Irresistible (25 page)

The end of the world, she decided, had not quite come. Not yet, anyway.

Little more than a week ago, apart from worry over the renewed demands concerning the letters, she had been quite content. The worry had been no small thing, of course, but she had been living quite happily without
them.
Without
him.

She would be happy again. She had a very pleasant circle of friends and just enough social activities to prevent her from feeling her loneliness or turning her into a hermit. There was nothing in those people or those activities to arouse the spite of an evil man, surely. It had been a shock last evening to discover that he meant to take away her peace of mind, her enjoyment of
ton
events, and her past friends as well as her money.

Well, she still had not been destroyed and would not be.

Sophia grimaced. Trust Nathaniel to have been so much more than just the gentleman. At least the others had had the grace to tip their hats to her and ride away, the perfect gentlemen, as soon as she had said her piece. But he had refused to accept her severance of their friendship. Not that he had raged at her or argued with her. He had done worse. He had been gentle and kind and dignified.

Did
his spirits lift at the mere sight of her?

She hated him today for the very qualities she loved in him—had always loved. Even though she had not really been conscious of it before, she could see now that he had always been a little less selfish, a little more genuinely caring than the others. Perhaps it was why she had found him irresistible, why she had always loved him whereas she had only ever been
half
in love with the other three.

But she did not want to think of any of them any longer. She had released herself of one complication in her life today and she must live with the resulting unhappiness and loneliness. She would not let either drag at her spirits.

The news that Lavinia was downstairs wanting to call upon her seemed particularly poorly timed, but she could hardly turn her away. Besides, she felt a painful lurching of pleasure to know that Lavinia had come—that she had come from
there,
from that elegant, unostentatious house on Upper Brook Street. And perhaps, she thought foolishly, Lavinia had brought some message from
him.

She stretched out both her hands when her visitor was shown into the sitting room and squeezed Lavinia’s hands. “I suppose,” she said, “this is a secret visit. I do hope it will not get you into dreadful trouble.”

“Lord Pelham came charging across the park like the cavalry officer he once was when he saw me walking alone,” Lavinia said. “I informed him I would squawk very loudly if he tried to take me back home. Oh, very well, Lass. There. Now you have been noticed.” She pulled the collie’s ears and Lass, contented, padded back to her place before the fireplace. “Lord Pelham took fright and escorted me here instead. So I daresay if Nat needs to find someone to rip up at, it will be Lord Pelham.” She smiled brightly.

Sophia laughed. “Lavinia,” she said, “how delightful you are. And how very pleasant it is to see you. Come and sit down and I will ring for tea.”

“Thank you,” Lavinia said, removing her bonnet and setting it aside. “Now you really must tell me about your friendship with Mr. Pinter. He is actually rather handsome, is he not? I understand that Nat and his friends—and your husband too—did not like him, perhaps because he was an inferior officer and they saw him as an upstart. Men can be quite childish about such matters, as I just remarked to Lord Pelham. He did not like it above half—he looks deliciously toplofty when he pokers up. Anyway, what I wish you to know is that if Mr. Pinter is a friend of yours, Sophie, then he is a friend of mine too, and you may present him to me anytime you wish.”

“Oh dear,” Sophia said, sitting down. “I truly would not wish to do that, Lavinia. He really is not my friend at all.”

“Oh?” Lavinia had sat down too. She leaned forward now, interest lighting up her face.

She ought not to have said that, Sophia thought. But how could she have encouraged Lavinia to defy Nathaniel on the question of an acquaintance with Boris Pinter when all the right of the matter was on his side? What was she to say now?

She smiled. “Mr. Pinter is not a well-liked gentleman,” she said. “Despite his good looks he has an unfortunate personality that repels rather than attracts. Perhaps I feel a little sorry for him. Or perhaps I merely wished last evening to assert myself against Eden and Nathaniel, who had gathered close to save me from his attentions, and against Rex and Kenneth, who were only a few feet away with a similar purpose in mind. I have been too long independent to enjoy having men take me under their wing.”

Lavinia seemed satisfied. “Men are an abomination,” she remarked. “If I were you, I would gather the four of them together and treat them to a thorough scolding. I only wish I could be there to hear.” She laughed.

“I have done it already,” Sophia said. “I have gone further, Lavinia.” She was going to know it soon enough anyway. “I have ended my friendship with all of them. I have told them I wish to have no more dealings with them.”

Lavinia looked at her blankly.

“So I do not believe Nathaniel will encourage you to continue your friendship with me,” Sophia said, pouring the tea, which had just arrived. “And you must not feel obliged to do so. He is, after all, your guardian, either until you marry or until you are thirty—all of six years in the future.”

“You have broken off
entirely
with them?” Lavinia said just as if she had not listened to the last speech. “But, Sophie, they are so
fond
of you. And you of them. And annoying though they can be—Nathaniel and Lord Pelham anyway; I do not know the other two well—they are not ... Well, I... That is, they mean well, surely. Oh, this is none of my business. Shall we talk of something else?”

“I have been reading Milton’s
Paradise Lost,”
Sophia said. “It is heavy. But you are quite right, Lavinia. It is well worth reading.”

“Poor Milton did not realize what a marvelous hero he was creating in Satan,” Lavinia said.

“The quintessential rebel,” Sophia said. “I am not surprised that you sympathize with him.”

They settled into a comfortable chat. Sophia’s mind did touch upon the dreadful problem she would be facing if Boris Pinter decided to call today, but she did not believe he would. He would wait a while before presenting her with the next letter. He would wish to savor last night’s victory for a few days or even weeks.

Did
Nathaniel’s spirits lift at the mere sight of her? she wondered. As hers did at the sight of him?

COMING TO LONDON FOR the Season seemed to be accomplishing one of its purposes at least, Nathaniel thought a week later. For his own part he would have been quite content to return to Bowood, since he was not enjoying himself despite the pleasure of seeing and spending some time with his friends again. But Georgina was happy.

She appeared to love everything about London—the famous sights, the museums and galleries, the shops, the parks, the social events. And she had gathered about her a group of admirers, two or three of whom might have been pursuing her with serious intent. His sister, Nathaniel discovered, was blossoming rather late into an extremely pretty and surprisingly vivacious young lady.

Young Lewis Armitage, Houghton’s son, was a definite favorite. He was an amiable young man, eligible in every way. Nathaniel did nothing to discourage the growing attachment, even though he could have wished there was not the connection with Sophie. He had not seen her since she had called at Upper Brook Street. She had not made an appearance at either of the two balls her family—and his—had attended. But sooner or later, if Georgie and Armitage remained together, he was bound to see her again.

He did not want to see her.

She had indeed put an end to all connection with Rex, Ken, and Eden as well as with him. When Catherine and Moira had called on her, she had refused to receive them.

He wished he had never seen her again. She had put a blight on the Season he had looked forward to with such eager anticipation. He had danced with Lady Gullis twice at each of the balls in the past week, and he had walked in Kew Gardens with her and driven her in Hyde Park. He had accepted an invitation to dinner and the theater with her and four of her friends during the coming week. But he had not yet been to bed with her, though the invitation to do so had been stated in all but words. Indeed, the lady appeared to be becoming impatient with his scrupulous concern for her reputation.

Eden and the others, of course, assumed that the deed had already been done and a full-blown
affaire de coeur
was now in happy progress. Assailing him with ribald wit obviously afforded them enormous pleasure—they never tired of affecting great surprise when he joined them for their early-morning rides, and they always proceeded with a spirited discussion of whether he was up early or late. He had not bothered to disabuse them. It was easier to hide behind their assumption.

Sophie had left him feeling strangely hurt and bruised.

Lavinia was the only one with whose friendship she had not broken. Lavinia, as he might have guessed, had made no secret of the fact that she had gone alone to call upon Sophie the very morning of Sophie’s visit to him. It was only later he had discovered—from Eden—that in fact she had had an escort most of the way to Sloan Terrace. He guessed that she had omitted that detail in order to shield his friend from his wrath.

But Nathaniel had not ripped up at her, except to scold her for not taking at least a maid along with her. Lavinia, he was beginning to realize at last, was not a child and was not going to conform to any comfortable pattern of his or society’s devising. Even after just a couple of weeks in town, she probably could have had a veritable court of besotted followers. By the end of the Season she could probably be married ten times over if she so chose.

She did not so choose. She treated with careless grace those gentlemen who might have been serious about her; she treated with hauteur those few of high rank who would have condescended to her; she treated with humorous scorn those who would have become possessive; and she quarreled at every turn with Eden, who quarreled right back.

Sometimes it struck Nathaniel, though he kept the thought strictly to himself, that they would make an interesting couple.

But he had resigned himself to being stuck with her until she was thirty.

It happened at last, as was inevitable—the meeting with Sophie. They had been invited to an evening of music and cards at the Houghtons—an intimate gathering of friends, as Lady Houghton had described it. Nathaniel gathered that he qualified as a friend because of Lewis Armitage’s interest in Georgina, just as Rex qualified because of Viscount Perry’s interest in Sarah Armitage—Rex and Catherine were invited too.

And of course Sophie was there, looking very much as she always looked and behaving just as if they were not there.

It was hard to ignore her. Nathaniel played a few hands of cards, an activity he never particularly enjoyed, and stood for a while behind the pianoforte bench, watching a series of young ladies play and sing. Sophie sat the whole while in one of the remoter corners of the drawing room in conversation with several older ladies. The fact that she stayed there, identifying with them, annoyed him intensely. The fact that where she sat and what she did was absolutely none of his business only annoyed him further.

Lavinia joined her eventually and he was triply annoyed. Did Sophie continue with
that
friendship deliberately to wound him since he had humiliated
her
by refusing to allow her to present Pinter to Lavinia? He hoped she would not try defying him to the extent of introducing the two of them after all. Though on mature consideration he did not worry about the result of such an acquaintance as much as he had at first. Lavinia was a sensible young lady in many ways. She would not easily be swayed by the veneer of charm Pinter was capable of wrapping about himself.

Nathaniel left the drawing room for a couple of minutes, having discovered that he had left his handkerchief in the pocket of his cloak. It was not the sort of party at which the guests wandered beyond the main center of entertainment. The hallway was deserted and lit by only two branches of candles. But someone else was coming out of the drawing room just as he was returning to it—someone who was probably on her way to the ladies’ withdrawing room. He halted only just in time to avert a collision. She stopped too and looked up at him, startled.

“Sophie,” he said softly.

Her face looked thinner, he thought, her eyes more luminous. Her hair was surrounded by its usual dark halo of escaped curls.