Two Shades of Seduction (7 page)

The woman staring back at her looked to be in her mid-thirties, not the forty-one she knew herself to be. With an astute and critical eye, she scanned the mirror’s offering and dismissed the faulty notion. That was Devlyn’s observation. She couldn’t believe it. Had he seen something she didn’t see in the mirror? Her gaze swept over the woman in the mirror. Brown hair with a tendency to curl when wet. A smooth complexion, firm breasts—even if they were a bit too large, hips a bit too wide, but not overly so. Through her sheer chemise, she could see legs that were full and plump. She might have the body of a younger woman of marriageable age, but it didn’t help her forget her age.

With a final glare at her reflection, she turned away and retrieved a day dress from her wardrobe. The serviceable poplin reminded her of the tasks she still had to accomplish. No doubt, she’d be up late reviewing the accuracy of the Mermaid’s manifest. Father would be far from pleased. She bit her lip. Only three days. She only had to endure three more days in this house, and then she’d be free.

T
he grandfather clock in the main hall chimed its sonorous announcement of the hour just as Sophie reached the bottom step of the main staircase. No sooner had her foot touched the marbled entryway than a familiar laugh floated out of the salon. Her heart sank. Eleanor had come for lunch.

Her stepsister’s presence would make the noon meal even more interminable than Sophie had originally expected. Unwilling to be in her stepsister’s presence any longer than necessary, Sophie turned toward the dining room. She’d barely reached her chair when her father and Eleanor, arms entwined, entered the room. Spencer drew up the rear. A smile of condescension curved Eleanor’s lips as she looked Sophie up and down.

“My dear Sophie, you really should buy some new dresses. How will Father ever find you a husband?” Her stepsister’s amused skepticism made Sophie stiffen as Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “Of course, we know how remote the possibility of that is.”

“Sophie’s wardrobe is quite suitable, my dear Eleanor.” Their father chuckled with derision. “She has no need of the latest fashions when she has no one to impress or anywhere to go.”

The baron’s words made Sophie flinch. She didn’t reply, instead she averted her gaze as Spencer circled the table to hold her chair for her. As she sat down, her brother squeezed her shoulder in an inconspicuous gesture. The reassuring touch emphasized the loving bond between them, and Sophie blinked rapidly to hold back the tears at Spencer’s silent attempt to bolster her spirits.

Her brother took the seat beside her, while Eleanor sat opposite them, and their father sank heavily into the chair at the head of the table. In a dainty move, Eleanor picked up her napkin and laid it in her lap before she pressed her hand to the base of her throat.

“Spencer, dearest, I’ve yet to tell you how touched I am that you defended my honor against Devlyn this morning.”

“It was nothing,” Spencer said quietly. Her brother’s subdued reply made Sophie glance at him in surprise. Their earlier conversation regarding Eleanor had clearly made an impact on him, despite Sophie’s attempt not to discredit his sister.

“Hear, hear, my boy,” the baron exclaimed. “Damn proud of you for defending your sister’s honor against that wretch Devlyn. It looks like I’ll see you a man yet.”

At the backhanded compliment, Sophie saw her brother grow still, and his fingers crushed the white linen of his napkin before he dropped it into his lap. Across from her, Eleanor arched an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t you have anything to say about Spencer’s heroic behavior this morning, Sophie?”

“I expressed my thoughts to him earlier,” she replied.

“I see.” Eleanor’s voice held a sharp edge of peevishness.

Sophie remained silent, but a small splurge of satisfaction slid through her as she realized her lack of praise for Spencer’s actions irritated her stepsister. To her left, Sophie’s father motioned for the footman to pour his glass of wine. Well into his sixties, Lord Townsend looked every inch the merchant baron. He’d once been a handsome man, but now his paunch had spread from his stomach to his chin. His once arrogant gaze had become lost in layers of fat, and the thinning hair on his head showed several bald spots. His dissipation had finally caught up with him. Sophie’s father took a drink then smiled at Spencer.

“Now then, son. Tell us how badly you thrashed the Devil of Devlyn.” The baron took a deep swig of wine as he looked at Spencer.

“I left my mark, sir,” her brother said.

Spencer’s comment didn’t surprise her, but the small smile on his lips did. She knew her brother well enough to know it wasn’t one of satisfaction, but one of ironic amusement and even a touch of admiration. It only confirmed her suspicions that Devlyn had won their skirmish this morning.

She remembered the jagged white scar on Devlyn’s face. It was a sign of a man accustomed to fighting. Something her brother wasn’t. The idea that her future husband had restrained himself from thrashing Spencer soundly warmed Sophie’s heart. It made her think the Devil of Devlyn wasn’t quite the devil so many made him out to be.

“Left your mark. The baron leaned forward with a scowl. “Do you mean to tell me you left him standing?”

“As I recall, I did knock him to the ground, sir.”

Spencer’s response was clearly designed to make their father believe his son had won the day. But Sophie knew that while her brother might have done exactly as he said, the earl had not remained on the ground. With bated breath, Sophie waited to see if her father would question Spencer further, but the baron seemed satisfied with his son’s answer.

“Excellent, my boy. Excellent. That devil deserves more than a sound thrashing for what he did to Eleanor.”

Across from her, Sophie watched Eleanor assume an expression of pained horror. If she didn’t know better, she would have been convinced that Devlyn had indeed ruined her stepsister. The image of Eleanor rutting with one of the stable hands more than a month before Sophie had gone to visit her great-aunt in London made her clench her jaw.

The memory of watching the stable hand thrusting his body furiously against Eleanor’s bottom as she bent over in front of him had horrified Sophie. She’d fled back to the house disgusted by her stepsister’s behavior, grateful the couple had not seen her.

Although she’d never spoken of the incident to Eleanor, she knew it wouldn’t have mattered. Her father would never have believed his youngest daughter could ever act in such a manner. Weeks later, when Andrew had followed Sophie from London back to Townsend Hall, she’d realized the terrible truth. Her stepsister had been with child, and with Devlyn’s refusal to marry Eleanor, Andrew had been the sacrificial lamb.

For the remainder of the meal, she listened in silence as the baron heaped praise on Spencer or droned on about Devlyn’s lack of honor. It was a diatribe she’d heard many times before, but today it seemed more blistering than usual.

Now that Devlyn had returned to take up residence at the keep, her father’s hatred seemed magnified more than ever before. Heaven knew what he’d do if he discovered her plans to marry his enemy. It had been a dangerous thing to visit Devlyn this morning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something so imprudent or spontaneous.

But the earl had agreed to her proposition. She would be married and out of this godforsaken house in three days’ time. Deep in thought, she barely heard the sound of her father’s voice until it thundered in her ear.

“Damnit to hell, Sophie. I’m talking to you,” Lord Townsend exclaimed with irritation as his hand smacked against the table.

She jumped at the sharp sound and lifted her gaze from her plate to meet her father’s angry glare. Sophie’s heart sank as she noted the way the baron’s nose had grown bright red from the wine he’d had over the course of the meal. It meant she would have to guard her tongue. Her father was even more unpleasant to deal with after he’d been drinking.

“Forgive me, Father. I was thinking about which warehouse to transfer the Mermaid’s cargo to.” A lie. She’d actually lied to her father. Stunned, she stared at the baron in bemusement at her daring.

“You let me worry about where to unload the Mermaid’s cargo,” her father snapped. The response told Sophie he would be hiding more goods from his company’s shareholders. His gaze flat and cruel, the baron grunted. “Have you finished calculating the ship’s inventory?”

“Almost, I need to double check my figures.” Another lie. She hadn’t even begun to reconcile the Mermaid’s consignment. When had she developed the ability to lie so easily to her father? Perhaps it wasn’t her ability so much as her father’s belief she wouldn’t dare lie to him. She swallowed hard as Lord Townsend directed a piercing look at her.

“Is that because of this morning?”

“This morning?” Fear made her heart accelerate at an alarming rate.

“You went riding for more than two hours.”

“Oh…I…the morning was so beautiful, I lost track of time.”

She couldn’t remember the last time her father had ever commented on the amount of time she spent riding. Dear God, was he watching her? Did he know where she’d been? What she’d been doing? The food she’d just eaten threatened to rise in her throat.

“I expected you to go over the Mermaid’s accounts with me immediately after lunch, now we’ll have to do it in the morning. I have an appointment with the Lady Waltham in another hour, and I’ll be late if I review the books now.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” She ducked her head in relief at the reprieve.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been grateful for her father’s attention to the viscountess. Despite being only a few years older than Sophie, the woman had buried two husbands and still had suitors. Sophie suppressed a sigh.

Perhaps she should have accepted Lord Fordham’s proposal of marriage her first Season. Although he’d wanted her only for the sizable dowry her father had bestowed on her, marriage to the viscount surely couldn’t have been as miserable as her current existence. But then she’d been an ignorant fool hoping for a love match. Men didn’t want love in their lives. It complicated things. She’d held out hope for a marriage of love, only to become a spinster in charge of her father’s illicit financial affairs. The sharp scraping of wood against wood jerked her out of her thoughts as the baron roughly shoved himself away from the table.

“Damn it, Sophie. What’s the matter with you today? I asked you how long it would take you to finish tabulating those numbers on the Indian Princess’ manifest.” Lord Townsend lumbered out of his seat, his anger loud and grating in her ears.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said in an apologetic tone of voice. “I finished them early this morning, and I can review the figures with you now if you like.”

“Have you heard nothing I’ve said, woman? I have an appointment with the Lady Waltham. You should have shown those accounts to me before you went gallivanting about the countryside all morning.” The baron eyed her with displeasure. “You’re an ungrateful daughter, Sophie. It’s not as if I ask much of you.”

“Please Father. Don’t be too harsh with her.” Eleanor looked at the baron sympathetically. “We all know what a burden Sophie is to you, but she does try to earn her keep.”

“Rightfully so, my dear daughter. Rightfully so.”

“After all, it’s hardly your fault she’s failed to attract a suitor willing to marry her, despite the generous dowry you have always bestowed upon her.” Amused contempt on her features, Eleanor turned her head toward Sophie. “Now she’s far too old to attract even the slightest amount of attention, and we should feel sympathy for her.”

Sophie could sense the growing tension in her brother as Lord Townsend circled the table and assisted Eleanor up from the table. As surreptitiously as possible, Sophie reached out to squeeze her brother’s arm in a tacit plea for him to remain silent. She was well-accustomed to Eleanor’s biting insults.

Her stepsister’s antipathy toward Sophie had begun the first time Sophie had corrected Eleanor when she was a girl. From that point forward, Eleanor’s behavior toward Sophie had been one of contempt. Sophie schooled her features to reveal nothing of her thoughts. When her words failed to draw a reaction, Eleanor frowned while the baron patted his youngest daughter’s hand.

“As usual, you’re correct, Eleanor.” Lord Townsend said with disgust as he directed his stern gaze at Sophie. “I expect all of those figures to be complete
and
accurate when we go over the accounts first thing in the morning, Sophie.”

“Yes, Father.”

With one last scowl in her direction, Lord Townsend guided Eleanor out of the dining room. As they disappeared from view, Sophie sagged slightly in her chair. All through lunch, she’d pondered her decision to give Devlyn the second set of books she’d used to track her father’s criminal acts. But her father’s and Eleanor’s cruel words just a few short minutes ago had reminded her that giving the earl her father’s ledgers would set her free. Devlyn might be a scoundrel, but the man had displayed none of the contempt her father did where she was concerned.