by Miranda Lee
Sophia flushed. 'I… I never thought of that.'
'No, you certainly didn't. I can't imagine why Maud and Mother let you do such a thing.'
'They didn't let me, Jonathon. I just did it. Besides, I think they thought it took guts.'
'No one's ever denied you've got guts, Sophia. But there's a limit to what I can allow. Hell, whatever am I going to do with you?'
'You could do one of two things,' she said, her voice steeling as she decided to take the plunge and put Wilma's suggestion into action. 'You could give me a divorce and let me make my own way in life. Or… or…'
'Or what?' he snapped impatiently.
Sophia gulped. In for a penny in for a pound, she supposed. 'Or you could make me your real wife,' she blurted out.
The next few seconds were excruciatingly nerve-racking. Shock held Jonathon's handsome face frozen for a moment till he gave an odd little shudder, as though having to physically shake himself out of his stunned state. Even then, he didn't speak for a few moments, bewildered blue eyes raking over her.
'Might I ask what is behind that amazing offer? And please don't say anything stupid about how you've fallen in love with me, as you and I both know that's not true.'
'I wouldn't insult your intelligence by saying as much,' Sophia said stiffly, while underneath her courage was quickly crumbling. 'I…I can't see myself falling in love with anyone really. Not as I loved Godfrey. But I… I would like to marry and have a family some day and… well… you seemed almost as upset as I was when I lost Godfrey's baby, and I thought maybe you might have wanted a child around the house too. Since we're already married, and we've put that silly antagonism behind us—well, I wondered if…if…'
Sophia's voice trailed away as Jonathon's face filled with a knowing cynicism. 'Wilma's been talking to you, hasn't she?' he said on a sardonic note.
If only she could have hidden her guilt.
'I thought as much,' Jonathon said curtly. 'God, I can see it now! I suppose she waxed lyrical about how my bitch of a first wife embittered me by refusing to give me children, at which point your sweet and far too generous heart was immediately filled with pity for poor childless Jonathon, spawning this amazingly sacrificial offer. Never mind that that same heart still belongs to my very own poor departed brother! Do you honestly think I would use you to give me what should rightly have been his? What kind of a man do you think I am?'
Jonathon's astonishing outburst struck Sophia speechless for a few moments, till the confusion his high emotion evoked cleared away and she felt impelled to answer his accusation.
'What kind of a man do I think you are?' she launched forth, her heart thudding painfully. 'Why, I think you're a very disillusioned man if you think Godfrey would mind my having your baby. Didn't you know your brother at all? There was nothing petty about him. Nothing small-minded or envious. I'll bet he made you promise to marry me because he hoped we might end up together. That's the sort of brother you had, Jonathon. As for my pitying you… I doubt you would ever be the object of a woman's pity,' she snapped heatedly. 'You inspire far different feelings in females from pity!'
Jonathon's eyes narrowed on the rapid rise and fall of her chest. 'Are you saying you want to go to bed with me?' he asked, his voice disbelieving.
Sophia kept her eyes steady on him, even whilst her cheeks were burning. 'I can't say I do, but I can't say I don't. I haven't had much experience in such matters. But you must know you're a very attractive man, Jonathon, and I'm sure, a very experienced one. What do you think?' she rashly flung at him. 'Could you make me want to go to bed with you?'
Those blazing but oddly cold blue eyes seemed to sear through her dress, their fire heating her skin, their ice freezing her nipples into hard little pebbles. With breathtaking and incredibly sensual slowness, his gaze travelled upwards, leaving behind a parched throat and parted panting lips. At last he reached her eyes, her large, liquid brown eyes which grew larger as they glimpsed the power within that ruthlessly sexual gaze.
Oh, yes, she realised breathlessly, he could make her want to go to bed with him. But it would be nothing like what she had experienced with Godfrey. His kisses would not be sweet or soft or romantic. There would be no meeting of souls, only a meeting of bodies. Hard, panting bodies, reaching for each other in a strictly primitive passion.
The starkly explicit images bombarding her mind brought a gasp of shock, and shame. For this was not the sort of lovemaking she had always dreamt about. This was nothing but sex. Raw, naked sex.
When he took a step towards her, she staggered backwards, pale and shaken. His mouth twisted in a cynical smile, his hand reaching out to lie with odd tenderness against her cheek.
'We will forget this conversation ever took place, Sophia,' he said in a low, thickened voice. 'But do not make such an offer to me again. Or such a challenge.' His hand dropped from her cheek, his shoulders squaring as his face resumed its usual harsh remoteness. 'Now go out to the kitchen and smile for Maud and Mother,' he ordered. 'We don't want to upset them on Christmas Day, do we?'
CHAPTER NINE
There was an annual tradition in the Parnell household. On New Year's Eve, they threw a lavish party for the employees of Parnell Property Developments. This year, however, there was a problem.
Sophia.
How was she going to be introduced? No one at Parnell's, other than Wilma, knew of their marriage of convenience. Though it seemed it was more a marriage of inconvenience nowadays, Sophia thought bitterly as she viewed Jonathon's frustrated face.
'I'll just stay in my room,' she offered, which brought a howl of protest from Wilma who'd come over to help with the preparations.
Jonathon gave his secretary a quelling look, but Wilma was unquellable. 'Your mother will not allow that and you know it,' came her curt reminder.
Jonathon sighed, and gave in. 'We'll say you're an old friend of the family,' he told Sophia. 'Harvey's the only person attending the party who knows any different. I'll call him right now and tell him not to let the cat out of the bag.'
'Don't worry, I'll do that,' Wilma offered swiftly. 'You have to go out and pick up the drinks I ordered for tonight. I told the man in the liquor shop you'd pick up everything by two.'
Jonathon glanced at his watch. 'It's already after two. Why didn't you tell me before this?'
'I did. You weren't listening. You were probably thinking of…other things,' she finished drily, then turned to smile at Sophia. 'Come along, Sophia, let's go pick out the right sort of dress for an "old friend of the family" to wear.'
Sophia trundled up the stairs after Wilma, resigned to being told what dress to wear, what shoes and accessories, how to do her hair, plus her make-up. Wilma was an incorrigible organiser. Still, she had impeccable taste and Sophia was quite happy to put herself in her hands.
She wasn't quite so happy at five to eight that night when she stood in front of her dressing-table mirror, surveying the result of all her friend's suggestions. The black dress Wilma had drawn out of the wardrobe had seemed a simple and elegant ankle-length style with its high round neckline, cut-in shoulders and a skirt that flared slightly from the hips, falling in soft folds around her legs. What Sophia hadn't realised was that her bra would show in three places. On her shoulders, inside the deeply cut armholes, and at the back where the back seam was split to the waist, the neckline being cinched at the back of her neck with a large crystal button.
Sophia had discarded her bra with reluctance, knowing her full breasts had a tendency to jiggle alarmingly when unrestrained. Thankfully, the black colour had a slimming, minimising effect and the lined material meant that there was no obvious nipple outline. But still…
I'll be fine, she told her reflection ruefully, as long as I don't move!
A knock on her bedroom door had her whirling round, giving her a splendid example of exactly what she was fearing. Her breasts slid right and left against the cool taffeta lining, bringing her into hot awareness of their naked state.
Flustered, she walked towards the door in the outrageously high black shoes Wilma had chosen, the short walk reinforcing even further her sudden determination to find a dark corner for herself at this infernal party and not move an inch all night. She was nervous enough as it was, her upbringing on a dairy farm hardly equipping her for such socialising. She wished wholeheartedly that Jonathon had not given in to Wilma, that he had agreed to her hiding away in her room all night.
Sophia opened the door, expecting Wilma, whom she'd made promise to come get her at eight and accompany her down to the party. Wilma at her side would give her dutch courage.
'Oh!' she exclaimed on finding Jonathon standing there, looking devastatingly handsome in a white dinner jacket and bow-tie. 'I… I was expecting Wilma.'
'She's busy bullying the caterers. She sent me up to bring you down. Now I can see why,' he finished drily.
'What…what do you m-mean?' Sophia was appalled to see that she was back to stammering with him. And blushing. But she wished Jonathon would stop looking at her like that. Yet it wasn't admiration in his eyes. Or desire. It was irritation. A coldly mirthless irritation.
'That woman doesn't know when to give up,' he muttered.
The heat in Sophia's cheeks changed from fluster to embarrassment, for she knew what Jonathon meant. Wilma was still intent on matchmaking her with her boss. Why, she had no idea. What did it matter to her?
'I dare say that hairdo is Wilma's handiwork as well,' he went on testily.
Sophia gnawed uncomfortably at her bottom lip. She'd been putting her hair up herself an hour earlier when Wilma had come in, tut-tutting and shaking her head.
'None of those schoolgirl plaits or maiden-aunt buns for you tonight!' she'd insisted. 'I'll do your hair for you.'
Which she had, piling the long, glossy dark waves on top of her head in a haphazard yet highly attractive fashion, anchoring it quite firmly with myriad hidden pins, then pulling down lots of wispy bits to curl softly around her face and neck. The sexy, tousled image was completed when she slipped long dangling earrings made of black crystal beads into Sophia's lobes.
'A little Christmas present from me,' Wilma had whispered, and given her a sisterly kiss on the cheek.
Sophia had guessed what Wilma was up to, but she hadn't known how to stop her.
'Do not do this, Sophia,' Jonathon warned darkly.
'I'm not doing anything,' she said, feeling wretched.
'You're letting Wilma manipulate you, but you don't know what you're playing at. Let me assure you it's a dangerous game and way out of your league. You should stick with safe, gentle men like Godfrey. I'm not for you.'
His coldly condescending tone finally got to her, bringing a resurgence of spirit. Her dark eyes flashed, her nose and chin lifting to glare up into his arrogantly handsome face. 'I fully agree with you, Jonathon. I made a mistake the other day, offering myself to you. I don't know what possessed me. You're not half the man Godfrey was. Believe me when I say I won't be making the same mistake again.' There! Take that!
For a few seconds, Sophia was filled with a type of triumph, her pride having been restored with her dignified outburst. Till she glimpsed the hurt deep in those suddenly bleak blue eyes. Immediately, remorse welled up within her, like a huge wave, engulfing her totally. Her hand lifted to hover over his shirt buttons, her eyes pleading with his. 'Jonathon, I'm sorry. I…I…'
'Don't apologise, for God's sake,' he snapped, his right hand jerking up to grab her wrist. 'Anger is good. Truth is good. It will protect you. Sympathy is bad. Pity is bad. Don't succumb to it.'
For a few excruciating seconds he scowled down at her, his fingers tightening on her wrist. But then he did the most peculiar thing. He groaned, lifted her hand to his mouth, closed his eyes and kissed it.
It was a gentle, tender kiss, yet it shook her.
For a few seconds, a hushed silence seemed to encapsulate them. Her whole being strained towards him, to his mouth breathing warm air into the palm of her hand, to the lips sipping softly at her prickling skin.
But then he opened his eyes and lifted his mouth, smiling a wickedly sardonic smile down into her still enraptured face.
'See?' he taunted softly. 'Even I can masquerade as gentle.'
Stung that he would mock her—and his brother-she wrenched her hand away. 'You bastard,' she rasped.
'I can be,' he muttered. 'But not tonight, beautiful Sophia. Tonight I'm going to escort you down to that party and be a proper gentleman all evening. But afterwards … afterwards, I suggest to scuttle on back to this very room and lock your door. You look far too sexy tonight for a bastard like me not to try to take advantage of you. Especially since I virtually have your permission.'
'No!' she gasped. 'I… I took that back.'
'No, you didn't. I turned you down. Careful I don't change my mind.'
'I wouldn't let you!' she protested breathlessly.
The devilish gleam in his eyes told her she wouldn't stand a chance of stopping him.
'I'm going to leave this house come tomorrow,' she threw at him in a panic. 'Wilma would let me move in with her. I know she would.'
'What a splendid idea,' he drawled. 'I wish you'd thought of it several months ago. Now, are you sure you don't want a few minutes to compose yourself before you come down and join everyone? You're looking a little—er—rattled.'
She stared at him, at this stranger who had been perpetrating a masquerade—as a good kind decent man. He was nothing but a predator, a… a… blackguard, a villain!
She gritted her teeth and fought to control her pounding heart. 'I'm fine,' she bit out, and slid a brave trembling arm through his. 'Let's go.'
He laughed. Drily. 'As I said once before, you've got guts, Sophia. But you're so naïve, so impossibly, incredibly naïve.'
If it hadn't been for Harvey, Sophia would not have stayed downstairs at that party. From the first moment she walked into the room with Jonathon on her arm and a hundred curious eyes turned her way she was a quivering quavering mess.
But no sooner had that last vestige of her courage begun to fail her than Harvey had come forward out of the laughing, chatting, dancing throng of people and rescued her. How kind he was, taking her away from Jonathon, getting her a drink then finding them a quiet, dimly lit corner out on the terrace where they could sit and talk away from prying eyes.
'I was very sorry to hear about the baby, Sophia,' he said once they were alone. 'But maybe it was for the best…'
'Perhaps,' she sighed.
'So what are you going to do now?'
'I'm not sure.' She took a sip of the dry white wine he'd brought her, thinking she much preferred red. 'I'm thinking of moving out of Parnell Hall into a flat of my own. I was hoping Wilma might take me in.'
Harvey looked startled. 'Does Wilma know about this?'
'Er…no, not yet.'
'I didn't think so.'
'Why do you say it like that?'
'What? Oh… um… no reason, really. But I got the impression she thinks you're happy here.'
'I have been,' she said stiffly.
He frowned at her. 'Has Jonathon done or said something?'
'He's a difficult man to get along with,' she hedged.
'True. But I'm not.' He smiled at her, displaying an easy, relaxed charm which she found soothingly unthreatening. Yet after ten minutes of Harvey's bland conversation her eyes started flicking around the terrace, unconsciously searching for Jonathon. There were a few couples dancing around the edge of the pool, music coming from a stereo set up on the barbecue, but he wasn't one of them.
Sophia twisted slightly in her deckchair so that she could look back through the open french doors and into the living-room, filled at that moment with an assorted group of well-dressed and predominantly young people. Parnell Property Developments, it seemed, had a youthful staff.
Eventually, she found Jonathon over near the bar in earnest conversation with a blonde woman, a very pretty
blonde woman no older than she was. Her feelings as she watched him dance attention on the girl, smiling and laughing as he never had with her, made Sophia sharply uncomfortable. Surely she couldn't be jealous!
'Care to dance?' Harvey asked.
She turned back to face him with an apologetic smile. 'I can't dance,' she admitted. When she'd been old enough to go to local dances, she hadn't been allowed, her Italian stepfather very traditional in his ideas about the proper upbringing of females. She hadn't been allowed to go to parties either, or even some of the school excursions. Her mother, who'd long had her rebellious spirit tamed by a man given to using his fists when crossed, had backed her husband, much to Sophia's dismay and disappointment.
'Nothing to it,' Harvey said. 'Here. Put down your wine… Now give me your hand…' He drew her to her feet and into his arms. 'Put your arms up around my neck and just move your feet in time to the music. Two slides to the right, then one to the left. Yes, that's right. Very good. You have a natural sense of rhythm.'
'But no natural common sense,' Jonathon drawled at her shoulder, 'if she lets a rake like you dance with her in a dark corner.'
When Sophia went to pull away, her head whipping round to encounter Jonathon's glowering face, Harvey's hold tightened, flattening her breasts against his chest. One of his hands slipped into the slit in the small of her back, his fingers spreading across bars of skin.
Sophia was too stunned to do a thing.
'That's the pot calling the kettle black, friend,' Harvey returned silkily as he continued to move Sophia slowly around their private corner. 'Besides, Sophia's a free agent, isn't she? I would imagine you two will be getting a discreet annulment shortly. She's already talking about moving out of your house, so you can drop the "disapproving guardian" act. Once Sophia's out on her own she can do what she likes and see whomever she likes. I hope she'll like to see me.'
He smiled a devilish smile down into her startled face while his hand started roving under her dress, making Sophia's eyes widen and her skin break out into goose-bumps of alarm and sudden revulsion. Yet she felt totally powerless to do anything about it.