The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (4 page)

Jason raised a brow. “Are you serious? I must
say your opinion is not shared by many.”

Slowly and deliberately, Holt refilled his
glass. If they didn’t end this discussion soon, he’d be drunk
before supper.

“I swear, when you get that look on your
face, you could pass for one of the meanest pirates on the
water."

Jason’s attempt at lightheartedness only
further annoyed him. “You sound like a suitor.”

“What?”

“Are you courting the woman?”

“Of course, not! I’ve known Sophie for years.
Do you not remember the little girl in pigtails who used to hide in
the kitchen with Julia and steal cherry tarts?”

“Actually, no.” What business would he have
had in the kitchen?

“You never lifted your head out of a book
long enough to think about food or much of anything else, did you?”
Jason’s lips twitched. “How things have changed.”

“Indeed.” Holt had needed to find some source
of comfort when his awkward, ill-fitting body and shy disposition
proved such a supreme disappointment to his father. Reading had
seemed a natural course and the perfect protection from the earl’s
bitter diatribe over a weakling son. Twelve years and a psychotic
uncle had changed everything.

“Julia and Sophie were inseparable until her
mother’s death,” Jason continued. “She was like a second sister to
me.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Sophie is not
a plaything, Holt. She’s a lady and should be treated as such.”

Holt glared at him, refusing to acknowledge
he might have had less than honorable plans in store for the woman,
which of course he had, but damn if he would admit it. Nor would he
disillusion his younger brother about the fair Lady Sophie’s
innocence or lack thereof. He paced the room, edgy and unsettled,
and damn anxious to shift the conversation. “The Seacrests would
like nothing better than to see every last one of us ruined.”

“That would be an accurate assessment.”

“Rendhaven has jeopardized his business and
schemed to sabotage ours whenever possible. And yet, despite heavy
losses, we’re still surviving and doing much better than Seacrest
Shipping.”

“Father was an excellent businessman.”

“I have heard you are as well,” Holt said.
“I’m confident the company will become even more profitable with
both of us working at it. Should I choose to leave, I have
sufficient resources to make a vast amount of money available to
you.”

“Gained through legal means, I hope?”

“I did not plunder and pillage to obtain it
if that’s what you’re asking.” Years of reading and a seafaring
mentor by the name of Captain Harry Thurston had taught Holt about
trade and negotiation.

Relief skittered across Jason’s face even as
he said, “I knew that.” Which he clearly hadn’t. “Sophie runs her
father’s business now and handles the bill collectors while he
spends his days getting foxed. When he does show up at the docks,
he behaves like a rambling idiot.”

“Would he use his daughter to bait us into a
war?”

“How so?”

“By sacrificing her virtue?”

“Absolutely not,” Jason said. “Besides,
Sophie would never agree to it. She’s too much a lady for such
behavior.”

A vision of long legs and silk skin flitted
through Holt’s brain. Lady, indeed. “You don’t think she’d throw
herself at some man’s feet if he offered to salvage her father’s
business?”

"That’s ridiculous. You know nothing of the
poor girl and yet act as though you have a personal wager against
her. Too many years bouncing around in the ocean have jostled your
brain
and
your reason."

“My past has nothing to do with my reasoning.
I’m going to end this feud once and for all.” Unbidden visions of
emerald eyes and auburn hair crept into his thoughts. “Just leave
everything to me.”

***

The lady's maid patted the last ringlet in
place and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“Lady Sophie, you are truly a vision."

“Thank you, Annette.” Sophie touched the
sapphire comb which held back masses of auburn ringlets from her
shoulders. She wore a midnight-blue gown with a low cut bodice and
a sapphire pendant which dangled from her neck to settle just above
the swell of her bosom.

“By tomorrow morning you will indeed have a
line of men come to beg your father for your hand.”

“You flatter me. And besides, were it a
simple matter of my hand, I would have forfeited that long
ago.”

Annette blushed and murmured, “Lady Sophie! I
never know what you will say next.”

“Neither do I, which unfortunately quite
often poses a problem. I seem to have this tiny issue of
self-control now and again. Just when I think I have mastered the
fine art of composure, I . . . well, you’ve been around long enough
to know the rest.” She frowned as she recalled the argument she and
Aunt Vivian had just this morning.

Since that fateful day two weeks ago when
Sophie had the dreadful misfortune of making a
certain
someone’s
acquaintance, she’d delved headlong into finding a
match. It was no longer a matter of desire to enter the married
state, for she’d never desire that death march; marriage had become
a matter of
necessity
.

What happened in the gamekeeper’s cottage had
been more than a slight loss of control or error in judgment. She
grew hot even now as she admitted her role as an eager and active
participant. She hadn’t
wanted
the man to stop. And therein
lay the problem. If she could respond with such wanton disregard in
the arms of a perfect stranger, a servant no less, then she could
not trust herself to avoid a recurrence should the occasion arise
again. Who might she find herself cavorting with next? The
gardener? The groomsman? The man who delivered fresh eggs each
Wednesday? Disgrace was inevitable and she must act quickly to
avoid it.

Marriage was the only solution. While she
could not claim to be enamored with the thought of securing a
husband, she did recognize the necessity of it and therefore, her
determination to obtain one grew, as did her impatience.

Thus, she found herself an hour later,
ensconced in the ballroom of Lord Potsdane’s grand residence amidst
a kaleidoscope of greens and pinks and blues as men and women
swirled about, dipping and turning in brocades, silks, and satins,
providing a delightful display of well-bred beauty and good
taste.

Sophie drank it all in, hoping to forget her
reason for being here. There had been six dances and three
conversations with potential candidates. Each had smiled upon her
gaily and after a respectable period of time, politely inquired
after her sister’s welfare. Only two had returned to engage in
further conversation.

“Lady Sophie?”

“Yes?” She turned to find the warm brown eyes
of Mr. Harold Jennings gazing upon her as though she were a goddess
of some sort. He offered her a glass of champagne and proceeded to
turn the very color of Lady Potsdane’s plum gown. “Why thank you
very much, Mr. Jennings. I do seem to be acquiring a taste for this
drink.” She bestowed a dazzling smile on her companion, sizing him
up for husband material. This would make his third encounter with
her this evening. He was nice looking in a calm sort of way. Tall,
trim, and fair, when he wasn’t given to blushing. Images of strong,
dark fingers on her bare skin slid into her thoughts alongside Mr.
Jennings’s face.

Thankfully, he was not a barbarian with long
hair and navy eyes who wore a ruby medallion around a neck thicker
than her waist. As it were, Mr. Jennings appeared rather long and
scrawny, a doubtful candidate for the weight of a ruby
medallion.

" . . . and so I would like to present him to
you, Lady Sophie. You will undoubtedly have much in common," Lord
Potsdane finished amiably. He was a kindly old gentleman and Sophie
had always enjoyed his visits to her father. Unfortunately, he had
just finished speaking and she’d not heard a word of his
conversation.

“I do apologize, Lord Potsdane, but I did not
quite hear what you were saying.”

“Well, my dear, there is no further need for
explanation. The gent is coming toward us now.”

Sophie fixed a welcoming smile upon her lips
and turned slightly, preparing to greet her host’s friend. Her
smile froze and split in half as she encountered the piercing gaze
that had haunted her for days. She whipped her head around so
quickly, a sudden jolt of pain shot through her neck, forcing her
to suck in several short breaths in an effort to calm herself. The
effort proved entirely futile.

The Langsford’s gamekeeper stood not more
than two few feet from her and the horrid man appeared not the
least bit affected by her presence! What on earth was he doing
here? Sophie attempted to swallow but her throat had turned dry as
burnt toast.

Fortunately, Lord Potsdane was an elderly
gentleman and neither his eyesight nor hearing were acute, thus he
missed the by-play between Sophie and the gamekeeper. “My dear
child, may I present Mr. Gregory Thurston, a merchant trader
recently returned from the Far East. Mr. Thurston is a guest of Mr.
Jason Langford and is looking to expand his fleet of ships. When I
told him about Seacrest Shipping he was most anxious to meet you.
Of course, I also told him of your breathtaking beauty.” Lord
Potsdane leaned closer and winked at her. “Mr. Thurston, may I
present Lady Sophie Seacrest, daughter of the Earl of
Rendhaven.”

Chapter 4

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Sophie.” Holt
bowed low, grasped her hand from the folds of her gown and bestowed
a light kiss upon it. He had known she was beautiful, but the sight
of her as she entered the ballroom, had overpowered him. He’d spent
the past hour devouring every detail from the jeweled comb so
artfully placed in her auburn hair to the satin-clad feet twirling
from partner to partner.

When he finally sought out Lord Potsdane for
a proper introduction, he was able to feign a carefree attitude
that well belied his inner turmoil. Sophie Seacrest could not make
the same claim. He hadn’t missed the pink spots on her cheeks or
the unsteady breaths, signaling a rather large upset. “Lady
Sophie.” Holt clasped her small-gloved hand firmly in his own, and
said, “Please, allow me the honor of this next dance.”

“I apologize, Mr. Thurston, but my dance card
is quite full this evening.” She tried to disengage her hand but he
held fast. “If you will excuse me?”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms.
“More’s the pity for the poor chaps. I doubt any of them would be
fool enough to try to reclaim this dance.”

“I have no desire to be associated with
someone such as yourself,” she spat out under her breath as they
moved about the floor. “You led me to believe you were the
Langford’s gamekeeper,
not
a business associate.”

“You, fair lady, drew the conclusion I was a
lowly gamekeeper, one you could tease and torment at will without
anyone becoming the wiser.”

“That is not true,” she muttered, fixing her
gaze on his chin. “Can we not forget that regrettable
afternoon?”

He frowned in response. “I wish it were that
simple. Unfortunately, it is not.” He studied the long slender
column of her neck and recalled how sweet she’d tasted and how
perfectly he could bury his face in the cascade of curls that
gleamed under the lights. Her hair smelled of lavender and he was
overcome with an incredible desire to pull out the pins and sift
his fingers through her hair.

“Mr. Thurston? What do you intend to do?”

He tore his gaze from her hair only to settle
it on her lips. Full, pink lips which parted slightly as she wet
them with the tip of her tongue. That simple action brought to mind
the gamekeeper's cottage and the kisses they had shared.
She’s
Rendhaven’s daughter
. The man had destroyed three Langford
ships and attempted to burn their warehouse. He must be stopped and
Holt knew exactly how to do it.

“Mr. Thurston,” she repeated. “What do you
intend to do?”

“Are you asking if I will inform your father
of our tryst in the gamekeeper’s cottage? That depends,” he replied
in a bland voice, “on what you are willing to do for my
silence.”

“You are the very devil,” she said, her voice
simmering with anger. She broke free of his grasp and rushed toward
the nearby French doors, disappearing onto the terrace in a whirl
of blue silk.

A welcome darkness enveloped Sophie as she
drank in the crisp evening air with shaky gulps. The man was an
incorrigible beast! If only she had never met him. Sophie leaned
against the balustrade, closed her eyes and willed the events of
the evening to disappear.

She did not realize someone had joined her on
the terrace until something brushed her cheek, so faint she thought
it was the wind. When it touched her lips in a feathery motion, her
eyes flew open. Gregory Thurston towered over her making her heart
hammer with fear and a sliver of anticipation.

He smoothed a wisp of hair from her face and
said in a voice that jolted her insides, “I’m sorry if I offended
you. I truly do not know why I did it. You appear to have that
effect on me.” He spoke so tenderly had she not seen his face, she
might have thought the words came from another man.

He tilted her chin upward, his gaze drawn to
her lips. His dark head descended slowly, carefully. When their
lips touched, the world slipped away. When he drew her into his
arms, molding every shape and curve of her body to his, he
became
her world.

He groaned and pulled her closer. “Torment me
again and I’ll be forced to play the gentleman and deliver what you
are seeking.”

“Why you –” She jerked away and raised a hand
to slap him but he caught her wrist in a firm grip.