. “Nothing. You cannot help, no one can.” She felt the crush of heartbreak. It was undeniable.

Less than an hour later, Sofie found herself faced with more visitors. But this time it was Benjamin Ralston and the Marquis of Connaught.

The instant Sofie learned of their presence in the salon, her pulse rioted. She fought to take a deep breath. In the trauma engendered by all that had transpired since she had gone to the ball and seen Edward again, she had forgotten all about Lisa’s flight from Julian St. Clare. Clearly Benjamin had learned her whereabouts from her mother—and Sofie had already guessed that more than a few people had seen her leaving last night with Edward. It was no secret that Edward resided at the Savoy. Sofie could not
help wondering if Suzanne had had a confrontation with Edward before coming up to her suite.

Now Sofie checked her appearance in the mirror, knowing she must speak with Benjamin and St. Clare. Indeed, she must prepare herself to lie for Lisa’s sake. She had never been a good liar, but this time she must excel at deceit.

Sofie winced, because her eyes were red and swollen and it was obvious that she had been crying. In fact, she looked singularly bad. There were circles underneath her eyes and brackets around her mouth. She did not have time to fix her hair, either, which was in a loose braid. Sighing, Sofie splashed water on her face and toweled dry, then smoothed down her worn navy blue skirt. She left the bathroom and walked into the salon.

Benjamin stood in its center, ashen and grim, the marquis beside him. St. Clare was furious. Sofie took one look in his stormy gray eyes and realized that he was not about to let this matter pass without some kind of resolution. And she wondered if she had been wrong. She wondered if, despite his grim expression on the night of his engagement—and his even grimmer confession—he felt something for Lisa after all.

“Lisa is gone,” Benjamin cried.

Sofie steeled herself to appear surprised. “Lisa has gone where?”

“She disappeared last night,” Benjamin said. “We all thought that she had retired early. But this morning Lisa did not come downstairs. At noon I grew concerned and I sent Suzanne up to wake her. Not only was her door still locked, there was no answer. We managed to find a key to her room—thank God for Mrs. Murdock—and we discovered it was a shambles. There were clothes everywhere! The armoire was open, drawers askew! The window was open! At first we were afraid she had been abducted by burglars!”

Sofie’s eyes widened. She had never thought that Suzanne and Benjamin might suspect the worst—falsely. How could she let her mother and Benjamin believe that Lisa had been abducted? Then she felt the marquis’s eyes on her, and
despite herself, she flushed. Their gazes met. Sofie knew then that he comprehended without a doubt that Lisa had run away from him. “Surely she was not abducted,” Sofie said slowly, uncertain. Did the marquis suspect her role in aiding Lisa in her escape?

Benjamin waved a note in his hand. “No—she was not abducted,” he said grimly. “I found this shortly afterwards on her nightstand.”

Sofie’s heart leapt when she realized that Lisa must have written a note before Sofie had found her packing her bag in her bedroom.

For the first time the marquis spoke, quite calmly, in spite of his stormy eyes, looking only at Sofie. “She claims that she is never going to marry me and that she will not return home until the engagement has been broken off, or until, preferably, I have returned to Great Britain.”

Sofie felt the blood drain from her face. Why had Benjamin let St. Clare read such an incriminating letter?

“I insisted Ralston let me read the missive,” he said coolly, as if aware of Sofie’s thoughts. He was sardonic. “Apparently my bride has a severe case of prenuptial jitters.”

Sofie stared at him. His tone was ice, but the light in his eyes was not. “I am sure this is just a small misunderstanding,” Sofie began lamely.

His mouth twisted. “Are you sure of that, really, Miss O’Neil?”

Sofie shivered.

“This is not like Lisa,” Benjamin said harshly. “I am very sorry—no apology can make up for this. I do not blame you for ending this engagement immediately. But I can assure you, Julian, that Lisa will be very sorry for this hysterical prank of hers.”

The marquis’s smile was chilling. “
You
may rest assured, Benjamin, for I have no intention of breaking it off with the little chit. I am sure that, once I find her, she can be convinced of the merits that will accrue to both of us from this marriage.”

Sofie stared, afraid for Lisa. She knew, then and there, that Lisa had made a terrible mistake—and that the marquis
would find her, force her to the altar, and make sure she paid the price for running away. He was not going to seek resolution for this matter, but retribution. His winter gray regard met hers again. “Perhaps Miss O’Neil has an idea of where we might begin our search,” he said.

Sofie stiffened. “M-Me?”

He inclined his head, his gaze piercing.

“Sofie!” Benjamin barked. “Did Lisa tell you where she was going?”

Sofie managed to shake her head, but her cheeks were burning.

“Can you think of anything she might have said that would give us a clue of where to look?”

Wondering if her guilt was written all over her face, Sofie shook her head again.

Benjamin hesitated, grim and tense and unsure. “We shall have to turn to the police.”

“No,” the marquis said. “Not yet. We can still avoid scandal. I will hire Pinkertons, and I will search for her myself.”

“A good idea. Sofie, is there a telephone in this suite?”

Sofie nodded.

Benjamin walked to where the telephone was posted on the wall, picked up the receiver and waited for an operator. The marquis faced Sofie.

“Come, Miss O’Neil,” he said, not quite pleasantly, “we both know that you know where Lisa has gone. Why don’t you tell me? Before the situation gets worse?”

Sofie hoped her trembling was not apparent. “I d-do not know where my sister is,” she lied through her teeth. “A-And if I did, I would not tell you!”

He studied her. “And what have I done to you to set you against me?”

“You have done nothing to me,” Sofie blurted, “but you do not deserve a woman like Lisa, I can assure you of mat!”

“Ahh—you are not impressed with my ancient lineage, my noble tide, and the very idea that my wife will one day be a countess?” He was mocking.

She stood her ground. “No. Not at all.”

“How unalike you and your stepsister are. Lisa was so very impressed by it all.”

“You make it sound as if you would rather your bride be disdainful.”

“I would,” he said bluntly, startling her. His gaze pinned her. “You would probably stand up to the rigors of being my bride far better than your delicate stepsister,” he said.

Sofie’s eyes widened.

He lifted a large hand. It was as tanned as his face, and Sofie saw that it was heavily callused. The marquis might have a title and ancestral estates, but he labored like a farmer. “Have no fear. While I admire your courage and daring, I am in need of a very well-heeled heiress, and you do not fit the bill.”

Sofie drew herself together. “I am relieved!” she snapped.

“Where is she?”

She did not hesitate. “At this exact moment, I do not know!” That, at least, was not a lie.

His smile was cold. “Very well, Miss O’Neil. Your loyalty is admirable. But you may be confident that I will find my bride, and I will marry her—even if I have to truss her up like a sheep for shearing.” He turned and stalked away. But Sofie had seen his fury again.

Sofie covered her mouth with her hand, to cut off her cry of relief that he was leaving. Poor Lisa! She was doomed.

Suzanne’s pulse raced far too wildly as she waited for a servant to answer the doorbell. Her heart felt as if it were lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. God! She had to see Jake, talk to him, tell him what had happened, she just had to!

Suzanne tensed as the door was finally opened. It was the middle of the afternoon and she was expecting to see a servant. To her shock, Jake stood there—clad only in a strange wide-sleeved red silk robe that somehow made Suzanne think of the Orient.

Jake’s expression did not flicker when he remarked her standing there in her finest, most elegant, most flattering day dress, one striped in shades of teal. Suzanne’s heart
leapt in glad joy at the sight of him. He had obviously just gotten up; he was rumpled, sleepy-eyed, and very naked beneath the robe—she was sure of it. Her blood filled her veins and capillaries in a rush.

“Jake,” she said much too huskily, “please let me come inside.”

“How come I’m not surprised to find you standing at my front door?” he asked, sighing.

Suzanne started, realizing that he had been drinking quite recently. She heard it in his husky tone, and moving past him as she entered, she smelled fine French brandy on his breath. It crossed her mind that, unlike most men, Jake had always performed best when slightly drunk.

But that was not why she had come to him today. Not the first reason, anyway. She had come because her heart was broken, because she needed his advice.

The foyer was more ostentatious than the front stoop. Not only was it the size of her own morning room, but the carved ceiling was many stories above her and was completely round; looking up, the effect was dizzying. There was a small glass dome at the top, through which sunlight strayed.

Four very high arched entrances opened onto other rooms and corridors. The arches were black marble, shot with gold, and the floor she stood on was glaringly white marble, as were the walls.

She turned to face him, duly impressed. “I’ve always wondered how you came into the kind of fortune necessary to build this kind of home.”

Jake leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching her through slitted eyes.

A tremor swept through her—one of anticipation. Jake was looking at her the way a man looks at a woman he wants to bed—for the first time since she had learned that he was alive. Crazily, she was nervous. “Not to mention your other three homes.”

“I already told you,” he said. “In building.”

She raised a brow. “I don’t believe you.”

“And shipping.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided and tantalizing grin.

“I’m afraid to ask what you were shipping.”

“Then don’t.”

She wet her lips. Despite her better intentions, her gaze strayed to his large feet and his strong, curved calves, and the hemline of his red silk robe. “Where are your servants, Jake?”

“I only have a housekeeper and a valet. They are both somewhere doing whatever it is that housekeepers and valets do.”

“You need a wife,” Suzanne said, then regretted her candor, for hadn’t she begged him to take her back in one letter after the other? Letters he disdained to answer? But then, Jake always knew how to annoy her more than anyone else.

Yet this time Jake neither laughed nor mocked her. He stared at her, shadows in his eyes. Then he shoved himself off the wall. “Why are you here?”

Suzanne could not help notice how his robe parted when he moved. Revealing a swath of hard, dark thigh. She shook herself free of unwanted thoughts. Seduction—his or hers—was not her intent. “Sofie hates me.”

“So you said last night.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Jake, I tried to see her—she ordered me out. She was prepared to have the hotel staff throw me out.” She told herself that she was not going to reveal the depth of her anguish to him, not now, not after he had abandoned her for so many years. But the tears trickled down her cheeks.

“She’ll come around,” Jake said, staring at her.

Suzanne shuddered and bent over double and sobbed. “N-No! I-I d-don’t think s-sot Y-You d-don’t understand! You c-can’t understand! I’m her mother! I love her! I can’t lose her! Oh, God! F-First you—n-now h-her!” The only time she had ever felt this kind of pain was when she had learned that Jake had died, so many years before, but even then, she had been younger and less wise, not really understanding life or mortality, certainly not as she did now.

“Don’t cry,” Jake said roughly. “Sofie loves you, and she will come around.”

Suzanne straightened and sucked down the sobs, but the tears still gushed. She met Jake’s gaze, and saw that he was sorry for her—more than sorry, stricken. “She h-hates me. I w-was only trying to spare her more p-pain.”

Jake stood very still, his mouth turned down, stark sympathy in his eyes. A moment later he moved towards her. But Suzanne had been waiting, torn between the hurting and the joy. For she had sensed almost immediately after arriving that they would finally come together as they should have long before. His arms moved around her. “Don’t cry,” he said again, pulling her against his hard, muscular body. “Please, Suzanne.”

Suzanne wept harder now, for everything. For losing Sofie, for having once lost Jake—and for having him back again.

Jake’s hands moved over her back, tender strokes meant to soothe, not inflame. Yet as he caressed her, Suzanne’s pulse rioted. Blood surged almost instantly to her sex. Dizzying desire assaulted her.

Her tears died as she clung to his broad, strong shoulders. His hands lingered on her hips. She shifted, pressing closer to him, whimpering his name. His hands slid down her buttocks. Suzanne shuddered, her wet face pressed against his neck. It was the most natural thing in the world to press one kiss after another there. Then she felt his mouth brush her temple, slowly, just below the brim of her hat. As his lips touched her skin, lingering there, his hands slid over both of her buttocks where they formed a sensual seam. Suzanne shifted again and came into contact with the full length of his erection, covered only in a wisp of red silk robe.