by Brenda Joyce
She swallowed back the hard lump of anguish that had risen suddenly. Glowing lanterns illuminated the center of the sprawling, tiled terrace, which was empty and deserted, but the fringes were lit only by the full moon. Sofie hesitated, her pulse beginning to slow, inhaling the scent of evergreen, which was pungent and thick. She realized that she was shivering, and rightly so. It was too cold to be standing outside without a cloak or a wrap. And soon Edward would come looking for her if she did not meet him in the foyer as she had promised that she would. She must go on about her business.
Sofie turned back towards the interior of the house. Her eyes widened. Not far from where she stood was Julian St. Clare. Undoubtedly he also thought this spot ideally secluded. For he was bent over a woman, kissing her passionately—a woman who had to be Lisa.
But recalling Lisa’s anxiety, Sofie remained very still, watching the heated embrace.
The marquis straightened and said something, low and matter-of-fact. There was a blur of movement and the sound of a palm cracking over flesh. Then Lisa raced away from him and past Sofie, without ever noticing that she stood there.
But Sofie had seen Lisa well enough to know that she was in tears. Lifting her gown, forgetting all about Henry and Edward, Sofie raced after her.
Lisa ran through the ballroom, turning heads. Oblivious or too upset to care, she raced on up the stairs and into the central foyer. Sofie followed. “Lisa! Wait! It’s me—Sofie!”
Lisa did not stop. Gown lifted high, exposing calf and ankle, she pounded up the stairs.
Sofie paused on the bottom of the stairs to catch her breath, gulping air, her ankle hurting from the mad race across the ballroom, determined to help her sister. Edward appeared at her side. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she said, still panting. “Lisa is very upset. I must go to her.” Her eyes flashed in a challenge that dared him to try to stop her.
Edward’s jaw finned. “I’m waiting right here. If you’re not down in fifteen minutes, I’m coming up to get you.”
Sofie lifted her chin. “I meant it when I said I was sorry for taking Edana from you. I have no intention of running away again.”
His smile was bitter and full of mistrust. It wrenched at Sofie. Abruptly she turned and hurried up the stairs, wishing that she could undo the past—change it and make it perfect.
Outside Lisa’s door, she paused, hearing a loud thump. There was another noise, an uneven bumping, as if an object were being dragged across the room. She could not imagine what Lisa was doing. Sofie tried the door even as she called out Lisa’s name. But the door was locked. “Lisa?” She knocked sharply. “Please, it’s Sofie; I want to help you.”
And the door flew open abruptly. Lisa faced her, disheveled in appearance and clearly distraught. “Lisa! What’s wrong?”
Lisa’s hand shot out and she jerked Sofie into her room, shutting the door behind them and locking it.
And Sofie saw the valise on the bed—and the dresses and underclothes apparently just ripped from their hangers and drawers, strewn across the floor. “What happened?!”
Lisa gripped Sofie’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare stop me!” She cried, her face streaked with tears.
An inkling made Sofie freeze. “Lisa,” she said unevenly, “do not do anything rash.”
“I am running away!” Lisa cried, and then burst into tears again. Immediately she turned her back on Sofie and began wadding up clothing and shoving it into the valise.
Sofie took her arm, halting her and turning her so they faced each other. “Dear—what has happened?” she asked softly.
“I hate him,” Lisa said, her bosom heaving. “I will never marry him—I am running away—and Sofie—you must help me!”
Sofie froze again. Then, carefully, she said, “Let’s sit down and we can decide what you should do together.”
“I already know what I must do. And I do not have time to chat!” Lisa cried hysterically. “I refuse to be sacrificed at the altar to the likes of him!”
“What makes you speak like that?” Sofie asked.
Lisa turned and buckled the valise. “Tonight I learned the truth. He hates women; it’s well known in London. He hates all women. He is only marrying me because.” She looked at Sofie, her eyes welling with tears. “Because he is penniless, worse than penniless, absolutely destitute!”
Sofie patted Lisa’s shoulders as she wept, then pulled her into her arms. “Who told you this?”
“I overheard Carmine and Hilary. In fact, the marquis overheard them, too. He is so cold! He did not bat an eye at hearing their ugly words, did not offer a single explanation; indeed, he appeared to be waiting for me to say something!”
“And did you?”
“I asked him if it was true.”
Sofie waited.
Lisa wiped more tears with the back of her hand. “He said, ‘Yes,’ just like that, one word, ‘yes,’ not an explanation, no words of love, just ‘yes,’ cold and hateful—and (hen he dragged me outside and kissed me and told me I would not mind being married to him and we both knew it. How I hate him!”
Sofie embraced Lisa again, almost as angry as her stepsister. Although it was a fact of life that Lisa was an heiress and that a part of her allure was her dowry, no woman deserved such cold, callous, disrespectful treatment. Especially not Lisa.
“I am a fool,” Lisa said. “For some reason, because so many men like me, I expected Julian to like me too—at the very least.” Her face crumpled and she sobbed into her hands.
Too well Sofie knew what Lisa was feeling. But she felt obliged to be the voice of reason. “You should talk to your father in the morning. It would be better if Benjamin called it off, Lisa. Running away will ruin your other prospects.”
“Father is enamored of the marquis!” Lisa cried. “He arranged this—he is thrilled to marry me off to a blue-blooded aristocrat. He will be calm and reasonable and he will do his best to convince me that I am being irrational.” Lisa swallowed. “You know I have never disobeyed my father. I cannot go to him now, Sofie. I am afraid he will convince me to many that brute.” Lisa wiped her eyes. “Please help me get this horrid gown off!”
Tom with wanting to help Lisa and knowing that running away was not proper or correct, yet fully aware that she herself had run away from her own problems, not once but twice, Sofie unbuttoned the gown and helped Lisa step out of it. “I am afraid of what will happen when your disappearance is remarked.”
Lisa stepped into a navy blue silk skirt boldly striped with red, and laughed wildly. “I will humiliate the marquis so thoroughly that he will never even consider trying to wed me afterwards.” She shrugged on the matching waist-length jacket, buttoning it up swiftly.
Sofie watched her stepsister. Even with swollen eyes and a red nose, prepared to run away from her fiancé, she was stunning and elegant, dainty and perfect. The marquis must hate women, Sofie thought. What other explanation could there be for his dislike of Lisa, who was not only beautiful, but sweet and generous of nature? Lisa, who had never hurt anyone or anything purposefully, who should have been thoroughly spoiled, yet somehow was not. Yet Sofie sensed that hatred was no simple thing, that it was connected to his dark past—and to his dead first wife. “He will be humiliated, have no fear. Unless ice runs in his veins,” Sofie said quietly. “Where will you go?”
Lisa laughed, exultant. “To Newport! No one is there in the fall, no one, and I will break a window to get into the house. The pantry is always full of food—I will not starve. I will stay there until he has engaged himself to someone else or has returned to London. Oh, Sofie! It is the perfect hiding place, is it not? No one will think to look for me there.”
Sofie had to agree. Yet she could not shake her unease. What if Julian St. Clare did have ice in his veins? She did not like the thought.
Lisa bent and retrieved her bag. “Now my only problem is to escape the house unseen.”
“How are you going to do that?” Sofie asked.
Lisa smiled grimly. “I am going to climb out the window and down the tree.”
Sofie froze. “Lisa! It’s far too dangerous! You’ve never climbed a tree in your life!”
“I have no choice, Sofie. This is the only way. I cannot possibly leave through the front door—or even the back door, not tonight.”
Both girls walked to the window and peered outside. They were on the third story. Sofie could not imagine how Lisa would manage. Sofie was very afraid that Lisa would break her neck. “Please be careful,” she pleaded.
“I will,” Lisa said, a quaver giving away her fear. She sat on the windowsill and cautiously swung her legs over. She looked at Sofie. “You are my dearest friend,” she said softly. “And I love you as if you were my real sister. And one day you will forgive me for interfering in your life.” With that enigmatic statement, Lisa smiled briefly, and then she disappeared.
Sofie screamed, then clapped a hand over her mouth when she saw that Lisa had managed to pull herself onto the nearest branch of the oak tree. Lisa’s smile flashed bravely, and then she shifted slowly around, muttering “blast it” a few times, and finally began to inch her way down the tree. Sofie watched her progress with her heart in her mouth. Finally Lisa was hanging onto the lowest limb with both hands, suspended in the air. Sofie gripped the sill as she jumped. She landed on her feet and collapsed.
“Lisa!” Sofie whispered urgently. “Lisa! Are you all right?”
Lisa sat up slowly, rubbing her hip. Finally she looked up and waved. “Yes! I think I’m intact!” Slowly she stood, then retrieved her valise. She glanced up one last time and blew a kiss. Then she turned and ran across the lawn, down the end of the driveway, slipped through the front gates and onto Fifth Avenue, and was gone.
Sofie leaned against the window, trembling with relief. Dear God, she had done it, Lisa had run away. She stood there for a full five minutes, recovering her composure. Then she hurried across the room, locked the door from the inside, and slipped out. As the door shut, she heard the lock click loudly.
She could not smile, she could not feel any satisfaction with the many twists and turns the evening had taken. Lisa was giving back as good as she had gotten. The marquis was about to suffer a serious let-down, one he richly deserved. But Sofie had the disturbing feeling that he would not slink back to England with his tail between his legs.
Then she thought of her own ill-fated love, and her lips tightened. Edward was waiting for her downstairs. In fact, if she delayed any longer, in another moment he would be coming up to find her.
As Sofie traversed the corridor, she recalled Lisa’s parting words. What had Lisa done to interfere in her life? How obvious the answer suddenly was! It was Lisa who had summoned Edward to the ball, who had alerted him to the fact that Sofie would be attending. No one else had known she intended to come except for Lisa—there was no other explanation for his timely appearance. Sofie did not know whether to laugh or cry.
“You are staying here?”
Sofie was regretting the fact that she had agreed to take Edward to see Edana tonight. In another hour or so it would be midnight. They had left the engagement party some time ago; it had been a long drive from the upper East Side to the docks downtown. Sofie had never said good-bye to Henry, whom she had been unable to find.
Now she sat in his Daimler, wrapped in her borrowed black velvet cloak, acutely conscious of the man beside her. Not only did she love him, she desired him in the most shocking, thorough manner. Little bits and pieces of the past they had shared taunted and teased her. Glorious moments, like that day at Delmonico’s, or like his so very recent kiss, And most of all, she did not trust him—she was afraid of what he might do next.
“Christ,” Edward cursed. “This is no place for a lady; dammit, Sofie, all sorts of riffraff loiter on the wharves.”
As if to prove the veracity of his comment, the silent night was broken by the drunken singing of a group of men. Sofie tensed as several sailors, arm in arm, came into view stumbling down the dirt street towards them. “I am short of funds,” she said huskily. “What would you have me do, Edward?”
He turned to face her. “Did Suzanne cut you off, Sofie?”
She blinked.
“Because you refused to give Edana up for adoption?”
She gasped. “You know!”
“I know.”
Tears filled her eyes. It was hard not to reach out and grab his hands and cling to them like a lifeline. “Yes.”
His jaw flexed. “You don’t have to worry anymore. Not about that—not about anything.”
Sofie closed her eyes, sinking back against the seat. How stupid she had been. Edward loved his child—he would support Edana, and undoubtedly Sofie as well. She should have realized that he was her salvation in this instance. It was very hard not to be overwhelmed with gratitude. It was very hard to want to resist this man. “Thank you.”
Edward said nothing, sliding out of the car and helping Sofie out, too. He held her arm firmly, guiding her over the ratted road and then across the uneven planking of the boardinghouse’s dilapidated front porch. Sofie extracted the key she had been given. Edward took it from her and opened the front door. Unfortunately, Sofie felt that they were acting very much as any married couple would. Except that married couples did not reside in rotting boardinghouses on the docks of the East River. If they were a married couple, he would be opening the door for her to a very different kind of house.
And Sofie knew that there would not be the stiff tension that simmered palpably between them. A tension bom of mistrust, betrayal, and hurt, on both their parts. A tension that was also hungry and sexual.
He had said that his rough desire was due to her dress, but her dress wasn’t visible now, and Sofie knew he was still as aware of her as she was of him. She derived some small amount of satisfaction from the thought. Somehow, in the past year and a half, a transformation had taken place. Very much like an ugly duckling turning into a swan, the crippled child had become a seductive woman.
And not only for Edward. It was somewhat amazing, but Sofie was jolted by the realization that Georges Fraggard had also found her desirable, as did Henry Marten. Two years ago Sofie would have ridiculed the very notion of any man—much less three men—finding her enticing. And perhaps even more important, two of those three men had confessed to loving her, as welt.
Sofie knew it was dangerous to dwell on these kinds of thoughts, for already angry sorrow was trying to root in her heart. She focused on seeing through the house’s dimly lit shadows. The stairs creaked as they went up. She opened the door to her room and slipped inside. Edana slept in her makeshift cradle, made from a milkman’s crate. Sofie bent over her to fix the small bedcovering. It was horrid that Edward should see his daughter this way, in a wretched, shabby room, asleep in a wooden box, covered with Rachelle’s red wool shawl.
She tensed when he came to stand beside her. Unable to restrain herself, Sofie glanced up at him. Edward stared down at his daughter, his expression close to tears, the tip of his nose red. “I thought I had lost her,” he said harshly. “I was afraid you had taken her away and I would never be able to find either one of you again.”
Sofie hated herself for what she had done. “Oh, Edward, what I did was wrong, terribly wrong—please forgive me!”
His gaze met hers, somber and searching. Sofie held her hands to stop herself from touching him. He had been anguished because of what she had done, and her instinct was to comfort him. But to touch him invited disaster. Sofie knew she could not resist the temptation he offered as a man.
They stood staring at each other for a timeless interval. Something passed between them, something strong and potent. Some kind of timeless bond, already forged, became recognizable. In that instant, Sofie knew that Edana would bind Edward to her in one way or another forever. She was glad—fiercely so.
Edward’s mouth tensed. His body shifted towards her.
“Chèrie, you are home too early!” Rachelle s
aid. “Oh!”
Sofie inhaled, trembling, almost certain that, had Rachelle not appeared in the doorway between their adjoining rooms, Edward would have kissed her. She stepped away from him, hugging herself, telling herself that this was for the best. She must not get involved with him, she must not. She must not let her heart lead her astray. She could not withstand the hurt a second time around.
“Pardonnez-moi,” Rachel murmured, her gaze flying between the two of them.
“You have interrupted nothing,” Sofie declared, a bit too loudly and much too emphatically. “Rachelle, you remember Edward.”
Rachelle nodded. Edward’s glance flicked over her, and Sofie realized with a start that he did not like her dear friend. In Paris she had assumed that he found her attractive, as all men did. “Bien sûr,” Rachelle murmured. “Enchanlée. monsieur.”
Edward nodded curtly, and he turned to Sofie. “You can’t stay here.”
She started. “What?”
“You cannot possibly stay here. I cannot allow Edana to be raised in this kind of environment. Don’t tell me that you wish to stay here, Sofie?”
She was frightened, wary—hopeful. “What are you suggesting?”
“We will let you a suite at the Savoy until a more suitable arrangement is found,” Edward said flatly.
Sofie nodded slowly. “All right.”
“Pack up whatever you have now. There’s no point in waiting until tomorrow to get all of you out of this rat infested hellhole.”
Sofie had only been at the Savoy once before, when she had deliberately thrown herself at Edward in the hope of becoming his paramour. She had not paid any attention to her surroundings then. But now she, Rachelle, and Edana, who slept in Sofie’s arms, stood in the wide-open lobby of the hotel, watching Edward as he checked them in at the front desk.