My Seductive Innocent

by Julie Johnstone

  Marguerite lurched backward. “Don’t you dare try to keep me out of this house! Scarsdale cannot just kick me out without my wardrobe! La-tee-da, he loves you. I understand. I heard him loud and clear. But I want my clothing. I need it to survive. What the devil does he think? I’m a paramour! I cannot go around looking wretched and wearing borrowed gowns that don’t fit properly. And I cannot acquire new gowns instantaneously.”

  Sophia’s mind whirled with everything Marguerite had just said. “When did you see my husband?”

  The woman gave her an irritated look. “Don’t fret yourself. I know when I’m beaten. I should have known it the night I saw him in Lincolnshire before he married you. He was already not himself then. Demanding I not touch him. Demanding I get out of this townhome, the one he had purchased for me.”

  Sophia sucked in a sharp breath at the confirmation that what Nathan had told her so long ago was true. Marguerite truly had misled Ellison. “You are a wretched liar,” she spat.

  Marguerite gave her a haughty look. “We are all wretched liars, my dear.”

  Fury exploded in Sophia’s chest, and she whipped her hand out and slapped Marguerite. The smack resounded in the silence, and her hand instantly tingled from the force of the hit. Marguerite’s head snapped to the right, but when she focused once again on Sophia, she curled her lips back and raised her hand as if to strike back.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Sophia warned. “I will lay you flat if you dare. And I learned a rather smart trick from my husband about how to cut off a person’s air by putting my boot just there.” She pointed to Marguerite’s throat.

  Marguerite’s face paled, and she lowered her hand. “I only want my clothing.”

  “When did you see my husband?” Sophia repeated her earlier question.

  Marguerite’s jaw thrust out in mutiny, but she spoke. “When he came back from the dead, of course. He came here looking for Ellison but he found me.”

  Sophia felt her jaw drop open. “You mean you and Ellison...?”

  Marguerite smiled. “Don’t look so shocked. He’s a man with needs, like all men. And I’m the best at what I do.”

  “I will have the butler send you your gowns,” Sophia said through stiff lips. That Ellison would sleep with this woman sickened her, though she knew she shouldn’t be all that surprised. She’d seen plenty of men who were driven by lust and nothing else. “Don’t ever come back here again. Are we clear?”

  Marguerite nodded. “Perfectly.” The woman held out a card. “Send my clothing here, if you please.”

  Sophia snagged the card without looking at it and watched Marguerite walk to the hackney. Within moments, the hackney disappeared.

  Shaking with anger at Marguerite, relief that Nathan had not been unfaithful, and fear that she might have driven a permanent wall between them, she allowed a silent Mr. Burk to help her into the carriage. Mary Margaret gave her an understanding look but wisely said nothing.

  “Where to now, Your Grace?” Mr. Burk inquired.

  Frustration gripped her. “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps His Grace went to your townhome.”

  She frowned. She couldn’t fathom why Nathan would be there, but with no other place to look for him, she nodded, and they set out to the house on Mayfair.

  The place was small, compared to his main home but large compared to the one in the Garden District. She’d never been here, even though it had been over a year since it had become hers, but as she walked up the four steps to the bright-red front door of the dark brick home, she instantly liked it. It had four large windows that faced the street, so she knew the rooms must get a great deal of sunlight. There was something cozy about it, despite its location in Town.

  She knocked on the door. The footman answered it and then showed her inside where the butler, Mr. Tims, immediately greeted her. It took only a moment to learn that Nathan was, indeed, in residence here and then took less time than that to learn he was out for the night at a ball. Sophia frowned. Knowing what she did of Nathan, she couldn’t believe he’d willingly attend a ball, and when she inquired as to what ball he was attending, she nearly had a heart palpitation. It was Mr. Frazier’s ball!

  The only reason she could think of to explain his attendance was that he intended to finish what he had started the Scot. In a frenzy of worry, she raced up the stairs to his bedchamber as she issued commands for her trunks to be carried up. She paused in the center of his bedchamber and took in the lacy coverlet and feminine dressing table. She stilled in wonderment. This was her bedchamber! He was sleeping in the room he had ordered to be hers. Nathan had come to London to forget her, to put so many miles between them, yet he had chosen to stay in the house he bought for her and in the bedchamber that had been decorated for her.

  And he had not been unfaithful to her! He had been true!

  Heat radiated in her chest. She had to see him immediately and learn once and for all whether he loved her or not. She called for Mary Margaret, and together, they quickly got her ready for the ball. She rushed her lady’s maid through putting her hair up because she wanted to hurry, but after everything that had happened since Nathan’s return, she feared if she showed up at the ball with her hair down, she would be pushing Nathan too far. Once Mary Margaret was finished, Sophia raced downstairs to where Mr. Burk was waiting to take her to the ball.

  On the way to Mr. Frazier’s home, she concentrated on one thought―she would vow they had been happy those few days at Whitecliffe and that she wanted that again and would do just about anything to have it back.

  With tension cramping his shoulders and his anger barely caged, Nathan entered Frazier’s home, stalked past the gaping footman, and bypassed the line that led to the host. One by one Frazier’s guests, most of whom Nathan knew, started to whisper and gawk, and a few braver souls thought to greet him with exclamations of delight that he was alive. He ignored every single person and trained his gaze to his target: the tall, redheaded Scot who’d dared to invite Sophia to this ball and when Nathan had specifically told the man to stay away from his wife.

  He didn’t give a damn that Harthorne had said the invitations had come weeks ago. He didn’t give a damn that Sophia had accepted the invitation before she had known he was alive and before he had expressly told her to stay away from Frazier and to not to dare come to London without asking Nathan’s permission first. What he did give a damn about was ensuring his wife was not actually going to defy him and show up here. Because if she did he would drag her out of here and ship her to America if that’s what it took to keep her away from Frazier. He would demand she not desire that man. The fact that his thoughts sounded mad in his own head didn’t concern him in the least.

  Harthorne nudged Nathan in the side as he stalked toward Frazier. “Your rise from the dead is causing quite a stir.”

  Nathan flicked his gaze at the blur of people he was passing, and he locked eyes with Lady Hornsby. She gawked at him and then poked one of the matron’s beside her, who immediately ceased talking, and after angling her ear toward her friend, she turned to stare at him. Her jaw went slack, and then she started tugging on another woman beside her, who listened to her friend’s quick but loud whispering that the Duke of Scarsdale was alive and here at the ball, and then she too gaped at him.

  It was almost funny to watch the shock on their faces. If he’d had a sense of humor left it would have been a riot, but he had no room for any emotion save anger. When he nearly reached Frazier someone grabbed Nathan’s elbow. With a scowl he turned on his heel and stared into Ellison’s pale face.

  His cousin reached out with a visibly trembling hand and touched Nathan on the chest. “My God.”

  Nathan smiled. “That seems to be a reoccurring reaction upon first seeing me.”

  “My God,” Ellison said again, his voice cracking. “You are alive. It is true.”

  “You don’t sound happy,” Nathan joked, wishing to lighten the moment as he heard the furious whispers from the line a
nd noted a multitude of gazes fixed upon them.

  Ellison shook his head. “I’m shocked. Not unhappy. Shocked. My God, I cannot believe it.”

  “And yet, here I am,” Nathan said. “I went to see you, but Aunt Harriet said you were still in Lincolnshire. Did Aunt Harriet tell you I had returned?”

  Ellison shook his head. “Marguerite. She was waiting at my townhome, er, your old primary one, when I returned.”

  Nathan stared at his cousin. He was acting odd, but it was likely the shock and embarrassment, maybe, of Nathan knowing about Marguerite. Nathan drew closer to Ellison and turned his back on the line of gapers. Harthorne discretely stepped away, and Nathan caught Ellison’s darting gaze. “I will not lecture you on Marguerite, nor ask you why of all the paramours, you chose to bed her. I know why. She’s beautiful and beguiling, but she’s also cruel. All I will say to you is to be careful. She is not to be trusted.”

  Ellison gave Nathan a hard stare. “I’m not a child in need of protection, Scarsdale.”

  “All right,” Nathan said, his right temple beginning to tick. He flicked his gaze toward Frazier. There was a great deal more he and Ellison needed to discuss, but it was going to have to wait. The line of people waiting to speak with Frazier was dwindling, and Nathan didn’t want the man to become lost in the crowd of people at his own ball before Nathan dealt with him. “Ellison, I need to have a word with Frazier, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll come see you tomorrow so we can talk, all right?”

  Ellison nodded roughly. “How soon do you want me out of your townhome?”

  The halting question surprised Nathan. “Stay in it. You may keep it. I’ve two more and already have settled into the one on Mayfair.”

  “How very kind of you.”

  Nathan sighed wearily at his cousin’s petulant behavior. He was in no mood to appease him tonight. “As I said, we can talk tomorrow.” With that, he left Ellison standing there alone and headed toward Frazier.

  Harthorne immediately fell into step beside him. “How did it go with Ellison?”

  Nathan shrugged. “About as well as I expected, seeing as his life was upended with my death and has now been upended again with my resurrection.”

  Harthorne clapped Nathan on the shoulder. “Take heart. He’ll get over it.”

  Nathan paused and looked at Harthorne. “Frankly, at this moment, I don’t give a damn whether he gets over it or not.”

  “Understandable,” Harthorne said with a nod. “I think I’ll wander into the ball and see if I can find Amelia and Aversley. I suspect you’d like a moment to speak with Frazier privately.”

  “Thank you,” Nathan said.

  After Harthorne walked away, Nathan closed the distance between him and Frazier. He offered Lady Chatworth, who was speaking with the Scot, a smile and joking assurances that, indeed, he was not a ghost, and she excused herself, likely sensing Nathan’s anger.

  Frazier must have sensed it, too. He motioned for to Nathan to follow him, and the two men strode through the crowd, which parted with stares of wonderment and a flurry of prattling and exclamations. Nathan nodded to people as they greeted him, but he didn’t stop and neither did Frazier. When they came to the man’s study, he gestured Nathan inside and then shut the door behind him and turned to face Nathan.

  Frazier crossed his arms over his chest. “Ah dinnot remember inviting ye ta th’ baw.”

  “You invited my wife; therefore, you invited me,” Nathan clipped.

  “Ah see. ’Twas weeks ago, ye ken.”

  “I don’t give a damn when you invited her. You should have rescinded the invitation if you valued your life.”

  “Ah value mah life. Neither o’ us thought ye alive. Given that, kin ye blame me fur desiring yer wife?”

  Hell no, Nathan couldn’t blame Frazier for desiring the temptress, but that didn’t make Nathan want to kill the man any less. Instead, he flexed his fingers and clamped control on his anger. “Well, now you know I’m alive. So there will be no more forgiveness on my part. Do you ken me?”

  “Aye,” the man said with a courteous, slightly cocky smile. “Now, ’f ye’ll excuse me, Ah need ta attend ta mah guests.”

  “As long as you’re not attending to my wife, I can excuse you forever,” Nathan replied and walked away without a backward glance. When he entered the crowded ball he paused, even more distasteful now than he had previously been of such affairs. Where the hell was Sophia? Was she here? Would she dare? He glanced over the guests and forced a false smile to his lips as people waved at him.

  Frazier’s question rang in Nathan’s mind. Could he blame him for desiring his wife? Nathan clenched his teeth. He knew personally how hard she was to resist, because when he’d touched her for the first time in fourteen months, he’d lost every bit of civilized self-control he had ever maintained. A need to possess her that he could no more stop than the act of breathing had driven him to take her like a savage. He’d held nothing back, and she had taken it all and even made a good show of enjoying it. He’d been deeply sated when finished, but on the heels of that satisfaction came shame and dread―shame that he could not control himself and dread that she would gain power over him every time he touched her until he became like the child he once was, longing for love that she would never give.

  I don’t love you anymore, she’d said.

  It had reminded him so much of something his mother had said to him so long ago. He’d tried to flee the hurt he could not deny by fleeing her, but he could not put thoughts of her out of his mind. And the hurt was still there like an open wound. She haunted his every moment, awake and asleep, and it was driving him mad.

  “Scarsdale!”

  Nathan turned to the right to see who had called to him. Aversley was walking toward him with Amelia at his side. He raised his hand in greeting, even as he scanned the crowded ballroom once more for Sophia. In the distance, at the top of the stairs on the far side of the room, a flash of crimson caught his attention, and his body grew rigid as he caught sight of his treacherous wife descending the staircase in a dress that would tempt the angels themselves to sin. And on top of that, hovering around her, were two soon to be sorry gentlemen who appeared to be vying for her attention.

  “Excuse me,” he bit out and sidestepped Aversley and Amelia just as they reached him. As the thin thread of self-control he had left broke, he cared about nothing in the moment but reaching Sophia. He pushed through the crowd, glaring at every person who tried to stop him, but just as he was passing the refreshment table, he was grabbed from behind. He swung around and met Aversley’s knowing stare.

  “Judging by the look on your face, you have seen your wife.”

  “Indeed. Now unhand me.”

  Aversley increased his grip. “I think you should get your temper under control before you talk to her. I don’t know what she has done―”

  “No, you don’t,” Nathan snapped.

  “Well, I do!” Amelia chimed in, huffing out a breath as she came to Aversley’s side. “And it is not as you think! But even if it were exactly as you thought, you deserved that and much more. She gave you her love and you...you...you sent your mistress back to London to the townhome you bought for her.”

  Of course he had. But how the devil did Amelia know that? “What else would you have had me do?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she set her hands on her hips. “I would have had you been faithful to Sophia.”

  “What?” The woman babbled nonsense.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” Amelia snapped. “She worshiped you. You made her fall in love with you. Heaven knows how! And she almost died mourning you. She refused to eat, to drink, to live. We had to lie to her to get her out of bed. And then she spent an entire year trying to make herself into a duchess you would be proud of. You are a fool!” Amelia whispered harshly under her breath.

  What Amelia said was impossible. Wasn’t it? His stomach clenched with doubt. He scanned the faces and found Sophia across the room with her head pr
essed close to Frazier’s, the stupid bastard. Nathan jerked his arm out of Aversley’s hold. “Then how do you explain what I came home to? How do you explain me finding her in her bedchamber with Frazier?”

  Amelia’s shoulders sagged. “It’s for her to explain, Scarsdale, not me. I urge you to go to her. Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance.”

  “She’s had plenty of chances,” he growled, determined not to let his guard down again. “I’m going to go to her certainly. I’m going to drag my coldhearted wife out of this ball, whether she likes it or not.” And before either of his gaping friends could protest, he stormed away, fairly shoving Lord Peregrine, who was grinning at him, out of his way.

  “Please go away!” Sophia begged, discreetly pushing at Mr. Frazier. Of all her ill luck, he had been one of the first people she had seen, and she had only stopped when he’d asked her to so she could tell him she simply could not speak with him anymore. The minute she had pressed her head near his to whisper the private words, she’d felt, rather than seen, Nathan. When she had looked up and swept her gaze over the buzzing crowd, she nearly swooned at the sight of him plowing through the ballroom like a man bent on revenge.

  “Go now!” she hissed again and abandoned propriety to shove Mr. Frazier in the arm.

  Mr. Frazier was looking in the same direction she was and his jaw had hardened into a line of stubborn determination. “I’ll nae leave ye alone. He looks angrier than th’ devil himself. Ah em nae a coward.”

  She fisted her hands at her side. “You’re a fool! He will kill you, and I don’t think he will pause to hear explanations. Not that he’d believe them, anyway.”

  She glanced back up and gasped. Five more breaths and he’d be on them. She swiveled toward Mr. Frazier. “I love my husband. I’ve only ever loved him. It was a terrible, foolish mistake to think I could forget him, and I’m sorry I almost used you. Now, please, go.”

  “I suggest you do as my wife says,” Nathan said in a tone so cold Sophia shivered.