Page 28 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

“Why?” Sophia asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t all men wish to better themselves?”

“Bigger does not necessarily mean better,” she said. “Imagine how much it would cost to maintain a place twice the size of this.”

“Surely a woman would have no need to concern herself with costs.”

“On the contrary,” she said. “We have just as much need as men. In fact, our need is greater. A man finds it considerably easier to obtain credit—from friends, business associates, and bankers—all of them more likely to take a man’s word on trust than a woman’s. A woman, therefore, must use what means she has to maintain herself. A woman, on her own, is expected by society to turn to the man in her life, for support, or protection. But if no such man exists, then she must use whatever she has at her disposal.”

“Are you stating your own opinion on the matter, or are you following the lead of the formidable Mrs. Huntington?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

“Lysetta is a woman to be admired, not ridiculed,” Sophia said. “She suffered at the hands of her late husband and she’s worked hard, and endured much, to get where she is today. All of us at Summerton Hall admire her for it—and we’re grateful that she has given us opportunity, purpose, and occupation.”

He placed his hand next to hers and her skin tingled where their fingers touched.

“Did you endure much before you reached the position you find yourself in?” he asked.

His eyes showed understanding, but she couldn’t risk letting him in.

“No more than most,” she said, forcing coldness in her voice. She turned her head away, resuming her attention on the building before her.

His little finger brushed against hers, and she closed her eyes.

Why must he be so persistent? Perhaps all soldiers knew that if they maintained their assault, their enemies would finally yield.

But he was not her enemy—far from it.

“Lysetta is a model to whom we all must aspire,” she said.

“Then rest assured, Mrs. Black, that I feel only admiration for Mrs. Huntington,” he replied, “and, of course, the occupants of Summerton Hall.” He placed his hand over hers, his skin warm against her fingers.

“One, in particular.” He spoke the final words so quietly, she almost believed she’d imagined them, until he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb and the breath caught in her throat.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Do you see those roses?” he asked. “What do you think of the color?”

“They don’t look like roses,” Henry said. “Do they, Mama?”

Sophia shook her head. “I thought all roses were red, or pink.”

“Most are,” FitzRoy said, “but I managed to procure yellow roses on my travels. Something of a rarity, but I suspect once horticulturists have cultivated a hardier strain, we shall see yellow roses up and down the country. But, for now, I take pleasure in knowing that I have a rare treasure to enjoy. And I am a man who appreciates all forms of rare treasure.”

His voice lowered a fraction and her cheeks flushed as a whisper of desire fluttered across her mind.

“May I pick one?” Henry asked.

“Henry!” she exclaimed. “Did you not hear Colonel FitzRoy just say they were rare? Besides, it’s rude to ask such a direct question.”

“On the contrary, I prefer directness to subterfuge,” FitzRoy said. “Young man, you may have a rose, but even I must seek permission from Mr. Wood, my gardener, otherwise he’ll set the gamekeeper on me. But if you see one that you like, let me know and I’ll see if I can persuade Mr. Wood to let me procure it for you.”

Henry leaned farther out of the window, as if to scrutinize the roses from their vantage point. A gust of air made Sophia shiver and she withdrew back inside the carriage.

FitzRoy withdrew also and handed her a blanket.

“Thank you, Colonel,” she said.

“I don’t require your thanks,” he replied, “but I would ask something of you in return.”

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