The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (2 page)

Indeed they were. They’d watched the old man
rot from the inside out, draping the house in a shroud of misery as
he refused their attempts to offer small pockets of comfort. He
wanted nothing but the return of his eldest son.

“I’m sorry,” was all Holt said.

“Please stay.” Julia offered him one of the
smiles that turned most males into quivering idiots. Not that she
ever noticed. “
I
would love for you to stay,” she continued.
“I was but nine when you left and I should like nothing more than
to discover if the stories I’ve heard about you are true.”

“Julia,” Jason warned. This was not the time
for his sister to unveil her overactive imagination. “Why not stay,
Holt?”

“Please?” Julia’s voice dipped, her eyes
pinned to her eldest brother. She could convince many a male with
those eyes, and had done so for years, but Jason doubted it would
work now. This Holt bore no resemblance to the timid young man
whose voice had quivered when he told them their father was sending
him to live with an uncle they hadn’t known existed.

Holt took a long swallow of whiskey,
appearing to contemplate his options. “My sole purpose in returning
to England was to see you and Julia.” It was not necessary to add,
but not until our father died
. That much was understood,
even by Julia, who had learned at a young age Edward Langford had
ice in his heart. “I’ve lived without titles or restrictions of any
kind these last twelve years. So much so, I fear I might find
English society suffocating.”

“Could you at least try it?” Julia was not
one to be put aside.

“Surely, you could do that much.” Jason
fought to control his growing annoyance over his brother’s
obstinacy.

Holt did not respond immediately and when he
did it was with caution. “Perhaps I could test the waters of
English society and life at Ellswood without disclosing my true
identity. No one knows I’m here. Even you had difficulty
recognizing me.”

“Had it not been for my superior powers of
discernment, your true identity would still be a secret,” Julia
acknowledged with a sly smile.

“I suppose I could travel various circles,
dressed as I am, behaving without the slightest modicum of
propriety and observing the ton's reaction.”

Julia beamed. “Of course you could!”

“Perhaps.”

“This will be absolutely the greatest fun
I’ve had in ages.” Julia clutched his arm and smiled up at him.

Jason did not share his sister’s exuberance.
“It might work, but before I commit myself to this scheme of yours,
I need answers.”

“Such as?”

“Why the hell did you stay away for twelve
years?” Finally, after all the wondering, he would have his
answer.

“Julia,” Holt gently removed her hand from
his arm. “Would you excuse us? Jason and I have certain matters to
discuss.” His tone softened. “Remember, you must not address me as
Holt in front of anyone. For now, I shall be known as Gregory
Thurston and you must treat me as you would any male houseguest of
casual acquaintance.”

“
But I have a right to these
secrets too,” Julia said. “I am one and twenty, no longer a
sniveling child.”

“And old enough to understand when certain
matters do not concern you,” Holt countered.

“Oh, all right. I shall leave, but I am not
in the least bit pleased.” Lest her brothers misinterpret her
degree of irritation, Julia huffed twice and stalked from the
library.

Holt shook his head and slid a glance toward
Jason. “It would appear our sister is a veritable mischief maker.
She will drive her husband to Bedlam."

“No need to worry.” Jason sighed. “With that
mouth, no man will have her and that is my biggest fear.” He
shrugged and added, “I’ll be stuck with a spinster sister whose
mouth is larger than the Thames.”

“That would be a true burden,” Holt
mused.

“You don’t know the half of it. But how could
you? Your letters the last several years have been sporadic at
best. And it was not as though I could write you.”

“Had you needed me, I could have been
located.”

“How?”

“I had my sources.”

Jason tried to quell the annoyance inching up
his throat, but years spent trying to console an inconsolable
father burst out. “Why the hell didn’t you come back sooner?”

Holt sank into the overstuffed chair next to
Jason’s desk and propped one booted leg over the other. He didn’t
blame Jason for feeling angry and betrayed. But he couldn’t tell
him the entire truth either, so he offered a half-truth. “The sea
held an incredible allure, one which I could not ignore.”

“What happened between you and Father?” Jason
handed him a whiskey and sat on the edge of his desk.

“Nothing.” Not true.

“Do you take me for a fool? The old man said
you’d return in a year. When you didn’t, he contacted our uncle and
learned you’d taken to sea with a band of marauders.”

“They were decent, honest men.”
The only
marauder was our uncle.

“Father spent the rest of his days waiting
for you.”

Holt shrugged and downed his whiskey. “His
error.”

“Obviously. You aren’t going to tell me what
happened between the two of you, are you?”

“No.”

“He was a weak man.”

Holt snorted. “I hope he suffered until he
drew his last breath.”

“He did,” Jason said quietly. “With your name
still on his lips.”

“I feel no mercy for his soul, may he rot in
hell.” He set his empty glass on the edge of the desk and said, “He
drove our mother to an early grave.”

“It was an unfortunate and untimely death.
Julia and I returned to a black wreath on the door, a manor filled
with grieving servants and a father who refused to discuss
anything.”

“Bastard.”

“It appears your sources did not have
completely accurate information.”

“Apparently not.”

“He thought her death would bring you
home.”

“His
death was the only thing that
could bring me home.” Determined to change the subject, Holt asked,
“How is the shipping business?”

“Rendhaven’s doing his damndest to destroy
us.”

“I thought that messy incident was over.”

“A cuckolded husband never forgets,
especially when the man she’s cheating with is his best friend.”
Jason downed his drink and said, “As wrong as it was, I believe
Father really loved her.”

Holt studied his brother who was fair like
their mother and sister, with thick, wheat-colored hair and an easy
disposition. Holt was the one who’d been cursed to resemble a
younger version of his father, from the black hair on his head to
those damnable eyes. “You don’t find it strange that Mother died
while you and Julia were away on holiday?”

“Fevers do not follow dictates of a
calendar.” Jason’s lips flattened as Holt’s meaning sunk in. “For
God’s sake you can’t believe Father murdered her.”

Holt shrugged. “I would not rule it out.”

Jason stared at him as though he’d just
committed blasphemy. “He might have been many things, but a
murderer was not one of them.”

“He
was
many things,” Holt said,
refusing to refute his brother’s statement.

“At least he’s not here to witness
Rendhaven’s lunacy.”

“What’s the man done?”

“Burned three ships and tried to set fire to
the warehouse.”

“Rendhaven’s
responsible for that?”
Revenge proved a powerful weapon, one which apparently still pulsed
in the man’s veins.

“Over the years there have been minor
skirmishes, mostly childish attempts to blacken our name that
always prove more embarrassing for him than us. But he’s never
tried anything like this.”

Holt considered his brother’s latest news. If
it were his decision, he would destroy the man. “What do you plan
to do?”

“Damned if I know, but I’m not about to let
the crazy loon ruin our business.”

“Tell me about the family. There was a girl,
wasn’t there?”

“Two. Sophie is the oldest, a real beauty,
too. She and Julia were best friends, until the old man brainwashed
her.”

“What a damnable mess.”
Perhaps the older
girl was the key.

“I used to think his threats were harmless
until the fires started. Now, I fear the drink’s pickled his brain
and destroyed his reason. He wants us all to pay for his wife’s
death.”

Chapter 2

Caroline Seacrest stroked a brush along an
easel with slow, steady movements, her dark brows furrowed in
concentration as she recreated the tulips and daffodils that burst
forth in the garden at Waverly Manor.

“Splendid, Caroline! Why the tulips look so
real I want to snatch them up and make a bouquet.” Sophie pretended
to pluck flowers from the air and place them in a make-believe
basket. “Oh, yes, this is the perfect tulip. And this one, and this
as well.” She continued play-acting as her sister looked on, a
faint smile on her lips. There were no tinkles of laughter to
accompany the smile, not a single sound since the fatal morning of
their mother’s death, ten years before.

“Sophie, what are you doing, snatching at the
air like a woman gone mad?”

Both girls darted guilty glances toward the
terrace where their Aunt Vivian stood. Ten years had not been kind
to their father’s older sister. Frown lines embedded her face in a
constant scowl as tightly drawn lips vanished into a narrow trace
of flesh that inflated often as she ejected criticism with the
speed and skill of a superb marksman. Her one claim to beauty, a
luxurious mass of dazzling chestnut hair, had failed her,
shriveling to a lifeless mop laced with veins of gray, yanked into
a bun with such severity the skin around her eyes stretched upward.
She did not share tea or casual conversation with the neighboring
women and spoke to the servants only to reprimand and never twice.
She did not own a gown other than black and had never attended a
soiree or had a coming out party. Whispers abounded she was a
witch. To this, Sophie could not say she disagreed.

“Your father received another note from Lord
Rollings, requesting you take tea with his mother.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose. “Lord Rollings is a
child
of eight and twenty who still hides behind his
mother’s skirts.”

“Perhaps. But you are equally disinterested
in more mature suitors.”

“Phillip Dunning is an odious man with more
dead wives than a cemetery. I have no interest in joining
them.”

“You have no interest in joining the marriage
ranks at all,” her aunt replied, squaring the bony shoulders of her
gaunt frame. “You are two and twenty with less than a handful of
offers in the last three years. Not many men are willing to show
generosity or patience for the likes of your situation.” She
inclined her bony neck toward Caroline who sat on the lawn picking
blades of grass.

It would do no good to remind her aunt she
had no intention of marrying anyone who would not accept Caroline
into his household. “I rather like my spinsterish life,” she said.
“It is quite freeing to dispense with the gushing and cooing over
men’s silly banter. I do so prefer intelligent conversation as
compared to sly smiles and batting eyelashes.”

“That is the most selfish bit of nonsense I
have ever had the unfortunate privilege to witness.” Vivian crossed
her arms over a nonexistent chest and demanded, “Do you feel no
duty to your father?”

“Of course I do.” Sophie fought to keep her
voice calm but the emotion slipped through. “Have I not worked
hours each day in search of a means to make Seacrest Shipping more
profitable? Have I not consulted with several other owners as
well?”

“Have you consulted with Langford Shipping?”
her aunt asked in a sly voice.

“Of course not. Father would sooner sink our
entire fleet than speak with them, as would I.”

“If you do not soon find a remedy to patch
the ever burgeoning hole in the company’s profitability, you may as
well take that brush from your sister’s hand and paint the Langford
name on the side of our ships.”

“That will never happen.”

“You could assure that by making a suitable
match.”

Her aunt’s words clung to her the rest of the
afternoon and put Sophie in a foul mood. She needed to get out of
doors, away from the constraints of obligation and her aunt’s
reprimands. When Caroline became absorbed in her French lesson,
Sophie donned a riding habit and sought out her father.
Unfortunately, he appeared determined to keep her indoors.

“Papa, I will be fine.” She brushed a kiss
over his forehead, trying to ignore the shroud of alcohol covering
him. “I need fresh air and the skies are only a bit overcast.
Besides, I am quite capable of handling Aurora if a storm crops
up."

Her father clutched her hand and said, “You
are all I have left.” His faded gray eyes watered. “You look so
like your mother. Sometimes when I see you in the garden or walking
about, I actually think you
are
Charlotte.”

Saddened by her father’s frequent state of
melancholy, Sophie chose to ignore his direct cut of Caroline. She
had been about to remind him he had two daughters, but sensing his
depressive mood, chose to hold her tongue. Drat it all, how she
wished Caroline were the daughter who resembled their mother!

Anxious to be free of the oppressive state of
Waverly Manor, Sophie hugged her father and hurried to the stables
and the solace they offered.

***

They raced across Langford estate in one
fluid motion picking up speed as they marked the property. It felt
good to be on a horse again, especially one like Satan, the
stallion few dared ride. Holt sped past the boundary of Langford
and Seacrest property, so engrossed in the ride he didn’t realize
his whereabouts until he crested a hill.