Sweet as the Devil (12 page)

“I’ll try.”

He took a short, calming breath. “You have to try very hard, Miss Eastleigh. I can’t do this alone.”

“Sofia, please.”

“Very well, Sofia.” This was going to be a real test of his willpower
.
“Now, first things first. We have to stay alive. Nothing else matters. Not what you want. Not what I want.”
Definitely not.

“Yes, yes, I’ll really try to be good.”

“I’d feel better,” he drily said, waving her on, “if you were more certain.”

“And I’d be more certain,” she replied, moving down the hall, “if you weren’t God’s gift to women, if I hadn’t seen you in your role of stud at the Countess Minton’s,
and mostly
, if I wasn’t in the habit of indulging my sexual desires.” She gave him a sideways smile. “But barring those discrepancies, a platonic relationship isn’t
completely
out of the question.”

“It appears I’m on my own,” he drawled.

“In truth, I don’t understand your resistance. How can it possibly matter if we have sex? Particularly since we’re going to be in close proximity for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“In the event your principles are at all tractable, I want you to know that I have no intention of suddenly becoming Prince Ernst’s daughter. Titles mean nothing to me, I have no need of money, I have a very comfortable life here in London, and wherever Dalmia might be, it’s not London. So as soon as you can eliminate this Von Welden, I’ll thank you both to leave me in peace. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy an amorous interlude with you,” she said with a grin, “in the interim.”

“I can see you’re going to be difficult,” he grumbled.

“On the contrary, you’re the difficult one. I’ve never had a man refuse my overtures”—she flashed him a playful smile—“until now. Ah, here we are.” She stopped outside the dining room. “Why don’t you wait here for me? I’m going in to finish dinner in order not to cause comment. Gossip is outrageous enough without this lunatic story becoming known.” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed open the door and walked in.

Those guests facing the door surveyed her and her companion with such avid interest, the others turned in their seats to see what they were missing.

Sofia leisurely strolled across the brilliant Turkish carpet, a bland smile on her face.

“You don’t take orders, I see,” she whispered to the man at her side.

“No more than you do,” Jamie said under his breath.

“Come then, meet my dinner partner. He’s quite anxious to make love to me tonight.”

Jamie smiled thinly. “We’ll have to change his mind.” “Not we. I intend to be flirtatious.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Jamie warned, his voice hushed. “You’ll lose.”

Her gaze was sugar sweet. “If only I
could
fuck with you. As for who will lose, that’s still a moot point. I’m sorry the countess isn’t here tonight; you could fuck her.”

“Now why would I do that when I have you to entertain me?”

“I’m afraid we won’t be seated near each other.”

“You don’t know me very well,” he silkily murmured.

A
FTER TAKING HER seat, Sofia was annoyed to see Jamie lean over and address Lord Airlie on her left.

Dex Champion was more than annoyed. He’d done as much himself in pursuit of a woman; he knew full well what Jamie was doing.

Speaking quietly so others couldn’t hear, Jamie was appealing to the elderly man’s benevolence. “Would you mind if I took your place and we found you another? My cousin Sofia wants to grill me on everything that’s transpired in my life while I was abroad. You know women,” he added in collective male lament. “She’s already asked a dozen questions on the way upstairs.”

Half-turned in his chair, Lord Airlie offered a commiserating smile. “Pesky ones, I don’t doubt.”

Jamie grimaced. “I’m planning on drinking my dinner.” The man had the look of a country squire, stout and red-faced from drink and outdoor sport; he was sure to understand.

Airlie guffawed. “Can’t live with ’em and can’t live without’em—eh?”

Dex couldn’t help but hear that ringing declaration, the comment bringing knowing smiles to many of the male guests and alternately, pursed lips to the women.

Jamie didn’t respond.

“Very diplomatic, my boy,” Airlie jovially remarked, pushing his chair back and coming to his feet at the same time Jamie summoned his host with a lift of his hand. “But I’m thirty years’ married with three daughters, bless their souls, and I know for a fact that womenfolk chatter like magpies. No offense, Miss Eastleigh,” the squire bluffly added with a wink for Sofia, who was watching the proceedings with suppressed fury.

She could forgive Airlie; country gentlemen of his generation weren’t likely to change their views on women. But Blackwood, damn him, should know better than to treat her like chattel. He had absolutely no jurisdiction over her life. None.
What’s this?
Fitz was coming over and actually smiling.
Turncoat!

After explaining the situation to the duke, Jamie watched Lord Airlie being led away before sliding into the vacated chair. Leaning forward, he reached past Sofia and put out his hand to the sandy-haired man on her right who was glaring at him. “Blackwood,” he pleasantly said. “Cousin Sofia and I used to spend summers together as children,” he added, perjuring himself without qualm.

Dex took Jamie’s outstretched hand, his good humor instantly restored on learning he likely didn’t have a rival. “Wharton. A pleasure.”

“I’m off to Scotland tomorrow to do some fishing, so Cousin Sofia and I don’t have much time to exchange family gossip.” An explanation for his actions. As for his mention of fishing, he intended to engage Wharton’s interest and in so doing, obstruct Sofia’s flirtation.

“Salmon or saltwater?”

“Salmon. I might do some hunting, too. I’ve heard game birds are in good supply this year.”

“According to my gamekeeper, the numbers are better than he’s seen in years.”

“My gamekeeper is in ecstasy,” Jamie pleasantly said. “I’m getting telegrams every other day. Do you prefer hunting woodcock or grouse?”

At which point Sofia became largely invisible, with talk of coverts and gillies, of birds and shotguns, salmon and mountain streams capturing center stage. Midway through a discussion of Holland and Holland’s custom-made guns, Jamie ordered whiskey from a footman.

Several drinks later, when the merits of each man’s gun collection had been thoroughly dissected, Jamie smoothly shifted the topic of conversation. “Have you heard whether there’s a date set for the polo match in Warsaw? Last word mentioned early July.”

“The Uhlans are still waiting to hear from the Russians. You play?”

“A little. You?”

At which point, Sofia could have slid under the table and Dex wouldn’t have noticed. Instant male rapport ensued, and using an idiom particular to the sport, the men analyzed every venue for polo from Argentina to India, comparing, contrasting, and evaluating the game with considerable laughter, congeniality, and several more glasses of whiskey. Occasionally an allusion to a woman they both knew gave rise to some incomprehensible reference that served to further irritate Sofia. The name Countess Minton in particular caught her ear—although she shouldn’t care in the least.

And normally she wouldn’t. But under the circumstances perhaps she was allowed a pettish tantrum or two. After all, her life had been thrown into complete turmoil—worse—imperiled. Furthermore, she was unaccustomed to being totally ignored, and needless to say, the baron’s suave deceit was an
outrage
!

He was treating her as if she were a nonentity!

A favor she’d be more than willing to return, for she wanted no part of this grand conspiracy. She wanted her life back—a very satisfying life in every aspect—professionally, socially, personally. So while the two men went on about bloody polo as if it were the most glorious invention since the dawn of time, she began to apply herself to a scheme of her own—which entailed disappearing from Groveland House and London—alone.

Only when dessert had been cleared away and the ladies were beginning to rise from the table did Dex finally take notice of Sofia. “Darling, please forgive my inattention. But Blackwood’s played polo in every corner of the globe,” he cheerfully added as if that sterling fact exonerated his neglect. Taking her hand, he lifted it and kissed her fingertips. “I’ll make it up to you after tea, I promise,” he murmured, his smile warm and intimate.

“Unfortunately,” Jamie interrupted, “I must steal Cousin Sofia away before tea. Uncle Douglas is expecting us tonight and it’s getting late.” Jamie’s tone was apologetic. “You know how old men get crotchety when they’re made to stay up past their bedtime. Why don’t we meet for drinks at Brooks’s tomorrow afternoon? I hear Tattersalls has some prime polo ponies coming on the block. I’d like your advice.”

Recalling his sole purpose in coming to dinner tonight, Dex tardily redressed his role of suitor. “Darling, must you go?” he softly queried, his heavy-lidded gaze adoring. “I’m sure we can think of some reasonable excuse for your uncle.”

Sofia hesitated; Wharton would be easier to evade.

“I’m afraid Cousin Sofia
does
have to go,” Jamie crisply interposed, his goodwill stretched to the limit after an hour of worthless conversation with Wharton. “You don’t want to arouse Uncle Douglas’s ire, cousin dear,” he said, his voice amiable, his gaze unblinkingly chilly. “Remember the last time you did, he threatened to cut you out of his will.” Jamie turned to smile at Dex. “A perennial threat—still, who wants to risk losing a fortune?”

Dare she make a scene? Sofia wondered.

If so, what would Blackwood do?

What he did was come to his feet, pull out Sofia’s chair, unceremoniously haul her to her feet, and nod at Wharton. “I’ll see you at two tomorrow.”

With a lesser capacity for alcohol than his companion, Dex was incapable of quick thinking. “Very well, at two,” he said, for lack of a better answer.

Quickly propelling Sofia away with a hand at her waist, Jamie pushed her in the direction of their hosts. “That went rather well,” he said, taking her hand out of prudence. “I didn’t have to resort to a sparring match.”

“You still might—with me,” Sofia muttered, trying to jerk her hand away.

He shrugged. “They’re your friends, not mine.”

Christ, he didn’t care if she kicked up a row, she realized, abandoning her futile exertions.

“Sensible girl,” he murmured.

“Damn bastard,” she hissed.

“Whatever you say.”

His indifference was bloody
monumental
. Thoroughly piqued at his imperious calm, at her inability to retaliate against his physical strength, in time-honored female fashion, she resorted to verbal attack. “You certainly charmed and captivated Dex during dinner,” she jibed. “I wasn’t sure who he’d prefer tonight—you or me?”

Jamie smiled faintly. “Since polo’s his addiction, I think I had an edge.”

Did nothing prick his damnable composure? “You’re a cold-blooded brute.”

“So I’ve been told,” he placidly said. “Now don’t be troublesome, or any more troublesome than you’ve already been.” He gave her a warning glance as they approached Fitz and Rosalind. “I’m more than willing to carry you out of here.”

“Fitz might not let you.”

“I doubt he’s armed.”

“Armed!”

“Always.” He might have been saying,
I like sugar in my tea,
so innocuous was his tone. “Look,” he said, a touch of exasperation in his voice, “I understand your frustration. I wish we had other choices, but we don’t. As a matter of fact, I’d prefer being anywhere but here”—he shot her a glance—“with you. Now, let me do the explaining,” he gruffly added as they reached their hosts.

Waiting on the margins of the group surrounding the Grovelands until he was able to catch the duke’s eye, Jamie nodded in the direction of the door and said, “Could I have a moment of your time?”

A look passed between husband and wife before Rosalind turned to Sofia. “You’re not going, are you?”

Jamie’s grip tightened on Sofia’s hand.

“I’m afraid so. I have an early appointment tomorrow.”

Something in Sofia’s voice signaled her unease, as did the fact that Blackwood hadn’t released her hand. Turning to the guests clustered around her, the duchess offered them a polite smile. “Tea and sherry is being served next door, ladies. As for you gentlemen, I see the port and cigars are on the table. If you’ll excuse Fitz and me for a few minutes.”

The Grovelands, Jamie, and Sofia had almost reached the door to the hallway when Oz caught up with them. “Am I missing something?” he cheerfully asked and without waiting for an answer, strode past them, opened the door, and waved them through. Shutting the door behind him, he took note of Sofia’s restive stance, of Blackwood’s grip on her hand, and lightly touching the holster concealed beneath his evening jacket, he held Jamie’s gaze. “Does anyone need my assistance?”