Two Shades of Seduction (21 page)

“Damnit, Sophie, go ahead and cry.” The gruffness in his voice nearly undid her.

“No,” she mumbled against his wool coat. “He’s not worth it.”

“I promise you, Sophie. I’m going to make him pay, and pay dearly.” The soft vow made her push away from him. She shook her head slightly and drew in a sharp breath at the pain.

“No, I thought revenge would heal me, make me whole. But it won’t do that.”

“If you’re asking me to forego my plans, I’ve already told you that won’t happen.” The steely expression on his dark features reflected his implacable tone of voice. A small flower of hope shriveled and died inside her. She shook her head in resignation.

“I’m not asking you to do so. I’m simply saying that any revenge I try to levy won’t heal the pain my father and Eleanor caused me. Any more than your vengeance will heal your pain.”

“I’m not in pain where your father and Eleanor are concerned. I simply mean to hold them accountable for their sins.”

The unforgiving note in Quentin’s voice told her it was pointless to argue with him. And she had no desire to question herself as to why his inability to let go of his need for revenge made her heart ache worse than her face. Fischer reentered the room with some ice wrapped in a cloth and offered it to Quentin. He accepted the remedy from the older man then gently applied it to her jaw. The cold stung her skin, and she breathed in a sharp hiss of air in reaction.

“It will hurt for the next day or so, and you’re apt to have a nasty bruise, but it will heal,” he said quietly as he caught her hand in his and carried it to his lips to kiss her fingertips. “I promise you, Sophie. If that bastard ever comes near you again, I’ll kill him. I protect what’s mine.”

The fierce, possessive note in his voice warmed her heart when it had been icy cold a moment before. Gentle fingers brushed aside the tear sliding down her cheek. She raised her gaze to meet his, and the tenderness she saw reflected in his green eyes made her heart skip a beat. Wearily, she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. Quentin might never offer his heart to her, but he would care for her and protect her. That was worth more to her than all the gold in the world.

W
ith a whirr of steel against steel, Sophie clipped a rich, blood-red Beauharnais rose off the bush in front of her. She put the blossom up to her nose and inhaled the deep fragrance of the flower. The rose joined its companions in the basket she held as she reached out to retrieve another blossom off an adjoining bush.

Humming a light tune, she snipped the rose and laid it in her basket. In the past month, Quentin had shown her how wonderful life could be. He had a zest for living that amazed her, and he was the most attentive, amorous lover she could have ever dreamed of having. She’d even begun to hope he might be coming to care for her some. Despite every bit of her willpower and determination, she couldn’t deny how wonderful he made her feel every time he touched her.

He had the ability to turn her inside out with a single word or touch. The sound of his voice easily sent ripples of anticipation over her entire body, while just the touch of his hand could make her explode and writhe in a torrid rush of passion. She cut another rose from the bush, and as it fell into her basket, she breathed in the scent of sandalwood. Before she could turn around, strong arms wrapped around her waist, while a firm pair of lips grazed the nape of her neck.

“Good morning, Countess Devlyn.”

“You’re in a cheerful mood.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at him before returning her attention to her flowers.

“I am, indeed,” he chuckled. “Come. Walk with me.”

“But I need to take the roses inside,” she protested as he pulled her away from the rose bushes.

“There are dozens more you can cut later. Leave them.”

In an arrogant move, he tugged the basket and shears out of her hands then dropped them onto the ground. One hand grasping her hand, he pulled her along the path that wandered its way through the keep’s large garden.

With an inward sigh, she didn’t resist his autocratic behavior. In the course of their short marriage, she’d learned that ignoring Quentin’s commands always had the same outcome. The Earl of Devlyn still got his way.

“You, my lord, are in need of some manners,” she said with exasperation.

“I quite agree,” he said with a wicked grin as he tucked her arm into his. “Can you recommend someone to teach me? A beautiful countess perhaps?”

“I don’t know of any who are available or
willing
to do so.” Sophie arched her eyebrows at him with a laugh.

“Surely you know the Countess of Devlyn well enough to plead my case.”

“Perhaps I might be able to persuade her.”

“Excellent. She’s a woman of refinement and exceptional taste,” he said with a satisfied smile. His gaze swept over her. “Is this one of the new gowns you ordered?”

“Yes. It arrived yesterday.” Startled, she nodded.

Not long after their wedding, they’d driven into a nearby town where he’d ordered himself new clothes and insisted she do the same. Several of the gowns had been delivered more than a week before, but this was the first time he’d commented on any of her new dresses.

“It becomes you.”

A smile of approval on his face, his finger brushed the tip of her nose in what was almost an affectionate gesture. It sent her heart racing until she reminded herself that he was in an inordinately lighthearted mood. It would be a mistake to take anything he said or did to mean anything at all. Yet it was impossible for her not to be warmed by his compliment.

“Thank you,” she said as heat rose in her face.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said with a grin that had a boyish quality as he drew her to a halt. “It won’t arrive until after lunch, but I thought you might want to be dressed to greet it.”

“Dressed?” She looked at him dismay. “Oh, you haven’t invited someone to call have you? I’m not ready for the onslaught of prying eyes.”

“No, although that’s something we won’t be able to put off much longer.” He said quietly before his grin returned. “No, your visitor is actually going to be a permanent resident in the keep’s stables.”

“
Augustus
?” Sophie exclaimed with happiness. She’d thought he’d forgotten.

“Yes, Augustus.” He laughed at her excitement then frowned with annoyance. “Your father nearly drove me bankrupt to acquire that brute of a stallion, but my agent finally got the man to sell the horse. I only wish I could see his face when he discovers I’m the one who bought the animal.”

“Oh, Quentin.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him as tears blurred her vision. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’m certain I’ll think of something,” he said with a chuckle. Quentin’s expression quickly turned serious. “But you’re not to ride without me. I don’t want something happening to you.

“I’m fully capable of handling Augustus.”

“It’s not the horse I’m worried about. If your father sees you riding the horse, he’s apt to harm you, and I refused to let that happen.”

“All right,” she said with a nod as her heart felt as though it had expanded to twice its normal size. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled as he pulled her arm through his and they continued along the garden path.

They walked in silence for several moments, until Sophie saw the small fountain she’d discovered during her explorations a few days ago. Overgrown with weeds from what had once been a floral bed, the fount was as dry as the pool it sat in. It reminded her that she’d yet to broach any mention of the keep’s restoration for fear of troubling him with financial matters. Aware that she’d put off the conversation long enough, she pointed toward the dry fountain.

“I imagine the fountain must have been quite beautiful once.” Her observation made Quentin stop to stare at the desolate looking fount, his jovial mood disintegrating.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It was one of my mother’s favorite additions to the gardens. She saw one like it when she and Father traveled to New York when I was quite young.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with remorse at the sorrowful twist of his lips.

“For what?” He turned his head to stare at her in puzzlement.

“It wasn’t my intent to remind you of your loss. You must miss your parents very much.”

“Yes.” Quentin nodded his head. “I had a remarkably happy childhood. Despite their arranged marriage, my parents loved each other deeply. I had once thought I’d found that as well, but I was wrong.”

The veiled reference to Eleanor twisted something deep inside Sophie. Her stepsister had hurt Quentin deeply. So much so that it was unlikely he would ever come to love her. She stiffened at the thought. What on earth had possessed her to think such a thing? Their relationship would last until he wearied of a wife so much older than himself. Eager to distance herself from the thought, she smiled at him.

“I have a feeling you were a rather mischievous little boy.”

“Quite.” Quentin’s mouth curved in a wicked grin. “In fact, my mother often despaired of my boyhood pranks, but my father reassured her I would outgrow them.”

“I’m not so sure you did,” Sophie said with a laugh. He chuckled and winked at her.

“I think you’re right.”

Silence drifted between them again. It was a comfortable one that enveloped her with warmth. With her arm entwined in Quentin’s, she took pleasure in the way his hand rested on hers. It was a possessive touch that shot a small thrill through her. There had been many other moments like this over the past few weeks. While Quentin was an attentive lover, he had proven to be a companion she enjoyed spending time with. In some ways, it was like having a lover who was her friend as well. But friends didn’t lie to each other. Sophie winced at the thought then quickly shoved her secret into the dark recesses of her mind. She wasn’t ready to destroy the harmony that existed between them.
But the longer you wait, Sophie, the worse the destruction
.

“I imagine your childhood was far from pleasant,” he said.

“My father was not as forgiving as yours,” she said quietly as she remembered all the times she’d committed some error and the price she paid when her father discovered her transgression.

“Yet he forgave Eleanor and your brother easily.”

It was a deduction more than a question, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him studying her with curiosity. For a brief moment, she struggled with telling him the truth. She knew he was entitled to know what she was, but she couldn’t bear to have him despise her. He would believe she’d married him under false pretenses. The thought destroyed what little courage she possessed.

“Yes, he forgave them easily, although Spencer felt the back of my father’s hand on occasion.” Sophie almost choked on her words as she spoke of the baron as though he really were her father.

“And your mother?” Quentin’s question awoke the deep sadness she always felt whenever she thought of her mother.

“She died when I was seven.” Sophie heard the catch in her voice and swallowed her tears. “I have few memories of her, but I loved her very much.”

“Perhaps your father was angry because you lived and your mother didn’t.” Skepticism underlined Quentin’s words. It was obvious he didn’t believe his own theory. Without thinking, Sophie shook her head.

“No, he hated me because—” She abruptly halted in mid-sentence. Dear God, she’d almost revealed the truth. She kept her gaze averted from him to hide her deception. “Their marriage was an arranged one. He didn’t love my mother, and I was a reminder of her.”

“And he shifted his contempt for your mother to you.”

“I’m certain he believed his reasons were valid ones.” Her response was greeted by a noise of disgust.

“An honorable man would never willingly inflict pain on an innocent child no matter what the mother’s sins.”

Quentin’s odd statement made her stiffen with alarm. Did he know the truth? No, how could he? Unless Spencer—no, her brother wouldn’t reveal such a thing, especially to a man he harbored little regard for. Besides, that day at the woodcutter’s cottage was the only opportunity her brother and Quentin had been alone together. And even then the two of them had been out of earshot for just a few short minutes.

There would have been no time for such a sensitive topic. She turned her head to look at Quentin. He was staring at the path in front of them with an unreadable expression on his face when he suddenly pulled her to a halt and forced her to face him.

“Know this Sophie, I might have the reputation of a scoundrel, but I will never raise a hand in anger to you or our children.” It was an earnest promise that warmed Sophie in a way that made her heart skip a beat before reality reared its ugly head.

“I have no doubt your skills as a father would be exceptional.”

“Would be?” A strange glint darkened his green eyes. “Are you suggesting we won’t have any children?”

“I am a realist as to the possibility,” she said pragmatically. “After all, my age is a great hindrance to the possibility.”

“Damn it to hell, Sophie. You’re not too old to have a child. All it takes is one time.” His words made her laugh.