Karen Harbaugh (22 page)

“Am I kind? You flatter me, my dear Miss Amberley.”

Sophia glanced up at him, but he only gave her an amused look. He must know she wanted him to ruin Lady Rothwick’s reputation, and she was sure he would do so—was she not expert at making others do as she willed? She gazed at the rose she still held in her handkerchief-wrapped hand. But somehow she felt perhaps that there was more to Sir James than she had thought at first. He would need watching. She smiled at him. She would watch him carefully, herself.

* * * *

Sir James patted his horse on the neck and absently gave the gelding a little piece of sugar. He gazed out of the stable, and he could see Sophia going into the house. He grinned. The little witch! He did not remember the last time he had been so entertained. He had been on the point of returning to India not so long ago; he’d been bored to the point of pain for the year he had been in London. Oh, he had thought he would welcome the return, for this time he was no longer penniless but a rich man. There was far more with which to amuse oneself when one had a great deal of money.

But there was little excitement to be had. India had been different. It was hot, wild, and one had to use one’s wits to the fullest to survive. There was a certain electric edginess on which he thrived when he hunted the tiger or other wild beasts. It was not the kill he enjoyed, but the hunt itself—indeed, he often regretted the sacrifice of these savage and wonderful animals. Even more exciting than that was using one’s wits to maneuver around the animal. It was not unlike the hunt for fortune and using one’s wits to outmaneuver one’s competitors. As a result of his keen business insight, he had amassed a goodly fortune and enjoyed himself all the while.

But now the only amusement he had been able to find was the hunt known as the Season in London. The tables had been turned on him; once the society matrons and their marriageable daughters got wind of his fortune, he had become the prey instead of the predator. This had amused him greatly. He had admittance to Almack’s by his subtle and not-so-subtle flattery of the patronesses. Quite aware that he was entering the portals of the marriage mart, he had let himself be lured by the flutter of an eyelash and learned the messages the movement of a fan could send.

Never, of course, to be trapped. He had gained himself a slightly rakish reputation after a few bold damsels had learned that while he was quite adept at lovemaking in secluded places, he was just as adept at avoiding a compromising scene. He was diverted by the lady of the day, and when the next day arrived, there would be another. But he was becoming bored with that, as well.

Until now. Now there was Miss Sophia Amberley, who laid no traps for him at all, or if she did, it was for her own tortuous and vengeful plans rather than for marriage. He had at first thought she was yet another lovely but insipid little debutante, with her halo of golden-blond hair and large, kittenlike blue eyes. Indeed, he had almost not bothered to strike up her acquaintance, until at the musicale she’d given him a look so full of offended hauteur that he’d been intrigued. He’d learned she was a vain creature, but she had an excuse, he thought. She was extraordinarily beautiful, even at close range. And then he found how delicately she could flirt and manipulate at the same time, and he’d become intrigued. It had been enormously amusing to watch her trying to get him to tell her about Lady Ackleby. He had relented and told her of the lady’s liaisons, of course, for she deserved some reward for her cleverness.

As he gave his horse a last pat and left the stables to seek out his hostess and take his leave, Sir James felt he must pursue Miss Amberley’s acquaintance further. Though he knew full well she intended to gain some revenge on her former betrothed, he had felt a sudden spurt of anger at her proposal that he—in effect—seduce Lady Rothwick. He smiled at himself ruefully. Perhaps he was becoming vain himself; he had dallied with so many ladies since his return to England that he wholly expected Miss Amberley to cast out lures in his direction as well. But she had not. She had only used her wiles with the thought that he would do as she bade. He was surprised at his sense of chagrin at the thought, then chuckled. Ah, perhaps he was getting to the age when a man had thoughts of settling upon his own estates. But if he was, they were thoughts only. He had no intention of marrying some insipid little debutante from Almack’s—or anyone else, for that matter. Seduction, however...

Sir James’s grin grew wider. Miss Amberley needed a little lesson. The kiss he had pressed on her, he felt, was not enough. Certainly it was not enough for him. He chuckled to himself again. He could not help admiring her determined recovery after their kiss, but she was too used to having the upper hand. One needed only to look at her hapless brother, and the bedazzled and anxious faces of her suitors in London, to see that. Oh, yes, definitely he would pay a good deal of attention to Lady Rothwick and see how Miss Amberley liked it.

* * * *

“Lady Rothwick?”

Linnea jumped, startled. She turned to find Sir James Marlowe bowing gracefully to her. She had been absorbed in sketching a plan of the little Grecian gazebo—more absorbed than she thought, for she had not heard him come up behind her.

“I am sorry if I startled you, ma’am,” he said politely.

She smiled. “I was only a little startled, so I will readily forgive you, Sir James. Is there something I may do for you?”

“I am merely here to take my leave, my lady. I am afraid I must retire to my hunting box, as I have promised a few friends some sport there.”

Linnea felt a little vexed, though she did not show it. Though she knew he did not have any real excuse for staying, she had hoped he would be inclined to set forth perhaps the next day. Now there would be one less gentleman to entertain Miss Amberley.

Oh, of what use were her hopes, after all? She knew that since Rothwick so stubbornly insisted on rising, he would be available to entertain guests, so there was no sense in thinking another gentleman would be needed to keep the number of dinner guests even. She admitted to herself that she could not stop the natural course of things. A sense of despondency crept into her heart. This was a marriage of convenience, regardless of what Will said about becoming friends. She had heard that spouses often agreed to go their own ways in such a marriage, often in a friendly manner. Linnea dismissed these thoughts from her mind. This was not the time to mull over what was no doubt a foregone outcome. She looked up at Sir James with a smile.

“We will be quite sorry to see you leave, to be sure. You have been of such kind help to Mr. and Miss Amberley. Of course, you must see to your guests. However, I hope you will come again to call.”

“You are most gracious, Lady Rothwick. My hunting box is a mere fifteen miles away, so I would be pleased to call upon you... and your guests.” He bowed once again, this time over her hand. He held her hand for longer than Linnea felt comfortable. Just as she was about to pull away, he released her hand, rising, and it seemed that the assessing glance he gave her looked deep into her soul. Then he smiled once more, and Linnea let out a breath she was not aware she had been holding.

Heavens, but she was becoming fanciful! His smile now was merely courteous, and his eyes held only a friendly expression. Yesterday he had in passing said that he had lived in India for a long while; no doubt he had forgotten the proper length of time to hold a lady’s hand.

Linnea inclined her head politely, and with a wider grin, he took his leave. She followed him with her gaze as he left, a perplexed frown on her brow. The man was something of a puzzle, she thought. He did not say much, but there seemed to be a world of meaning behind what he
did
say. She shook her head. It was not her concern. If Sir James came to call, he would come, no doubt, to see Miss Amberley. And that, she was sure, would be a relief.

Chapter 12

Relief, however, was not the emotion that passed through Sophia’s heart as she gazed at Sir James taking leave of their hostess. She had come up to her chambers to wash her face and cool her heated cheeks after her walk with him, and she could easily look out the windows and see him below with Lady Rothwick. She knew it was proper for him to bow over Lady Rothwick’s hand when taking his leave. But it seemed to her that he held his hostess’s hand a trifle too long for mere politeness.

Sophia lifted her chin in defiance. Well, he was doing what she wanted him to do. In truth, she was glad he had taken to carrying out her instructions so quickly. Not only that, she thought even more truculently, but she would be ecstatic when he carried off Lady Rothwick and proved to all and sundry that the woman was not worth the title she bore. Oh, she was not yet absolutely happy now, but that was only because her business had not come to its inevitable conclusion.

In fact, she hadn’t seen Lord Rothwick yet. Sophia frowned. She should find him. He had yet to see her in her ravishing periwinkle-blue gown. Perhaps he would appear at supper, but the sooner her plans were put into action, the better it would be. Yes. She would definitely seek him out.

After a last look in the cheval mirror in her bedchamber, Sophia emerged, satisfied that she looked absolutely beautiful. Now where would Rothwick be?

Ah, the library. He was fond of books, she knew, and if he was just recovering from his illness, he would most likely not go about his estates much. It would be the perfect place for him to stave off boredom and rest at the same time.

Sophia was quite right.

Lord Rothwick had intended to take a walk in the gardens for some fresh air but found that walking down the long hall and down the stairs made him frustratingly fatigued. Muttering a curse as a wave of dizziness came over him, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes again, and noticed that he was right next to the library. Well, the library was a bright room with comfortable chairs. At least he could open a window and read for a while until he revived. And
then
make his way to the gardens.

He had just selected Fielding’s
Tom Jones
and settled onto his favorite wing chair when he heard the door open. He suppressed a sigh. Perhaps if he made no sound and sat quietly, the intruder would not notice he was there and go away.

But of course not. The intruder came around the chair, and he saw it was Sophia. She saw him, smiled, and he let out the sigh he had suppressed. Well, there was no escaping it, Rothwick thought. Better to get over the initial awkwardness now and try to establish a foundation of civility.

“Oh, Lord Rothwick! I am sorry if I have disturbed you! Shall I leave?” Sophia looked at him wide-eyed.

Suppressing an urge to say “Yes,” the earl made himself rise from his chair, bow over her hand, and say: “No, no, not at all. Did you wish a book to read?”

Sophia raised her eyes to the shelves of books that extended from floor to ceiling. She shuddered and pulled her shawl over her shoulders.

“Not at this moment, thank you, my lord. I... I had heard the library windows opened to a excellent view of the lake and surrounding landscape, so I thought perhaps I would see for myself what it looked like.”

Rothwick went to the window. He pulled back the curtains and gazed out at the landscape, dim now, though the sun was trying to fight its way through the clouds. “It is pleasant. I am quite used to it, so it has no surprises for me. However, I have whiled away many hours here, alternately reading and looking at the lake, blessedly solitary.” He stopped short and cursed himself. Implying that he wanted to be alone—regardless of his preference for solitude—was positively boorish. He had become so used to speaking freely in Linnea’s company that he’d forgotten one must be forever complimentary to Sophia. He turned back to her with an apologetic look.

Sophia looked at him and pouted. “Ah, my lord, I see you have not been truthful to me. If you wished me to leave, you should have said so.”

“I am sorry, Miss Amberley. But do stay. There is little excuse for my words except that I am still rather fatigued from my recent illness.” He smiled and put as much persuasiveness in it as he could muster.

A dimple appeared in Sophia’s cheek, and her eyes brightened. “Oh, I thought that must have been it. I am so sorry that you have been ill. It must have been exceedingly tedious—and lonely—for you.”

“Not at all. I have had a good nurse in Lady Rothwick, to be sure.”

“Oh, nursing! I daresay Lady Rothwick did only what she should have in repayment for your saving her reputation.”

Rothwick caught himself before he snapped at her and made his voice fairly neutral. “As distasteful as it is for me to mention it, it was not her fault that she almost lost her good name.”

Sophia smiled up at him. “You are so kind, my lord. Most gentlemen, I am sure, would not have been so generous.”

He gazed at her coolly for a long moment before turning to look out the window. “You flatter me,” he said.

“Oh, no, my lord. I have always known you to be a kind gentleman.”

Good God, thought Rothwick. And to think he had been within aim’s ace of marrying this chit. She was as shallow as a birdbath. She had not one thought that perhaps it was up to him to make recompense to Linnea and not the other way around. Yet she had certainly thought he was grievously at fault for her own injury when she had found him at the inn with Linnea.

He had thought of marrying Sophia with the purpose of getting heirs; she was young and had many childbearing years ahead of her. But the earl had not thought of how he would spend his time with her or that it was wholly possible to have but one person for company for more than a few days.

He thought of Linnea, but five years older than Sophia, and how different they were. He glanced at the girl beside him and acknowledged that she was beautiful; but beyond that, what else was there? He reviewed the many times he had danced with her, or taken her into supper many months ago, and could not think of anything she had said worth remembering.