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“Sophie?”
“Please, Nicholas.”
“Very well, I shall go.” He stood and dressed, watching her the entire time. If only he could read her mind as she had with him. He tied his cravat and then pulled on his jacket.
For the first time in his life, he had no idea what to say after being with a woman. With his former mistresses, he would have made plans for another evening or perhaps a trip to the opera. And with the few widows he slept with, he might have suggested another rendezvous if they both agreed.
But Sophie was not a mistress and not a widow. She was an unmarried woman, apparently living alone and with no man to defend her honor. He should have proposed marriage after taking her innocence, but she’d left him in the middle of the night.
So what was stopping him now?
With her gray eyes wide, her hair disheveled, and a slight tremble to her bottom lip, she looked like a frightened woman. And we both know marriage is not a possibility. Her words from earlier ate at him.
“Sophie, why did you say marriage is not a possibility?”
“Because it is not,” she said with a shrug. “We come from completely different backgrounds. Besides, you and I don’t even know each other, Nicholas. And you love Jennette. I will never marry a man who is in love with another woman.”
He could not argue with her logic but something deep inside him wanted to rail at her. Her words sounded more like excuses to his ears. Was there another reason she didn’t want to marry him? Perhaps she loved another man and used Nicholas to forget him as he had used her to forget Jennette. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t love Jennette any longer. Yet, he said nothing to dissuade her. How could he when there were still some lingering feelings for Jennette?
“I should leave,” he finally responded.
“Yes.”
Only leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to pick her up, bring her upstairs and make love to her again. The desire to be with her overwhelmed his mind. Being with her, made him feel different, alive. And he hadn’t felt like that in well over a year.
“Please, Nicholas,” she whispered, “just leave.”
“As you wish, madam.” He walked to the door and then turned with a smile. Holding up her earring, he said, “If you want this back, come to my home tomorrow evening at nine.”
The next morning, Sophie sat in the chair where she and Nicholas had made love last evening. She had lay awake most of the night, wondering why she reacted as she did with him. Logically, none of it made sense. But she had never been the most logical of women. She trusted her instinct, her sight, and her feelings. Although none of those things were helping her either.
Her eyes filled with tears but she refused to cry over him. He was not the one for her. Nicholas was . . . was only a diversion.
A wonderful, sensual diversion.
He wanted her to collect her earring tonight. At his home. This could only cause more trouble. They both lusted after each other but if they continued this relationship it would only bring pain. Nevertheless, she wasn’t ready to stop seeing him. There was something about him that brought wicked thoughts to her mind and fervent reactions from her body.
Nicholas was a man who might get into her heart if she let him. And she could not allow that to happen. If he were the man for her then she would know it, feel it, sense it. Every time she attempted to see her future she saw nothing, therefore, he was not the man for her.
She felt as if she were going mad. She must talk to someone about this and Avis seemed to be the most likely candidate. Avis was the farthest removed from Nicholas, and the most logical. Plus she had taken Selby as her lover before marriage. So, if anyone could help her it must be Avis.
When Sophie arrived at the Selby home, she prayed her friend would see her without inviting any of their other friends to join them. Entering the small parlor, Sophie heaved a relieved sigh seeing only two cups on the tea tray.
“Lady Selby will be here presently,” the footman said, then walked from the room.
Avis crossed the threshold a moment later, and closed the door, cloaking them in privacy. She had her tawny hair pulled into a loose chignon and ink stains on her fingers. “I’m sorry, Sophie. Just as you arrived, I had the best idea for an upcoming scene for my next book. I had to jot down a few notes so I would not forget them.”
“I understand.”
Avis had one book published and was working on her second. Sophie felt a little stab of envy pierce her heart at Avis’s successes. Her friend had a wonderful husband, a beautiful little girl, and a passion for writing.
“What is wrong, Sophie?” Avis sat next to her on the sofa and clasped her hand. “Ever since you matched Victoria and Somerton you have been acting oddly. And honestly, your behavior has been even more unusual since your return from Venice. You have known me longer than any of our friends. I wish you would confide in me.”
Sophie blinked several times. “It’s a man, Avis.”
Avis smiled broadly. “I had a feeling it might be. Someone you met in Venice?”
“Yes. But he is an Englishman.” Sophie glanced down at the pale blue Persian carpet. “And you know him.”
