An Irresistible Temptation

by Sydney Jane Baily

  “I was about to undress.” She couldn’t believe that whispery voice was her own.

  “You might hurt your hand. Let me help you.”

  She started to protest.

  “I have never broken a promise. That’s why I’m in the pickle I’m in now,” he added, referring to his engagement. “I won’t make love to you. Not tonight. I told you that.”

  Without another word, he began to undo her buttons, then her laces, until her layers were pooled at her feet and she stood in her shift. His hungry gaze lingered on her dusky nipples visible through the pale fabric. He held her good hand and she stepped out of the fabric. He kept holding it as he led her toward her bed and she sat, trembling at the intimacy, wishing things were different and he could raise her shift and explore all her womanly places that yearned for him.

  He relinquished his hold and returned to the pile of clothing, picking up each piece in turn and placing it over the back of one of the chairs. The last garment, he buried his face in for a moment, then tossed it from him.

  “I’m going to do the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I’m going to leave you, Sophie, sitting on your bed, just as you are. Your eyes are huge blue sapphires and you look like the epitome of a virgin sacrifice, except for the bandaged hand.”

  She tried to smile, but her lower lip wobbled. This was the closest they would ever get to her heart’s desire. She knew she had only to open her arms to tempt him back to her side. But then, the blame truly would be hers. She bit her lip and remained silent, except to say, “Goodbye, Riley,” as he slipped out her door.

  Without a piano to soothe her, or even the ability to play if she had one, Sophie curled up on her bed and cried, not solely for herself, but also for the honor-bound young doctor who owed too much.

  Chapter Twelve

  Riley walked the streets a long time that night, breathing in the damp night air. What a snake he was! Sophie must hate him. He wished he had his horse so he could ride right through Golden Gate Park, then up the Twin Peaks and back to the harbor. But no amount of galloping was going to let him ride away from what he’d done tonight. Hell, he would probably gallop straight into the bay and have done with it.

  Sophie was here, in San Francisco, which both gladdened him and tormented him. Was the good Lord trying to make him crazy? He stopped and leaned his back against a chilled brick wall, dropping his medical bag at his feet.

  He had told her the truth. Weeks earlier, he’d made peace with losing her when he thought she’d walked out of his life forever, and he’d restrained himself from contacting Charlotte, who would certainly know where Sophie was. Whether she would have given him any information was debatable anyway. He had no idea what Sophie might have said to Charlotte about their brief association in Spring, but she might have said he was a no-good cheat, and she would have been right.

  Instead, he’d resigned himself to being a good husband to Eliza. Or, at least, as good as he could be, knowing there’d be times when he was going to imagine it was Sophie in his arms when he took his wife to bed.

  But all that had changed. Sophie was here, and his gut twisted and his mind rebelled at losing her all over again. Eliza would return to Spring City in a few days, and he was not feeling nearly so resigned to losing Sophie as he’d imagined.

  Hell fire! He slapped the brick wall behind him with both hands. The stinging was a pathetic replica of the pain that felt like boulders on his chest.

  He’d been so weak tonight. What had he gone to Sophie’s home for? In his heart of hearts, he knew he’d intended to have relations with her. He couldn’t lie to himself, as he couldn’t lie to her. If she hadn’t been so damned practical and honorable and decent, he would still be with her, spending the whole night just pleasing her. He would have despised himself tomorrow and, worse than that, Sophie would have despised him, too.

  But for one night, oh, Lord, for this one night, he would have made love to her with everything he had and made her feel like a queen.

  *****

  Sophie used her head and took Freddie Vern up on his offer. After all, without a job, she’d have to start depending on her family to pay for her apartment. That meant she’d have to tell them she’d been attacked and she knew she’d be back in Boston so fast her head would be spinning. With Carling’s help, she was soon ensconced on the third floor of The Grand, in the back of the building.

  “I’m starting to regret this,” Sophie said as Carling helped her put the last of her clothes in the wardrobe.

  “Why ever for?” Carling asked.

  “You won’t be a street away anymore.”

  Carling hugged her. “I’ll be a block away during the day. Come over to The Palace and see me anytime.”

  “But our evening chats over that god-awful wine,” Sophie persisted.

  “We’ll still have them, but we’ll have them here instead. Not exactly the lap of luxury this room, but it’s cozy, or we can sit in the lounge. Now that you’re a resident, I bet you can take your own drink in there. Or maybe get it ‘on the house,’ as they say.”

  “I can’t have you leaving here late at night. I’d be ever so worried,” Sophie said. “No, I’ve gone and ruined our lovely arrangement. And if my hand heals completely—”

  “When it heals completely,” Caring interrupted.

  “All right. When it heals, what happens if I do get my dream position at the opera house or the symphony? I’ll have to look for a place to live again. I can’t see Freddie letting me live here scot free if I don’t work for him.”

  “You are a sad Sue today, aren’t you?” Carling sat down on the bed and then lay back. “Hm, this room might not be the best, but this bed is fabulously comfortable.”

  Sophie sighed and joined her, staring at the high ceiling. “Yes, it is.”

  Carling took Sophie’s hand. “Anyway, don’t borrow trouble. Let’s see how it goes. I mean, Freddie is obviously mad for you. If you fall for him, then you can live wherever he lives.”

  “Carling!” Sophie scolded, but she had to laugh at her friend’s romantic notions. Freddie held no more interest for her than Dan had.

  “Anyway, maybe I’ll move closer to you, instead. Egbert lives on Bush Street, near Mason. Just as you’d expect, he has scrimped and saved and he’s bought a house, nearly on Nob Hill. He’s ever so sensible.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “We had coffee together the other day, and then we talked about . . . things.”

  “Things?” Sophie couldn’t mask the hopefulness in her voice.

  “Oh, don’t you start.” Carling said. “He’s way too proper for me. Stuffy and pompous and—”

  “Rather good looking and smart and clearly has the ability to take care of a wife.”

  Sophie knew Carling could see all those good points for herself, and sure enough, Carling added, “He is rather handsome, especially when he has that dreamy look in his eyes, talking about what he’d like to do with his life. He’s got big ideas for his future.”

  Sophie tilted her head. “Oh? You mean scaring all the staff at The Palace isn’t enough for him?”

  Carling chuckled. “Truthfully, he’s not so scary. He just likes to keep things under control. That’s part of his job. But he’d rather grow grapes. Not in San Francisco. Maybe up the coast a bit. He thinks he’d like to have a winery, and perhaps have a little inn, too.”

  “Really? I never would have imagined he was dreaming of all that.”

  “I know,” Carling said, looking thoughtful. “But he’s got a lot hidden under his suit.”

  They both shrieked with laughter as they realized what her words imported.

  “Does he now?” Sophie asked, when she could breathe again. “And how would a nice girl like you know?”

  “Get on with you.” Carling was blushing profusely. “You know what I meant. Anyway, you’re right. I don’t believe he means to be stuffy or pompous. At least, not all the time. I’d like to get to know him better and I’m starting to thin
k he feels the same about me.” She hugged herself. “No word from your Riley?”

  “I don’t think I’ll hear anything more from him.” That blackest of black thoughts stole all the merriment she’d been feeling.

  “If it’s any consolation, Soph, I think you did the right thing. A man can’t eat his cake and have it, too. Either one or the other, I say.”

  Sophie nodded. A box of broken cake. A broken heart or two. What’s the difference?

  “By now, Miss Prentice might’ve had her fill of San Francisco and gone back to Spring City to wait for her doctor to return,” Carling mused.

  Sophie couldn’t imagine choosing Spring City over San Francisco. But if Riley were the deciding factor, then she would think again?

  “Personally, I wouldn’t care where Riley Dalcourt was, Timbuktu or Mongolia, I’d want to be with him. I mean, if I loved him, that is. I’m not saying that I do, mind you.” She could see she wasn’t fooling Carling one bit. “Honestly, I don’t know what that woman’s waiting for.”

  “Well, if she feels as he does, meaning not much, then maybe she’d rather be a single lady.”

  “Oh, it makes my head spin,” Sophie admitted. “Frankly, I’m glad I’m not in the middle of it anymore. Let them sort it out.”

  “Yes, get on with it, I say.”

  “I know you do, Carling. I know you do.”

  *****

  Sophie spied Egbert studying his clipboard and stopped. She observed him for a moment. His tall frame was on the thin side, but at least he carried no paunch. Perhaps a few years working a vineyard would fill him out nicely and give him a few hard muscles the way . . .

  She stopped her thoughts from straying to a certain dusty cowboy doctor. Egbert would look after Carling, Sophie was sure. And her friend deserved a little looking after. Perhaps, he needed the tiniest of pushes in the right direction.

  “Good day, Egbert.”

  “Sophie.” He inclined his head. She was glad they were on a first-name basis as she now was with most of the staff at both the hotels. They were all starting to feel like friends. “What can I do for you?” he asked a bit stiffly, as, most likely, he was all kinds of busy and didn’t have time to stop to help her.

  “Oh, nothing. I was hoping Carling was on a break.”

  “Ten minutes, she will be. You can wait in the break room if you like, though I shouldn’t let you.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. Freddie doesn’t let any non-Granders in his break room.”

  “Mr. Vern, the restaurant manager?”

  “Yes, why I think Carling knows Freddie, too. I believe he went walking with her a couple weeks ago.” She was stretching the truth a bit, but he had walked her home that one time at Sophie’s request.

  She saw Egbert frown. Just then, Carling appeared at one end of the lobby, walking briskly with a hotel guest. She flashed them both a grin and gave a little wave behind her back as she passed by. She looked vibrant, efficient, happy. And beautiful. What man wouldn’t want her? Egbert’s eyes followed her progress until she was out of sight.

  “Could you tell me one thing before I go, Egbert?”

  Distracted, he mumbled, “I suppose so.”

  “Can you tell me if Miss Prentice has checked out?”

  He gave her his full attention. “Guest information is strictly confidential.”

  She produced her warmest smile. “Oh, Egbert, I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t know the answer. I’m sure some things are above your station.”

  He bristled. “Of course I am aware that Miss Prentice has left The Palace. No guest information is above my station, as you so delicately put it.”

  “Of course,” Sophie said. “Well, I’ll wait for Carling in the break room. If you speak with her, let her know I’m here. I wouldn’t want her to go looking for me at The Grand by mistake. Though I’m sure Freddie would be happy to see her again.”

  Sophie hoped she hadn’t gone too far with that last line. She would keep her fingers crossed that Egbert did, indeed, talk to Carling and ask her out on a proper date before the day was through.

  So Eliza was gone. That told her almost nothing. Would they marry soon or wait? It was none of her business anyway. After a cup of tea with Carling, during which she tried hard not to mention Egbert, Sophie headed to The Grand’s reception desk where her mail was delivered. Once or twice a week, she checked it, hoping for a letter from home or an employment offer from the symphony or the opera house. She waited patiently while the clerk searched.

  “Miss Sophie Malloy,” he confirmed, handing her a letter that she could see at once was from Boston. Addressed in her younger sister’s hand, she had no doubt it would be full of news of their mother and how Reed was getting along as a proud father. It made her heart ache with missing them all. And her newest nephew would grow up without her. She stuffed it in her purse to read with her evening meal.

  With no job to do, no friend to be with, no man to take her out, Sophie took a horse-drawn bob-tail car directly to Woodward’s Gardens, not caring that it was a long way. After all, what mattered the time when she was at such loose ends? She’d wanted to see the so-called “Central Park of the Pacific,” though she would have dearly loved to experience it with . . . Carling. Yes, Carling, not Riley.

  At first, she thought the specter of Riley would hang over her entire visit to the park, but as she wandered the museum, looking at the collectibles, and then breathed the fragrant air of the conservatory with its exotic and tropical plants, she started to feel better.

  Eventually, she ate a meal, listening to the pipe organ and nearly gathered up the courage to ask if she could play it. In the end, she decided not to; it was too early to try and the bandages would hamper any attempt. Basically, she was scared to find out that her career was over before it had even begun.

  By the time she made her way home, it was dusk. Her feet were tired and even her hand was aching under the bandages, which made her feel irritable. Even so, she let Stan, the evening elevator operator, tell her about a guest who was so terrified of the lift, she had to be held in place by her husband. Sophie liked his stories, but she knew from experience if she encouraged him, she’d spend the next ten minutes trapped listening to him before he opened the elevator’s gate and doors.

  Blissfully, she sank onto her bed. But no sooner had she removed her bonnet and gloves and prepared to put her feet up than a brisk knock sounded on her door. She knew it wasn’t Carling by the lack of a singsong voice calling her name.

  Riley—her mind leapt to the conclusion. It probably hadn’t been that difficult for him to find her new place of abode. Did his coming mean he’d called off his engagement to Eliza? He would have understood from their last encounter that she didn’t want to see him if that weren’t the case.

  She patted her hair and smoothed her shirtwaist. Oh, how ridiculous of her! He’d seen her in her shift—what matter her clothing appearance! Girding herself for the next onslaught of desire at his mere presence, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Sophie, I found you at last.”

  “Oh my God. Philip!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  His boyish face smiled at her. “Is that a happy greeting or are you very angry with me?”

  She was speechless for a moment. He was absolutely the last person she expected to see and seemed, thus, like an apparition. Was she happy to see him? She was unsure through the tumult of feelings, but she thought that, indeed, she was. He seemed like the part of her life that was stable and comfortable. He was the love of her university days and her travels in Europe. He was her Philip.

  “No, I’m not angry. Just surprised beyond all measure.”

  “Is it too improper for me to enter your room?”

  Sophie considered for a moment, then turned to survey her small domain. It was her entire home at the moment. The bed was neatly made; her clothes and unmentionables were all tucked away. She gestured for him to enter.

  “I suppose it is all right. Y
ou may sit on the bed if you like.”

  “After all,” he said, striding in and filling the space, “we are not strangers to each other.”

  She blushed. No, not by half. This golden-haired man had kissed her many more times than Riley Dalcourt, and yet . . .

  “How did you find me? Why are you in San Francisco? What about Oxford?”

  He looked delighted. “So many questions. Before I answer any, I want to apologize. Frankly, I’m shocked you’re even speaking to me. I used you horribly.”

  Sophie was shocked, too, but for a different reason. Searching her heart, she wondered at the lack of despair, which used to rear its head at the mere thought of Philip. Along with emptiness and anger. But all three had vanished, brushed away completely by Riley’s scorching kisses and his heated touch. How well her heart had healed! Philip expected her to still be, perhaps, crushed by his abrupt forsaking of her. That was simply no longer the case.

  She smiled benignly at him. “Philip, how can I hold you responsible for your true feelings? One can’t force love, no matter how convenient.” She’d certainly learned that from Eliza and Riley.

  “But we’d been a couple for a long while,” he continued, seeming to want her to dredge up some semblance of grief.

  “I accept your apology for leaving me for the famed halls of Oxford. I do.”

  He looked as though he wanted to pursue the subject of broken hearts, but after a moment, he let it go.

  “You look wonderful, Sophie,” he said. She held up her bandaged hand, unable to believe he hadn’t noticed it for himself. She’d been back to Dr. Finley and had the first bandages removed and now wore a smaller white wrap. Still, her hand looked like an Egyptian mummy’s.

  “Christ, Sophie, what happened?”

  “I had a bit of an accident,” she told him.

  “Your family said nothing about it.”

  “They don’t know,” she admitted.