Page 48 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

“No, it’s nothing to do with your husband,” he said, “but it has everything to do with myself. I wish I could remain silent, but you’ve given me your trust. I must therefore honor that trust and tell you the truth—though I wish I didn’t have to.”

He sighed and hesitated.

Oh Lord!He was going to regret what he was about to do—but it had to be done.

“Adrian?” she said, her eyes widening. “What is it? You’re frightening me. What have you done?”

He shook his head.

“Sweet heaven!” she cried. “I know what it is.” She withdrew her hand and leaped to her feet. “I’ve been a fool, haven’t I? Just like before, I’ve been taken in by a few kind words and empty promises.”

“Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve wanted to tell you for some time, but was afraid of how you’d react.”

“What—to the news that you’re married?”

“Married?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Is that not why you claim to live here rather than your family estate? Not because of some ridiculous tale you’ve spun about your brother—but because you have a wife waiting for you there!”

She let out a cry and covered her face with her hands.

“Do you have children?” She shook her head. “How could you do that to me? To Henry?”

Married!She thought he was married! What a ridiculous notion—a committed bachelor such as himself, shackled to a woman. He suppressed a laugh at the notion.

Her eyes sparkled with fury.

“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?”

“No,” he said, “only preposterous.” He took her hands. “No, Sophia, I’m not married. Do you think I’d make love to you if I was?”

She let out a snort of derision. “Why not? It’s a rare man who’s satisfied with just one woman in his life. Most men’s eyes will wander to another.”

“And you think I am most men?”

“I’d hoped you weren’t,” she said, “but I see I’m mistaken.”

“It’s you who are mistaken, Sophia,” he replied. “Did you not hear me when I said I wanted only you? I am unattached. If I were to marry, it would be for love—and for life.”

“Then you are unlike the rest of your sex.”

“Including your late husband?”

A tear splashed onto her cheek and she wiped it with her sleeve.

Bugger.

He’d struck a low blow, and it had hit home.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. But I’m telling you the truth. I am a second son and with that comes a greater freedom over my choice of wife. The world might envy the heir, for he inherits the title, but with it come certain obligations and responsibilities that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. You’ve only got to look at my brother to see that.”

He gestured to the chair she’d just vacated. “Please, sit.”

She let out a sigh, wiped her face and perched herself on the edge of the chair, her body vibrating with tension.

The trust in her eyes had gone.

He took her hand and caressed it, relishing the smoothness of her skin, her lithe, sensitive musician’s fingers. His heart whispered to him that the reason she had reacted to the notion of his being married was not merely indignation—but from hurt. Though he had no wish to break her heart—perhaps, her reaction meant that she had some affection for him—even love?

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