Temptation Has Green Eyes

by Lynne Connolly

  The back parlor looked out over the garden. Light flooded in and apart from the distant sound of carriages in the street at the front of the house she could almost imagine herself in the country again. Standing in front of them, Sophia broke the seal and unfolded the letter, scanning it quickly. She’d have to answer it tomorrow or she wouldn’t have time to change for dinner.

  Then she read it again.

  She was right in that the letter was from her father. But not the father she knew. The other one, the Duke of Northwich.

  My dear,

  I hate to introduce myself in this way, but I see no alternative. My son said he met you at a ball. You were introduced to him by my secretary, John Hayes. Alconbury informs me that you have left the haven of the City and entered into matrimony with the Marquess of Devereaux.

  This news disturbs me, especially since I have news for you that you may consider distressing. You have probably heard information over the last few days which is, to say the least, flawed. There is more, much more, and I need to tell you without delay. But personally.

  Believe me, I mean you nothing but good. I can hint at some of the reasons for my distress. In my youth I was profligate, I admit that now. I had affairs with many women, but, my child, not with your mother. However, I know one who did.

  The late Marquess of Devereaux, the father of the man you married, had a habit of following me, and sometimes he would take what I did not. I fear that has been the case here. Believe me, Lady Devereaux, I do not vouchsafe this information with any pleasure. I have incontrovertible proof of what I say, but I will not trust any messenger or third party with this.

  I will say no more in this missive. If you wish to discuss this matter further, I will send a carriage for you. Believe me, I will be discreet. If you visit the Royal Exchange and take the south exit, the carriage will be waiting for you. Bring one maid, nobody else. The driver will ask you if you are Mrs. Smith. If you do not come, I will endeavor to make contact with you another way.

  Believe me, I remain your servant in this matter,

  James Northwich.

  The flourish seemed almost insolent.

  Unseeing, Sophia groped for a chair. She read the letter, and read it again.

  What on earth could she do? If this were true… No, surely not. She could already be pregnant with a child born of incest. It didn’t bear thinking about. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she forced away the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. Memories of what she and Max had done came vividly to her mind, and her belly roiled.

  She couldn’t tell him. Who could she tell? Julius was out of town. If she told Max, he’d move heaven and earth to discover the truth, probably storm around to Northwich’s house and try to throttle the truth out of him. Any excuse to confront the man who’d made his family’s life a misery.

  Northwich said he had incontrovertible proof. She needed that proof. Maybe she should confront him herself.

  Relief swept through her. She could confide in one person. Must, because she could think of nobody else.

  The sound of voices in the hall brought her back to herself, and she screwed up the letter and thrust it into her bosom as she left the room. She had just enough time to change before dinner, barely enough.

  She hurried upstairs and into her dressing room, where French had laid out the aquamarine. They were attending the theater later. She couldn’t quite remember what the play was. Not that she’d be going now, and certainly not in this gown.

  She raised her voice. “French!”

  Her maid came scurrying in. “I expected you would arrive in the bedroom, my lady. I beg your pardon.”

  “Did you put this out for me to wear?” She fingered the aquamarine. It really was pretty, but she disliked it more now. She couldn’t think why she’d bought it. Too garish, too bold for her taste.

  French touched the gown. “I thought you might like to try it on and see if your first opinion was the right one. It is exquisitely fashioned. You would perhaps try it out before you disposed of it.”

  If she weren’t already agitated and distressed she might have taken French’s suggestion. As it was, she needed a scapegoat and an object would be better than a person. “Remove it. I don’t like it. I don’t care what you do with it.” Something caught her attention on the hem of the gown and she bent to examine it, eager to discover a flaw she could use. She hated to be thought of as capricious, even by her maid. “Is this mud? How on earth did this gown get mud on the hem?”

  French frowned and joined Sophia in examining the gown. “It’s that dratted Daisy,” she said, naming her assistant. “I’m sorry ma’am, but she’s proving most unsatisfactory. Careless, and now I think she’s dishonest. I knew she was borrowing garments without permission. Probably to impress her beau farther along the street. I’ll see her turned off for this. See if I don’t.”

  “No. Set her to work as a housemaid,” Sophia said. They were short a housemaid after one had been discovered to be in an interesting condition via one of the footmen. Sophia had turned off the footman and sent the maid to a foundling home to have her baby there. But that left her short-staffed, and while the footman had been quickly replaced, they were still down one housemaid.

  Telling that she could think of that at a time like this. “I’ll see to the details myself, but I won’t be going out tonight. I’m not feeling well.”

  “Oh, ma’am, do you need anything?”

  French had been with Sophia for most of her life, coming to her when Sophia was thirteen, so she’d seen her mistress in several states before now. French had seen to Sophia’s personal needs without fuss and with efficiency. She would have to go tomorrow.

  When she thought of the meeting, her stomach churned. She turned to the chamber pot. French held her steady while she brought back what she’d eaten that day. She gasped and clutched the edge of the chair on which the chamber pot rested.

  “I’ll put you to bed straightaway, ma’am.”

  Her eyes streaming, her throat sore, Sophia gratefully took the handkerchief French handed to her. “Let my husband know, if you please. I believe it was the patties I had earlier today. I thought they were a little suspect. Oysters are difficult.”

  “My mother said you shouldn’t have oysters when there wasn’t an R in the month,” French said. “But it’s only just turned May. Unfortunate, my lady. I’ll see if the cook can find you something to settle your stomach. What should I tell his lordship?”

  “Just that I’m not well and I won’t be going out. Tell him it’s nothing to worry about, I just ate something that disagreed with me.”

  “Yes, my lady. And I’ll see to the other matter, while I’m about it, but I still think you should turn Daisy off. Dishonesty is dishonesty, and she’ll be making off with the silver next.”

  Sophia waved French away. “She’s just a feckless girl who doesn’t think properly, but she’s a hard worker. Tell Foster to keep a close eye on her for a while. We’ll see how she does.” She couldn’t care less about Daisy, if she had taken clothes without asking. “You can send to the agency for another assistant in the morning.”

  French sniffed. “A trustworthy one this time.”

  Tenderly, she handed Sophia a glass of water to rinse her mouth with, and then her tooth-powder, so she could clean her teeth while the maid unlaced her. Sophia found herself tucked up in bed in no time, with the promise of a nice cup of tea and a bowl of broth. She accepted the tea, but refused the broth with a shudder. “Perhaps in a while,” she said.

  She should have expected Max to come upstairs to see her. But when he entered the room, she had to fight not to shout at him to leave immediately. Her stomach, which had settled, stirred anew, and her throat tightened so she could scarcely breathe. She’d seen this man naked, she’d made love with him. And he could be her brother. Even the slightest possibility made her feel sick and set her limbs to trembling.

  Max flicked out the skirts of his coat and sat
on the bed, lifting his hand to place it gently on her forehead. “My poor Sophia! What do you think is wrong?”

  “Oyster patties,” she said with a grimace. She’d enjoyed them, one of her favorites, but she had to blame something. “I’m feeling a bit better already.” A blatant lie. His presence made her worse. Because God help her, she still wanted him. Images of their time together flashed through her mind, making her clitoris swell and throb in shameful desire. She could not feel like this toward her own brother, surely?

  He regarded her, an edge of coldness in his eyes. “There was a matter I wished to discuss with you. But it will wait.” He smiled, dispelling the chill. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

  She tried not to shake her head too vigorously. “I’d like to sleep now.”

  He nodded. “Probably best. You must let me help you.”

  Gently, he lifted her and helped her to lie down. Sophia repressed her shudders, not knowing if they were desire or distaste, knowing they should be the latter, afraid they were not.

  She was a vile person to want him so much. If it were true. If it was not, Northwich wanted to see her about something else. But she had to have that proof in her hands. Needed to know the truth. If it was, it would cause a scandal the like of which London hadn’t seen for years. They’d tear her to pieces. And bring Max and the Emperors down with it.

  So why didn’t Northwich use the information to do just that? Perhaps he meant to. She didn’t know.

  * * * *

  Sophia was relieved to discover that, after a brief visit to her chamber in the morning, Max had appointments for the rest of the day.

  “I hate leaving you like this, but send a footman to me if you feel any worse.”

  “No need.” Sophia had ordered a meal, more for self-defense than anything else, because she still felt ill. She made a show of buttering a slice of toast and biting into it with relish. “I feel so much better,” she assured him once she’d devoured the mouthful. “It must have been the patties, because there’s nothing wrong with me now. I shall visit my father,” she added as an afterthought, “so I’ll be in good hands.”

  When Max leaned over the bed to kiss her, she turned her head so his lips skimmed her cheek.

  He grunted, kissed her forehead and straightened. “I still feel I shouldn’t leave you.”

  She waved her hand. “Go, go. I promise I’ll contact you if I feel worse. But it was just bad food. Don’t fuss, Max.”

  He left the room smiling, which was more than she did an hour later. With French in tow, she climbed in the sedan chair she’d ordered and let them take her to her father’s house.

  She’d thought of wearing the aquamarine, just by way of spite. She didn’t want any of her favorite clothes tainted by what she was about to do, and she could discard that gown without a qualm. But in the end, she chose an unremarkable green with a modest hoop, almost reverting to her days as a daughter of the City. In those days, she’d worn more modest and less flamboyant garments. She also chose an enveloping brown cloak with a hood, in case she saw someone she knew, and a hat with a very wide brim. Wide so that the chair-men moaned when they saw it, for fear she wouldn’t get inside. She managed.

  Her father was at home. He’d set out on his rounds of his office and the coffeehouses shortly. Today was a Mercer’s Guild meeting day, so she’d purposely set out early to catch him before he left.

  He greeted her, as he always did, with a smile, and she surprised him with a hug, desiring that they not be disturbed. Once they were sitting in the privacy of his office, she handed him the letter.

  “I hate to bring you further distress, Papa, but you need to read this.”

  He scanned the letter quickly, then read it again, paying more detail to it.

  “Do you think it’s true, Papa?”

  He glanced up at her and down at the letter. “Your mother was a good woman,” he said. “While we were married, I never had cause to doubt her. If she transgressed before our marriage, I believe her when she said it was only once. But she wouldn’t tell me who. Or in what circumstances, for that matter. Her father paid her portion. I presumed the money was his, since he was an earl. It appears it was not.” He put the letter down. “I take it you plan to attend this meeting?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you think he will tell the truth?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I have to hear it, don’t I?”

  “Why not tell your husband?”

  Heat rose to her face. “We—that is, I—”

  Her father sighed. “The feud with the Dankworths.” She nodded again, pleased he understood without too much detail. The thought of her and Max together imposed on her mind, as it had intermittently through the night, and she pushed it away. If she never got to do that again, she’d curl up and die. But she couldn’t if, by some outside chance, what Northwich was saying was true.

  “I still think you should tell him,” her father said now. “This is a grave matter.”

  “But if I tell him, he might not want me anymore, even if it’s not true!” she wailed. Even to her own ears she sounded more like a lovesick girl than a grown woman. But she couldn’t help it. Suspecting what she did, she still wanted him, but she doubted he’d want her. He was deliberately and carefully putting ground between them. When he came to her bed, he didn’t stay the night, and already she missed him. Sinful but undeniable.

  “Daughter, if this is true, you have to tell him,” her father said now. “I already deceived him by not telling him of your birth. That was wrong, and I will never cease to castigate myself for not putting him in control of the full facts.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Her voice lowered to a snarl. “Have I married my own brother? Do we need to make the knowledge public?”

  “I don’t believe it’s true. But I do understand that you need to know. I will accompany you if you wish.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else in the room if what the duke had told her in the letter was true. In any case, if her father was seen entering the house of a known Jacobite sympathizer, he’d be immediately suspect in the City.

  She couldn’t bear anyone else being hurt by this affair. “No, Papa. I can go alone. He won’t hurt me. After all, he’s done what he can so far to ensure my safety.” Sending a spy to watch over her could have two meanings, and one of them might be that he wanted to protect her. John had acted on his own that day. She was sure of it.

  That also indicated that the duke was lying about the Devereaux connection. But she had to know for sure.

  After ten minutes’ further wrangling, he finally accepted her decision. “Take French and Horton with you.” Horton had, like French, been with the Russells for years, and acted as footman, but not liveried, as the ones she used now were. He’d be more discreet. And Horton was huge. His early prize-fighting career had made an already large frame even larger.

  The fact that she’d have a strong man with her heartened Sophia. So she bowed her head meekly. “Yes, Papa, to both. If the duke has undeniable evidence, I will have it off him.”

  “I doubt that,” her father said. Steepling his fingers, he flexed them, a habit of his while thinking. “He won’t give you such proof easily, though he may allow you to take a copy. In any case, the proof is likely to be in parish registers and witness statements. He may have obtained signed legal documents.”

  “Lies that he can use to tear us apart. If he wants to use this information to threaten me, he will be mistaken. “If it turned out to be true, she’d tell Max everything and retire, live in the country, or even leave these shores altogether.

  Her father regarded her for a moment, his eyes far-seeing. Sophia knew better than to interrupt him.

  “I think he may have used this as a ruse,” he said. “If you’re his daughter, he may realize that you won’t see him at his request, but would take your husband with you. But if you think that your ma
rriage is in peril, and that your husband would be damaged by the knowledge, Northwich might expect you not to tell him.”

  He touched the letter. “I will keep this. It’s your proof. I’ll lock this up in my safe.”

  He glanced at her and she nodded her permission. If she took the letter with her, the duke could well purloin it, and then what proof did she have of her suspicions?

  “If need be, I’ll vouch for you with your husband. But you had better tell him you went today. One way or the other, you must.”

  Her heart ached, but he told the truth. “I will. I swear. One way or the other, I’ll tell him.”

  “The duke won’t hurt you.” Her father placed his hands flat on the desk, the pressure turning his fingertips white.

  She almost smiled when she spotted the smudge of ink in its accustomed place at the side of his left hand, where he rested it as he wrote.

  “If I even suspected that, I wouldn’t allow you to go. But it’s not his way. He wants you for something. Either that, or he wishes to meet the girl he fathered. Although he has never expressed such a wish before. Any time this past twenty-five years he could have asked. He could have created great trouble between Mary and me, but he did not. He could have asked after Mary’s death, but he did not. No, he wants something from you, and it will be something to do with your marriage.”

  “He wants me to spy on my husband,” she said flatly. But despite that knowledge, she felt better. Infinitely better. She could talk to Max, and he need never know the horrible suspicions that had clouded her mind this last day.

  Last night he’d shown her the first true tenderness since Julius had broken the news about her parentage. But she’d sent him away.

  But the possibility existed that her father was wrong and the duke did have proof that she was the daughter of Devereaux. “What if he only recently obtained the proof?” She worked hard to keep her hands folded neatly in her lap over her fan instead of wringing them or biting her nails, her habit as a child when distressed.