‘So my virtue can be safeguarded by two doors to lock and the fact that you will be in a fainting condition even if you should breach them?’ Sophie enquired, wondering why she wasn’t as pink as a peony. Was Cal actually asking her permission to come through those doors tonight?
‘Exactly. And the fact that I believe I can rely upon you to tell me exactly what you do, and do not, want, Sophie. We have not dealt so far in false emotions and coy euphemisms but in facts and in trust.’ There was the faintest emphasis on the last word. Or was it her guilty conscience making her over-sensitive? ‘And one of those facts is that there is a certain attraction between us.’
Yes, her cheeks were definitely pink now, she could feel them warming, just as she could feel other parts of her body heating and softening. She managed to nod, not breaking contact with Cal’s heavy-lidded gaze.
‘So, given that we are going to be married very soon, what is there to prevent us acting on that attraction now? Unless that makes you uncomfortable, or it spoils how you want your wedding day to be.’
‘No. Under the circumstances I am not harbouring romantic dreams of my wedding nights.’
‘You mean after the man to whom you were unofficially engaged?’ Cal’s mouth twitched slightly at what she supposed he would describe as a coy euphemism for her lover, but his face was serious, even when she shook her head. ‘There is something, isn’t there? Am I being insensitive?’ He seemed to be asking himself the question more than her. ‘We have been practical and sensible and frank and now I am setting out to strip all the magic out of it. And there should be some magic, shouldn’t there, Sophie? Some sprinkle of star dust, some gesture to Venus and not simply a ceremony and a social event. A commercial transaction.’
Cal pushed away from the post and wandered towards the window. It looked casual, the action of a man strolling about his possessions, looking at the view, but Sophie sensed that from another man that jerk upright might have been an ornament thrown into the hearth or a fist thudding against the wall.
‘Was that what it was, your first marriage? A commercial transaction?’
‘If only it had been.’ His snort of amusement might even have been genuine, but she couldn’t see his face. ‘I thought I was getting into a monetary exchange, that I was setting up a mistress, that Madeleine was one of the sisterhood who did not expect marriage, more a solid financial recompense for their favours. I was young, and more than that, sheltered from spending so much time at home… ill. I had some experience, of course, I thought I knew my way around and perhaps I did, but not enough to recognise a respectably-raised young lady from a merchant family who was a good enough actress to counterfeit a high-class courtesan.’
‘And then her father appeared on the scene with a shotgun, I suppose.’
‘Indeed he did, just as I was about to finally claim the very expensive reward I had paid for over several weeks of negotiations. I wasn’t so green as to yield instantly. I had the family investigated and yes, they were solid Boston merchants, wealthy, well-respected. Madeleine wasn’t carrying another man’s child, she had not so much as a smudge on her character.’
‘They had discovered who you were, that you were a duke.’
‘No. They had not. No-one knew and I never told them. Madeleine had no idea that she was a duchess until she was dying. I told her then to reassure her about Isobel’s prospects. If they had known, then I think I would have walked away from it and to hell with honourable behaviour.’
‘Why didn’t you? The fact that they had no idea who you were does not make their behaviour right.’
‘Because apparently she had fallen in love with me.’ He shrugged, still looking out of the window. ‘We were introduced at some reception or another, not that I can recall it. I had made acquaintances in good Boston society soon enough. I was obviously an English gentleman of some means, so very acceptable, even though everyone thought I was Mr Thorne of nowhere in part
icular. I was invited to all kinds of events. Apparently I snubbed her. I’m not aware of it, it certainly wasn’t deliberate, but they were merchants and I was fresh from the London ton.’
‘And we do not mingle with cits,’ Sophie said ruefully.
‘Exactly. So she decided to make me take notice. I think she assumed that once we had made love, once I had properly got to know her, I would want to marry her. But her father wasn’t so hopeful, so he precipitated matters.’
‘She must have felt dreadful.’
‘I have no idea. I wasn’t feeling too wonderful myself. I was cold and I was angry and I made it quite clear that I was a gentleman – hence my agreeing to marry her – but they were inferior, as demonstrated by their behaviour.’
Cal paced back from the window and resumed his position propped against the bedpost. ‘Jared tried to talk me out of it, said we should just walk away, catch the next boat to Buenos Aires, but I was on my high horse by then. I would show these colonials how an English gentleman behaved and so on and so forth and so idiotic.’
‘If you had not married her you would not have Isobel,’ Sophie suggested tentatively.
Cal smiled, a quizzical twist of the lips. ‘Very true. And it wasn’t all rows and sulks and frosty silences, as Isobel is evidence. We learned to co-exist and she had courage. She thought she had caught a well-off Englishman visiting America and that I would take her back home and she would live in the lap of luxury. In fact she ended up travelling the globe in luxury one week, in extreme discomfort and some danger the next.’
And the whole experience has left you with no sympathy for girlish dreams of romantic wedding days, or blushing brides and their wedding nights. But he does seem to value honesty. Sophie took a deep breath. ‘I would like to make our wedding night the first time, for us.’
Cal shifted to sit beside her on the end of the bed, took her lightly by the shoulders and turned her towards him. ‘I like that you are honest with me, Sophie. That you tell me what you want, what you think is right, not what you imagine will please me.’
‘It would please me to make love with you now,’ she admitted. ‘But I think I would always regret it, just a little.’
His smile was rueful. ‘I am not certain that I like the results of all this frankness though. Would a kiss be a cause for regret?’
She had been at arms’ length when he had begun speaking, now, by some magic, she was against him, both of them twisting to face each other where they sat. It would not take much to fall back onto the bed, to twine themselves together, to find themselves at the point of no return. ‘Not a kiss, no,’ she said, as much to herself as to Cal.
He was holding himself back with an effort that was palpable, now she was coming to know him. His body where she pressed awkwardly against him was tense, the body of a fit man, a horseman, a swordsman. His hands, one splayed on her back, one in her hair, betrayed his urgency and his desire by their very stillness as much as his mouth on hers by its heat.
Even though her experience with Jonathan had been unpleasant it had been an education and her body knew what was happening, knew what it wanted from his. And, heaven help her, so did she and if she knew that if she yielded, if she leaned into him, let her hands stray from his shoulders down his chest, down to his waist, his hips, then they would both lose control of this.