Two Shades of Seduction (32 page)

“So who do you suggest?”

“No…one. I’m the only woman who’ll…tolerate…you.”

Her body writhed on the bed as another pain ripped through her. Fear struck at the very heart of him. “Well, then push, damn you! Push, Sophie.”

With a cry of anger, she lurched upright, her fingernails biting painfully into the palm of his hand. The strain of her efforts was telling on her face and neck, and for a moment he was certain he’d lose her simply from the ferocity of her attempt. Then with a loud cry, she strained once more before an expression of release crossed her exhausted features and she collapsed against her pillows.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the doctor bring their second child into the world. A loud smack echoed in the room, and the baby’s angry cry filled the bedchamber. The man beamed at him broadly.

“You’ve a daughter, my lord. A strong, healthy daughter.”

Shoulders sagging, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Sophie’s shoulder. Tender fingers drifted across the scar on his cheek.

“You, my lord, are a brute,” she whispered. He lifted his head to stare down into her hazel eyes. They glowed with love and a tired happiness that sent a bolt of relief through him.

“What would you have me do? Lose you?”

“But Lady Overton?”

“I saw no need to eliminate her as a potential replacement. She’s quite lovely to look at.” Mischief twisted his lips in a small smile.

“You know full well, she’s an empty-headed twit.”

“Then it’s most fortunate my wife decided to survive the birth of our daughter.” His statement made her brush her fingers across his lips. To anyone else the words might have sounded flippant, but he knew she heard the relief beneath the cavalier response.

“Thank you, my love. You always know exactly what to do.”

“I adore you, Sophie,” he said as he captured her hand and caressed the inside of her wrist with his mouth. As their gazes met, he saw her fighting back tears of joy, and he smiled at her. “Come, my lady, I think it’s time you met your daughter.”

Rising from the bed, he accepted his daughter from the doctor and carried the child back to Sophie. When he laid the precious bundle in her arms, he sat beside her with his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Sophie brushed her fingers across the baby’s hand then smiled as their daughter yawned and gripped Sophie’s finger tightly in a small fist.

“So are we to name her Emily?”

“Yes.” She chuckled. “I seem to recall that’s the name you picked out.”

“You know full well, my dear Countess that if you’d desired a different name you would have succeeded in changing my mind,” he said as she looked down at the babe in her arms.

“She looks like you, Quentin. But time will tell if she takes up your scandalous behavior.” She smiled up at him, a laugh parting her lips as he met her gaze with a feigned look of offense at the teasing insult.

“She will toe the line as her mother does.” His arrogant remark pulled another soft laugh from her.

“If you believe that, then you’re doomed to be wrapped around the child’s finger.”

“If she does wrap me around her finger it will simply be love’s revenge.”

“Love’s revenge?” A puzzled frown furrowed her brow.

“A need for revenge brought us together, Sophie, but love kept us together. Spencer and Emily are evidence of love’s revenge on us.”

A smile curved her lips as she looked up at him and sighed softly. His fingers brushed aside a damp strand of hair off her brow, and he kissed her warm skin. Love had taken its revenge on them by binding their hearts as one. No matter what else happened in the course of their lives, he would be forever grateful for love’s revenge.

§  §  §

By
Monica Burns

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This digital book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This digital book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at
[email protected]
.

Copyright © 2013 by Kathi B. Scearce

ISBN: 978-0-9840277-0-5

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design for Reissue: Kimberly Killion, Hot Damn Designs

Copyeditor: Rosie Murphy

Kathi B. Scearce DBA Monica Burns – Maroli SP Imprints

P.O. Box 75072

North Chesterfield, VA 23236

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Publishing History

Digital 1.0 edition / September 2005

Digital 2.0 edition / September 2011

Digital 3.0 edition / March 2013

Digital 4.0 edition / October 2013

London, 1892

“I
t’s wicked, Julia. Absolutely wicked!”

Alva’s squeal of appalled dismay made Julia Westgard smile with satisfaction. Her friend’s horrified cry was an understatement. The painting was more than wicked. It was shocking. She turned back toward the painting she’d commissioned. Tipping her head to one side, she studied it with a critical eye.

The nude painting made her look lush and sensual. Isaac Peebles had managed to make Julia look almost beautiful. Almost, but not quite. Although she did like the way the artist had captured the color of her hair. Her hair was her best feature. On the canvas, soft gold highlights spun their way through dark red hair that tumbled over her bare shoulders. Peebles had said the studio lighting had made her eyes a deep moss green, and the portrait reflected his opinion. The color made her eyes in the portrait far lovelier than the plain hazel ones she saw in the mirror every day.

“I like it.” Hands resting on her hips, she smiled with a sense of defiance. Oscar would have been horrified. No. He would have been furious, and her punishment would have been painful. Her fingers dug deep into the silk layering her hips. “I like it very much. Do you think I should hang it in the salon or the study?”

“Good Lord, Julia. You cannot
possibly
be serious!”

The appalled note in her friend’s voice made Julia turn quickly toward the petite woman. At the horrified look in Alva’s blue eyes, she realized she’d teased her friend long enough. One hand pressed against the dove gray silk of her dress, she shook her head.

“I’m teasing you. Of course, I’m not serious.”

The relief on her friend’s pale features made her bite down on the inside of her mouth. Actually, she’d been more serious than she realized. She simply didn’t possess the bravado to display the portrait. For all intents and purposes, she was a coward. The confident way she carried herself in front of her friends was nothing but a façade. Everything she said and did was a performance to cover up the inadequacies she felt every day. The shortcomings Oscar had regaled her with the entire time they’d been married.

Even though he’d been dead almost two years, his cruel taunts and behavior had left their mark. Oscar had played the impeccable, caring husband in public. Privately, he’d taken every opportunity to humiliate her. The bedroom had been the worst degradation of all. The inadequate feelings her husband had cultivated in her still ran close to the surface, but since his death, she’d done everything possible to regain her self-worth. It was one of the reasons she’d commissioned the nude portrait. It had been an act of rebellion and an effort to regain the uninhibited joy for living she’d lost during almost ten years of marriage to a brute.

“Ah ha, Calvert
said
I would find you here.”

Catherine Dewhurst poked her head into Julia’s boudoir. At the lively sound of the woman’s voice, Julia moved quickly to embrace her cousin. Of all her in-laws, Catherine had been the only Westgard to show her kindness when she’d married into the family. The two of them had found themselves married to men of a similar nature, only Catherine had been freed several years before Julia. Of all the people she knew, Catherine was the only one who could see beyond Julia’s false façade.

“Come see what arrived this morning.” She grasped Catherine’s hand and pulled her cousin toward the painting.

“Is it here? Finally?”

Julia nodded and smiled widely as Catherine stepped around the easel holding the canvas to stare at the painting. Instantly, color flooded her cousin’s cheek before laughter parted her lips.

“
Dear lord, Alva
. However did you manage to keep from fainting?”

Clearly affronted by the suggestion that she was incapable of surviving a shock, Alva’s pale face took on a pinched look. “I’m not a simpleton, Catherine, I’ve seen nude paintings before, but this one is not in a museum. This is something quite different.”

“How is it different?” Julia straightened her back as she prepared herself for her friend’s contempt.

“Well…it’s you,” Alva said as color flooded her face. “You’re beautiful, Julia, but why in heaven’s name did you have to have the man paint you naked? It’s scandalous.”

“I don’t think it’s scandalous.”

“Rubbish, it’s shocking. Why, the man saw you naked.” Alva’s straitlaced tone sounded so much like Oscar’s. She immediately tossed a pleading glance in her cousin’s direction.

“Do try to explain to her, Catherine.”

“Perhaps she has a point, Julia. It is a bit…reckless, isn’t it?” Catherine sent her a sympathetic look. “I know you wish to free yourself from the memory of Oscar’s cruelty, but what if the wrong person saw this? What if the artist talks?”

“Other than the two of you, no one else will see it, and Peebles has been well paid to be discreet.”

Julia stalked across the room to the painting and replaced the cloth that had covered it earlier. If she’d wanted an unfavorable assessment of her behavior, she only had to listen to Oscar’s voice in her head for that. It wasn’t as if she’d gone without a chaperone, she’d taken her maid with her to each and every sitting.

Sitting for Isaac Peebles had offered her a freedom she’d never experienced before. The portrait sittings had been a way of freeing herself of the yoke Oscar had settled on her from the day they were married. She had been the one in control, no one else. With a final adjustment to the cloth she’d laid over the painting, she turned to face her friends.