After Innocence

by Brenda Joyce

  “You must!”

  “Lisa, he is more than just a dishonorable rake intent upon seduction. He is my friend. My very good friend. I cannot imagine life without him in it.”

  Lisa stared, her dark eyes wide with horror. Then she said, very tersely, “Sofie, you are wrong. Edward Delanza is not your friend. If he were your friend, his intentions would be honorable.”

  And Sofie flinched, faced with the truth of her words.

  14

  Edward lay on his back, fully dressed except for his jacket, which hung in disarray on the back of a chair. His hands were behind his head, and he stared at the slowly moving fan on the ceiling of his hotel room. His expression was strained.

  No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about Sofie. He remembered her exhilaration when Jacques had told her that he was buying the Newport Beach portrait, just as he remembered her stunned hurt when Suzanne had so cruelly told her that she hated that very same work. He recalled her anger yesterday when he had dared to maneuver her into an outing with Henry, doing what he thought best for her even though he had been resentful of the mere concept of Sofie enjoying herself with another man. And he recalled the way she had kissed him in her studio after he had failed to deport himself as a gentleman should.

  And every time he remembered the way she had touched his face after the Frenchman left, his heart did a funny hopscotch kind of jump. His jaw clenched and a muscle ticked there. He was experienced enough to recognize when a woman was in love with him, and he had understood that Sofie was in love with him the moment she had touched him today. Perhaps, heartless as he was. he had recognized the extent of her feelings sooner. That day in the studio, he had seen her longing for him and understood that her capitulation was complete, but not wanting to leave her yet, he’d ignored the possibility that she might be in love with him. Thinking back, there had been so many warning signs.

  Of course, undoubtedly it was a love based on gratitude as well as desire, for Sofie was a woman of great common sense. But it didn’t really matter. The damage was done. He had to stop it, now.

  Edward hated himself. He had come into her life to teach her to live fully; he had never meant her to fall in love with him. He certainly was completely wrong for her. Even if he wanted to marry Sofie, which he did not, he would never do so, because he couldn’t bear the idea of the shambles that their marriage would undoubtedly become.

  Edward squeezed his eyes closed, as if to ward off painful memories. It did not work. His parents’ marriage had been a farce; his own mother had betrayed his father in a shocking way, and tried to cover it up with lies and manipulations. That marriage was now over, but not before Edward had seen the horrendous results. He would never be able to forgive his mother for her selfish actions.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up abruptly. When he had told Sofie that his values were old-fashioned, it had been the truth. It was because of his values that he lived his life as such a rake. Marriage was forever, vows were made to be kept, and Edward knew firsthand how impossible it was for most people to live up to their promises.

  Sofie seemed to see him as some kind of goddamned hero, but soon she would know better. He made a lousy champion. He was not a knight in shining armor and he never would be one.

  But, God, he did want to be one in Sofie’s eyes. He realized that he had needed her to mink the best of him, to believe in him, to see him as a gallant adventurer, a storybook hero, because nobody else did. He’d made rescuing Sofie his goal—and he’d even screwed up that one single, lousy ambition, because now Sofie was in love with him.

  Edward was loath to leave her now, like this, when they’d only just begun. He wanted to see her realize her dreams—all of them. He wanted to share in all of her triumphs—one by one. Yet it was impossible. He had no choice. He had to get out now, before he did more than damage her heart, before he destroyed what was left of her innocence and all her hopes for the future.

  Sofie refused to think. She had left home in a near panic, shoving aside Suzanne’s warnings and Lisa’s sisterly advice. But as she crossed the lavish lobby of the Savoy, she felt as if everyone were staring at her, as if everyone knew what she intended, where she was going, and to whom.

  But she would not stop, not now. Even though she was sane enough to know that Lisa was right. Edward could not be her friend, for his intentions were not honorable. Yet she felt in her heart that he was her greatest ally, that he was a genuine friend, that she could trust him with her very life. And by agreeing to show her art to Jacques Durand-Ruel, hadn’t she done precisely that?

  But no sane person could reconcile Lisa’s logic or Suzanne’s warnings with her heartfelt emotions, and Sofie was running as fast as she could. To him. To her destiny—even though that destiny was to be his lover instead of his wife.

  At the front desk, cheeks flaming, she learned his room number. She knew the clerk stared after her as she entered the brass-doored elevator. It moved very slowly to the fifth floor. Sofie clenched her fists and prayed for the elevator to move faster. It seemed as if the couple she shared it with were staring, too.

  Outside his door she ignored any second thoughts she might have. She held on hard to the fantasy of being in his arms and in his bed. Vividly she imagined the splendor of being in his embrace, of being the recipient of his touches, his kisses, his love. Sofie was desperate. She had never been more desperate in her life. She knocked on the door.

  He answered it a moment later, clad in his shirtsleeves. His eyes widened. “Sofie?”

  Sofie stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say.

  “What’s wrong?” he said abruptly, gripping her wrist.

  “Oh, Edward,” she cried, then choked on a sob that was wedged deep in her chest. “May I come in?”

  His eyes widened. He did not answer at first, and Sofie was afraid he would refuse. He looked down the corridor to her right, then to her left. “Let me get my jacket and we can find a comfortable place to talk about what’s bothering you.” He did not smile as he closed the door and left her waiting in the hall.

  Sofie stared, close to weeping. She wanted to be inside his room, in his arms. She stood still as a statue as she waited for Edward to reappear. She could not understand why he hadn’t allowed her into his room.

  In a moment the door opened and Edward emerged to lead her to the elevator. “It’s not a good idea for you to be up here, much less in my room,” he said somewhat brusquely. “Did anyone see you come upstairs?”

  Suddenly she was angry. “I did not know you cared about your reputation.”

  He punched the elevator button. “I don’t. But I care about yours.”

  Sofie melted. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am not myself.”

  “I can see that,” he said more gently. Genuine concern was reflected in his eyes. “How about a drive in the country?”

  And Sofie nodded, overwhelmed.

  Edward crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and headed for Long Island. Sofie appeared immersed in her own thoughts, immune to the increasingly pastoral scenery. She did not speak. Edward wanted to know what was bothering her, but was gentleman enough to wait for her to bring it up first. Sometime later Edward saw that she had fallen asleep, obviously exhausted. Soon her head rolled to the side and she snuggled against his arm.

  He wondered what had transpired between her and Suzanne after he had left, could only imagine the worst, knowing Suzanne as he now did. He had never quite hated anyone as he hated Sofie’s mother. It seemed a real miracle that someone so selfish and unkind could have given birth to someone as lovely as Sofie.

  Sofie began to stir. She had slept for almost an hour. She sighed, turning her face towards him. He glanced down at her, his heart tightening. Today was not a good day for him to tell her good-bye.

  Her lashes fluttered and her eyes opened. She met his gaze and smiled sleepily. “Edward?”

  “Hello,” he murmured. “Feel better?”

  “Y
es,” she said, sitting up straighter. But her smile had faded as sleepiness left her. She glanced at him, as tense as before. “Where are we?”

  “We’re not far from Oyster Bay,” he said. “I happen to know a very quaint little restaurant there. I didn’t want to wake you, but now that you’re awake, why don’t we stop there for something to eat?”

  “Yes,” Sofie said, her manner strange. “That’s a good idea.” Her cheeks had turned pink.

  Edward wondered what was making her blush. He was beginning to feel uneasy. Surely she was not thinking about the fact that they were alone together, and a good fifty miles from her family and friends? Edward regretted driving so far. As soon as they had restored themselves with some food and refreshment, they would head back to the city. It was a promise he made to himself.

  But he felt her gaze upon him, and when he turned, he caught her staring at his mouth. She looked away immediately, but his blood ran hot at the thought of what her look had implied.

  It didn’t matter. He was not going to kiss her, not even once. He did not dare.

  The countryside alongside Long Island Sound was lush and green, the beaches pale, the color of rich cream. Above the Sound the sky was bright blue, but in the east it was nearly black. Edward didn’t have to be a seaman to know that a squall was moving in from the Atlantic. “It looks like we’re going to have to stop anyway,” he muttered, dismayed. “We’re in for a storm. But these squalls usually blow over fast.” He said a prayer that it would.

  Edward parked the Packard in front of an old, colonial-style inn, square and tall with white clapboards and a high, sloping slate roof and two brick chimneys. A cheerful white picket fence and lush green lawns and gardens surrounded it. He covered the motorcar with an oilskin tarp while Sofie watched from the slate steps leading to the inn’s front door, which was painted emerald green. The charming inn was deserted, but that was no surprise. After the first weekend in September, everyone returned to the city. The proprietor seemed thrilled to see them and gave them what seemed to be the best table, by a window looking out over the bay. Sofie let Edward order a light fish dish for her, accepted a glass of wine. The sky grew quickly darker, and before long, it appeared to be nighttime outside. Edward leaned closer across the table.

  “What happened? What brought you to my room?” he asked quietly. “You are distraught, Sofie.”

  Sofie avoided Edward’s gaze. “I feel that you are my friend, Edward.”

  He grew uneasier. “Yes, I am.” Which is why we shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to hurt you, Sofie, God, I don’t.

  Sofie’s smile was brief and strained. “I’m glad.”

  Edward’s gut tightened. “Did you and Suzanne fight after I left?”

  Sofie’s expression was tight. “Not exactly.”

  “Sofie?”

  Sofie blinked at him. “It’s not true. That she doesn’t want me to sell my art.”

  Edward said nothing, hurting now for her, burning, in the vicinity of his chest.

  Sofie forced a bright smile to her lips.

  Edward stared. “What did she say, Sofie?”

  Sofie looked at the table. “She is only trying to protect me,” Sofie said softly without looking up.

  “You don’t need to be protected, Sofie.”

  Her gaze flew up, her amber eyes locked with his, bold and frank. “Not even from you.”

  He could barely speak. He stared. It was the saint in him who finally answered, not the demon who was so damn tempted. “Not even from me.”

  She looked away. Her hands, on the table, toying with her silver, trembled. Then she shocked him. Not looking up, her voice low and hoarse, she said, “Even if I needed protection from you, I would not want it.”

  Edward jerked. There was no way, after these past few days, that he could mistake her meaning.

  Edward was grateful to see their food arrive. He was on alert now; he sensed danger, danger both from her and himself. As soon as the squall blew over, they would be on the road.

  But within minutes of their food arriving, the wind was pummeling the trees and the rain had become torrential.

  Together they watched the storm outside the window, barely eating. The bay was black, but whitecaps frothed in frenzy on the water’s dark surface. Their gazes met and held.

  It was as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. As if it were just he and Sofie and the savage storm outside. The world had become raw and untamed and even frightening, but they had attained a solitary niche for themselves, one warm and intimate, a niche occupied by just the two of them. Edward was seized with a fierce longing that seemed to come from his heart and soul, as welt as his loins. A longing he would fight with every ounce of willpower he owned. Because it was all an illusion. The world was not a black, frothing vacuum, and they were not the only two people in existence, man and woman, destined to come together for all eternity.

  Sofie stole a glance at him. “This is very romantic,” she said, her tone husky.

  Edward looked at her in the dim dancing light cast by the candle on their table. He tried to ignore what he was feeling. “It will be over soon.”

  Her fine nostrils flared and tears seemed to glisten in her eyes. “I know.” She turned to stare out into the utter blackness of the storm.

  Edward could not keep his thoughts from acknowledging that there were rooms for rent upstairs. He had never wanted any woman as badly as he wanted Sofie, and he had never wanted her as badly as he wanted her right now. He shoved his plate aside and forced ugly black temptation aside as well. The wind suddenly roared so hard that the walls of the restaurant shook. Leaves flew from the trees and danced and swirled wildly in the air. As be looked outside, Edward thought about the fact that it did not look like they were going to be able to leave anytime soon—and shortly it would be nightfall.

  As if on cue, the proprietor came over to their table. “Folks? I’ve got bad news.”

  “What’s that?” Edward asked, already knowing, dismayed. But not nearly as dismayed as he should be. His heart had begun to sound as thunderous inside his ears as the storm outside.

  “We just heard on the telegraph that this here storm is the edge of a hurricane that began down in the Caribbean. Already the eye’s in Virginia, and while it’s expected to hit Long Island only indirectly, that’s sometime tonight. You folks sure can’t leave now. But I’ve got plenty of rooms.” He beamed. “They say by tomorrow afternoon we’ll have plenty of sunshine.”

  Edward nodded and the man left. His insides were tight, sick, as he turned to Sofie. “He’s right. There’s no way we can drive back in the rain, Sofie. I’m sorry.”

  Sofie looked him in the eye. “I’m not.”

  Sofie stood at her window in the small, quaint room she had been given. Night had fallen and the rain had drenched it silver. She stood listening to the rain and watching the torrents streak the windowpanes. She stood there thinking about Edward. Did she dare?

  She turned to stare at the door on the other side of the four-poster bed that adjoined their rooms. It did not seem possible, but he had not come to her room. He had not made any attempt to seduce her. She did not understand. For if seduction were not his game, then what was?

  Had she, and everyone, misjudged him entirely? Was it possible that he was truly her friend—and an honorable one at that? If so, Sofie knew that she should be glad, but she wanted to weep, not with joy, but with despair and unfulfilled yearning.

  She had come this far, she could not turn back.

  Sofie moved halfway across the small room and stopped. Once, not so long ago, when Edward had encouraged her to show her art to a dealer, he had told her that as she was an artist, rejection would become a part of her life, a fact she would have to learn to deal with. She had not told him that, as a woman and a human being, it was already a fact of her life, an inescapable fact, and that she had dealt with rejection hundreds of times before. Now Sofie was frozen, tears in her eyes. Being rejected by the likes of her mother’
s peers, or by Henry Marten and Carmine Vanderbilt, or by art dealers like Jacques Durand-Ruel, would be nothing compared to rejection by the man she had fallen in love with.

  Sofie turned away from the door and stared at herself in the mirror over the room’s single bureau. The innkeeper had been so kind as to lend her his daughter’s nightgown and wrapper. The ensemble was too large. Sofie pulled the robe off slowly, let it slide to the floor.

  The sleeveless nightgown was sewn from thin white eyelet cotton. Two pink ribbons held up the bodice. It was too long, covering her feet right to the toes, covering her misshapen ankle. If she stared closely, the outline of her legs was visible through the fine material. Yet she did not look ugly; she looked like a wanton. Sofie closed her eyes. Did she dare?

  Trembling, Sofie lifted her arms and removed the pins from her waist-long hair. She brushed it out with her fingers, until it was a wild mane. She pinched her cheeks. She was going to do it. She was going to go to him because, apparently, he was not such a black rogue after all and he was not going to come to her. She was going to go to him because she loved him, and just this once, she wanted to be loved in return.

  Sofie moved quickly across the room, before sanity might reclaim her, or before her fear might stop her. She knocked on his door. Her heart threatened to beat its way out of her breast, and time seemed suspended, unreal.

  The door swung open, revealing Edward in his trousers and bare feet, his powerful torso unclothed. His eyes were wide, his jaw tight, and he was not smiling—not at all. Sofie was careful to look only at his face.

  His voice was a croak. An angry croak. “What in hell are you doing, Sofie?”

  “Edward,” Sofie whispered, her pulse racing faster while she prayed to God that Edward would not reject her, that he would love her, just this once, just for tonight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  He said nothing, but his temples throbbed and his eyes darkened.

  Sofie wet her lips. “Won’t … won’t you come … in? Please?”

  He stared. He stared into her eyes, then at her mouth, then at the halo of her long, wild hair. Sofie could feel herself begin to blush.