Sweet as the Devil (26 page)

“This is hardly the same.”

“In what way is it different?”

It isn’t of course.
“Could we change the subject?”

“Surely
you’re
not embarrassed?” He appeared at ease even though his powerful frame looked incongruously out of place lounging in a pink satin chair with frippery fringe and tassels.

“I don’t get embarrassed.”

“Then I don’t see what the argument is,” she shamelessly replied, ignoring the fact that they’d been disputing the logistics of clothes buying for some time. Jamie preferred a department store and ready-made clothes in the interest of speed. And of course, left unsaid, was her irritation with the dressmaker.

Jamie softly exhaled. “There’s no argument,” he wearily said. “So long as your shopping is accomplished expeditiously.”

Sofia moved toward a table stacked with pattern books. “I’m sure it will be. Since you’re in a rush, though, and you have to pay the bill, you might just as well be handy here,” she airily concluded.

“Handy?” Incredulity sharpened his voice. He wasn’t John the footman who paid my lady’s tick and carried her packages. “I should tell you to go fuck yourself,” he growled. “But knowing you, you might—and I’m in a hurry.” He shot a surly glance at the door. “Where the
hell
is that dressmaker?”

“Assembling what she has in my size, I expect.” Sofia flipped open an embossed leather cover and glanced at the first fashion plate—a walking dress in rose silk.

“Whatever she has, she can wrap them up and we’ll leave.”

Sofia bristled at his peremptory tone. “I should at least try on the clothes. There’s no point in buying something that’s unwearable.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jamie lazily drawled.

“Very funny.”

“An opening like that? Who could resist?”

“I suppose you prefer women be nude all the time.”

He shrugged. “In certain circumstances.”

“Libertine.”

“Did you think I wasn’t?”

“I didn’t think of you at all,” she huffily replied.

“You could have fooled me. As I recall, you promised to seduce me shortly after we met.”

“We’d met before.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have been surprised then.”

This time she was the one who said, “Could we change the subject?”

“Gladly. Where the
hell
is the dressmaker?” Hauling himself out of the low slipper chair, Jamie strode purposefully toward the door.

“You needn’t make a scene.”

“How can it matter?” he said without looking back. “We’ll never see her again.”

But just as he reached for the latch, the door swung open to admit Mrs. Lynne, the tall, willowy, blonde dressmaker who’d greeted Jamie so warmly on their arrival. She’d obviously taken the time to add a bit of rouge to her cheeks, color to her lips, and fresh perfume if the cloud of fragrance invading the room was any indication.

“I do beg your pardon for the delay,” the pretty young woman silkily purred, standing indecently close to Jamie and gazing up at him with a seductive smile. “My girls are bringing in some frocks. Might I offer you and the lady some chilled champagne?” she inquired without once looking at Sofia.

“No, thank you.”

“Yes, please,” Sofia replied, her words overlapping Jamie’s refusal.

Jamie turned a gelid gaze on Sofia. “Our time is limited.”

“Not that limited,
darling
,” Sofia cooed, taking umbrage at the dressmaker’s blatant coquetry when she really should know better. When the concept of jealousy was completely unjustified.

“Very well,
sweetheart
,” Jamie murmured, bestowing a heated glance on Sofia. Two could play that game; if he played it well, they might leave sooner rather than later. “Champagne would be much appreciated,” he said with an intimate smile for the dressmaker.

The woman blushed.

Sofia seethed.

“Consider it my pleasure, my lord,” the dressmaker murmured. “I’ll order our best champagne.” Swinging around, she called out through the open door, and a young girl appeared so quickly she must have been waiting in the corridor. The champagne was ordered. Turning back, Mrs. Lynne held Jamie’s gaze for another lingering moment. “Please be seated, Lord and Lady—” The dressmaker paused, waiting expectantly for a surname.

“We’re not married,” Jamie bluntly said. Perhaps putting Sofia to the blush would spur their departure.

“He refuses to marry me,” Sofia bemoaned with a doleful expression. “No matter what I say or do. And after all your promises,” she said, turning to Jamie with a melancholy smile.

Christ, she was shameless. “Perhaps after Mama dies, my dear. You know how she feels about your family.”

“If you
really
loved me,” Sofia lamented like an actress in a bad farce, “you wouldn’t allow your malicious mother to malign me or my—”

“Would you excuse us for a minute?” Jamie took the dressmaker’s elbow and guided her out the door. “I’ll come to fetch you,” he said, his face blank, and abruptly shut the door on Mrs. Lynne’s astonishment.

Swinging back, he took one look at Sofia’s smug smile and snapped, “Don’t push me. You’ll regret it.”

The sharp edge to his voice gave her warning. Or should have given her warning. Or would have given her warning if she responded to such things. “Did you see how that woman
looked
at you?” Sofia inquired, her amusement giving way to petulance.

“Jesus, who cares? Or better yet, what the hell did you want me to do? We need some clothes for you. She
has
those clothes. Whether she smiles at me or not is inconsequential.”

“So you did notice?”

“Of course. I’m not blind.” He chose not to say he’d seen that look a thousand times before. “You’re being childish. Von Welden’s men are closing in even as we stand here and argue.” He took a small breath to tamp down his anger, a dressmaker the least of his problems. “Please,” he softly said, holding her gaze, “could we finish this business quickly? I’d be very grateful.”

He looked so earnest and grave, Sofia instantly felt contrite. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

He smiled faintly. “Your temper, darling.”

She made a small moue, knowing her behavior had defied every principle of female independence she esteemed. “I know,” she ruefully admitted. “I shall try to restrain my temper in future, and you must remind me more often of our danger.”

“Consider it done. Apropos that danger, could we now begin to expedite this little shopping trip?”

“Of course.” Sofia waved in the direction of the door. “Go and get the obsequious woman. I promise to behave. Don’t give me that look—I will. You’ll see.”

Jamie had few illusions when it came to Sofia behaving, so he took the precaution of taking Mrs. Lynne aside when he found her and giving her a sizeable sum to
not
look at him. “My darling Sofia’s jealous,” he explained, “and honestly Mama
is
the worst kind of shrew.” He bestowed a sympathetic smile on the dressmaker. “I expect you see that type of overbearing matron often enough in your business. Also,” he added in a kindly tone, “if we could accelerate this little transaction, I’d be willing to add five hundred pounds to your bill.”

“Five hundred?” the dressmaker breathlessly echoed.

“Over and above our purchases,” Jamie noted in clarification. He was in a damned hurry.

With such largesse as lure, Mrs. Lynne didn’t so much as glance at Jamie when she returned to the dressing room. Her assistants carried in a dozen frocks in rapid succession, and Sofia allowed herself to be convinced that the dresses would fit; she needn’t try them on.

Jamie didn’t care if they fit or not.

In short order, their selections made, the dresses were wrapped, money was exchanged, and the packages were carried out to the second carriage waiting at the curb behind Sofia’s chaise.

With the bottle of champagne in hand, Jamie escorted Sofia back to her carriage. “Thank you for hurrying. I appreciate your understanding,” he said, handing her up into the vehicle.

“You must have said something to her; the dressmaker was completely indifferent to you when she returned.” Sofia grinned. “Did you threaten her?”

Jamie laughed as he climbed in and dropped onto the seat opposite her. “I didn’t have to. I think she feared the onset of some vulgar scene. You shocked the hell out of her.”

“You started it.”

He hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to prolong what would only be a useless argument. “The point is, my pet,” he mildly said, “most inamoratas are more discreet.” He placed his booted feet on Sofia’s seat and slid into a comfortable sprawl. “They don’t berate their lovers at the same time they’re accepting their gifts.”

“Perhaps more of them should speak their mind.”

He smiled. “And perhaps the sun will set in the east.”

“Hmpf. The world would be a better place with fewer smug, condescending men in positions of power.”

He didn’t necessarily disagree. But he also understood that the day women gained those positions of power was in the distant future—if ever. “I’m sure you’re right, dear. Champagne?” He held out the bottle.

“God I hate it when a man agrees with such gross insincerity.”

“It’s survival, darling. Men learn early on. Here, have a drink. Relax.”

She flung her hand up. “Maybe I don’t want to relax,” she muttered, taking issue with his calm dismissal of what she considered a grave injustice. “Maybe women’s rights matter a great deal to me.”

He arrested the bottle partway to his mouth and paused an infinitesimal moment, recognizing diplomacy was required. “Acquit me, darling, of indifference to women’s plight. I understand the inequalities are irksome. I also agree that there shouldn’t be gender bias and discrimination.”

“Why do I hear the inevitable
but
in your words?”

He drained half the bottle before he replied. “Because, darling, someday female equality may be the law of the land, but at the moment it mostly certainly is not.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t wish to offend you, but I only deal in realities. If I didn’t, none of us would be safe. Your father included.”

“And now you have me to protect as well,” Sofia softly said, the plain, unvarnished truth obliterating less pertinent philosophical debate.

“Yes. I wish it weren’t so, but Von Welden is infinitely more troublesome than issues of gender inequalities. He has to be my sole focus.”

“Do you really think they’re getting close?” It was the kind of question a child would ask, hoping for an agreeable answer.

He knew what she wanted to hear and debated lying. But in the end what good would it do to offer false assurance when the danger was all too real? “They could be,” he said. “But we’re more than ready for them. And if it’s any consolation,” he added as the color drained from her face, “it’s difficult to find both skill and intellect in hired killers. My men are much more capable, better trained, and utterly loyal.”

She’d slid into the corner of the seat as he’d spoken and was huddled now, eyes shut and silent. She looked smaller in the muted light with the shades half drawn. The flickering shadows dramatized her fragility, heightened her pallor, gilded her hair with saffron. He felt an unexpected affection quite separate from lust, although carnal thoughts were never far from his mind with Miss Eastleigh—a breach of discipline that continued to disturb him.

Soft, pale tendrils framed her face, the coil of hair at the nape of her neck having come partially undone; she looked sweetly tousled and incredibly sexy. He would have preferred a less provocative image. She needed reassurance and kindness, not masculine lechery. Dropping his feet on the floor, he sat up and leaning forward, gently touching her arm. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’ll protect you against the world.”

At his tender declaration, she opened her eyes and saw before her a man of striking beauty who simultaneously disturbed, defended, and enchanted her. His bronzed skin was darker in the shadowed interior, the stark planes and angles of his face accented in the refracted light, his features a veritable masterpiece of perfection.

Her perusal paused as their eyes met—his steady, confident gaze a promise and warranty of boundless comfort and support. He was both savior and hardened warrior, serving her in martial and also more pleasurable ways, and she was infinitely grateful. Having summoned her courage, she spoke in as near to a normal tone of voice as she could muster. “Thank you. I appreciate all you’re doing for me.” She smiled. “I know you would have preferred another assignment.”

He smiled back. “As to that—you’ve rather dramatically changed my mind.”

Any lingering fear, however small, disappeared as if by magic at his candor, and tantalizing delight flared through her senses. “You flatter me, my lord,” she whispered, lying back in an indolent pose reminiscent of a languishing odalisque, gazing at him from under her half-lowered lashes.

He laughed. “Minx. How quickly you turn temptress.” But he was pleased to see the fear gone from her eyes and her saucy impudence returned.

She looked him over slowly from head to toe, her survey coming to rest at last on his crotch. “I can’t help it, my lord. There’s something about you that excites and inspires a burning eagerness of a particularly carnal nature.”

He smiled. “You looked at me in exactly that fashion at Groveland House. I just about carried you out on the spot that night, devil be damned.”

“You should have.”

“Your father wouldn’t have understood.”

“I’m sure he would have,” she said, softly ironic.

Jamie didn’t reply. How could he? She was right.

She laughed. “You needn’t be tactful. I have no illusions about a man who forgot me for twenty-three years. Now then, apropos the here and now, I’m much in need of comfort and consoling.”