Dear Stranger (7 page)

“So it is true,” Aunt Jane said. “You have given yourself to that…that scoundrel.”

Sophie knew there was no way to deny it, so she remained silent as she wrapped her dressing gown around herself and waited, in silence, for her aunt’s censure. She expected shouts and threats. What she didn’t expect was the deathly calm that had settled over her aunt.

“I acknowledge my part in this. It is obvious I have been too lenient with you. Knowing how wild and unreasonable your mother was, I blame myself for expecting you to behave in a more fitting manner. We won’t even discuss the common blood that pollutes your veins from that upstart she ran off with.”

Anger swept over Sophie at her aunt’s insults and she couldn’t remain silent.

“My father was a wonderful man. Far better than many of the pampered fools I’ve had to entertain over the past months.”

Her aunt continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I will be sending word to Viscount Burlington directly. He will be very happy to hear that you have agreed to allow his son’s suit. Given the amount of debt his family carries, I am sure he is more than willing to overlook your past indiscretions.”

Fear began to creep over Sophie. “I won’t accept.”

“Oh, you’ll accept. You will accept or you will leave my house today. You forget that you do not come into your inheritance for another year. Without me, you have no one. We both know that while Dearbourne is more than happy to bed you, he would never marry you.”

She flinched at her aunt’s words, knowing they were true.

“If you’re lucky, he might consent to make you his mistress. For a time, anyway. So you have a decision to make. Accept Mr Stanley’s suit or cast yourself away from polite society forever.”

A cold panic settled over Sophie, robbing her of the strength her previous anger had given her.

“Aunt Jane, please don’t do this. Allow me some time to choose someone else—”

“Dress and meet me downstairs in one hour. I will expect your decision then. But know that if you choose to defy me in this, you will be leaving here with nothing.”

Sophie could only watch in despair as her aunt left the room, closing the door more quietly than when she had entered. One year. If she had managed to postpone this decision for one year she would have had enough money to do whatever she wanted, society be damned. Her choices now, however, were strictly limited. Marriage to a man she barely knew and to whom she felt no spark of attraction, or go to Richard and accept whatever scraps of affection he was willing to give her. She had no doubt he would set her up in a house in a good area of London, but for how long? How long before he tired of her? She might have her inheritance by then, but she would be forever associated with the members of the demimonde. She wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to handle the shame.

On legs that felt wooden, she crossed the room to sit at her dressing table. She took her writing desk from one of the drawers and went through the motions of setting up the small desk on her dressing table, pulling out a sheet of paper and trimming the point of her quill pen. After dipping it into the ink pot, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the paper. She warred with herself as to how much to tell Richard. In the end, remembering again how happy he’d been to learn she wasn’t with child, she decided it would be best to end things quickly.

“Lord Dearbourne,

I have enjoyed our time together, but I must now think about the future. You will soon hear that I have accepted Mr Stanley’s suit. I expect our marriage will take place before the year is out.

S.”

* * * *

He’d sent her a note later that day and the next, but she’d returned them unopened. On the third day he came himself. She knew she was being a coward, but she couldn’t face him and had the butler tell him she was away from home. He wouldn’t believe it, of course, but he would accept it.

Unable to resist, she stood by her window and watched when he left the house. She felt a pang when he climbed onto his curricle and took hold of the reins, and knew without a doubt that she had done the unthinkable. She’d fallen in love with him. He turned his head then and looked up at her. She could see the tension in him and wanted desperately to go to him. Without any sign of acknowledgement, he turned back to his horses and drove away from the house.

She dreamt that night that, instead of turning away from her, he’d stormed upstairs and demanded from her that which she was so willing to give. They hadn’t taken the time to disrobe. Instead, he’d dragged up her skirts, pushed her against the wall and claimed her with a ruthlessness that had had her body contracting around his in seconds. When she’d woken to find herself alone, she curled up into a tight ball and wept.

* * * *

Between her misery and the fitful dreams that kept her awake, she felt as though she would never again be happy. It was a week after Richard’s visit when she received the final blow. Her aunt took great joy in telling her that Lord Dearbourne had been seen in Hyde Park escorting Lady Wentworth, and that they were rumoured to be lovers.

She saw no point in hiding after that and agreed to go out the following night. The Season was coming to a close and soon everyone would be leaving town for their country estates. Mr Stanley made a great show of welcoming her when they arrived at the ball, and she knew he was staking his claim. She smiled at him and allowed him to monopolise her time. Her aunt may have won their current battle of wills, but Sophie had not yet ceded the war. She’d agreed to marry Mr Stanley and there would be an announcement soon, but she would use whatever wiles she possessed on him to postpone the marriage until after she had come into her inheritance. When that time came, she’d be able to break the engagement without worrying about losing her aunt’s charity.

She was returning from the ladies’ retiring room when she heard the whispers.

“Her behaviour is scandalous. And his is no better.”

Curious, she looked across the room to see who had so outraged the two matrons. Her heart almost stopped when she saw Richard smiling down at another woman. Lady Wentworth, no doubt. She was older than Sophie, but with age came sexual confidence. Sophie could see it in the way the woman leaned a little too close, giving Richard an unobstructed view of her breasts in her very low-cut bodice. Her hand stroked along his arm. When he laughed at something she said, Sophie thought she was going to be sick.

Instead of heading back to where her aunt and Mr Stanley waited, she changed direction and slipped out into the garden. With the end of spring, the ballroom was almost insufferably hot and there were a few other couples outside hoping to catch the hint of a breeze. Sophie ignored them and moved farther into the garden, where she would be alone. She wished more than anything that she had stayed home. Seeing Richard with another woman hurt too much.

“Sophie.”

She thought she’d imagined hearing her name. She turned and was surprised to see Richard standing a few feet away from her. She looked behind him and he smiled.

“I’m alone,” he said, adding, “I came to see you.”

She remembered that she had said those same words to him, when she’d followed him out into the gardens at the masquerade, thinking he was his brother.

“Won’t Lady Wentworth miss you?”

He smiled at the peevishness she hadn’t been able to keep from her tone, and she cursed herself for letting him see she cared.

“Tell me you’re not actually going to marry Stanley.”

“I’ve accepted his proposal,” she said. It wasn’t a lie.

He crossed the space that separated them and took her hands in his. She looked down at their joined hands, his larger ones holding hers lightly, and thought back to all those times when he had done the same. Her breath hitched.

“Tell me the truth,” he said.

And she did. She told him about how her aunt had discovered their relationship and how she’d had no choice but to give him up.

“I didn’t want to, Richard, but I can’t do it. I can’t become your mistress and have everyone scorn me. And when you tire of me I will be completely alone.”

She thought for a moment that her words had caused him pain, but that couldn’t be. She was imagining it.

“You have so little faith in me?”

“I’m a realist, Richard.”

He gave a small bark of laughter.

She sighed. “Fine, we both know I’m a romantic. With how I was raised, seeing how much my parents loved each other, I can hardly help it. But I know you’d only marry me if you were forced to do so and I don’t want that.”

He shook her slightly at that. “You’re a fool, Sophie.”

There was something in his gaze that made her heartbeat speed up.

“I am?”

“Yes. And you’re not marrying Stanley.”

She hesitated only a moment before replying. “You’re right. How could I possibly have considered such a thing?”

He smiled again and pulled her closer.

“Someone might see us, Richard. You know what would happen if you compromised me. You’d be forced to marry me.”

He nuzzled the side of her neck and happiness unfurled within her.

“That would never happen.”

“No?”

“No,” he said, pulling back to look down at her. “It occurs to me that we have the unique opportunity to accomplish two very important goals right now.”

She waited, holding her breath, for him to continue.

“We have the opportunity to drive your aunt completely insane, and at the same time we can carry on the family tradition your parents started.”

She felt as though her smile was too large for her face.

“You don’t mean…”

He nodded. “I think it fitting that we take a page from your parents’ book and elope.”

She kissed him then, and this time she knew exactly who she was kissing…the one man who was meant for her.

Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

An Improper Wife

Tarah Scott and KyAnn Waters

Excerpt

Chapter One

Newcastle, England, December 1798

Despite the crush of people that pressed into the intimate corner of the crowded ballroom, the din faded into the background when Lady Caroline Wilmont allowed the hooded blue domino to draw his cape close around them. She leant against the stone pillar and he rested a muscular arm above her head.

His costume wasn’t original—few at such masques were—but the piercing blue eyes staring back at her from behind the mask offered the hope she could forget the prison that awaited her tomorrow.

Guilt niggled. If her presence at the soiree was discovered…she commanded her nerves into submission. Responsibility be damned. She would leave before the assigned hour of two a.m. when the masks were to be removed. No one would know the future Viscountess of Blackhall had attended a masque. Tonight, she was simply one of the many masked women bent on seduction—and being seduced.

Caroline ducked her head, allowing the locks of her long blonde wig to fall to the sides of her face. A crescendo of violins rose from the orchestra. The beat of her heart matched the trilling vibrato. She turned her face just enough to be able to study her admirer through her lashes. His gaze boldly met hers, then dropped to the draped bodice of her Aphrodite costume. Warmth spread through her limbs and brought a flush to her cheeks.

The rich purple of the long sash around her neck contrasted with the stark white of the plunging décolletage designed to accentuate full breasts, bared to a hint of nipple pink. Her pulse skipped a beat. If she leant forward a hair’s breadth…

The crowd pressed closer, up the two steps that separated them from the dance floor. The masked gentleman’s leg brushed her thigh, revealed by the slit in the costume’s long skirt. She could scarcely believe her luck. A second move, and one so bold this early in the evening. The hour was just before midnight and the more prominent guests had yet to appear. If she had captured his imagination to the extent he would forsake other possibilities, this last night of freedom might cost less than the allotted two hours.

“Your beauty makes me forget my manners,” the domino murmured.

She gave a low laugh. “I daresay your manners are impeccable—outside of this room.”

His gaze locked onto her mouth. “Do you prefer impeccable manners?”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes darkened, and her heart skittered as he leant into her. Caroline slid around the pillar towards the wall, intending to draw him into a more intimate semblance of privacy. Her hip collided with rounded buttocks. She twisted to the right. A masked joker grinned at her over the head of the lady she had bumped into. He reached out with the hand that was wrapped around the woman’s waist and nipped at the skin just below Caroline’s breast.

She turned back around and got a mouthful of her domino’s hard chest. She snapped her head up, and blue eyes stared down at her in a blaze of desire. She froze as his mouth descended. Soft as velvet, his lips slid languidly over hers. He flicked his tongue against her lips and she breathed in the heavy aroma of cigars, and recognised the pungent taste of brandy. Her uncle smelt of brandy and cigars.

Uncle? She tensed, eyes locked on the domino’s shadowed features. His seductive kiss played on her lips. An unpleasant tremor fluttered in her stomach. Damn her uncle. She closed her eyes tight and focused on the warmth of the domino’s lips. A low groan rumbled from him. Strong, solid arms banded around her and pulled her closer. Caroline concentrated on the feel of her breasts flattened against the hard muscles of his chest. Why didn’t her heart pound, her breath catch, her body yearn for his touch?

Fear surfaced.
No.
She refused to believe what her betrothed, John, had said only two months before his death. Despite the fact he had come from yet another night of drinking, gaming, and carousing, the accusation that she was a passionless husk had cut deep. The cloying scent of perfume and tobacco that clung to him had reminded her that he felt no regret about going from one woman’s bed to another. But doubt lingered.