by Louise Allen
He had not set out to shock her, Cal told himself as he strode down the hill and into the inn yard. He had intended to kiss her, with restraint, and convince her that marriage to him was nothing to be afraid of. And then she had quivered in his arms and he had sensed the innocent natural passion and sensuality so he had given a mental shrug and found himself taking, demanding, far more than he should.
Sophia’s total surrender in his arms would be flattering if it were not for the fact that she had probably simply been overwhelmed by the novelty of it all. And now the physical desires he had been suppressing when he was near her were all on the surface again. The taste of a woman, the feel of her in his arms, was as powerful as a drug. No, not just a woman. This woman. He wanted Sophia Langley very badly indeed.
‘ Anari murkha,’ he muttered in Hindi. ‘Worse than a fool.’
‘Sir? Sorry, sir.’ An ostler emerged from the stables.
‘Not you.’ Cal unclenched his teeth and tried for a more pleasant tone. ‘I require a horse to get to Flamborough Hall; I’ll have a groom bring it back later today.’
Having to deal with a suspicious ostler who could not understand why a gentleman should arrive sweaty, horseless and without his card case or more than a crown in his pocket, and then riding a slug of a nag home, did nothing to improve Cal’s mood.
He had tried to be honest with her. He could not find it in himself to love, to risk caring so deeply, ever again. Life was too uncertain—how could he cope if he allowed himself to feel for her and then lost her?
Did she understand the difference between physical passion and love? He did not want to hurt her, break her heart all over again. And yet … An errant smile curled the corner of his mouth as he thought of Sophia’s reaction to his kisses and caresses. She had felt glorious in his arms, despite her inexperience.
He was still musing on that as he rode up to the front of the Hall and tossed the reins to the groom who ran forwards to take them. ‘This belongs to the Black Swan in Long Welling. Have someone take it back at once, will you?’
‘Yes, sir. Miss Langley called with the curricle, sir. Wilkins drove her home.’
‘She has won her wager, then,’ Cal said lightly. ‘Most improper. You and Wilkins won’t speak of it, I trust.’
He strolled into Will’s study, his mind full of interesting memories which his body, relaxed by vigorous exercise, was eagerly endorsing.
‘There you are! How did it go?’ His elder brother tossed down his pen and looked up, his expression lightening. ‘You look better—so much colour in your face. Sophia said yes, then?’ Will had been enthusiastic when Cal had returned to the Hall and told him of his intention to marry Sophia. Cal suspected that he had been worried about the Langleys, but had been unable to penetrate their polite reserve.
Cal found himself staring at the triple portrait of the three brothers that hung over the fireplace. There was the man Sophia had loved. He forced his attention back to Will. ‘At first she said, maybe. We went for a drive and decided we did not like Wellingford and we did like Long Welling. Then there was an … incident and now I do not know.’
‘Incident?’ Will’s left brow arched up.
‘Incident,’ Cal repeated, returning a look devoid of expression. ‘She will, however, be marrying me whether she likes it or not.’ He looked away from his brother’s speculative gaze to Dan’s painted smile. Once, just thinking about Daniel had been enough to trigger the instinct that he was there, listening. Now the void inside echoed with emptiness. He stamped down on the feeling.
‘I will let her sleep on it,’ he added. It was tempting to go straight over to the Langleys’ house and have this out, but years of negotiating contracts had taught him to wait and keep the other party guessing. Sophia was angry and embarrassed now; by morning he would wager she would be unsettled.
I need an heir; I would like several children, in fact. He had said that to her and, until the words had left his lips, he had not realised that they would be true at a deeper level than the simple need for a successor. And the way she spoke about children made him think she wanted them, too. He glanced back at the portrait. A wife and children. More hostages to fate.
There was a silence, then Will said, ‘She deserves happiness.’
‘Of course,’ Cal agreed. He would do his best to make her content, just as long as she did not expect love.
Sophia paced up and down the bedchamber floor. I will say no, she thought, sinking down on the end of the bed. It was shameful how he had made her feel—wanton and vulnerable and yearning. And ignorant. She was playing right into Callum Chatterton’s wicked, clever, hands. He had not been shaken to the core by that kiss, that was for sure. Mr Chatterton knew what he was doing. No doubt being bedded by him would be a shattering experience. Not that he was likely to enjoy it much, for she could hardly measure up to the skills of the women who had been his mistresses over the years.
A husband who loved his wife would not be disappointed in her ignorance, would be faithful to her. But this was to be a marriage of convenience and under those circumstances a wife was not supposed to take any notice if her husband took a mistress.
Which was not fair. But then life was not fair and she was not some young girl who could afford to dream of fairytales and princes.
She would refuse to marry him. He affected her too much on too many levels. She desired him, he had demonstrated that clearly enough. There had been moments today when she had simply relaxed and enjoyed being with him. He could make her like him and that would hurt if he would not let her close to him. He reminded her of Daniel and of a long-ago innocent time and of her own guilty conscience.
Sophia threw the window open and leaned her elbows on the sill, shivering a little in the cool night air. It washed over her heated skin and with it came a sobering flood of reality. She could fume and plan and curse Callum Chatterton and her feelings about him all she liked, but her own fate was not the only thing at stake here and her anger over what he had revealed to her of her own nature and desires was almost irrelevant.
Even if she found paid employment she would never earn enough to pay off their debts and keep Mama in genteel comfort. Her mother and brother would have to sell this house, pay off the bills and settle together in whatever humble parish Mark found himself. But if she was married into the Chatterton family, then a whole world of influence would be opened up to her brother, her mother would bask happily in the assurance of status and connection and she could have a family of her own.
The same results might come if she married someone else, of course, but it was a daydream to imagine she could easily find another eligible suitor at the age of twenty-six, shut away in the depths of the country with no dowry and no connections.
She turned back into the room and found her sketching pad and began to draw. A church interior, the long aisle, a challenge in perspective, a man at the far end, waiting at the altar rail, his face a blur.
‘Mrs Callum Chatterton,’ Sophia said to herself. ‘I suppose I had better get used to it.’
Chapter Five
By three o’clock the next day Sophia was hard put not to range up and down the parlour like a caged animal. Where was Callum? There was no sign of him, not so much as a note. Had he changed his mind and decided that after yesterday when she had slapped him, insulted him, stolen his horses and abandoned him in the middle of the woods that she was impossible, duty or no duty?
When the clock struck the half-hour she could stand it no longer. ‘I must go out for a walk, Mama,’ she said. She stuffed the half-hemmed pillowcase that she had been mangling into the workbasket and almost ran out of the room. She snatched up a straw villager hat, jammed it on and was out of the front gate before she could think where she was going, or why.
She stepped straight out into the little lane, aiming for the stile into the field opposite and the footpath through the woods. The sound of hoofbeats only registered when the horse was almost upon her. No one cantered down here—Sophia
spun round and the rider wrenched the animal to one side, but not before it caught her with its shoulder and knocked her to the ground.
Sophia sat in the mud at the edge of the lane, her hat over one eye, and tried hard not to scream. It was too much. This was her best afternoon dress, worn in the expectation of receiving a proposal of marriage. Her bottom hurt where she had landed on it, her heart was thudding like a steam engine and she wanted to give in and weep.
Instead she found herself being hauled to her feet by a man who was becoming all too familiar. ‘What the devil do you think you were doing? Don’t you ever look where you are walking? You could have been killed!’ He looked as furious as she felt.
‘You were going too fast, Mr Chatterton,’ Sophia snapped back. ‘Or perhaps you cannot control your horse any better than you control your lusts?’ She pushed her hat straight and glared at him.
Callum stared back, his eyes narrowed, his mouth grim. He looked dangerous, irritated and impatient. ‘Where were you going?’
‘Out. For a walk, if it is any of your business.’ He was still holding her with a big hand wrapped around each arm, just above the elbows. ‘Will you kindly let me go?’
He ignored her demand. ‘Out? When you were expecting me?’
‘Expecting you, Mr Chatterton? Why should I be? I assumed you would not make another assault on my virtue in my own home.’ As she said it she felt something contract inside. Was this really the man who had made her drunk with desire, so incoherent that she could not think? Yes, it was and being this close brought back an unsatisfied ache to add to her discomfort.
‘You should have been expecting me to come and finalise the arrangements for our marriage,’ he said, his voice even. It was infuriating that she could not get him to raise his voice and show some emotion, even if it was anger.
‘Oh. You still intend to marry me?’ Thank goodness.
‘Do you mean to be deliberately provocative, Miss Langley?’
‘Yes,’ she said, lifting her chin. I might have to marry him—I do not have to like him.
‘And what are you attempting to provoke, I wonder?’ he said, his voice silky smooth. A quiver of something that was not quite fear and not quite desire went through her and she knew he sensed it from the way his eyes narrowed and his mouth curved.
‘Some genuine emotion,’ she flashed. ‘Not cold duty, not manipulative lust, not sarcasm. The truth. Do you truly want to marry me or not, Mr Chatterton? I should warn you, I meant it when I said we have considerable debts. And Mama will need support; I do not expect my brother to be able to do that.’
The question hung there in the warm air. Then Callum smiled. ‘Yes, I want to marry you, Sophia. I think it is the right thing to do. I think we can deal well together. I cannot pretend that I love you, that I ever will love you. And I do not ask that you will love me—how can I expect you to be so fickle as to forget Daniel that easily? And, in any case, I suspect love to be a much overrated emotion. That does not mean I will not do my utmost to be a good husband to you. And I understand about the debts.’
She tried to block the surge of guilt at his mention of Daniel. It was easier to think how he had made her feel yesterday. How, shamefully, she wanted him to make her feel today. The desire to touch him, to feel those muscles shifting under her hands, to smell his skin again, to taste him against her lips … She was going to marry him, so those sensual promises would be her reward for doing her duty. She only hoped that if the need to provide for her family had not been so great she would have had the strength to refuse him and that she was not doing the right thing for all the wrong reasons.
She twisted away, but something must have shown in her face, for Callum caught her by the shoulder and turned her back to face him as he untied her mangled bonnet strings and removed the crumpled hat. His hand as he brushed her hair back from her face was gentle and she closed her eyes against the intent in his, breathing in the smell of horse and leather and the spicy scent she was coming to know as Callum.
‘I wish to marry you, Sophia Langley, because I believe it is the best thing for both of us. I also wish to marry you because I promised my brother I would look after you if anything happened to him.
‘And I believe that you know you will marry me and, not surprisingly, you are angry and frustrated at having your hand forced by someone else telling you what is right for you. Especially when that other person was somewhat clumsy yesterday.’
‘I—’ He had summarised it perfectly. So efficient, Callum Chatterton. ‘You have left me very little to say, sir.’
‘That was my intention. You could say, yes,’ he suggested.
‘Yes. Yes, I will marry you.’ Surrendering to the inevitable was an odd sensation. A sort of dizzy relief mixed with fear.
‘Excellent.’ Callum bent his head. She held her breath, closed her eyes. He kissed her, lightly, on her cheek.
Sophia gave a strangled gasp of disappointment, relief, surprise, but his hands still held her upper arms. She opened her eyes to find his face already far enough away for her to read the cynical amusement in his eyes. He knows I want him to kiss me properly. How humiliating.
‘Later, Sophia,’ Callum murmured.
‘You know how to tease, do you not?’ she asked, almost tempted into smiling at his effrontery. There was a noise behind her, some kind of disturbance, but Callum continued to hold her. ‘Sometimes it makes the conclusion sweeter,’ he murmured.
‘Sophia Grace Miranda Langley!’
‘Mama.’ It sank in that she was standing—or perhaps sagging—in a man’s arms in the middle of the public highway, her skirts mired, her hat gone and her hair a tumbled mess.
‘Thank heavens! Oh, how wonderful!’
‘Mama?’
‘Come inside, both of you, before someone comes along.’ Mrs Langley flapped her hands as though rounding up chickens.
Callum stooped to hand her the bedraggled villager hat, tossed his horse’s reins over the gatepost, replaced his own hat—which, of course, he had safely in his hand—on his head and opened the gate for her. Elegant, controlled, serious. If he so much as let his lips twitch she would … No, he would not make such a tactical mistake. No giving way to smug triumph or foolish passion for him.
‘Thank you, Mr Chatterton,’ Sophia said with as much frigid politeness as she could manage.
‘My pleasure, Miss Langley.’
‘I fell in the lane, Mama. I will go and change.’ She whisked upstairs, leaving her suitor to break the news to her mother. With any luck Mama would be over the worst of her transports of joy by the time Sophia rejoined them in the parlour.
‘Here you are at last.’ Her mother beamed at her when she finally came down, some composure restored along with a fresh gown and tidy hair. ‘Well! There are many details to arrange, but I am sure we can work everything out over the next month or so.’
‘I intend us to marry in two weeks’ time,’ Callum said, perfectly polite, perfectly implacable.
‘But that is no time at all!’ Sophia gasped.
‘I would have thought you had already waited long enough,’ he said with a lift of one eyebrow. He swept on without waiting for her reply. ‘I will go to London tomorrow, deal with various pressing Company matters and make sure the house is readied for your arrival. I will speak to the butler and have him find a maid for you. I must do some shopping. Then I shall return to the Hall for the wedding.’
Was there no hesitation, not even for a second? Sophia wondered, watching the hooded eyes, the long fingers lying apparently at rest. This is your marriage you are talking about, she wanted to say to him. Our future. How can you be so calm?
But Callum swept on. ‘The wedding will be by common licence and, under the circumstances, very quiet. Six months has passed, Sophia is in half-mourning, there should be no adverse comment, but I would not wish to attract gossip. I trust two weeks will be sufficient time for your cousin to join you, Mrs Langley? Sophia said that was the plan for a companion.’
/> ‘Yes. Dear Lettice can come at any time; she will be delighted, I know. But Sophia’s bride clothes—’
‘She may shop all she likes in London,’ Callum said. He did not shrug, Sophia thought, but he might just as well have done.
‘So romantic,’ she muttered and saw by the lift of an eyebrow that he had heard her. She raised her voice. ‘And if I do not like the house you have in London, or the servants?’ Of all the arrogant, cold, practical men! ‘I thought we were going to live at Long Welling. I like Long Welling,’ she added rather desperately. Her friends were close, St Albans was a familiar and friendly little town that she knew her way around. How was she going to cope, all alone in London with just a virtual stranger of a husband for company?
‘My business requires me to be in London for the present,’ Callum said in a tone of finality. ‘It will take time for Long Welling to be got into a state to be our country home. If you dislike the London house, we will move to another. If the staff fail to please you, you may dismiss them.’
But we cannot dismiss each other, she thought. Yet would it have been any better with Daniel? He would have been almost as much a stranger as Callum and there would have been the disillusion of acknowledging that their love had evaporated with time and distance. Here, at least, there were no illusions to begin with.
‘You will not object if I do that?’ she asked, curious at this willingness to accommodate her. Obviously his emotions were not at all engaged with any of this, not even the house he had been living in for six months.
‘The home will be your concern.’
Well, that was plain enough. It sounded lonely, though. Oh, pull yourself together, Sophia, she scolded. There will be balls and parties when the Season starts and exhibitions and libraries before then—the whole of London to explore. You will make friends soon enough. She was shaken by yesterday’s experience and today’s fall and her resilience was low, worn down by months of worry, that was all it was.