The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (7 page)

“There’s an entire bowl here, Francie. I’ll
help myself, thank you.”

“Best hurry,” she teased. “I’ll be after
another helping soon.”

Alexander Bishop met his wife’s gaze and darn
it all, his lips twitched. Just a bit on the left side, but there
it was. An inch of a smile. Perhaps somewhere inside this stone of
a man was the one Francie told her about who warmed her feet at
night with his hands and placed his head on her swollen belly to
feel his child move. Perhaps men reserved their gentle side for the
confines of the bedroom and the women they loved.

Sophie certainly wouldn’t know about
that
.

“See over there,” Francie whispered, leaning
close to Sophie, “I’ve chosen the perfect husband for you.”

“No, Francie, I’ll not even look.”

“He’s the one.”

“That’s what you told Lucinda Grosemond when
you tried to pair her with Jeffrey Ballantine.”

“A minor miscalculation, I assure you. One
which I have corrected.”

“I see.” Sophie hid a smile. “You’ll be
certain the wife is actually dead before you try to marry off her
husband.”

“He said he was a widower.”

“Hmmmm. I guess he forgot to tell his
wife.”

“I have it on good authority this one isn’t
married.”

“I’m not interested.” Tales of Francie
Bishop’s matchmaking attempts were becoming legendary. Since her
marriage to Alexander Bishop slightly less than two years ago,
Francie had endeavored to make fourteen matches for friends and
various acquaintances.

All had failed miserably.

“Would you please just look at the man. He’s
right over there. The tall one.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.”

“Just one peek.”

People were beginning to stare. What a sight
they must appear; two women whispering at the supper table like two
ninnies. “Oh, all right.” Sophie turned and stared right into Jason
Langford’s gray eyes.

“Jason?”

“Who? No, silly, not him.
Him
.”
Francie pointed to the man standing just inside the door frame.

It was Gregory Thurston.

“Isn’t he simply,” Francie paused,
“dangerous?”

Sophie swallowed and looked away, but not
before he caught her eyeing him. “Barbaric is a more appropriate
term.”

“A guise, I’m sure. I’ve heard he’s a
pirate.” Excitement coated her words. “I believe it could be
true.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“But wouldn’t you like to know?”

“No.”

“Sophie, where’s your sense of
adventure?”

“In the pages of the stories I read.”

“Hah! I think he’s a great intrigue. Would
you like an introduction?”

“No.”

“But why ever not?”

“Francie.” Alexander Bishop regarded his wife
with a raised brow.

“Yes, darling?”

“Sometimes no really does mean no.” And with
that he went back to his creamed potatoes and venison.

Chapter 7

“Why Mr. Thurston,” a throaty voice crooned
nearby, “I’m delighted to see you here. Please do sit.”

The woman who spoke was blond, blue-eyed . .
. utterly perfect. Sophie cast a glance at Jason Langford who
studied her, a small smile playing about his lips as though to
imply he knew a very important secret. The simple gesture brought
her back to childhood days when he would smile at her and Julia in
just that very manner. He’d always been so very tolerant of their
antics. Quite friendly, too. Unlike his older brother, Holt, who
never smiled, and rarely spoke. Word had it his father had shipped
him off to the West Indies to learn the sugar cane business, but
some said that wasn’t the only reason. Some said the earl was
embarrassed by his eldest son’s shy, awkward ways and sickly
constitution and hoped the West Indies would turn him into a man
fit to inherit an earldom. Apparently, Holt Langford had not earned
that privilege because he’d never returned.

“So nice to see you again, Lady Sophie,”
Jason Langford said, his smile deepening.

She should ignore him; he was after all, the
enemy. But some shred of understanding in his eyes made her smile
back. “You as well, Mr. Langford.”

Of course, the men seated themselves across
from Sophie and close enough to conduct a casual conversation
without raising their voices. Of course, Gregory Thurston leaned in
too close to the blonde beauty next to him who happened to be an
extremely wealthy widow from the neighboring village. And of
course, Lady Jessica Heathers, the so-named wealthy widow, spent
the better part of the supper fawning over Mr. Thurston, her
milk-white bosom spilling from her bodice as she leaned to tap his
shoulder playfully with her fan or lay a slender hand on his jacket
sleeve. And of course, the brute did not hesitate to slide her one
of his faint, seductive smiles.

Which of course
, only made the whole
scenario that much more disgusting.

Holt remained attentive to the beautiful
widow beside him but his real interest lay in the little minx
seated across the dinner table. Sophie did her best to ignore him
and it would appear she was succeeding. She chatted with everyone,
himself excluded, and almost had him believing his behavior did not
affect her until she happened to gaze in his direction.

Once she did, her eyes narrowed and her lips
pinched, but the most telltale sign was no matter what discussion
she was engaged in, when she glanced his way, she couldn’t finish
her sentence. She froze in the midst of a word and floundered for
her next thought as though her mind had flopped into the dish of
plum pudding next to her. After the second occurrence, Jason,
gentleman that he was, rushed to her rescue and finished her
sentence.

“Mr. Thurston,” Jessica purred into his ear,
“pray tell us more about your travels. I have always been
fascinated by exotic places.” She ran her tongue across her full
lower lip as she smiled. “I find them dangerous and utterly
irresistible.”

Indeed. He didn’t miss the double entendre
she thrust out with that dainty tongue. If he had half an
inclination, he could take her to the terrace and have her right
now, without a moment's resistance. But that was the rub. As
beautiful as Lady Heathers was, and she was indeed beautiful, and
as much as she was fawning all over him, and she was definitely
fawning with those heaving breasts and blue eyes, he felt not a
hint of desire for her. Nothing. It perplexed him almost as much as
it annoyed him. A few months ago, he would have thrown up her
skirts and had her without a by your leave. But not now and he knew
why.

He turned his gaze on the subject of his ire,
only to find her staring back. He wanted to reach across the table,
pull her into his arms, and apologize for the hundred kinds of a
fool he’d been. He wanted to kiss her senseless and lay her across
the long dining room table, where he would worship her body. But he
also wanted to protect her and promise to never hurt her again. God
help him, he wanted so much more than her delectable body.

Jessica Heathers’ next words jerked him back
as she leaned into his elbow, her sumptuous breasts smashed against
the arm of his jacket, “I do believe I am acquainted with your
family, Lady Sophie.”

Sophie blinked twice and tore her gaze from
Holt. “You know my family?”

“Ah, yes, but to be more exact my dear
deceased husband, who of course was much older than myself,” she
quickly qualified, “was friends with your father.” She paused and
added, “Before the unfortunate accident. One can understand how a
devastation such as the one your father suffered, might render him
incapable of ever fully recovering to re-enter society. He is
somewhat of a recluse, is he not? That’s why you’ve not had a
proper season?” Her full lips formed a perfect moue. “But then, how
could you gallivant about when you had to tend after a mute
sister?”

A few matrons listening to the conversation
gasped at the ill manners of the speaker. Fortunately, the exchange
went largely unnoticed as many of the guests had finished dining
and were taking leave to the ballroom. Holt had a feeling an entire
roomful of people would not have stopped Sophie from speaking her
next words. “My sister is a beautiful, gifted child whose speech
will one day return.”

The widow Heathers’ delicate hand fluttered
to her chest, as she drawled, “Of course I meant no slight to you
or your sister. I merely desired to make it known I sympathize with
the burden you carry attending a young sister who has the
misfortune of being a mute. That is all, I assure you.” She
bestowed an oversweet smile on her small audience but the woman
could have cared less whether or not Sophie was offended by her
remarks and most certainly would not have deigned an apology had
there not been witnesses.

Sophie stood and without another word, headed
down one of the long corridors, in the opposite direction of the
ballroom.

“I think I should see to her.” The woman
who’d been seated beside Sophie shoved her chair aside and
stood.

“Leave her be, Francie.” This from the man
who was presumably the woman’s husband.

“But Alexander, she might need me.”

“Of course she’ll need you,” he said, his
voice gentling. “But give her a few moments first, then go to
her.”

Holt turned to Jason and said in a low voice,
“Why in hell’s name didn’t you tell me about the sister?”

“Why would I?” Jason asked. “You and Sophie
are merely business acquaintances. It shouldn’t matter whether she
has a sister with five heads or a green face.”

He was challenging him to admit the
relationship with Sophie was indeed personal. “Right you are.” With
that, Holt pushed back his chair and headed toward the very same
corridor Sophie had fled to moments before.

***

After the disastrous confrontation with
Jessica Heathers, Sophie sought comfort in a dimly lit salon far
from the ballroom. Of all the vicious attempts to humiliate
someone, this one was really too much. To aim at a poor innocent,
whose worse fault was the grievous shock of losing her mother
and
her voice at the same time, was too hurtful to consider.
The woman had flaunted her body all over Gregory Thurston at supper
and when she thought he was paying more attention to Sophie, she’d
set about to humiliate and disgrace her. Well, Jessica Heathers
could have him on a silver platter and good riddance!

“Ah, my lovely Lady Sophie, I am so pleased
to have found you.” A figure emerged from the far end of the salon.
It was Thomas Jameson, the lecherous widower who had intruded
himself upon her person earlier this evening. He eyed her with an
odd light in his pale eyes, his gaze wandering and fixing on her
breasts.

She inched away from the odious man and said,
“I must ask that you leave. Surely you understand you can’t remain
without benefit of a chaperone.”

Jameson stepped closer, the odd shimmering
light in his eyes growing brighter, glazing, as though her nearness
ignited his senses.

“Mr. Jameson, please.”

He lunged at her and flung her to the sofa,
pinning her arms behind her back. She kicked and tried to scream,
but his sweaty palm clamped over her mouth. “Do not scream, my
beautiful little one. Once I initiate you to the pleasures of the
flesh, you shall
beg
for my touch.” He planted hard, wet
kisses on the swell of flesh above her bodice, and ground his hips
into hers. Sophie tried to dislodge his squat body but her
movements only further excited him. When she stilled, Jameson
relaxed his hand over her mouth and murmured, “Ah, my sweet, such
infinite pleasure awaits.” Sophie opened her mouth. “Yes, let me
see that tongue.” He inched his palm near her mouth. “Lick it,” he
gasped, closing his eyes. She opened her mouth wider and clamped
down on the tender flesh of Thomas Jameson’s palm. “Ahhhh!” He
sprang off of her, grabbing his hand. “Bitch! You’ll pay for this.”
He raised his uninjured hand to strike her. Too shocked to attempt
escape, Sophie shielded her head in the cushions of the sofa,
awaiting his blow.

A howl of pain filled the room. Sophie looked
up to witness Gregory Thurston wrenching Jameson’s swinging arm
behind his back with a vicious thrust. He then spun him around and
landed a solid blow to his midsection which doubled the older man
over. Groaning on all fours, Jameson pleaded, “Stop, I beg of you .
. .” Gregory Thurston ignored the pleas and yanked Jameson to his
feet by his collar and proceeded to land a solid, swift blow to his
face.

“That one is for the lady,” he ground out as
he threw Thomas Jameson’s unconscious body to the ground. Chest
heaving, he made his way to Sophie. “Are you all right? Did that
bastard harm you?”

“I’m not harmed, merely frightened. If you
hadn’t come along . . .”

Gregory cleared his throat and said, “Don’t
look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . ” He let out a curse and bent his
head toward hers.

“Ahhm . . . excuse me.”

Gregory Thurston jerked back and swung
around. Jason Langford stood over the inert body of Thomas Jameson.
“I think it might be best advised if Lady Sophie were to depart
before this gent rouses and begins spreading tales. I’ll say we had
a gentleman's disagreement. No one need be the wiser.”

“That would be the most logical course of
action.” Gregory Thurston grabbed Sophie’s hand. “I’ll see the lady
home. Please make her excuses to our host. We’ll wait while you
bring her wrap and then leave by the side door.”

“What about Mr. and Mrs. Bishop? I came with
them. Could you please inform them I’ve left?”

“Should I say with whom?” Jason asked.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“As you wish.” Jason left the pair to fetch
Sophie’s wrap and inform the Bishops of her departure. He wouldn’t
mention who had taken her home, he wouldn’t need to. Francie Bishop
had spent the better part of the supper studying Holt, probably
sizing him up for husband material. The woman had a notorious
history of ill-fated matchmaking attempts and Sophie and Holt could
well be her next venture. He had a strange feeling Francie Bishop
might have success this time.