Page 49 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

What might it be to be loved by her?

“So,” she said, “what is it that you’ve been so reluctant to tell me?”

“It’s a trifle, really,” he said. “But I must confess the true circumstances that threw us together. It was Dom, you see.”

“Dom?”

“Dominic de Morigeaux.”

“The Duke of Peterton?” A flicker of comprehension shone in her expression. “Isn’t he the man who’s trying to lay claim to Summerton Hall? Has he asked you to petition me to persuade Lysetta to yield to his requests where he’s failed to succeed with her himself?”

“Not exactly.”

“What makes you think I’d have any reason to ask her to give up her home—which is also my home—to a rake with a reputation for debauchery?”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand me, Sophia, I have no intention of asking you to do such a thing.”

“Then what?” she said. “I don’t understand, unless you wanted to find something with which to blackmail her.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “Lysetta’s always said that Peterton’s a slippery devil who’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants—coercion, blackmail, even debauchery and scandal…”

Her voice trailed off and she met his gaze.

“Tell me you didn’t…” Her eyes widened with horror and comprehension, and the anguish in her expression tore through his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She drew in a sharp breath, then composed herself, until the only evidence of her distress was a slight tremor in her body. He caressed her fingers and she withdrew her hand.

“Sophia, I…” he said, but she interrupted him.

“What did you arrange with Peterton?” Her voice lacked any emotion.

Dear Lord—what had she endured in her life to gain such stoicism?

“It was nothing, really,” he said. “Peterton and I—all of our set, really—have been researching the art of seduction among scholars, discussing which method is best. I was tasked with the mission of using music.”

“And I take it there was a particular reason why you chose to use your skills on me?”

“It wasn’t I who chose,” he said. “Dom suggested…”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if to compose herself, then opened them again. Tears swelled in her eyes and his gut twisted with self-loathing.

“Colonel FitzRoy,” she said, a tone of matronly disapproval in her voice, “you do realize that makes you a harlot in Peterton’s employ?”

“I never wanted to do it,” he said. “I lost a bet, you see.”

“Oh, that makes it all the better!” she cried. “You really know how to flatter a woman, don’t you? And I suppose this was also part of Peterton’s scheme to persuade Lysetta to part with Summerton Hall? To debauch the inmates in an attempt to scandalize the establishment so she’d be forced to leave?”

How the devil did she know that? He opened his mouth to reply, and she raised a hand to silence him.

“Don’t bother to deny it,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes. Is there nothing you won’t stoop to?”

He felt his face warming with guilt, as if she were the nursemaid, and he the nasty little boy who’d just been caught pulling the wings off butterflies in the garden.

Doubtless she felt nothing but contempt for him, now—but it paled into insignificance compared to the contempt he felt for himself.

“Believe me, Sophia,” he said, “I was against the scheme from the start.”

“But you still went along with it!” she cried, and he recoiled at the sudden burst of emotion, as if she’d stemmed the tide but could do so no longer. She leaped to her feet and fisted her hands at her sides. “Is that all I was to you? A conquest?”

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