Page 8 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

CHAPTER3

The main attraction of the park was the fact that it was open to everybody. Unlike Almack’s or private parties, the park paid no attention to class. Sophia could find herself rubbing shoulders with all manner of individuals—from dukes parading their mistresses about to governesses, shepherding their charges.

Dressed in the modest attire of a widow, Sophia attracted little attention. Respectable enough not to be frowned upon—yet not attractive enough to elicit envy in ladies, or lust in gentlemen—the garb of the widow was a source of security, and comfort.

In the years since she’d returned to London, her fears of being recognized had dissipated. Miss Sophia Graham, the eager young debutante, no longer existed. Her innocence had long since been taken, replaced by a cynicism that had served her well and protected her and little Henry from the world. The few acquaintances she’d made during her first season had, no doubt, forgotten her entirely. She was one, among hundreds, of foolish young women who had given her heart, and her virtue, to a man who had abandoned her as soon as he’d taken what he wanted.

But Sophia had more to be thankful for than to regret. She’d read in the papers that William had died, after a drunken brawl, within six months of abandoning her. And, though he had taken her innocence and broken her heart, he had given her the one thing she valued most in the world.

Her son.

Little Henry crouched beside the edge of the water, clutching a paper boat in his hand, Tilly beside him.

“Have a care!” Sophia called.

“Yes, Mama!” came the reply. Henry launched the boat into the water and cheered as it floated toward the center of the Serpentine, where the current carried it away.

She approached an unoccupied bench and sat, then she tipped her face toward the sun, relishing the warmth on her face. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and drank in the sounds of the park—the rush of wind through the trees, the excited chatter of children, and the heavy tread of footsteps crunching on the path.

The footsteps stopped and a deep voice spoke.

“Well—if it’s not my favorite musician!”

She opened her eyes and her heart gave a little shudder as she looked straight into a pair of eyes the color of a deep ocean.

Colonel FitzRoy stood before her.

“May I join you?” he asked.

She lowered her gaze. “If you deem it necessary.”

“I suppose that will have to do.” He gave that lopsided smile of his and sat, the bench shifting under his weight.

“I see you’re not teaching today,” he said.

“Have you been following me?”

He shook his head. “No, but I count myself most fortunate in having encountered you here.”

He paused, as if expecting her to respond, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. His body was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. The atmosphere shimmered, and she caught the faint aroma of spices.

“Don’t you wish to know why I consider myself fortunate?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” she retorted.

“I’ve been anxious to see you again.”

He’d wanted to see her!

Ignoring the little flare of need, she fixed her gaze on the water’s edge, and spoke in as casual a tone as she could muster.

“Oh?”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said.

“What for?”

“My behavior the other day. I believe I may have come across a little…” he hesitated, “…arrogant.”

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