Swan's Grace (22 page)

A discreet knock sounded at the front door. She started to ignore it, though she quickly realized that it could prove to be a much needed interruption. Perhaps one of Gray-son's clients. A suitor. Maybe even an old friend. Anyone would do just then.

But when she pulled open the door, Sweetie limping along at her side, she stopped cold. A well-dressed man and a little boy stood at the threshold. For half a second their faces were serious, but in the next, the boy cried out and fell to his knees. The dog whimpered and hobbled forward, straight into the boy's arms.

"Goldie!" the boy cheered, before he sobered and took in the animal. "What happened to you?"

Sophie could hardly think, much less speak. And the quaking inside her started again.

The little boy buried his face in Sweetie's neck, and Sophie could feel his tears and her own.

"Oh, Goldie," he cried, his voice muffled.

"Do you know this dog?" she asked needlessly.

The man stepped forward and extended his hand. "I am Norville Green. This is my son, Danny, and we saw your notice posted about Goldie. Dear God, what happened to her?"

"I'm not sure," she barely managed. "She was hurt when I found her a few houses away from here."

The man shook his head. "We were having a picnic in the park when she ran off chasing a squirrel. When she didn't return we searched for hours. My son has been despondent ever since." He knelt down before Sweetie. "From the looks of her, it's amazing that she survived." He glanced up. "How can we thank you for caring for her?"

The pounding tightened her throat. Silly, she told herself, it was only a dog. Not her dog. She had told herself that again and again.

"No need to thank me. I'm just glad to see that Sweet— I mean, Goldie, has someone to love her and care for her."

Reluctant to let her go, but knowing she could do nothing else, she lowered herself to her knees. Sweetie seemed torn between the little boy and her, going back and forth as best as she could.

Sophie made it easier. She gave the dog a quick, hard hug, then pushed up. "Well, I'm glad you found her. Perhaps you'll come by once in a while."

The door shut behind them, and Sophie leaned back against the hard wood, feeling it press along her spine. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Not knowing what else to do, she walked inside Grayson's office and sat in his chair, pressing against the leather, imagining it was him.

She felt caged inside by more than rain. Even the thought of a gala masquerade party didn't ease her mind. She felt alone, giving her too much time to think.

What was she doing?

Did she really want to go back to the life she was leading in Europe?

She gave a hard shake of her head. Europe had been good to her. Loving her. Wanting her in a way that she had never been wanted before.

Though Boston seemed to want her now. The callers. The flowers. The endless invitations. Didn't they?

She cursed the insecurity, cursed the fact that mere weeks in this town could make her feel like time had stopped, then circled back to when she was different from everyone else—hearing music in her head, hearing it once and knowing it by heart, her mother telling her she was special. Everyone else hating her because of it. The desire to play with other children, ordinary children's games, but her mother saying she might hurt her hands.

How many times had she cursed the fact that she was a prodigy, wishing she were like every other child she met? But even she understood that she was different. She might have longed for a doll, but she hadn't had any interest in playing with one. Hopscotch, checkers, jacks? No interest. Chess? Maybe. But music? Notes and measures, rests and interpretations? All of these had fascinated her for as long as she could remember. And because of that, the other children had thought her strange.

She closed her eyes against the memories. But one memory wouldn't be pushed away. Being four years old and Grayson, older than his years, defending her, then bending down on his knee and brushing her tears away, kissing her nose, then ruffling her hair when he sent her on her way. She had fallen in love with him that very moment, then had followed him around every chance she got.

A click in the distance gained her attention. When she glanced out of the office, she caught sight of Grayson. He had opened the front door and stood there looking out into the rain, clothes of some kind held forgotten in his hand.

Without warning she remembered the night she had found him with another woman. Seeing him there, naked Was he still so hard and strong? she wondered. Would she ever touch him so intimately?

The thoughts shot through her mind before she could stop them as she took in the commanding planes of this handsome man. As usual, he wore a dark suit with a crisp white collar attached to his creaseless white shirt. But today she could just make out a paisley waistcoat, a hint that there was more to him than his austere exterior.

He didn't appear to know she was there. He stared out into the dreary day, much as she had earlier. His expression was different now, disturbed somehow. The arrogance was gone, though he looked every bit as commanding. Even lost in thought he seemed a force to be reckoned with.

Carefully she tried to slip away.

"I know you're there."

"You have eyes in the back of your head, do you?"

"More like those shoes of yours aren't meant for stealth."

She looked down at her Louis mules with two-inch, fashionably curved heels. "So they aren't."

Grayson turned slowly from the door, then leaned back against the casing as he took Sophie in. As always, her beauty hit him hard, her fiery soul burning beneath.

"I have someone coming to fix the lock," he said.

She looked confused.

"You know, the lock Henry broke when breaking into the house."

She only shrugged. "Who's going to break in and steal your belongings?"

He took in the length of her, slowly. "It's not my papers and files that worry me."

He would have sworn she blushed. But if she did, she quickly recovered and sauntered into the foyer.

"I'm bored," she stated. "Why don't you take me out for tea? Or better yet, take me dancing."

He would have smiled, but thoughts of his mother and Lucas concerned him.

"I'm not in the mood for tea," Grayson said, forcing his family from his mind. "And I doubt there is a dance hall in Boston open at this hour, not that I would take you to one if there were," he stated, and even he could hear the sharpness in his tone.

She raised a brow. "
Tsk, tsk
. You're upset. Is my invitation too forward? Should my daddy have called your daddy to see if you could come out to play?"

A smile sprang to his lips, and he set his suit aside and walked toward her. For every step he took, she took another one backward.

"We can play, if you'd like," he offered, one dark brow tilting devilishly. "Though I'm not sure we should ask your daddy."

There was no mistaking the red that surged in her cheeks this time.

"Shouldn't there be clients here?" she demanded.

He stopped and groaned. "Don't tell me you've forgotten to tell me about another appointment."

"I haven't forgotten anything," she answered. "Though I have been taking messages for you all week."

Several steps later, she ended up behind his desk, he in front of it.

"You mean you've started answering the door?" he asked.

She sliced him a dry look. "How could I help it? It got easier to answer the knocking than to ignore it. People can be persistent. In fact, I think you're more sought after now than ever before." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I think I'm a draw. And clearly I have a knack for this. Take that nice Mr. Cardwell as an example. You remember him, don't you? I advised him on his divorcement."

"Yes, I remember. Did he come by to say he is suing me for malpractice?"

She scoffed. "No. He patched up his differences with his wife, and his marriage is once again bliss—based on my advice. Proof that people don't really want stodgy, pompous, boring types after all."

"You think they'd rather I be wild and outrageous, like you?"

She shrugged. "I think they'd settle for an occasional smile."

His face darkened, all teasing and lightness gone, the awful, troubled look she had noticed when she first walked into the room resurfacing.

She studied him, then couldn't help the kind smile that pulled at her lips. "But he greatly appreciated your advice, as well. You are the most highly regarded lawyer in Boston."

"He said that?"

Her nose wrinkled. "Well, no, but you looked like you needed some kind words."

He looked at her in disbelief and shook his head.

So much for cheering him up.

"So tell me," she said, her palms flat on the blotter, her eyes sparkling mischievously, "what's the occasion?" She gestured toward his colorful waistcoat. "Do you have a date?"

"I hardly think a date is appropriate, given that I'm betrothed to you." He came around the desk.

"So you keep saying." She gave an unladylike snort.

"Then why are you at Swan's Grace now? You don't appear to have any appointments. And you usually don't show up here this late in the day." Her lips tilted. "Isn't it time for you to do something boring, like take a nap?"

"If you'd like, we could go upstairs and crawl into bed together. Though I'm not sure I want to nap."

Sophie laughed appreciatively. "You really are getting good at this."

"I've resigned myself to long years of practice from now until death us do part. Speaking of which, we have to set the date for our wedding."

"I thought you said you were going to woo me."

"I've tried."

"If that was wooing, I'd hate to see what not wooing is." She waved her hand, dismissing him as if she didn't believe for a second that he would marry her.

"You
will
be my wife, Sophie."

"Really?" she asked, her voice suddenly low and smooth like molasses.

Instantly Grayson was suspicious.

"Do you mean to tell me that you want a wife who wears provocative clothes?" She walked around the desk to stand before him, her head tilting back to look him in the eyes. Then she slipped her hands under his lapels and rested her palms on his waistcoat. "A wife who wears feather boas?" She smiled provocatively, then, with a flick of her wrist, slid the feathers free and wrapped them around his neck.

The motion caught them both by surprise. Suddenly, they were close. Sophie didn't like the change at all— Grayson standing so near, the desk behind her, the tables turned, giving him the advantage.

"Are you flirting with me, Sophie?"

She scoffed, though her voice was shaky. "No, I was just playing."

She tried to step away, needing to put distance between them, leaving the boa around his neck. But he took hold of one end and pulled it off, then looped it around her gently, pulling her back.

"I don't play games, Sophie. Nor do I break promises. And I promised your father I would marry you."

"I, on the other hand, have no such qualms about breaking promises." She tried stepping aside. "I am a master of crossed fingers and expedient prevarications. Besides, I didn't promise anyone anything."

"But your father did, on your behalf."

"You just can't let that go, can you?" she griped.

The boa held her there as securely as a rope. Her flash of good humor fled, and she felt her frustration from earlier return. "Damn it, why do you want to marry me? Give me one good reason. We used to be good friends," she said after long moments, looking away. "Why ruin that?"

"I'm not interested in being your friend, love." He touched her chin, his fingers a gentle caress as he forced her to meet his gaze. "I want to be your husband."

"I've already told you, Mr. Hawthorne," she said, enunciating each word, "I'm not going to marry. I will not be any man's possession."

His eyes narrowed. "A man doesn't own a woman."

"Perhaps not literally. But look at Patrice."

"She is certainly not a possession," he insisted. "She is a wife. The mistress of a man's home. Mother to his children."

"
His
home.
His
children. A woman is told what she can or can't do." She hesitated, then forged ahead, heedless of dangerous territory. She had gone too far to turn back. "Look at your mother."

She felt the tension snake through his body.

"My parents' relationship is like any other. That is what marriage is."

"But it shouldn't be!"

"Why?" A look came into his eyes. "Tell me why," he demanded, his voice suddenly intense, as if he wanted to believe there could be something different.

But she had no profound explanation, no example of anything other than what he had described. "It's just not fair that a woman is forced to do a man's bidding," she said with a sigh, not knowing what else to say.

Grayson's face grew grim, and she thought for a moment that he was disappointed that she didn't have a better explanation. "If I've learned anything in this world," he said, "it's that life isn't fair. The sooner you understand that, the easier it will be for you."

"Accepting that won't make me any better at marriage. I won't make a good wife, no matter what you think."

"That's nonsense."

"You need someone who will sit at home and act like a proper lady."

"You wouldn't have to sit home, Sophie. And how hard can it be to act proper?"

Her throat tightened. He didn't understand. Not her. Not her life.

"This is a silly conversation," she said at length, forcing a smile as she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're just nervous. You will be a wonderful wife, and a wonderful mother. I've seen that with how you deal with the dog." He glanced at the foyer, then his brow furrowed. "Speaking of dogs, where is yours?"

"Gone." She bit her lip to keep it steady. Suddenly the day pressed in on her in a way that seemed unbearable. She hated the burning in her eyes and the tightness in her throat, could hardly explain to herself why she felt so lost. "Her owner showed up a few minutes ago."