Page 24 of Love Unraveled
“I will keep your secrets,ma chérie,for the month.”
“And when the month is over?” Sophia feared Gaston was threatening eventual exposure regardless of the promise. Yet her eyes were drawn to his lips, lips coming dangerously close to hers.
“I will have my answers,” he said quietly and brushed his lips gently across hers.
She wanted to pull him close, to devour him whole, to go back in time where years of heartache did not lie between them. Instead, she stiffened and turned her head to the side. She would give him this month and send him on his way.
Chapter Sixteen
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold.
—William Wordsworth, “A Poet! He Hath Put His Heart to School”
Sophia had lainawake into the wee hours of the morning, reliving the conversation in Walford’s study. She should not have granted Gaston the time alone. He could not have made such a preposterous proposal in a public setting. Still, she was the fool who’d agreed to it. And that was what had bothered her throughout the night. She bowed to no man, yet she had given in to his demands. Why? For surely he would not truly expose her? Of course, there lay the biggest problem. She was not sure what he would or would not do.
In the end, she decided she would beat him at his own game. She would play along in front of her friends, feign a slight interest in him, and when the month was through, claim they were not suitable for each other. What she had yet to figure out was what to do with the duke. Luckily, she had until the evening to figure it out.
When Catherine’s soiree had drawn to a close, Sophia had tried to sneak out before any further plans could be made. Gaston had intervened as she was saying a quiet goodbye to Catherine. She must give him credit for his boldness. A little too much, but she would eventually put him in his place. He’d expressed an interest in the goings-on in London, asking for suggestions, so he might spend time with Sophia and get reacquainted.
Elizabeth had come from behind and overheard his question, and both she and Catherine were on it like dogs on a bone. Sophia had stood by, smiling indulgently while steaming beneath the surface. He’d not even given her a chance to work out an amenable schedule. When Elizabeth had suggested the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, Sophia had chimed in and claimed she’d adore going to view paintings. While she did have an affinity for all the arts, that was not why she’d declared herself so passionate for the outing. It was because it was a daytime event. It would satisfy her obligation to Gaston and leave her free to join the duke, as planned, at Lord Bennet’s private ball.
Catherine had begged off joining them as she’d planned on strolling through the park with baby Daniel and her father, “showing them both off,” she’d said. Walford was going to be at the shipyard with Mr. Randall and Thornwood, and the reminder almost resulted in Sophia losing her jocular composure. She’d been so preoccupied skirting Gaston, she’d not managed to listen in on a single important conversation. She’d silently cursed him and smiled pleasantly.
In the end, it had worked out well. Not only was her commitment to Gaston during the day, in a crowded public venue no less, it had also been decided Elizabeth and young Miss Langdon would join them. Even better, Bentley had interceded and invited himself along as well. Gaston had spewed sweet words about flowers and bouquets, but she could see he was not happy he’d been bested. As he’d turned to receive his hat from the footman, she’d been certain he’d muttered “épine.” Whether he was referring to Bentley as a thorn or her, she didn’t care. It was delightful to have circumvented his intentions. To have gotten under his skin was an added boon.
Sophia smiled into the mirror and blew a kiss to herself before straightening and adjusting her bosom. It was frowned upon to wear a low neckline during the daytime, so it was what she often chose. It made no sense to her that what was acceptable in the evening was not acceptable in the day. Were they not the same people with the same goals, the same desires, regardless of time of day?
Of course, she also understood the power of dressing so brashly. Men were drawn like moths to a flame. And while she did not actually seek the attention they were willing to bestow, she did want their secrets. More often than not, it was that simple. The women, on the other hand? They chattered behind their fans. Some in envy, some in disdain. It made no difference to Sophia. It all contributed to the illusion that was Sophia Tessaro—a woman who did what she wanted and was impervious to rules.
She’d deliberately chosen crimson for today. Admittedly, she’d done so in part to taunt Gaston with what he’d given up, for she had not forgotten for a minute he’d had years to return to her. But she was also wary of her own reactions to him. The attention the color would draw would be another distractor from Gaston. She wished him luck in trying to maintain any semblance of intimacy with her.
“Your pelisse,signora mia.” Cara held out a matching robe, and Sophia slipped into it. “And your reticule.” She looped it over Sophia’s arms. “I have put your spectacles in, in case you have need of them.”
Sophia frowned at Cara. “I was about to call you a treasure, but I think I won’t now.”
Cara smiled and told Sophia she might require them to read the program. Sophia harrumphed and swept from the room, but she heard Cara’s soft laughter follow her. It made her laugh too. At thirty-three, she must accept the signs of aging. After all, she was lucky to see them, was she not? Still, spectacles in public? She looked at the neckline of her gown, her flesh mounded and presented perfectly. No, she would let her body continue to define her, for now. It was of far more use than spectacles.
Chapter Seventeen
And mixt, as life is mixt with pain,
The works of peace with works of war.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Ode Sung at the Opening of the International Exhibition”
Gaston waited notso patiently by the arched entry to Somerset House. Sophie had insisted she must gather the other two women herself and denied him the opportunity to escort her from her home. She’d won the first round altogether too easily, but he would not let her best him again. If she thought she could deter him from more intimate settings, including her town house, she’d quickly learn how wrong she was.
“Durand,” Bentley said in greeting as he sidled lazily up beside Gaston. “If you’d waited but a few minutes, we could have shared a hackney.”
“I had no need of a hackney,” Gaston said, softening his irritability with a smile. “I walked.”
“Did you?” Bentley said, looking surprised. “You are an adventurous sort, aren’t you?”
“One would hardly call a stroll to the Strand a daring feat,” Gaston said, dismissing the man’s foolish statement as he spotted Sophie’s carriage and waved it his way. Raimondo sat beside the driver and frowned at Gaston as they came to a stop, but he said not a word. The man climbed from the carriage like a great ape and lumbered to the door, opening it.
