Page 46 of Love Unraveled
Sophia informed Cara she would take coffee in the morning room. She coasted through her rooms and descended the stairs. A cough from the library drew her attention, and she smiled to herself as she approached, her eyes on the dark head leaning back against the chair by the fireplace. “Gaston,” she said, unable to suppress the happiness in her voice.
She was rewarded when he jumped to his feet and turned with a smile. He held out his hands, and she walked to him, setting hers in them. He kissed her cheeks before pulling back.
“You look well rested,ma chérie.”
“I am, thanks to you.”
He tugged her close again and this time kissed her lips so softly, so sensually, that her toes curled in her slippers. It was minutes before he pulled away, and she sighed contentedly.
“I thought you’d left,” she said, taking his hand and leading him from the library.
“I would not miss seeing your beautiful face,” he said, pausing in the doorway and brushing her nose with a quick kiss. “A Madonna of the morning…although”—he ran his tongue along his lips—“perhaps not as chaste as one.”
Sophia laughed, joy filling her soul. She did not need to say goodbye to all things from the past. She was decided. She was going to allow Gaston back into her life. More importantly, she was going to let him into her heart.
Later, after they’d enjoyed apetit déjeuner, he excused himself to return to his rooms. She sat quietly, soaking in the last rays of morning sunshine and inhaling the perfume of the early-blooming roses. She could not remember the last time she’d been so content.
Harris arrived with a fresh pot of coffee, and she decided to indulge in another cup as well as a biscuit. He poured, set the pot within arm’s reach, and gathered the few remaining dishes.
“Grazie,” Sophia said, taking a sip of the coffee. “Delizioso.”
“Monsieur Durand left his overcoat in the library. Will he be returning, or shall I have it brought to him?”
They had agreed to see each other tomorrow, after her shopping excursion with Elizabeth and Catherine. He might need it before then. While the weather was lovely, even for May, the late evenings and early mornings could be chilly. “Have someone run it to him.”
She gave him the direction, and Harris nodded, seemingly unperturbed that Gaston had spent the night again or that she knew where to send the coat. She idly wondered if he was truly as uncaring as he seemed or if the starchy British uprightness made his collar tighter when she did such things.
Of course, he’d been an equally blank slate when she’d come home a mess last night and Gaston had led her immediately upstairs to her room. Sophia paused for a brief second, picturing it. “Harris?”
Her butler turned at the door. “Yes, my lady?”
“Where did Monsieur leave his coat?”
“In the library, my lady.”
She frowned. She knew for certain he’d not removed it before they’d gone upstairs. “The library?”
“He returned through the servants’ quarters this morning, and I did not have the opportunity to take it.”
The slight blush on Harris’s cheeks, as though he’d been accused of neglecting his duties, would have been laughable if it weren’t for the fact Gaston had lied. No, he had not lied. But he had omitted the truth. And, as a master of such avoidance herself, she knew it meant he’d been up to something. But what?
She dismissed Harris and grabbed a biscuit. She bit into it, chewing viciously, taking out her frustration on the pastry instead of her servant. Why was it every time she’d decided Gaston belonged back in her life, something happened to belie her faith in him? Could she truly have fallen back in love with a man she could not trust?
Chapter Thirty-Five
But all pretences soon fall to the ground like fragile flowers, and nothing counterfeit can be lasting.
—Marcus Tullius Cicero,De Officiis
Sophia’s foyer wasfull of flowers. She’d foolishly thought, this time, they must be from Gaston trying to outdo the duke. They were not. The duke had once again sent them and, according to his note, wished to meet with her at her earliest convenience to make amends. Sophia stared at the letter before tossing it to the table. She would not grant the duke his request. How could she? To toy with a man when there was a possibility of a relationship was one thing. To mislead him entirely was another.
Alone in her bed last night, longing for Gaston’s arms around her, she’d recognized it was too late to change course. Gaston owned her heart. He always had. Because of the life she lived, she assumed the worst of too many people, saw spies in every corner. And she was doing it with Gaston. The man could have gone for an early-morning walk. Nothing nefarious in it at all. She would simply ask him this evening, and that would be the end of her concerns.
She’d also been ruminating about England. She no longer had any desire to return to France or to Italy when the war ended. She had made a life here, found a family in her friends. But she had misled them. Would it matter? Could they forgive her omissions, her half-truths? Should she tell them now and take away Gaston’s power over her? Except Gaston was not exerting such power, and she no longer believed there was any possibility he would.
The carriage pulled in front of the Walfords’ townhome, and Raimondo helped her out. She’d been restless and was earlier than her appointed time. Catherine’s butler let her in and helped her from her cape before escorting her up the stairs to the drawing room.
“I will let Lady Walford know you are waiting.”
