Temptation Has Green Eyes (6 page)

He had to trust his own judgment on this and make the commitment, but if he discovered anything amiss, he’d have the truth out of her. “After that, we’ll see.”

Suspicions were the very devil. If left, they would fester and multiply. Rather than that, he’d do what he had to and take the consequences.

Sophia reached home before her father and destroyed the note she’d left for him. If the servants didn’t talk, she’d be fine. If they did, she’d tell him where she’d gone and suffer his opprobrium. He wouldn’t be too harsh on her, because she was about to accede to his will.

She told him as soon as he came home. He embraced her warmly.

“He’s a good man,” he said. “The marquess will be an excellent husband for you.”

Sophia wondered about that. His very presence excited her in a way she didn’t know how to cope with. Even when she’d considered John a suitor and not a threat, he’d never raised the hairs on her skin merely by looking at her. But when the marquess—Max—had fixed his emerald-green gaze on her face, every hair on her body prickled with awareness. It had excited her and scared her in equal measure.

She hadn’t found the sensation unpleasant. But his proximity, and when he’d held her around her waist, that was something else. His touch had burned right through to her bare flesh.

Perhaps what John had intended to do was what all men did. That notion terrified her, and during the last few months the fear had only grown. That they would throw her down and ignore her protests, rip her skirts out of the way, and then gloat. The knowledge that men could do that, that they were strong enough to accomplish the feat even if she protested, froze her with dread.

No, she wouldn’t think of it. Every time the memory of that scene intruded, she pushed it away. Eventually it would become less vivid. It had to.

* * * *

The next day was a bright morning that augured well for the marriage, or so her father said. At the solicitor’s office Sophia carefully read through the marriage contract, ignoring the “tut” noises coming from the clerk, before she signed. It was fair. Her father and her…fiancé…waited patiently for her. Today she was able to concentrate, to think more clearly.

She was her father’s heir. When he died, his property would become her husband’s, but the men had agreed certain caveats. Even if she chose to live apart from her husband, she would have ample means to do so. Property and money were left in trust for her with no way for Devereaux to get hold of them. She couldn’t even sign it over to him, as several of her father’s colleagues would have to agree first and countersign.

Her father had chosen the most puritanical of his friends for this task, together with two men who regarded her fondly. They would only do what they considered best for her. Financially, she was as protected as her father could make her.

Personally, though, she was wide open.

She clamped her lips together, stilling their trembling. She would have to learn, that was all.

When Max had kissed her, she’d had a strong urge to move closer, to see where that one kiss would lead. At the same time, panic rose, shortening her breath and making her heart pound double-time until she’d feared he’d feel it against his chest. Only his loose hold had given her the strength to stay where she was because he’d given her the choice to stay or to move away.

Nobody knew what John had done, the names he’d called her. The things he’d said. It would remain that way. Her father had seen enough to know John wasn’t trustworthy. She’d been lying on the floor in John’s arms, her clothes disarrayed, but that was after she’d fought off his first foray and he was heading towards another skirmish. He’d been in the process of telling her so.

He’d called her missish, said she’d learn to like it. But he’d forced himself on her, made her touch his…shaft, she supposed, from the way it felt, although he’d called it something else.

Sophia had never seen her father so angry. However, he didn’t know it all. He never would, if she could help it. She’d led him on, John said, and she’d determined not to do that anymore. Ever, with anyone. Not if the consequences led to…that.

Including the man who’d just signed the papers promising to become her husband. He would never know everything; she couldn’t afford for him to. If either of them broke that contract, they’d be subject to awful penalties in law, and the resultant court cases could ruin them both. So this was it, and they were committed.

Max took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I need to visit my mother now.” He grimaced. “I haven’t told her yet. I doubt she’ll object, though.”

“You said—” She gulped when she recalled when he’d said his mother wasn’t at home.

“She’s acting as temporary chaperone for my cousin, Helena Vernon.”

“Lady Helena Vernon,” her father prompted. “Sister to the Earl of Winterton. Heir to the Duke of Kirkburton.”

“Really. On your mother’s side of the family.” She recalled the book in her father’s study with all the details of the most important families in the nation.

Max gave her a small bow. “Indeed so. I’m closer to my maternal relations. Most of my father’s family is dead.”

And so the need to provide an heir reared its ugly head yet again.
She would endure
.

“I would ask you to accompany me, but I pray your indulgence. I think I’m better telling her on my own. You will wish to arrange your packing, I daresay.”

Although they weren’t supposed to work on Sundays, that wouldn’t stop Sophia ensuring her most precious personal belongings were packed ready for the move across London on Monday. “Will your mother be living in the house?”

Max’s expression shuttered. “Some of the time. I hope to prepare the house in the country for her, so she may reside there. It has always been her dearest wish.”

“I see.” Should she be happy or sad that they would have the London house to themselves? Presumably with Max’s mother came his sister. Sophia could excuse herself her marital duties, avoid spending too much time with this disconcerting man. At least until she’d learned to control her emotions better when she was near him. “Then I shall see you on Monday. Do you go to St. George’s tomorrow?”

“I think not. I’ll attend St. Margaret’s, where we’re to wed.” A smaller church, almost a private chapel, where many of the aristocracy married.

“Should I go?”

“There’s no need,” he assured her, and after lifting her hand to his lips once more, he took his leave.

* * * *

Max wasn’t looking forward to facing his mother. To tell the truth, he hadn’t known how to tell her. And the arrangements happened so quickly he’d hardly had time to consider his actions.

Until yesterday she’d been in the country with Helena on a brief visit to a cousin, but now they were back and Max had no more excuses. He had to get this done, or she’d be so hurt he hadn’t informed her of his wedding that she’d never speak to him again.

Accordingly he set out for the home of his cousin Julius, Earl of Winterton, half hoping he’d find them away from home. Then he couldn’t be blamed, could he?

Unfortunately they were all in. Worse, they were
en famille.
If they’d had guests, he could have managed with a quiet private word before he left. But oh, no, they were in the elegantly appointed salon on the first floor of the house, even Julius’s daughter Caroline, an adorable blond child of five—or was it six now?

Julius was seated on a sofa with her, reading from a book, and they laughed together as Max entered the room.

Anyone not knowing Julius well would be shocked by his relaxed, easy manner here. In society he was haughty and cold. Very few people understood why he behaved that way. Max did.

He glanced up at Max and paused, his sapphire blue gaze fixed on Max’s face.

Max shrugged, and then greeted his mother, sister, and Julius’s sister Helena. Helena vastly preferred living here than in the household of their father, the stiff and formal Duke of Kirkburton, who was also Max’s uncle.

Interesting that his mother didn’t notice the strain on Max’s features, but the far more perceptive Julius did.

“Out with it,” Julius said.

Max’s mother, in the process of pouring her son a dish of tea, glanced at him. “Out with what?” She handed him the tea-dish in its deep saucer.

Max murmured his thanks. He held the delicate porcelain, wondering if Sophia would like something similar. He supposed he’d have to fill his house with feminine folderols.

He forced a smile and looked up. “I’m getting married.”

His mother’s dish hardly trembled in its saucer. She arched a finely-plucked brow. “Do we know her?”

Oh no, that “We” told him she was on her highest horse. “We” meant, “Is she one of us?”

“Sophia Russell,” he said. “The daughter of one of my colleagues.”

Julius pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “Goldenbags,” he murmured.

Thomas Russell’s vulgar nickname, one he never answered to and Max pretended he didn’t know when in the man’s company.

“Yes. His daughter.” For something to do, Max took a sip of tea. It tasted bitter on his tongue.

“One of the Bedfordshire Russells?” His mother’s haughtiness came straight from court.

“One of the London Russells,” he replied.

Helena was smiling. Max didn’t trust that expression. She knew who he was talking about, too.

His sister, Poppy, on the other hand, seemed to have no idea. She was watching the conversation carefully, but from her sparkling eyes, Max knew she’d begin a volley of questions too. Poppy, to his jaundiced eyes, was the prettiest girl in the room, although Helena’s serene loveliness drew attention from a multitude of admirers. The family resemblance between them wasn’t marked, however. Poppy had a liveliness that often betrayed her into inappropriate but highly amusing comments. Helena measured everything she said and did. Her grace and elegance were renowned. Only the family knew the reason for that. If she took a wrong turn, did anything wrong, her mother would snatch her back.

Helena was the subject of a tug-of-war between Julius and his mother, the diminutive but redoubtable Duchess of Kirkburton. His mother wanted a companion, someone to fetch and carry and keep her company. Julius wanted Helena to have a life of her own.

By agreeing to act as Helena’s chaperone in this house instead of her mother’s, Max’s mother had stepped between them. Max had to give his parent credit for that.

Now he addressed his sister before she made one of her unfortunate comments. He had no idea what it would be; that was one of Poppy’s charms. But not in this instance. “Thomas Russell, Sophia’s father, is reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in the country. I’ve known him for a while. His daughter is charming.”

Max had no idea anyone could sniff so loudly before his mother did it. “A cit! You can’t marry a cit, Devereaux!” She couldn’t have been more shocked had he told her he was marrying a courtesan. “Upstarts. How will she go on?”

“Most creditably, I imagine.” Should he pretend he was in love with her? No, because his mother would label that as vulgar. Love was for the lower classes, and it had no place in a proper marriage. He’d heard her say that so many times and ignored it just as many. He could mention her mother, but he’d do that in his own good time. “You should meet Russell, Mama.”

“I cannot imagine what I would say to him.”

It became Max’s new ambition to bring the two together. “You may discuss your views with him on Monday.” He answered her unspoken question. “That’s when I’m marrying. The special license is in my possession, and we’ve signed the contracts.”

“Without my agreement?”

He forbore to tell her that he didn’t need her permission. Or agreement. But he’d rather have her approval, however grudging, if only to smooth Sophia’s entry into his world. “Mama, I would appreciate your blessing. You’ll like Sophia. She’s a modest girl and a sweet one.” And too easily biddable by someone as forcible as his mother.

For once, Max was glad his mama didn’t live in his house. “She is a competent manager and prettily behaved.”

“I cannot imagine how a woman of that background will manage in society. Will she expect me to sponsor her?” She sighed. “I suppose it is my duty.”

“Mama, I will give you your house back.” Expecting his mother’s opinion to change, he continued, warming to his subject. “I can reopen Devereaux Place, restore the parts we had to close down, and complete the others. Finally you can have the house you spent do long creating.”

She gave him a long unsmiling look. “I hope you haven’t entered into this bargain just for that.”

“No, Mama.” Not the response he’d hoped for.

All his mother needed to set off on a diatribe on the modern way of life that looked as if it might continue for some time.

Ten minutes in, Max had had enough. He recalled another factor. He hated appealing to his mother’s innate sense of superiority, but needs must, and he wanted her on Sophia’s side. “Sophia came out six years ago. Her mother was Lady Mary Howard of Lancashire, but the lady unfortunately died shortly after Sophia’s debut, and Sophia chose not to return to society.”

At least that nugget won a pause from her ladyship. “Nevertheless, how will she cope with court mantuas?” And she was off again.

Murmuring that he needed to make arrangements for his bride, Max excused himself and quit the room, but by then, Lady Devereaux barely noticed. She was well into a story about Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s husband, who was a mere mister, and the marriage ultimately failed, and set fair to move on to others. He’d wager she’d almost forgotten his news but was enjoying reciting the choices pieces of gossip.

Footsteps behind him told him that Julius had also beaten a hasty retreat.

“A moment,” his cousin said in that clear, penetrating voice of his. “In here, if you can spare me a little time.”

He opened a door to one of the smaller rooms on this floor. Elegantly furnished for all its size, with gilded furniture and light blue upholstery. The walls held paintings, set in panels, of the four seasons. A room to make a person smile with pleasure. Max did not smile and followed Julius inside.