Seduction

  “This,” Sophy declared with a newfound sense of resolution, “is clearly a matter of honor.”

  Anne and Jane looked at each other and then at Sophy.

  “I agree,” Anne said slowly, “but I do not see how viewing it in that way changes anything.”

  Sophy looked at her friend. “If a man had received such a note threatening blackmail because of a past indiscretion on the part of his wife, he would not hesitate to call out the blackmailer.”

  “Call him out!” Jane was astounded. “But, Sophy, this is not the same sort of situation at all.”

  “Is it not?”

  “No, it is not,” Jane said quickly. “Sophy, this involves you and another female. You cannot possibly consider such a course of action.”

  “Why not?” Sophy demanded. “My grandfather taught me how to use a pistol and I know where I can secure a set of duelers for this event.”

  “Where would you get a set of pistols?” Jane asked uneasily.

  “There is a fine pair in a case mounted on the wall in Julian’s library.”

  “Dear God,” Jane breathed.

  Anne sucked in her breath, her expression ablaze with determination. “She is right, Jane. Why not call out Charlotte Featherstone? This is most certainly an affair of honor. If the situation was altered so that the indiscretion was Sophy’s, you may be sure Ravenwood would do something quite violent.”

  “I would need seconds,” Sophy said thoughtfully as the plan began to take shape in her head.

  “I will be one of your seconds,” Anne stated loyally. “As it happens, I know how to load a pistol. And Jane will also volunteer, won’t you, Jane?”

  Jane gave a wretched exclamation. “This is madness. You simply cannot do it, Sophy.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, first you would have to get Featherstone to agree to a duel. She is highly unlikely to do so.”

  “I am not so certain she would refuse,” Sophy murmured. “She is a most unusual, adventurous woman. We have all agreed on that. She did not get where she is today by being a coward.”

  “But why should she risk her life in a duel?” Jane asked.

  “If she is an honorable woman, she will do so.”

  “But that is precisely the point, Sophy. She is not an honorable woman,” Jane exclaimed. “She is a woman of the demimonde, a courtesan, a professional prostitute.”

  “That does not mean she is without honor,” Sophy said. “Something about the writing in her Memoirs leads me to believe she has a code of her own, and that she lives by it.”

  “Honorable people do not send blackmail threats,” Jane pointed out.

  “Perhaps.” Sophy was quiet for a moment. “Then again, perhaps they do under certain circumstances. Featherstone no doubt feels that the men who once used her now owe her a pension for her old age. She is merely attempting to collect it.”

  “And according to the gossip, she is honoring her word not to name names of the people who pay the blackmail,” Anne put in helpfully. “Surely that implies some sort of honorable behavior.”

  “Do not tell me you are actually defending her.” Jane looked stunned.

  “I do not care how much she collects from the others, but I will not have Julian’s love letters to her appear in print,” Sophy stated categorically.

  “Then send her the two hundred pounds,” Jane urged. “If she’s so terribly honorable, she will not print the letters.”

  “That would not be right. It is dishonorable and cowardly to pay off a blackmailer,” Sophy said. “So you see, I really have no choice but to call her out. It is exactly what a man would do in similar circumstances.”

  “Dear God,” Jane whispered helplessly. “Your logic is beyond me. I cannot believe this is happening.”

  “Will both of you help me?” Sophy looked at her friends.

  “You may count on me,” Anne said. “And on Jane, too. She just needs time to adjust to the situation.”

  “Dear God,” Jane said again.

  “Very well,” Sophy said, “the first step is to see if Featherstone will agree to meet me on a field of honor. I will send her a message today.”

  “As your second, I will see that it is delivered.”

  Jane stared at her, appalled. “Are you insane? You cannot possibly call on a woman such as Featherstone. You might be seen. It would ruin you utterly in Society. You would be forced to return to your stepfather’s estate in the country. Do you want that?”

  Anne paled and for an instant genuine fear appeared in her eyes. “No. I most certainly do not want that.”

  Sophy was alarmed at her friend’s violent reaction to the thought of being sent back to the country. She frowned worriedly. “Anne, I do not want you taking any undue risks on my behalf.”

  Anne shook her head quickly, her cheeks returning to their normal warm color and her eyes lightening. “It’s quite all right. I know exactly how this matter can be handled. I will send a boy around for your note to Featherstone and have him bring it directly to me. I will then deliver it in disguise to Featherstone and wait for a response. Do not worry, no one will recognize me. When I dress the part, I look very much like a young man. I have tried it before and enjoyed it thoroughly.”

  “Yes,” Sophy said, thinking about it, “that should work well.”

  Jane’s anxious glance moved from Anne to Sophy and back again. “This is madness.”

  “It is my only honorable option,” Sophy said soberly. “We must hope Featherstone will accept the challenge.”

  “I, for one, will pray she refuses,” Jane said tightly.

  When Sophy returned from her ride a half hour later she was told Julian wished to see her in the library. Her first instinct was to send word that she was indisposed. She was not at all certain she could face her husband with any sense of composure just now. The letter of challenge to Charlotte Featherstone was waiting to be written.

  But avoiding Julian would be cowardly and today, of all days, she was determined not to be a coward. She must get in practice for what lay ahead.

  “Thank you, Guppy,” she said to the butler. “I will go and see him at once.” She spun on her booted heel and walked boldly toward the library.

  Julian looked up from a journal of accounts as she swept into the room. He rose politely. “Good morning, Sophy. I see you have been riding.”

  “Yes, my lord. It was a fine morning for it.” Her eyes went to the cased dueling pistols mounted on the wall behind Julian. They were a lethal looking pair, long, heavy-barreled weapons created by Manton, one of the most famous gunmakers in London.

  Julian gave Sophy a brief, chiding smile. “If you had informed me you intended to ride today, I would have been happy to join you.”

  “I rode with friends.”

  “I see.” His brows arched faintly in the characteristic way they did when he was vaguely annoyed. “Do I take that to mean you do not consider me a friend?”

  Sophy looked at him and wondered if one ever risked one’s life in a duel over a mere friend. “No, my lord. You are not my friend. You are my husband.”

  His mouth hardened. “I would be both, Sophy.”

  “Really, my lord?”

  He sat down and slowly closed the journal. “You do not sound as if you believe such a condition possible.”

  “Is it, my lord?”

  “I think we can manage it if we both work at it. Next time you wish to ride in the morning, you must allow me to accompany you, Sophy.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I will consider it. But I certainly would not wish to distract you from your work.”

  “I would not mind the distraction.” He smiled invitingly. “We could always put the time to good use discussing farming techniques.”

  “I fear we have exhausted the subject of sheep breeding, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going.”

  Unable to bear any more of this face-to-face confrontation, Sophy whirled and fled from the room. Plucking up the folds of her ridin
g skirts she ran up the stairs and down the hall to the privacy of her bedchamber.

  She was pacing her room, composing the note to Featherstone in her mind when Mary knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Sophy said and winced when her maid walked into the room holding her jaunty green riding hat. “Oh, dear, did I lose that in the hall, Mary?”

  “Lord Ravenwood told a footman you lost it but a few minutes ago in the library, ma’am. He sent it up here so’s you wouldn’t wonder where it was.”

  “I see. Thank you. Now, Mary, I need privacy. I wish to catch up on my correspondence.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll tell the staff you don’t want to be bothered for a while.”

  “Thank you,” Sophy said again and sank down at her writing desk to pen the letter to Charlotte Featherstone.

  It took several attempts to get it right but in the end Sophy was satisfied with the result.

  Dear Miss C. F.:

  I received your outrageous note concerning our mutual friend this morning. In your note you threaten to publish certain indiscreet letters unless I submit to blackmail. I will do no such thing.

  I must take leave to tell you that you have committed a grave insult for which I demand satisfaction. I propose that we arrange to settle this matter at dawn tomorrow morning. You may choose the weapons, of course, but I suggest pistols as I can easily provide them.

  If you are as concerned with your honor as you are with your old-age pension, you will respond in the affirmative at once.

  Yours Very Truly,

  S.

  Sophy blotted the note very carefully and sealed it. Tears burned in her eyes. She could not get the thought of

  Julian’s love letters to a courtesan out of her head. Love letters. Sophy knew she would have sold her soul for a similar token of affection from Ravenwood.

  And the man had the brazen nerve to claim he wished friendship as well as his husbandly privileges from her.

  It struck Sophy as ironic that she might very possibly be risking her life tomorrow at dawn for a man who did not and probably could not love her.

  Charlotte Featherstone’s response to Sophy’s challenge arrived later that afternoon, delivered by a ragged-looking, dirty-faced lad with red hair who came to the kitchens. The note was short and to the point. Sophy held her breath as she sat down to read it.

  Madam:

  Dawn tomorrow will be quite acceptable, as will pistols. I suggest Leighton Field, a short distance outside the city, as it is bound to be deserted at that hour. Until dawn, I remain very truly yours in honor.

  C. F.

  Sophy’s emotions were in chaos by bedtime. She was aware that Julian had been annoyed by her long silences at dinner but it had been beyond her to keep up a casual conversation. When he had retired to the library, she had excused herself and gone straight upstairs to her room.

  Once inside the sanctuary of her bedchamber she read and reread Featherstone’s terrifyingly brief note and wondered what she had done. But she knew there was no turning back now. Her life would be in the hands of fate tomorrow.

  Sophy went through the ritual of preparing for bed but she knew she could not possibly sleep tonight. After Mary said good night, Sophy stood staring out her window and wondered if Julian would be making arrangements for her funeral within a few short hours.

  Perhaps she would only be wounded, she told herself, her imagination running wild with gory scenes. Perhaps her death would be a long and lingering one from a raging fever caused by a gunshot wound.

  Or perhaps it would be Charlotte Featherstone who died.

  The thought of killing another human being left Sophy abruptly sick to her stomach. She swallowed heavily and wondered if her nerves would hold out until she had satisfied the requirements of honor. She dared not prepare a tonic for herself because it might slow her reactions at dawn.

  Sophy tried to brace herself by deciding that with any luck at all, either she or Charlotte would merely be wounded. Or, perhaps, both she and her opponent would miss their mark and neither of them would be hurt. That would certainly make for a tidy ending to the matter.

  Then again, Sophy thought morosely, it was highly unlikely things would proceed that neatly. Her life of late was not inclined to be neat.

  Fear sent chills down her spine. How did men survive this dreadful anticipation of danger and death? she wondered, continuing to pace. They faced it not only on the eve of a duel of honor but on the battlefield and at sea. Sophy shuddered.

  She wondered if Julian had ever experienced this awful waiting and then remembered the story she had heard about a duel he had once conducted over the issue of Elizabeth’s honor. And there must have been moments like this also when he was forced to endure the long hours before battle. But perhaps, being a man, he had nerves that were not susceptible to this sort of anticipatory fear. Or maybe he had learned how to control it.

  For the first time it occurred to Sophy that the masculine code of honor was a very hard, reckless, and demanding thing. But at least abiding by it guaranteed men the respect of their peers and if nothing else, when this was all over, Julian would be forced to respect his wife to at least some degree.

  Or would he? Would a man respect a woman who had tried to abide by his own male code or would he find the whole idea laughable?

  On that thought, Sophy turned away from the window. Her eyes went straight to the small jewelry case on her dressing table and she remembered the black ring.

  A tremor of regret went through her. If she were to get herself killed tomorrow there would be no one left to avenge Amelia. Which was more important, she asked herself, avenging Amelia or keeping Julian’s love letters out of print?

  There was really no choice. For a long time now, Sophy had realized that her feelings for Julian were far stronger than her old desire to find her sister’s seducer.

  Was her love for Julian making her act dishonorably in regard to her sister’s memory?

  It was all so terribly complicated suddenly. For a moment the enormity of the crisis was overwhelming. Sophy longed to run and hide until her world had righted itself. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she did not hear the connecting door open behind her.

  “Sophy?”

  “Julian.” She whirled around. “I was not expecting you, my lord.”

  “You rarely are.” He sauntered slowly into the room, his eyes watchful. “Is something wrong, my dear? You seemed upset at dinner.”

  “I … I was not feeling well.”

  “A headache?” he inquired dryly.

  “No. My head is fine, thank you.” She spoke automatically and then she realized she had spoken too quickly. She should have seized on the proffered excuse. She frowned, unable to think of a suitable substitution. Perhaps her stomach …

  Julian smiled. “Don’t bother trying to invent a useful illness on such short notice. We both know you are not very good at such things.” He walked over to stand directly in front of her. “Why don’t you tell me the truth? You are angry with me, aren’t you?”

  Sophy lifted her eyes to his, a kaleidoscope of emotions pounding through her as she considered exactly how she felt toward him tonight. Anger, love, resentment, passion, and, above all, a terrible fear that she might never see him again, might never again lie in his arms and experience that fragile intimacy she had first felt the other night.

  “Yes, Julian. I am angry with you.”

  He nodded as if in complete understanding. “It is because of that little scene at the opera, isn’t it? You did not like me forbidding you to read the Memoirs.”

  Sophy shrugged and fiddled with the lid of her jewelry case. “We did have an agreement concerning my reading tastes, my lord.”

  Julian’s eyes went to the small box under her hand and then swung to her averted face. “I seem fated to disappoint you as a husband both in bed and out.”

  Her head came up suddenly, her eyes widening. “Oh, no, my lord, I never meant to imply that you were a disapp
ointment in … in bed. That is to say, what happened the other evening was quite,” she cleared her throat, “quite bearable, even pleasant at certain points. I would not have you think otherwise.”

  Julian caught her chin on the edge of his hand and held her gaze. “I would have you find me more than merely bearable in bed, Sophy.”

  And suddenly she realized he wanted to make love to her again. That was the real purpose of his visit to her room tonight. Her heart leapt. She would have one more chance to hold him close and feel that joyous intimacy.

  “Oh, Julian.” Sophy gulped back a sob and threw herself into his arms. “I would like nothing more than to have you stay with me for a while tonight.”

  His arms went around her immediately but there was a note of stunned surprise as well as laughter in Julian’s voice when he spoke softly into her hair. “If this is the sort of welcome I get when you are angry at me I can see I shall have to work at the task of annoying you more often.”

  “Do not tease me tonight, Julian. Just hold me close the way you did the last time,” she mumbled against his chest.

  “Your wish is my command tonight, little one.” He gently eased the dressing gown from her shoulders, pausing to kiss the hollow of her throat. “This time I will endeavor not to disappoint you.”

  Sophy closed her eyes as he slowly undressed her. She was determined to savor every moment of what could easily be their last night together. She did not even mind if the actual lovemaking was not particularly pleasant. What she sought was the unique sense of closeness that accompanied it. That closeness might be all she would ever have of Julian.

  “Sophy, you are so lovely to look at and so soft to touch,” Julian whispered as the last of her clothing fell into a heap at her feet. His eyes moved hungrily over her nude body and his hands followed.

  Sophy shivered and swayed against him as his palms cupped her breasts. His thumbs began to glide over her nipples, gently coaxing a response. When the tender, rosy peaks began to grow taut, Julian exhaled in deep satisfaction.

  His hands slid down her sides to the curve of her hips and then around behind her to cradle the firm globes of her buttocks.