Kathryn Smith - [Friends 03] (4 page)

"That went well," she remarked with more humor than the situation warranted.

Julian's eyes narrowed. How could she possibly be so blasé? It seemed he was so angry that even his muscles trembled at being this close to her. And she stood there staring at him as though nothing had ever happened between them.

"I blame you for this."

Sophia made a sound very much like a snort. Her ebony gaze locked with his. "Of course you do. I was the one who drove her to run out of the room in tears, after all."

Jaw tightening, Julian shifted his weight to the other foot. His boot made a squishing sound as he did so. He was soaked, his head ached and he was on the verge of throwing a fit that would make Letitia look even tempered. He was
not
in the mood to argue with this woman where his sister was concerned.

"No. You were simply the one who assisted her in deceiving her brother." He spoke through clenched teeth to keep them from chattering.

Those dark eyes flashed up at him. "Perhaps her brother should give some thought as to why she should want to deceive him."

That did it. Who did she think she was to think she had any right to comment on what was his business? "What happens between Letitia and myself is none of your concern, madam."

Sighing, Sophia gave her head a little shake. "I am afraid that it is my concern, Lord Wolfram. Your sister has given me as little choice in this matter as she has given you."

A frown drew Julian's brows together as her words drained some of the anger from his body. "What do you mean?"

She glanced away. "Letitia arrived here without invitation, my lord, something that I normally would not mind in the least, but had I known at the time that I was to be set between the two of you I should never have welcomed her as I did."

She was telling the truth, of that he was certain. It was now obvious that she was no happier to see him than he was to see her. For some reason, that rankled him as much as it pleased him. It felt good to know that he wasn't the only one with a grudge, but part of him had expected to walk in and have her throw herself at him, to resort to her old trickery.

"I am sorry she chose to involve you in this." He almost choked on the words. Apologizing to Sophia for anything went against everything he knew of her. "We will leave as soon as she has packed."

Sophia looked at him— and seemed startled by what she saw. "I think you know as well as I, my lord, that your sister is not in her room packing. Sobbing, pitching a fit, perhaps, but not packing."

Julian would have laughed at her astuteness were she not the woman she was. "If you would be so kind as to point me in the right direction I will go talk to her."

"I think perhaps you should give her a little time to calm down."

"At the risk of being rude, my lady, I do not particularly care what you think."

She stiffened, but she didn't back down. "You do not seem to care much for what your sister thinks either."

"I beg your pardon?" His voice was muffled by the solid clench of his teeth.

Mouth set mulishly, Sophia said nothing.

Julian stepped forward. "You started this, madam. Now I demand to know what you are talking about."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly with the force of her anger, lifting the creamy swells of her breasts against the restraining neckline of her violet gown.

How typically male of him to ogle her chest whilst reflecting on how much she angered him. What would he degrade himself to next?

"You may demand all you want, my lord, but I am mistress here and my demands are the only ones that matter."

Ah, this was the Sophia he knew. That woman who treated him like a polite stranger was just that, a stranger. This woman, the one with eyes that glittered like the night sky and fists clenched at her sides, was the woman he had once wanted so badly he ached for her.

This ache he felt now was just a reminder of that, nothing more.

"And what would you have me do, Lady Aberley?" he demanded, gesturing with his hands the way he always did when his temper ran away with him. "Sit by your fire and make small talk while my sister manipulates us both?"

Some of the tension seemed to leave her as she listened to his words. "I think you should indeed sit by my fire, Lord Wolfram, if for no other reason than to dry your clothes so you do not end up with an ague and under my roof for longer than either of us would care to suffer through."

What a sharp-tongued little viper she was! But he had always known that. The sting of her words was heightened by the annoying fact that she was right.

Crossing the sagging floor to the fire, Julian seated himself in an incredibly ugly chair whose black, brown and orange pattern could only be enhanced by any stain his wet clothing might leave behind.

Sophia followed, keeping as much distance between them as was possible. This arrangement suited Julian just fine, until he noticed how she hugged her shawl around her shoulders.

"Come sit where it is warm," he instructed. "I promise not to bite."
Not yet, at any rate.

She surprised him by taking the chair across from him. "You should take your boots off so they will dry faster."

She was right, of course, and Julian complied without speaking. He set the battered Hessians on their sides, with the tops facing the fire so the insides would dry quickly.

Turning his chair to directly face the fire, he propped his feet up on the ottoman that matched his homely seat and sighed as the fire set about driving the chill from his bones.

They sat in a silence that was eerily comfortable. Occasionally rain spattered down the chimney, drawing a sharp hiss out of the fire, but other than that there was no other hint of aggression in the room. It was as though Letitia, and the fact that they were both cold, had formed some kind of truce between them.

Refusing to allow himself to be lulled by this feeling of contentment, Julian took the opportunity to study his surroundings, looking to find some indication that Sophia was the harridan he wanted her to be. He found very little. What he did find piqued his curiosity.

Sophia lived in the dowager house on her late husband's estate, as was proper, but her abode was not what he expected. Instead of the rich opulence he equated with Sophia, he found comfortable yet shabby furnishings, wallpaper several decades out of date and floors in need of refinishing. Even Sophia herself, as lovely as she was, wore a gown that could hardly be described as the height of fashion, although it would have been, last year or the year before. Why?

Her husband had been a wealthy man. Surely he had left his widow enough blunt to live properly? Her circumstances couldn't possibly be
this
reduced, could they?

It was none of his business. As soon as he and Letitia were able to leave, he would put as much distance as possible between himself and Sophia Morelle, and then he would do everything in his power to forget having seen her again.

And to forget that, as of this moment, it was almost nice to be with her.

"If there is going to be much of a delay in repairing my carriage, might it be possible for me to beg loan of one of yours?" he asked, wiggling his toes in front of the fire. His stockings were almost dry.

"You will have to inquire at the great house, I am afraid, my lord," she replied softly. "There are no stables here."

Horses weren't a problem. He had horses. "All I need is a carriage, Lady Aberley." It felt odd to call her by that name.

When Sophia didn't reply immediately, Julian turned his head toward her. She had her hands folded in her lap and her head was bowed.

"Lady Aberley? You do have a carriage, do you not?"

Her head came up and the depth of pride in those fathomless eyes of hers struck Julian hard in the chest. "I do not."

He couldn't have been more surprised if she had told him she was considering entering a convent. Julian didn't know anyone who didn't own at least one vehicle.

"And may I ask why?" He kept his tone even, afraid that if he sounded as incredulous as he felt she would not answer honestly.

"My brother-in-law thought it a frivolous expense, since he has several carriages at the great house."

He supposed that wasn't wholly strange. "Do you agree with his assessment?"

She turned toward the fire, giving Julian a cameo-perfect view of the gentle slopes and curves of her profile.

"He handles my finances, Lord Wolfram. I have no choice but to agree with his assessment."

A suspicion took root in Julian's belly, spreading rapidly through his entire being. "And does your brother-in-law also consider decent furniture and new gowns 'frivolous' expenses?" he questioned softly, watching her expression carefully.

Sophia closed her eyes. Julian watched as she drew in a deep breath and released it again. The thick fringe of her lashes fluttered open. Then, having composed herself, she turned her head to face him.

"Recently he seems to have come to that conclusion, yes."

"
Recently?
I would think that now that your mourning period is over he would want to see you out in society. Unless of course, you choose to remain in the country?"

The longing in her gaze almost made him smile. For a split second, she looked like that girl he had once known— before he learned of her true nature.

"Oh no. I should like very much to be out and about again."

"Then why do you not tell him that?"

Her gaze shuttered, but not before Julian saw what she did not want him to see. She had told her brother-in-law. And he hadn't allowed it.

Why? What had happened during her brief return to society that made the new marquess want to keep her cloistered away in the country. What had she done?

As if sensing that he knew she had a secret, Sophia rose to her feet. She kept her gaze averted, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"If you will excuse me, Lord Wolfram, I believe I will have Mrs. Ellis make some tea to warm you up. I will also have her put on some soup for you and your men. They will no doubt need it."

"That is not necessary," he replied, suddenly sorry for having discomfited her, when it was what he had wanted originally. She seemed so sincere, and yet he knew without question that she was hiding something. Sophia was always hiding
something
. Was she purposely trying to make her brother-in-law seem the villain to cover her own sins?

"No." She met his gaze with a shaky smile that he had to admire. "I think it is. Please excuse me."

She left the room without a backward glance, leaving Julian peering around the back of his chair after her. As he settled back in his seat, he couldn't help but wonder what it was that Sophia was so anxious to conceal.

And why the hell he should even care.

She would have to be more careful.

Pausing outside the parlor, Sophia pressed her forehead against the cool, whitewashed door frame and struggled to pull herself together. How could she have made such a blunder as to trust the Earl Wolfram with details of her life? She shouldn't have mentioned Charles at all. Now he would know there was something going on, and if he pressed Lady Wickford for information, he just might uncover what it was.

What if he did? Lifting her head, she thought about it for a moment. What was the worst thing that could happen? He could believe she deserved her brother-in-law's harassment and have a good chuckle at her expense. How could that hurt her? She had already suffered the worst humiliation Julian Rexley could ever heap upon her. Having him laugh at her misfortune would be a minuscule embarrassment in comparison.

She had said other things to him as well, things that made her both anxious and giddy with power. She had told him that perhaps he should ask himself why Letitia sought to escape him. Even better, she had told him she didn't want him in her house! She hadn't been able to stop herself. No doubt Edmund would be rolling over in his grave to hear her talk in such a hoydenish manner, but Edmund was dead and couldn't hear a word she said.

Still, as good as it had felt to speak to Julian in such a frank manner, there was that little niggling of guilt in the back of her mind— a little voice telling her she should behave in a more ladylike and genteel manner. It was Edmund's voice. He might not be able to hear
her
, but she was certainly able to hear
him
, even from beyond the grave.

Drawing her shawl around her shoulders, Sophia strode across the hall to a door that led to the kitchen. Faint, yet warm and appetizing, the smells from that area of the house greeted her as she closed the door behind her. Charles may deny her everything that would make it possible for her to reenter society, but he did not deny her food. He most likely thought that would make her feel some kind of gratitude toward him.

Charles wanted her. He made that perfectly clear, but not for a wife. She was, after all, his brother's widow, and even if such a thing were done, it still wouldn't be what Charles had in mind. He took everything he could from her in the hope that she would eventually capitulate and give him what he wanted— her body.

He gave her enough money to maintain her household— he had to. Charles might be in charge of her funds, but so were Edmund's former solicitors. According to one of the many stipulations in Edmund's will, Sophia was to be given enough money to live comfortably. Charles couldn't cut her off completely lest he violate the will, but he could argue that while Sophia was virtually a prisoner in her own home, she was a "comfortable" one.

There were other stipulations in the will that Charles sought to manipulate in his favor, but since they hinged on Sophia's public conduct, they were useless. She never went out in public, so there was little chance of her breaking them. Still, she was careful around her brother-in-law. He was trying to trap her into becoming his mistress or swindle her out of her allowance— possibly even both. She would not allow him to win.

Lately, Sophia had begun to wonder if Charles wasn't growing impatient. She feared that he was done waiting, that he was going to use force to get what he wanted, and as loyal as Sophia's servants were, they worked for Charles first. She could not count on them to come to her aid if he assaulted her.