All I Ever Needed

by Jo Goodman

  "You're glowering," she said. It was an improvement of sorts over his fine looks because it added a deep crease between his eyebrows and a downward twist to his mouth. Her mood was immediately lightened by these indications that his handsome features were subject to change, and further bettered by the thought that he was unhappy to see her. "It has probably escaped your notice that I did not invite you here. Let me assure you, that is the case." She pointed up the hill to the house since that had been his direction, though she would have liked better to show him the road out. "I give you leave to go."

  Sophie noticed her imperious tone and churlish manner had exactly the opposite effect she was courting. Eastlyn's glower vanished only to be replaced by a gleam of amusement that she felt certain did not bode well for her. When he didn't move, she said, "I prefer that you glower, you know."

  He made a faint bow with his head. "I shall keep that in mind."

  "Why were you? Glowering, that is."

  Eastlyn liked the way her chin came up just so when she meant to provoke him. She had a delicate heart-shaped face that undermined her efforts to look fierce or threatening, though she seemed unaware of it. Nothing would be improved by bringing it to her attention, he thought. She made up for the lack of sharp features with the finely honed edge of her tongue. "I was not glowering at you," he said.

  "You were looking at me."

  "Yes, but the scowl was meant for me."

  "I didn't know you could do that."

  "Under the right circumstances."

  Sophie considered this. "Then, pray, continue to do so."

  Eastlyn laughed. "It is good to see you again, Lady Sophia."

  Sophie glowered.

  "Ah," he said. "You are of a like mind."

  "And you are a fool." She noticed that he did not take the least offense, though she doubted it was something he was accustomed to hearing. "Why are you here? You have not come for me, have you? That is, you are not in expectation of..." She stopped because she hardly knew how to finish the thought. "Pardon me. I did not mean that you could not have some reason other than..."

  "Other than you?" Eastlyn watched the pale pink roses in Sophie's cheeks deepen in color. She did not avert her glance, though he thought it must have pained her to remain so directly under his study. She seemed uncomfortable with confrontation but determined not to avoid it. His eyes were drawn to her mouth where she had sucked in a portion of her lower lip and was now worrying it gently. He did not believe she would want to know how often he had thought about her mouth, or what precisely he had been thinking about it. He dragged his eyes away from the lush line of it and met hers again. "I am here to speak to your cousin about matters of politics."

  Sophie was suspicious, but she could not find fault with his answer. Since inheriting the title, Richard Colley applied himself to politics the way he formerly applied himself to religion. There was an unmistakable fervor to his arguments that he had honed at the pulpit. Not every member of the House of Lords was receptive to his impassioned speeches, but it was not because he ever lacked for facts. It was his interpretation of them that raised the brows of the ruling party and the knowledge that he held sway over others. "At Tremont's invitation?" she asked.

  "Not precisely. That is, it was my inclination to speak to him here rather than wait for his return to town. I proposed that if it suited him, I would come to Tremont Park. He was graciously amenable."

  "I see."

  "You do not believe me."

  "You are very good, you know, at interpreting the bent of my mind. Can you tell what I am thinking now?"

  He laughed outright as her bright, wild honey gaze narrowed so that only the most pointed barbs escaped. "You should not use such language, Sophie. It is ill-becoming of a lady."

  "Actually, I am restraining myself. I know many more colorful phrases, and I shall be thinking all of them directly."

  Eastlyn grinned. "I believe you."

  She nodded, satisfied that he did. "Come, I will escort you to the house. Is that your carriage on the road?"

  East followed the line of her arm to where a cloud of dust was rising just above a row of spruce trees. "Most likely." The road opened between two hillocks, and he had a clear view of the coach in the dip. His driver had kept the horses at a good pace since leaving the inn at Weybourne and would arrive before he did if he did not go now. He turned, prepared to suggest a race, but Sophie had anticipated him and was already moving full out in the direction of the house.

  Eastlyn gave chase, but he knew at the outset he would not be able to catch her. She was too fine a rider, and she had not disadvantaged herself with a lady's saddle. Her complexion was glowing from the exertion and excitement of the ride when he finally reached her. She was also not able to temper her wide smile. "You are gloating," he said.

  "Not at you."

  "You are looking at me."

  "True, but the pride is strictly for my accomplishment."

  Grinning at her tart accents, East dismounted and gave his horse over to the waiting groom. He moved to help Sophie down, but she had already swung around and was giving instructions to a second groom. "They will provide excellent care for your animal," she said. "My father was a good judge of horseflesh and an even better judge of the sort of men who care for them. You have a fine thoroughbred. Did you raise him yourself?"

  "No. I purchased him on a visit to Ireland a year ago. Go on. Introduce yourself to him. His name is Tempest."

  Sophie laid her hand on Tempest's lathered neck and stroked him. "My," she said softly. "Aren't you magnificent? Eighteen hands high if you're an inch. Long and leggy." She glanced at Eastlyn. "He knows he is a handsome beast, m'lord. Observe how he postures for me."

  It was just the sort of thing Eastlyn thought he might do himself if it would make Sophie put her hand on his neck. "He does like to be admired."

  Sophie smiled and gave Tempest a final pat. She motioned to the grooms to take the animals away. "Apollo is Arabian," she said, mounting the steps to the front door. "I trained him myself."

  "You broke him?"

  "I gentled him," she corrected. "There is a difference." Sophie paused and looked over her shoulder to where East was still standing in the drive. "Are you coming, my lord?"

  He caught her by taking the steps two at time, his long legs making the climb effortlessly. The door was opened to them just as East's coach arrived. Servants hurried from the house to take his trunk and bags and direct his driver and valet. The butler accepted East's hat and gloves and gave them over to a footman.

  "Where is his lordship to have a room, Huntley?" Sophie asked.

  "The east wing, my lady."

  "How appropriate," Eastlyn murmured dryly.

  "That won't do," Sophie said. "You must prepare something else."

  Huntley's already drawn face was suddenly stretched more tightly over his sharp features. He regarded Sophie with some confusion. "Lord Tremont was most particular. He chose the room himself."

  "I'm certain he did, but it will never do." Sophie had no liking for having this discussion in front of Eastlyn. If Tremont had apprised her of the marquess's arrival, she would have instructed the servants on the arrangements. The preparations certainly would not have included a bedchamber in her wing of the house. She turned to East and saw that he was regarding her closely, a polite smile on his features that made her think he had already surmised too much. "The east wing is considerably drafty, and your lordship will find the fireplaces do not draw as they should. I think you will be more comfortable elsewhere. I will see to it."

  "You must do as you think best," East said, his tone perfectly neutral. The gleam, though, was back in his eyes, and he didn't try to shield it from her. "I am certain I will find the accommodations to be more than adequate." His eyes swept the wide entry hall with its green-veined marble floor and gracefully curved staircase, following the path of the ornately carved railing and spindles to the upper floor before his glance came to rest again on Sophie. "Drafts d
o not bother me overmuch, and the nights are not so cool that I will require a fire."

  Sophie addressed Huntley as if Eastlyn had made no reply. "Please see that his lordship is made comfortable. I will speak to my cousin. Is he in the library?" She excused herself when Huntley confirmed Tremont's presence in the library and hurried away.

  Eastlyn watched Sophie go, her manly riding attire doing nothing to dissuade him that she was gloriously female. The fashion was perhaps outside the common mode, but the fault might lie entirely with the mode, he thought. Tweaking it now and again could not be entirely bad, especially when the results looked so fine from every conceivable angle. He appreciated the view a moment longer, vaguely aware that Tremont's butler was clearing his throat, a rather pointed suggestion in terms of allowable comments by the servants.

  "I will take the room that has been prepared," East said.

  "Very good, my lord. Whatever is not to your liking, you will permit us to make right for you."

  The bedchamber Eastlyn was shown was actually a suite with an area for dressing and bathing on one side and a sitting room on the other. The furniture was all functional pieces, with freshly polished surfaces and gleaming brass fittings. Crowded in the dressing room were a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, a commode, a cheval glass, and a large copper tub already lined with linens and ready to be filled. The sitting room contained an assortment of chairs, including a rocker and a cherry wood escritoire set out with writing paper and a freshly filled bottle of ink. The bedchamber held a four-poster with forest green velvet curtains that had been drawn back to the headboard. Small tables flanked the bed, and a cedar chest sat just beyond the foot of it. The rooms were comfortably airy, not drafty, with tall leaded-glass windows whose individual square panes were set at an angle to suggest diamonds.

  Eastlyn's valet appeared and directed the placement of the bags and trunk in the dressing room and the prompt filling of the tub with steaming water. There was nothing for East to do but let himself be turned out in a manner that would not embarrass Sampson. He sank deep into the tub while Sampson arranged his clothing in the wardrobe and chose the items that would require attention in the ironing room. The only time East's comments were needed was when Sampson could not decide which linen shirt to set out with the nankeen breeches. Eastlyn's contention that either would do did not settle the matter for his valet. Poor Sampson, East thought he would be in his element working for South, who actually made the effort to care about such things.

  East closed his eyes and rested his head comfortably against the lip of the tub while Sampson answered a summons at the bedchamber door. The commotion in the outer room did not immediately register with Eastlyn; he was skirting the edge of sleep. He became aware of it only as the voices drew nearer to his place of sanctuary.

  "It is no good trying to keep me out," Sophie was saying, "when I haven't the least intention of going in."

  "But your ladyship is—"

  Eastlyn did not hear the rest of Sampson's protest because water filled his ears as he slipped still lower into the tub. For some reason he recalled the colonel's suggestion that Lady Sophia had drugged the lemonade she'd served him in her London home. It occurred to him now that she was changing tactics and intended that he should drown. How clever that she should make it seem as if the deed were done by his own hand.

  Sophie presented herself on the threshold of the dressing room. She had a glimpse of Eastlyn's raised eyebrows just above the surface of the water before she shut her eyes. "You will drown," she said. "And there really is no need. I am not coming any closer, and even if I were, you should know that I have seen a naked man before."

  Eastlyn heard that well enough. He exerted himself sufficiently to raise his head and blink water from his eyes. Sophie had not changed her riding clothes, and she was looking moderately more disheveled than she had upon dismounting. Her face was flushed, perspiration marked her forehead, and her hair was still a cascade of slightly damp and unruly curls. If not for the presence of his valet, he might have asked her to join him in the tub. He took the gentleman's approach, however, because it seemed that one of them should behave with sense. "You are speaking of museum pieces, and it is not the same thing at all. Sampson, remove her immediately."

  Sophie braced herself in the doorway, holding tightly to the frame on either side. "It is not only museum pieces," she told him quickly. "I have seen a man in the flesh." She sensed Sampson's presence behind her, and her knuckles whitened with the strength of her grip. "Please, I must speak to you. Do not send me away."

  Eastlyn finally heard what he had not caught before, and it made him hold his reply a fraction longer. It was not Sophie's words that arrested him, but the manner in which they came from her. Here was panic. "Very well," he said quietly. "Sampson, it is all right. Stand aside and I will call you if your services are required."

  More relieved than disturbed by Eastlyn's decision, Sampson nodded over the top of Sophia's head. He retreated into the bedchamber out of the line of their sight, but not of his hearing.

  "You can relax your hold," Eastlyn told Sophie.

  She let her hands fall to her sides, but her fingers did not easily lose their curled shape. "I most humbly beg your pardon," she said. "You must believe that I have never—"

  "I thought not," he drawled in dry accents. "And I did not invite you to open your eyes now."

  She shut them quickly. "I have never done a thing so bold as this. That is what I was trying to say. The other is quite true."

  "Concerning the naked man, you mean."

  "Yes."

  "You will not apprise me of the details now."

  "No." Sophie shook her head to emphasize that it would be forgotten. "No, I never intended that you should learn of it at all."

  Eastlyn was quite certain that was true. "Perhaps you should make your reason for being here evident, Sophie. The water grows cold."

  "Tremont does not want to consider that you will be more comfortable elsewhere." There was a small rush of air from Sophie's lungs as she finished the words before she finished the breath. "You must suggest other accommodations."

  "But I am comfortable here."

  "You cannot be. Do you see that door?" She raised her hand and pointed blindly in the general direction of the door that stood on the opposite side of the room. It was situated between the chest of drawers and the wardrobe. "My dressing room is on the other side. This was my father's suite during the time that he was ill and I cared for him. Of necessity I was required to be close, and the adjoining rooms were ideal for that. But not now. You must see that. My cousin is constructing a situation in which we might be compromised."

  Eastlyn said nothing to that. He called for his valet instead. "My headache powders, if you please. Step out of the doorway, Sophie."

  She did so and stumbled when her foot caught the edge of one of Eastlyn's valises.

  "Oh, for God's sake, open your eyes when you move about."

  Sophie could not mistake that Eastlyn was finally out of patience with her. She stared at the floor while Sampson entered with a packet of powder and made the preparations at the basin. She was still contemplating the border design in the carpet when Sampson slipped out again.

  Eastlyn drained his glass and set it on the floor beside the tub. He took in the slope of Sophie's shoulders and the angle of her head and wondered if he could believe what he was seeing. "Am I to suppose by your posture that you are experiencing some measure of contrition?"

  She looked at him now, and her features were set gravely. "I regret that I have caused you distress, my lord. I did not know what else to do except to come here to warn you away."

  Frowning, Eastlyn raked his fingers through his damp hair. "What is it that I do not understand, Sophie? You do not want me in the room adjoining yours because you say Tremont means to affect a compromising situation, yet by coming here you have set up the very circumstances you insist you want to avoid. I confess to more than a modicum of confusion."

>   Sophie could appreciate his perspective, but it was more important that he appreciated hers. "My cousin knows I have no wish to marry you. I proved that to him with a month-long confinement in which I never wavered aloud from my position. He is not so certain of you, however, and there is your reputation to influence him. Tremont has not the imagination to permit him to think I would come straightaway to your room, or that I would refuse to remove myself when I found you... that is, when you are..."

  "Naked?"

  "Indisposed." Sophie regained her faltering composure. "He is in his library awaiting your arrival and has no reason to rise from his chair. But later, not tonight perhaps, but often during your visit, he will be watching you and searching out his opportunity. You must not make it so easy for him. You must not remain in my father's rooms."

  Eastlyn heard it again, not Sophie's words precisely, but the thing she wasn't saying, and a chill that was not to be blamed on the cooling water raced up his spine.

  Chapter 6

  Tremont regarded Eastlyn over the rim of his glass of port. He gave the younger man full marks for carefully biding his time. So many of the marquess's generation—and Tremont included his son here—approached every problem as if it required an immediate solution. Few of them seemed to comprehend that there was seldom a crisis. Tremont appreciated that Eastlyn had not pressed for a political discussion over dinner. It would have made for a deuced uncomfortable meal with Sophia hanging on every word, quite possibly thinking she had something of import to add to the conversation.

  "You think this Singapore colony is a good idea, then," Tremont said, settling back into his chair. The soft leather upholstery held the faint aroma of cigar smoke, and the seat had taken shape around his figure, making the chair as comfortable as an old slipper. "The Chinese government will support the trade?"