My Seductive Innocent (47 page)

“You know,” Amelia said, “come to think of it, after Ellison told you all those things that night of your birthday celebration, Colin later informed me that Ellison had not portrayed that night at White’s exactly as it had occurred. I had thought to tell you of it, but then you refused to see me, and when I did see you again, you were determined to forget Scarsdale and refused to speak of him.”

Sophia gaped at Amelia. “How did Aversley say Ellison misrepresented the night at White’s?”

Amelia cocked her head as if she was searching her memory for her husband’s exact words. “Well, for one, he said Scarsdale became very angry with Ellison when he called you a wench and said Scarsdale must have surely married you out of pity based on his description of you.”

“Maybe he simply felt it made him look the fool,” Sophia replied, disliking the fact that Ellison had called her a wench. And to think she had once thought him nice!

“Scarsdale has never given a whit what people think of him, Sophia. It’s as if he trained himself not to care about other’s opinions.”

Sophia thought about all those paintings of him stashed in the attic in St. Ives, and her breath caught in her throat. As a child, he had, no doubt, cared deeply what his mother thought about him, and she taught him with torturous cruelty that to desire approval was to welcome pain. Sophia hugged herself on a shiver.

“What is it?” Amelia asked.

“He
has
trained himself not to care if others like him or not. You are absolutely right.”

Amelia flashed a grin. “I do so love when people say that! Though, that is so very sad. It does, of course, prove my point: he would never become angry over his cousin or friends thinking he looked foolish for marrying you. But he became livid when Ellison besmirched you because, whether he realizes it or not, I do believe he loved you and loves you still. What are you going to do?”

Sophia swallowed. That was exactly what she had to figure out.

A
fter Sophia dropped off Amelia, she directed Mr. Burk to Nathan’s largest townhome, assuming he would be there, but the staff had not seen him since he’d been there two days ago to give them the news that he was still alive. As she made her way to his next townhome—luckily, Mr. Burk knew where it was, as Nathan surely hadn’t told Sophia anything of it—the hour was growing late, and by the time she arrived, the moon was shining brightly in the sky.

She took a deep breath as she got out of the carriage, knowing full well that she could come across his horrid mistress at any moment. But when she questioned his servants, there was no one home. Once again Nathan had come to let them know he was alive, but he had not returned.

She made her way back to the carriage, but as Mr. Burk took her hand to help her in, a hackney pulled in front of the house. A woman, adorned in a gaudy gown of green-and-yellow silk, stepped out of the hackney, took one look at Sophia and her eyes widened as her mouth thinned. “Well, look what we have here. The infamous Duchess of Scarsdale.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes, her heart racing and stomach knotting. She tilted her chin up. “Marguerite, I presume.”

The woman laughed. “I recognize you as well. Ellison provided a detailed description.”

Sophia turned to Mr. Burk. “Will you give me a moment?”

He nodded and walked a few feet away, but she could see him with his eyes on her, guarding her like he’d been told. And she could see Mary Margaret peering out the window of the carriage, but when their gazes locked Mary Margaret’s face disappeared. Sophia faced the woman once more and stepped toward her, wishing only to get information without being overheard by Mr. Burk. Then she could get out of there as quickly as possible.

Marguerite lurched backward. “Don’t you dare try to keep me out of this house! Scarsdale cannot just kick me out without my wardrobe! La-tee-da, he loves you. I understand. I heard him loud and clear. But I want my clothing. I need it to survive. What the devil does he think? I’m a paramour! I cannot go around looking wretched and wearing borrowed gowns that don’t fit properly. And I cannot acquire new gowns instantaneously.”

Sophia’s mind whirled with everything Marguerite had just said. “When did you see my husband?”

The woman gave her an irritated look. “Don’t fret yourself. I know when I’m beaten. I should have known it the night I saw him in Lincolnshire before he married you. He was already not himself then. Demanding I not touch him. Demanding I get out of this townhome, the one he had purchased
for me
.”

Sophia sucked in a sharp breath at the confirmation that what Nathan had told her so long ago was true. Marguerite truly
had
misled Ellison. “You are a wretched liar,” she spat.

Marguerite gave her a haughty look. “We are all wretched liars, my dear.”

Fury exploded in Sophia’s chest, and she whipped her hand out and slapped Marguerite. The smack resounded in the silence, and her hand instantly tingled from the force of the hit. Marguerite’s head snapped to the right, but when she focused once again on Sophia, she curled her lips back and raised her hand as if to strike back.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sophia warned. “I will lay you flat if you dare. And I learned a rather smart trick from my husband about how to cut off a person’s air by putting my boot just there.” She pointed to Marguerite’s throat.

Marguerite’s face paled, and she lowered her hand. “I only want my clothing.”

“When did you see my husband?” Sophia repeated her earlier question.

Marguerite’s jaw thrust out in mutiny, but she spoke. “When he came back from the dead, of course. He came here looking for Ellison but he found me.”

Sophia felt her jaw drop open. “You mean you and Ellison...?”

Marguerite smiled. “Don’t look so shocked. He’s a man with needs, like all men. And I’m the best at what I do.”

“I will have the butler send you your gowns,” Sophia said through stiff lips. That Ellison would sleep with this woman sickened her, though she knew she shouldn’t be all that surprised. She’d seen plenty of men who were driven by lust and nothing else. “Don’t ever come back here again. Are we clear?”

Marguerite nodded. “Perfectly.” The woman held out a card. “Send my clothing here, if you please.”

Sophia snagged the card without looking at it and watched Marguerite walk to the hackney. Within moments, the hackney disappeared.

Shaking with anger at Marguerite, relief that Nathan had not been unfaithful, and fear that she might have driven a permanent wall between them, she allowed a silent Mr. Burk to help her into the carriage. Mary Margaret gave her an understanding look but wisely said nothing.

“Where to now, Your Grace?” Mr. Burk inquired.

Frustration gripped her. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps His Grace went to your townhome.”

She frowned. She couldn’t fathom why Nathan would be there, but with no other place to look for him, she nodded, and they set out to the house on Mayfair.

The place was small, compared to his main home but large compared to the one in the Garden District. She’d never been here, even though it had been over a year since it had become hers, but as she walked up the four steps to the bright-red front door of the dark brick home, she instantly liked it. It had four large windows that faced the street, so she knew the rooms must get a great deal of sunlight. There was something cozy about it, despite its location in Town.

She knocked on the door. The footman answered it and then showed her inside where the butler, Mr. Tims, immediately greeted her. It took only a moment to learn that Nathan was, indeed, in residence here and then took less time than that to learn he was out for the night at a ball. Sophia frowned. Knowing what she did of Nathan, she couldn’t believe he’d willingly attend a ball, and when she inquired as to what ball he was attending, she nearly had a heart palpitation. It was Mr. Frazier’s ball!

The only reason she could think of to explain his attendance was that he intended to finish what he had started the Scot. In a frenzy of worry, she raced up the stairs to his bedchamber as she issued commands for her trunks to be carried up. She paused in the center of his bedchamber and took in the lacy coverlet and feminine dressing table. She stilled in wonderment. This was
her
bedchamber! He was sleeping in the room he had ordered to be hers. Nathan had come to London to forget her, to put so many miles between them, yet he had chosen to stay in the house he bought for her and in the bedchamber that had been decorated for her.

And he had not been unfaithful to her! He had been true!

Heat radiated in her chest. She had to see him immediately and learn once and for all whether he loved her or not. She called for Mary Margaret, and together, they quickly got her ready for the ball. She rushed her lady’s maid through putting her hair up because she wanted to hurry, but after everything that had happened since Nathan’s return, she feared if she showed up at the ball with her hair down, she would be pushing Nathan too far. Once Mary Margaret was finished, Sophia raced downstairs to where Mr. Burk was waiting to take her to the ball.

On the way to Mr. Frazier’s home, she concentrated on one thought―she would vow they had been happy those few days at Whitecliffe and that she wanted that again and would do just about anything to have it back.

W
ith tension cramping his shoulders and his anger barely caged, Nathan entered Frazier’s home, stalked past the gaping footman, and bypassed the line that led to the host. One by one Frazier’s guests, most of whom Nathan knew, started to whisper and gawk, and a few braver souls thought to greet him with exclamations of delight that he was alive. He ignored every single person and trained his gaze to his target: the tall, redheaded Scot who’d dared to invite Sophia to this ball and when Nathan had specifically told the man to stay away from his wife.

He didn’t give a damn that Harthorne had said the invitations had come weeks ago. He didn’t give a damn that Sophia had accepted the invitation before she had known he was alive and before he had expressly told her to stay away from Frazier and to not to dare come to London without asking Nathan’s permission first. What he did give a damn about was ensuring his wife was not actually going to defy him and show up here. Because if she did he would drag her out of here and ship her to America if that’s what it took to keep her away from Frazier. He would demand she not desire that man. The fact that his thoughts sounded mad in his own head didn’t concern him in the least.

Harthorne nudged Nathan in the side as he stalked toward Frazier. “Your rise from the dead is causing quite a stir.”

Nathan flicked his gaze at the blur of people he was passing, and he locked eyes with Lady Hornsby. She gawked at him and then poked one of the matron’s beside her, who immediately ceased talking, and after angling her ear toward her friend, she turned to stare at him. Her jaw went slack, and then she started tugging on another woman beside her, who listened to her friend’s quick but loud whispering that the Duke of Scarsdale was alive and here at the ball, and then she too gaped at him.

It was almost funny to watch the shock on their faces. If he’d had a sense of humor left it would have been a riot, but he had no room for any emotion save anger. When he nearly reached Frazier someone grabbed Nathan’s elbow. With a scowl he turned on his heel and stared into Ellison’s pale face.

His cousin reached out with a visibly trembling hand and touched Nathan on the chest. “My God.”

Nathan smiled. “That seems to be a reoccurring reaction upon first seeing me.”

“My God,” Ellison said again, his voice cracking. “You
are
alive. It
is
true.”

“You don’t sound happy,” Nathan joked, wishing to lighten the moment as he heard the furious whispers from the line and noted a multitude of gazes fixed upon them.

Ellison shook his head. “I’m shocked. Not unhappy.
Shocked.
My God, I cannot believe it.”

“And yet, here I am,” Nathan said. “I went to see you, but Aunt Harriet said you were still in Lincolnshire. Did Aunt Harriet tell you I had returned?”