Page 51 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

CHAPTER13

Sophia woke to the sound of birds—the symphony they always performed at dawn. She’d not heard it for over five years, not since she had left the country and moved to London after Papa died.

How she envied the birds! Their lives were an indulgence of simplicity, their needs straightforward—food, shelter, and a mate. And each morning they heralded the beginning of a new day, the male birds affirming ownership of their territories.

But men and women were more complex than birds—their needs entwined with hundreds of years of history and social structure. And they were more susceptible to the influence of others.

She climbed out of bed and padded toward the window, then drew back the curtains. The sun had yet to rise, but it was already light outside, bright streaks of blue and pink to chase away the dark of the night. Below, she could make out the walled garden, the rose bushes forming a neat pattern, intertwined with a winding path, and an armillary sphere in the center.

Overcome by the need for fresh air, she pulled out a day dress from her trunk, and slipped it on. There was no need to disturb Mrs. Davis who had escorted her to bed last night and offered her the assistance of a housemaid. The woman meant well, but she’d seemed astonished that Sophia was capable of dressing herself.

Overnight, her anger toward Adrian had abated. He might be practiced in the art of seduction, but he had, at least, been honest with her at the end. Not the kind of guiltless honesty that had led William to reject her and laugh at her naïveté, but an honesty driven by a need to admit his folly.

Unlike William, pain and remorse had shone in Adrian’s eyes—those dark blue pools that had captivated her.

Eyes revealed a man’s soul, and though she had been blinded by William’s true intent, the years since he’d abandoned her had taught her perception. She might have been fooled once by a man, but she never would again.

Adrian had spoken the truth when he said he’d had no need to confess. He had already taken what he wanted from her—and he’d given her so much in return.

Pure, raw pleasure—a pleasure she’d never experienced, and never believed could exist. Where most men simply took their own pleasure, Adrian had been considerate—and oh, so thorough—in the pursuit of hers.

Her head told her that she needed to return to London. But the voice of her heart was louder. It spoke of the smile in his eyes when he’d lifted Henry into the air—the tender manner in which he’d settled the boy onto his lap—and the pride he had in his home here, the way he asked for her approval, and permission, at every turn.

His words—and everything about him—spoke of his sincerity. Though her instinct had pleaded with her to remove herself and Henry forthwith, her rational mind told her that Adrian was not William. She had struck a low blow last night, telling him he was worse even than William, when Adrian had been nothing but kind and generous.

She needed fresh air, and the opportunity to pace and think. Where better than the walled garden?

She drew her shawl around her shoulders and exited the chamber. With luck, none of the household would notice her before breakfast.

By the time she entered the garden, the birds had ceased their chorus. A bright ray of sunlight stretched across the path, picking out beads of moisture on the bushes that winked at her. The air was warm, but she shivered as a light breeze cooled her skin, causing the hairs to rise on her arms. She drew her shawl tighter and increased the pace. A good walk would do wonders for warming the bones and clearing her head.

She stopped as she heard a voice from the far end of the garden. A man’s voice. A familiar voice.

Adrian.

What was he doing here? Who was he speaking to?

As she drew near, she caught sight of him.

He had a rose in his hand.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Just like her. Not an exotic rose of an unusual color that is highly sought after. But something overlooked by the untrained eye, by those without souls, those incapable of looking beyond the surface.”

He lifted the rose to his face and closed his eyes. “Such a sweet scent.”

The he drew in a sharp breath and held up his hand where a red droplet was forming on the tip of his finger.

“Ah,” he said. “Like all things precious, all things worth fighting for, one must endure a little pain. Is that what is happening to me now, I wonder? Are you telling me, sweet rose, that I must endure a little pain to win the rose of my heart? To win her?”

He lifted the rose to his lips and kissed it.

“Oh, Sophia…”

She jumped at the mention of her name, and took a step back. The gravel crunched under her feet, and he looked up.

His eyes widened as he spotted her. For a moment he looked uncomfortable, then he smiled.

“Sophia,” he said. “Are you well? I’m so pleased to see you here. The walled garden is by far the most impressive feature of Roseborough House, and I would be glad to show you around if you wish it? Or—perhaps, you’d prefer to explore it alone?”

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