Temptation Has Green Eyes Page 4

  A young, slender woman with dark hair sat staring into the empty fire grate. Since he was planning to go out, Max hadn’t ordered a fire set there today. Now he wished he had. Despite the warm weather she looked cold. Her body hunched over, her hands tightly clasped.

  Her hair gleamed in the candlelight, and Max wanted to test it with his fingers to discover if it was as silky as it appeared. Odd, since he’d never felt that way toward her before. Inconvenient. He didn’t wish for anything but a business partnership from his upcoming marriage.

  She should not be here. “Ma’am, I’m afraid you find my mother away from home. I will have you escorted back to your house.” Disturbed by her presence, he turned to leave the room. She was alone. She’d left the respectable female in the hall. Nothing about this situation was right.

  “No, please. I have to talk to you.”

  He’d considered his future bride a biddable female, quiet and unassuming. But a woman who came to visit him, risking wrecking her reputation all over again? She was anything but quiet and unassuming.

  He stayed by the door. “Madam, I cannot receive you alone. It would compromise you beyond recovery.”

  “If it becomes known”—her voice was charmingly musical. Why had he not noticed that before?—“the woman I brought will swear she was with me all the time.”

  He nodded, deciding to trust her. He wouldn’t get rid of her until she’d had her say. “In that case, perhaps you should remove your outer garments. It’s a warm evening.” Why the hell had he said that? Only that he wanted to see more of her than he could. At the moment, she was shrouded in a hat, gloves, and an enveloping cloak, perhaps more in an attempt to disguise her appearance than to keep warm.

  Ah well, he’d said it now.

  She stood and serenely drew out the long pins holding her hat in place before sticking them carefully back into the straw. She removed it and looked around, eventually hanging it on the back post of her chair. She did the same with her cloak.

  Her hands trembled. If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d never have noticed. He lifted his gaze to her face, and their eyes locked. Hers were dark. Blue or brown? He couldn’t tell from this distance, a matter of ten feet or so. He took a step closer and then another, went forward and held out his hand to take her cloak. She laid it over his arm. He didn’t remove his attention from her face.

  “Sir, I—I would rather you were not so close.”

  His lips relaxed in a smile. “After Monday, I will be much closer.”

  “It is one of the matters I wish to discuss.” Her voice deepened, grew throaty. Her lips were full, and he caught a flash of sharp, white teeth.

  Frowning, he moved back and laid her cloak across the nearby chair. She began to remove her gloves. She gave tiny tugs to the tip of each finger, and then pulled the glove off, slowly revealing soft, pale skin. Her fingernails were neatly trimmed, not the carefully manicured and polished shells of the society lady. She used those hands, worked with them. A tiny ink mark stained the base of her thumb.

  She performed the same office for the other glove, carefully easing off the thin kid, revealing her fingers slowly, carefully, as if unearthing a secret personal treasure.

  Max had rarely seen anything so erotic in his life. He longed to know what those hands could do if he placed them on his body and told her to make free with them.

  She kept her gloves in one hand. She caught her lower lip in her teeth, worrying it for a bare second before she stopped. Those lips parted as she took a deep breath and firmed her chin. A pretty chin, one he’d love to touch as he held her steady for his kiss. He would have at least that before she left. It would serve her right for coming here on her own.

  “Where is your maid?”

  She grimaced. “She is my chaperone for this visit. I don’t have a companion or a respectable female, so I brought her. I did my best to make her appear a companion. What did I do wrong?”

  “My butler, Rayne,” he said, his eyes warming. “He can spot domestics at a glance. But fear not, we won’t betray your secret. What is so urgent that won’t wait?”

  She took another deep breath, her bosom shifting enticingly beneath her thick practical linen fichu. He would enjoy revealing her body. He had never taken much notice of it before, but now it would be his, he decided he liked it. Liked her.

  She was slender, but with curves that hinted at the pleasing shape beneath.

  “I wanted to discuss this marriage with you. I don’t want to have my life arranged for me.”

  “Did your father not consult you first? I thought you willing.” Regretfully, he pondered the possibility of not marrying her. Once he’d made up his mind, he’d considered the matter settled. In this case, it seemed not.

  “I wasn’t asked, I was told. Sir, I don’t know you very well. I need some assurances.”

  “Please, take a seat,” he said, belatedly recalling his manners.

  She shook her head, dark curls bouncing against the white column of her neck. “I’ll stand, thank you. I must not stay long. My father is at a guild dinner, but he won’t be long tonight. I left him a note so he wouldn’t worry, but I’d rather he never saw it.”

  Thus the ink spot.

  “You’d no doubt prefer to be back before him.”

  She shrugged, but he didn’t miss her hesitation, the way her eyes flicked to one side before she returned her attention to him. “I am willing to marry you, but I don’t wish for…r-relations.”

  He suppressed his smile. “In what way?” He knew what she meant, but he was curious to know why she asked for this. Besides, he wanted to see more of that pretty flush.

  “In the bedroom, you know. We will have separate bedrooms?”

  “Of course. I have no wish to intrude on your levées or your dressing rituals.” That left her to assume he intended to intrude at other times.

  “I don’t wish us to visit each other at all.”

  He took pity on her. “You desire a white marriage?” He used the French term, meaning a union without consummation. “My dear, I hate to disappoint you, but I do need heirs. I have only a sister, no brother to inherit. The duty of providing heirs is mine. And yours, once we marry.”

  Her eyes widened. Stricken, she stared at him. “You can’t make a will—”

  “For my fortune, yes. But not the estate. That’s entailed. As is the title.”

  She bit her lip again, a fleeting movement, as if she were aware it wasn’t allowed. “Of course. I’m sorry. No male relatives?”

  He shook his head, taking it as no male relatives he wanted to inherit. A pity his mother’s relatives couldn’t inherit, but there it was.

  She wrung her hands together. “Then may I request more time to accustom myself to the idea? If you ask for it, my father will surely grant it.”

  He moved closer, observing her carefully. She seemed jumpy to the point of panic. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, why should there be?” Her response came too quickly. The little pulse at the base of her throat beat erratically and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  She’d shown great courage coming here by herself, although he would wager her maid remained within screaming distance. Not that he meant to make her scream. Not tonight, at any rate, and never from fear. “Then I advise you to let it happen. Is there nothing else? Your concern is personal?”

  She jerked a nod. “I will ensure that my portion is fair, and I would request that I oversee where it’s invested, but I know you can do it as well as I.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But I have no objection in you overseeing your own investments. Or in taking an interest in my concerns.”

  She brightened, her mouth relaxing. “That’s very enlightened of you.”

  “If half of what your father says about your expertise in commerce is true, I’d be a fool to ignore such an asset.” Business was the last thing on his mind, but he understood her concerns. That demand sounded reasona
ble to him. But not the other.

  “Thank you.”

  “No doubt we’ll arrange financial matters later, when we meet to sign the contract. So do you wish to discuss the personal aspect now?”

  Swallowing, her throat tight, she nodded.

  He had to go gently here, but she must know the truth. “I have no intention of staying away from your bedroom.”

  He hated the expression that returned now. Tight lips, wide eyes, tiny creases at the corners of her mouth, and her pulse didn’t so much beat as flutter, it was going so fast. But he wouldn’t let her build barriers between their bedrooms. On impulse he reached out and took her hands.

  They were cold. When she tugged, he tightened his hold. Before it turned into an undignified tussle, she stopped and let her hands rest passively in his. “Your name is Sophia, is it not? Do you prefer that, or Sophie, or something else?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Then he would choose. “I like your full name. It suits you. You have an innate elegance that I find pleasing. Well, then, Sophia, we are to be close. You will be the mother of my heirs. Of our heirs.” She had a considerable fortune of her own, thanks to her father.

  Blinking, she said, “Does it take long to make heirs?”

  That naiveté shocked him and forced a laugh out of him. He’d never considered intimate relations with anyone other than ladies of the night or willing widows looking for a dalliance. Certainly not inexperienced women.

  Even females paid to act as innocent virgins for the delectation of their clientele weren’t this jumpy. “It takes as long as it takes. Some women fall pregnant the first time, and with others, it takes years.”

  He pulled gently on her hands. Silk rustled when she moved closer. This was like taming a wild animal, drawing it closer with kindness. No sudden moves. “The act can be extremely pleasurable.”

  “No!” She said it quickly, as if unconsidered. Too fast, a visceral response.

  He frowned. Did she know? Should he ask about the incident with John Hayes?

  If he did he might receive information he didn’t want to know. Like she was no longer a virgin. Was she in fact fond of the man her father had caught her with?

  “Is there someone else you would rather marry?” he asked. “I won’t wed a woman who is thinking of someone else in the marriage bed. I am no man’s substitute.” That, at least, he was sure of.

  Vigorously, she shook her head. “No, no, truly.” At least her hands had stopped trembling. “There is no one.”

  He’d had enough. He wanted her close, badly. Her scent, the feel of her hands in his, and her charming figure had had its predictable effect on him. While his agile mind tried to process the information, his body was rising to the occasion. He couldn’t reason this need away.

  Why had he never noticed her in this way before? Because she had never spoken to him directly, or because she had avoided attracting his attention? He had no idea, but he certainly noticed her now.

  When he drew her even closer, she came, so he could release her hands and hold her waist instead. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

  Eyes wide—they were brown—she did so. “You will not—”

  Whatever she was about to say he muffled with his mouth.

  Her lips were soft, with an underlying firmness that pleased him. Although she’d been speaking, when he touched her she clamped her lips together. He was in no mind to force her.

  Her body stiffened so much, he felt it under the unforgiving bones of her stays, but he wanted to taste her. Sweet, so sweet, that even a closed-mouth kiss pushed his arousal up another notch.

  On Monday, he would have her. Anything else was unthinkable. He finished the kiss, but kept her close. Her breath came in fast pants, making her bosom swell enticingly in an erratic fashion. He would do that again.

  But her hands lay unmoving on his shoulders, her body still but rigid. Shyness, or something else?

  If she were concealing a lover and wasn’t a virgin, Max didn’t care as much as he should. As long as she wasn’t pregnant. But if she had lost her virginity to violence, he’d hunt down the man who did it and personally run him through with his sword. Several times.

  He moved his mouth over hers, touching her lips with his tongue, tracing the lines with the tip.

  With a sigh, she opened very slightly, enough for him to slip his tongue between her teeth and enter her mouth.

  She jerked away, covering her rosy lips with her hand, her eyes wide with shock. “I—I’m sorry.”

  He wasn’t. “Has nobody done that before?”

  “No.”

  The man who’d approached her before, Hayes, had frightened her, because not even a reticent maiden would be this skittish. She wouldn’t have come to visit him, risked her reputation three days before the wedding were she not very disturbed by the notion of marriage.

  Unfortunately, he needed to make sure of his suspicion. She would hardly allow him to lift her skirts and discover it for himself, not after that travesty of a kiss.

  He stepped back, smiled at her, giving her a moment to collect herself. Only one more thing remained.

  He was hard and aching, but he couldn’t allow that to control what he must ask her. “I’m sorry, but I have to know. Are you pregnant?” Did the scene with John Hayes have more consequences than her father had imagined?

  The possibility nagged at him. However much he wanted her, he couldn’t allow that to happen. He couldn’t pass his title and estate on to another man’s child. Although he didn’t hold either in high esteem, he owed his ancestors that much. “Be sure that if you are, I swear not to tell anyone. And I’ll render all the help I can, but I can’t marry you in those circumstances.”

  “No!” Coloring, she snatched up her hat. “How could you think such a thing?”

  “Forgive me. But your father has stressed haste in this. He said that his dispute with a former employee had caused the man to spread rumors about you that could prove extremely damaging both to you and your business.”

  “But I didn’t! It didn’t go that far, I swear!” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her face was so red she looked as if he’d slapped her.

  Regret swept away his other concerns. She didn’t manufacture that look, but he had considered that she had come to tell him and didn’t know how to say it. “Hush, be still. I’m sorry.” And he would take her at her word. “I believe you.” He would accept it. After all, what did it matter who fathered a child? Some of his compatriots, titleholders, were not the biological children of their parents. He’d asked, and he’d abide by his decision now.

  Abruptly, he turned away and picked up her cloak. “Come, you must go.” He held it open for her to put on.

  She turned her back to him, and he wrapped her securely in the folds. Surprised by a powerful urge to enclose her in his arms and keep her safe, he nevertheless kept his touch light.

  “I will see you tomorrow at the solicitor’s office.” Deliberately he bent and touched his mouth to the spot beneath her ear where most women were sensitive.

  She shuddered, but was it reticence or suppressed desire? He would find out. “On Monday we marry, and on Monday night I’ll come to your room. Don’t try to stop me. We need to do that, to make the marriage complete.” And he wanted her. Of course divorce and annulment weren’t possible. Non-consummation was not fair grounds for divorce, and a marriage was valid whether the couple had engaged in intimate relations or not. But he wanted that heir, and he would ensure she didn’t start building walls between them from the start.

  He had to trust his own judgment on this and make the commitment, but if he discovered anything amiss, he’d have the truth out of her. “After that, we’ll see.”

  Suspicions were the very devil. If left, they would fester and multiply. Rather than that, he’d do what he had to and take the consequences.

  Chapter 4

  Sophia reached home before her
father and destroyed the note she’d left for him. If the servants didn’t talk, she’d be fine. If they did, she’d tell him where she’d gone and suffer his opprobrium. He wouldn’t be too harsh on her, because she was about to accede to his will.

  She told him as soon as he came home. He embraced her warmly.

  “He’s a good man,” he said. “The marquess will be an excellent husband for you.”

  Sophia wondered about that. His very presence excited her in a way she didn’t know how to cope with. Even when she’d considered John a suitor and not a threat, he’d never raised the hairs on her skin merely by looking at her. But when the marquess—Max—had fixed his emerald-green gaze on her face, every hair on her body prickled with awareness. It had excited her and scared her in equal measure.

  She hadn’t found the sensation unpleasant. But his proximity, and when he’d held her around her waist, that was something else. His touch had burned right through to her bare flesh.

  Perhaps what John had intended to do was what all men did. That notion terrified her, and during the last few months the fear had only grown. That they would throw her down and ignore her protests, rip her skirts out of the way, and then gloat. The knowledge that men could do that, that they were strong enough to accomplish the feat even if she protested, froze her with dread.

  No, she wouldn’t think of it. Every time the memory of that scene intruded, she pushed it away. Eventually it would become less vivid. It had to.

  * * * *

  The next day was a bright morning that augured well for the marriage, or so her father said. At the solicitor’s office Sophia carefully read through the marriage contract, ignoring the “tut” noises coming from the clerk, before she signed. It was fair. Her father and her…fiancé…waited patiently for her. Today she was able to concentrate, to think more clearly.

  She was her father’s heir. When he died, his property would become her husband’s, but the men had agreed certain caveats. Even if she chose to live apart from her husband, she would have ample means to do so. Property and money were left in trust for her with no way for Devereaux to get hold of them. She couldn’t even sign it over to him, as several of her father’s colleagues would have to agree first and countersign.