Surrender of a Siren

“To visit your cousins, actually.” Sophia’s attention shifted to the strange bump obstructing their embrace. “Lucy, you’re with child!”



Smiling, Lucy pulled Sophia’s hand against her rounded belly, placing her own hand on Sophia’s flat stomach. “And you’re not. At least, not discernibly.”



No, not discernibly. Sophia smiled, keeping her suspicions to herself.



“Well,” Lucy said, “that will disappoint the gossips.”



At the mention of gossip, Sophia cringed. “Lucy, you shouldn’t even be here. A countess can’t be associated with such scandal.”



“Scandal? Your husband’s to be knighted. They’re making him out to be Lancelot, Robin Hood, and Lord Nelson all rolled into one. You’ll be guests of honor at every table in London.” Lucy craned her neck to peek into the corridor. “Where is this living legend, anyway?”



“Gray? He’s at his shipping office.” Sophia directed her friend to a chair. “But even if he is to receive a commendation, surely I will not be welcome at those dinner tables. I’m ruined, most thoroughly.”



“Because you broke your engagement?”



“Because I eloped with a fictional Frenchman!”



“You mean Gervais?” Lucy laughed. “Oh, no one knows about that. Your parents told everyone you’d taken ill and been sent to the seaside to recover. There may have been a few rumors to the contrary, but the fact that you fell into mad, passionate love with a heroic sea captain corroborates the tale quite nicely. You did fall into mad, passionate love with him, didn’t you?”



Sophia nodded, numb with disbelief. Could it be true? Her parents, her sister, her jilted betrothed, her friends … they had all kept her escape secret?



“Oh, I knew it!” Lucy clapped her hands. “You must tell me everything.”



“Perhaps another day.” Sophia cast a glance at Bel.



“I see,” Lucy whispered, following her gaze. “The story is that good, is it? Well, I suppose it will keep for another visit.” She gave Sophia an appraising look. “If you’ve been ruined, I must say it suits you. You look very well.”



“And breeding suits you. You are radiant.”



Lucy made a dismissive wave, but the assessment was true. While Sophia would never have called her friend a great beauty before, she merited the term now. The pregnancy rounded off Lucy’s sharp angles, and her dark-brown hair positively gleamed. The maid entered, bearing a tray laden with tea service and refreshments.



“Isabel, would you be so good as to pour?” Sophia asked.



“Certainly.”



While the young lady busied herself with teacups, Sophia drew her chair closer to Lucy’s.



“How is Toby?” she whispered. “I can’t believe he never said a word about Gervais, when he had every motive to humiliate me publicly and demand restitution. Was he horribly hurt when I left?”



“Which answer are you hoping to hear? That he has endured great agony for love of you, or that he has forgotten you already?” Lucy laid a hand over Sophia’s. “He has suffered, but I believe his pride incurred a deeper wound than his heart. Regardless, he is too good to humiliate anyone or make demands. He and Felix searched all England for you. You had us quite anxious, you know.”



Guilt pinched in Sophia’s chest. “How you all must hate me.”



Lucy squeezed her hand. “How grateful we all are to have you safely home. I’m certain your family will feel the same. How could they complain? They’ll have a title in the family now, just as they always wanted.”



Bel interrupted their conference, a teacup and saucer balanced in either hand.



“Miss Grayson,” Lucy asked, accepting her teacup, “are you to have a debut this Season?”



“Oh, no.” Bel handed the other cup to Sophia.



“Maybe you should reconsider.” Sophia perked, thinking of the possibilities. “We had thought a formal presentation imprudent,” she told Lucy, “given my situation. But if the scandal has truly been contained … Bel might look as high as she wishes. She could even marry a lord, should she so desire.”



“But I don’t want to marry a lord,” Bel protested.



“No, you don’t.” Lucy reached for a teacake. “It’s not nearly as amusing as it sounds. People have such wearying expectations. Ever since my husband took up his seat in Lords, it’s been one thing after another. I’m always being asked to subscribe to Lady Thus-and-so’s charitable society or purchase vouchers for some benefit musicale.”



“Truly?” Bel sipped her tea, looking pensive.



“Jeremy gives me more money than I know what to do with, so naturally I support them all. But worse, people are continually asking my opinion on lofty topics … as if I understand tariffs or navies. I try to smile and change the subject, but they insist on assigning me a ridiculous amount of influence, simply because my husband’s stared down a few fusty members of Parliament.” Lucy took a bite of cake. “What ever you do, don’t marry a lord.”



“What interesting advice.” Bel put down her teacup.



Sophia touched Bel’s wrist. “We’re only teasing. You shall marry for love. Your brother would not have it any other way.”



“If that is so, than I doubt I shall marry at all,” Bel said. “My heart is already so full, with devotion to my family and passion for God’s work. There cannot be room for romantic love, too.”



“The heart is not the only organ involved.” Lucy gave Sophia a wicked smile.



“Perhaps I could be persuaded to marry,” Bel continued, “if I could find a man of consequence and principle, who possessed a keen sense of justice and shared my passion for charity …”



“I hope you do find such a man,” Sophia said. “But, Bel … to have a happy marriage, two people must share a passion for something other than charity.”



Bel looked up. “Truly? Like what?”



Lucy broke into laughter, and Sophia could not help but join her.



“No, really,” Bel insisted, looking from one to the other. “Tell me what you mean.”



“Miss Grayson, never fear,” Lucy said. “We will expand your education.” She looked to Sophia. “You do still have The Book?”



Sophia choked on her tea. Under no circumstances would she permit Gray’s sister so much as a glance at that book—not after the way she’d illustrated it.



“Well,” she hedged, avoiding Lucy’s inquisitive look, “you see, it isn’t—”



The house keeper saved her, thank goodness.



“Beg pardon, my lady. There’s an urgent matter requiring your attention.” Mrs. Prewitt gave a cryptic nod and disappeared into the corridor.



With relief, Sophia muttered her excuses to Lucy and Bel as she rose to her feet. By the time she reached the hallway, however, the house keeper had disappeared. Frowning, she wandered toward the rear of the house. Perhaps there was some problem in the kitchens, or with the coal delivery?



As she passed the door to Gray’s study, a familiar, muscled arm shot out into the corridor, catching her by the waist.



Laughing, she stumbled into the room, quickly finding herself caught between cool walnut paneling at her back and the hot, solid wall of man before her. Ever since their wedding—or since the Kestrel storeroom, more likely—Gray seemed to find it an irresistible challenge, to catch her unawares in an unlikely location and pull her into a feverish embrace. Sophia had no wish to discourage the habit, but this wasn’t the ideal time for a tryst.



“Gray,” she chided between kisses, “what are you about? The house keeper said there was an urgent matter requiring my attention.”



“And so there is. I require your attention. Most urgently.” His hands slid to her bottom, and he lifted her easily, pinning her to the wall with his hips. The beaded ridges of the wainscoting dug into her spine. “Don’t think we’ve used this room yet,” he murmured, nibbling at the curve of her neck.



“I’m entertaining,” she protested.



“Yes, you are,” he said, grinding against her. “Highly entertaining.”



Sophia sighed with pleasurable frustration. “I mean, I have a guest. Lady Kendall’s in the salon, with Bel.” She levered her arm against his chest, carving out some space between them. “And I thought you were at your shipping office.”



“Yes, well …” Mischief gleamed sharp in his eyes. “I decided to go riding instead.”



“Riding? To where?”



Relaxing his grip on her bottom, he slid her downward until her toes met the floor. “Out to Kent.”



Her breath caught. There wasn’t any reason for him to go to Kent, not unless he meant to visit—



“Gray, you didn’t.”



“I did.” His expression turned to seriousness. “Don’t be angry, sweet. I know you wrote to them, but … I felt I owed your father that much, to pay a call and face matters straight on. It’s the man’s way, you understand.”



She nodded, a lump of anxiety forming in her throat. She wouldn’t have asked him to call on her father, but she understood why he had. It wasn’t just the man’s way, it was the honorable thing to do—and therefore, she knew Gray couldn’t have done otherwise. He truly was the best of men.



With unsteady fingers, she smoothed the lapel of his coat. “Dare I ask how you were received?”



“Warily, at first. Then somewhat belligerently.” His eyebrow quirked. “But my reception improved markedly, once I extended the invitation to a dinner party with my aunt.”



A rueful smile curved Sophia’s lips. Yes, that would be her parents’ reaction. They’d dine with the Devil himself, if a duchess were in attendance. “They are dreadful, aren’t they?”



He shrugged. “Isn’t everyone’s family? I doubt your father and I will ever be great friends, but we did discover one interest in common.”



“What’s that?”



“You.” Strong fingers cupped her chin. “We both want to see you happy. We both love you.”



For a moment, Sophia did not trust herself to speak. Relief and joy swelled within her, until there was room for nothing else.



His lips brushed hers in a gentle kiss. “Am I forgiven, for not telling you first?”



Yes, yes. Forgiven, cherished, treasured, adored. Loved, beyond reason.



“I suppose,” she said coyly, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “So long as you will extend me the same forgiveness.”



“Why?” His eyes narrowed. “Have you been keeping secrets again?”



“Just one.” Smiling, she took his hand and pressed it meaningfully against her gently rounded abdomen. “A very, very tiny one.”