Emily French (14 page)
Authors: Illusion
A jolt went through him, from his belly to his fingertips, when he caught her arm, establishing balance. In the subdued light of the hall, she seemed ethereal, more lovely than he could have imagined.
He gazed assessingly down at her, his fingers releasing her arm. Her hair was drawn back from her forehead and coiled low in the nape of her neck. The charming hairstyle added a mature elegance to her small, erect figure. It made her neck seem much longer, a flawless column of rich ivory rising from the high-buttoned black evening cape, giving an immaculate, almost Madonna-like serenity to her face. But nothing could extinguish or subdue the luminous shimmer of her eyes, or the enchanting expressiveness of her mouth.
Sophy stood still for an instant, her hand on the knob of the half-open door. Then she smiled radiantly. He was practically eating her with his eyes. She felt her knees loosen under the sensual assault.
Under the all-concealing voluminous cloak, her new fashionable satin gown rustled most becomingly over its hooped petticoats. She took a few steps toward him, delighting in the effect she had created.
“Hello, Seth, are you ready, then?”
Seth could hear the smile in her voice. Her eyes were bright and shining with expectation. His expression sharpened with suspicion.
“Sophy, you are up to something.”
“Not at all. I’m merely eager to show off my new dress at Mr. Greeley’s gathering.”
There was a smile at the corners of her mouth as Sophy straightened an imaginary wrinkle in her glove. In the words of the great General Grant:
Never let your opponent think
for a
minute that you will waver in your course.
She felt him gather himself to say something and intuitively she forestalled him.
Never let your opponent think
for a
minute that you will waver in your course.
She felt him gather himself to say something and intuitively she forestalled him.
“I’ll be no trouble. I will not even provoke you by informing you that I thought it was time that all women took an interest in politics!”
For an instant, Seth looked totally nonplussed, then he laughed. It was a low, infectious laugh of genuine amusement.
“No trouble, hmm? I cannot tell you how much that comforts me!”
New York was in a gala mood. Optimism prevailed. Sophy was interested in the momentous political changes taking place, but personal concerns loomed larger. She had more than a few distinct qualms as she and Seth entered the spacious foyer of the Greeley mansion.
Now that the moment of denouement was imminent, her courage was evaporating rapidly. Her conscience gave a hard knock, and she swallowed nervously. It was too late to change tactics now.
Clutching the folds of her cloak tightly together, she stared across the room, and willed herself to stand still. The tip of her tongue ran along the fullness of her lower lip.
“I did not imagine there would be so many people.”
There was amusement in the depths of Seth’s eyes as he watched her take in the scene. The throng of guests dressed in the height of fashion, the babble of voices, the glittering crystal chandelier, the stairs that curved gracefully upward.
The broad marble steps rose in a single sweep to the center of a wide, cantilevered gallery above. There was a large silver bowl on a mahogany plinth standing at the head of the stairs, displaying an arrangement of autumn foliage.
“I know what you mean.” He hesitated, then continued with uncharacteristic diffidence. “There’s nothing wrong, is there, Sophy?”
Sophy raised wary eyes to his. At the gentle concern revealed there, she felt a guilty warmth rise in her cheeks. She swallowed uneasily, shaking her head, and looked away from him to see their host bearing down upon them in a peculiar rocking gait.
Horace Greeley was a portly man in his fifties, with light auburn hair that was just beginning to turn gray at the temples. He wore an exquisitely cut evening coat of gray silk, and his round moon face was smiling broadly within its frame of flowing red whiskers.
“Good to see you out and about in company again, Seth.” The two men shook hands, and their host inclined his head toward Sophy. “Nice to see you, too, Sophy. I miss your father’s fellowship.”
Blushing even more deeply, Sophy held out her gloved hand to her host. He clasped it briefly, then waved an expansive arm and stepped behind her.
“Here, let me take your cloak.”
Every sane and sensible instinct warned her to abandon the field and beat a hasty retreat while she could. Instead, she inclined her head graciously and said, “Thank you, Mr. Greeley .”
A faint, wry smile curved her mouth as Sophy allowed the evening cape to slide off her shoulders. She’d never set out to deliberately seduce a man before, and the likelihood of success was limited, especially when her first sally was fired in public!
Moisture beading his upper lip, Horace stared down at Sophy, eyes blinking through his spectacles. “Ah...call me Horace. Why don’t you and your husband join me later on for supper? Or have you something planned, Seth?”
Seth had been admiring the editor’s dark red sideburns, and so was quick to catch the sudden appreciative look, and to hear the note of surprise in Horace Greeley’s voice. A sudden sense of unease seized him, and his features tightened almost imperceptibly as he dropped his glance to Sophy.
Flattened at the front, spreading and widening at the back, with a narrow border of scarlet, her black satin gown was embroidered all over with sprigs of butterflies, no two alike. Made high in the neck, the clinging material revealed the gentle swell of small, high-tipped breasts. She looked bizarre, but at the same time the whole ensemble was outstandingly chic and arresting.
It was not until she turned toward the editor that Seth caught sight of the rear of her gown. Rage swept over him as he saw what she was wearing.
The back bodice, if it could be called that, plunged in a triangle of transparent gauze from the center of her neck out to the points of her waist. Sophy certainly was not wearing a corset since her smooth pearly skin gleamed through the filmy thin fabric.
Seth stood transfixed, as his inner being heaved about a heart that seemed to explode. It made him light-headed. He slanted her a savage glance. Deliberately, she shrugged as he continued to stare silently at her.
“I thought you’d be pleased if your wife chose to wear Weston’s fabrics.”
Horace Greeley looked at her as if totally fascinated. His normally florid complexion was even redder, and his shrewd blue eyes twinkled, as he pulled on his scarflike tie.
“What an exquisite little creature! She makes the other females look dowdy and unfashionable. Maybe you should let her handle the advertising for Weston’s, Seth. Your wife will do more to boost the economy without a word than a hundred politicians with all their talk.”
From beneath her lashes, Sophy watched the effect of her striking outfit on her husband. He shifted a little, and moved his head in a gesture of disbelief. A dangerous fire burned in his eyes, and his strong, well-formed features assumed the inflexibility of a death mask.
It was obvious she was going to have to goad him further. If she could find a crack in the seemingly impenetrable wall that surrounded his heart, perhaps she would have a chance of gaining his love. She looked past him at a face she recognized on the other side of the room.
“Oh, there’s James Pike, a reporter at the
Tribune.
I must go and have a word with him. Will you excuse me?”
Tribune.
I must go and have a word with him. Will you excuse me?”
Dimly through the confusion that claimed his brain, Seth heard her. He swallowed with effort. His mouth twisted wryly, and when he spoke, there was an edge to his voice.
“Beat a strategic retreat while you can, Sophy,” Seth said. “Your hour of reckoning will come.”
Sophy managed a very brilliant smile in his direction before she sped toward the chattering, superficial throng. As she crossed the room, she was aware that he followed her with his eyes, eyes that were barbed and frosty and full of lethal intent.
Lethal? Surely not! Lethal meant fatal, terminal, deadly. Seth was out to discipline her, not to kill her! A man of excessive passions, he would succumb easily to anger, but there was nothing about him to suggest that he would resort to murder to settle his problems.
James Pike grinned boyishly at the sight of Sophy. Slender, not above average height, with tightly curling black hair and merry brown eyes, he had features almost too delicately carved for a man.
“Hello, Sophy. Any good tips tonight?” There was a hint of laughter in his voice.
Sophy gave a breathless little chuckle. “What an avaricious fellow you are, James!” She looked back to see if Seth was still watching her. He was. She turned her back to him. “If you have a spare dollar, I’d recommend Andrew Carnegie’s Pittsburgh stock. Iron and steel shares should be a good investment.”
One black brow arched inquiringly, as if he could hardly believe his ears. Sophy had spoken in an artless tone of voice, but from past experience, James Pike knew that she knew exactly what she was saying.
“Have you met Samuel Clemens?” James indicated his companion. The grin that curved the young reporter’s mouth widened. “Keep an eye out for ‘The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County’ by Mark Twain. It is due to go to print with the New York
Saturday Press. ”
Saturday Press. ”
Tall and broad with a loose-limbed, athletic body, Sam Clemens looked to be about thirty. With a wide, well-shaped mouth and high, intelligent brow, his pleasant features offered a normalcy that was somehow inspiring. He gave Sophy an open, friendly smile.
“Take no notice, ma’am. James loves to hear himself talk.”
Sophy flashed him a smile. “People will talk whatever you do, so you may as well give them something to talk about!” Smoothly she changed the subject. “Have you heard Macy’s intends holding a special parade on Thanksgiving?”
Seth stood leaning against one of the gilded Corinthian pillars, which created an imposing entryway to the immense reception room, exchanging small talk with Matt Tyson. He also kept one eye on Sophy. His brows twitched as his eyes followed her every movement.
It was more than infuriating to be so easily outmaneuvered by the little minx. It was absolutely humiliating. He was feeling disturbingly light-headed, not because of her outfit.
Sophy’s physical attraction had become meaningless for the moment, transposed into something far more precious. She had struck with unerring accuracy, aiming at his most vulnerable point with a skill that elicited his respect even as it made him furious.
When Seth nodded absently for the third time, Matt Tyson followed the direction of the younger man’s gaze to the circle of men pressing around Sophy. He surveyed the group thoughtfully. So that was the way the wind blew. There was a mischievous gleam in his brown eyes as he raised his glass in a brief salute.
“Always thought Sophy a beauty, but she’s positively glowing tonight. Marriage obviously agrees with her. Seems to have developed an enchanting panache, wouldn’t you allow?”
“If that’s what you call trying to get a rise out of me!”
Matt compressed his lips firmly to prevent a grin, but could not prevent a gentle prod. “She seems to be enjoying herself.”
Seth’s hands tightened briefly on his glass, irritated afresh at the memory of Sophy’s provocative dress. She had definitely grown on him. It was impossible not to appreciate her determination and impudence even as he recognized his own angry reaction.
“Sophy has a... a sort of elfin gaiety that is contagious.”
A dark elfin creature, with a smile like sun after rain. A defiant, mischievous sprite who bewitched him until he lost his senses. He was watching her now, under his lashes, idly turning the stern of his glass.
The two men had been too engrossed in their conversation to notice the woman wending her way toward them. It was not until Seth felt a hand clutch the sleeve of his coat that he became aware of another’s presence.
“Seth?”
Abigail Lethbridge! Clad in a beautifully designed gown of soft green silk, Abigail appeared to have come direct from one of her husband’s drawings. Two golden corkscrew curls framed her angel-sweet oval face and her hazel eyes shone with tears. Magnificent emeralds glittered in her ears and around her neck, enhancing her fair coloring, and accentuating the glitter in her eyes.
Matt Tyson glanced from her worried countenance to his longtime business associate. There was no doubt that, at times like this, discretion was the better part of valor. He held his empty glass to the light.
“See you later, my friends. I’m off to get a refill.”
Neither Seth nor Abigail noticed the banker go, or the petal that floated down, detached from the arrangement directly above their heads.
Abigail did not remove her hand from Seth’s arm. Two big teardrops trembled on her brown eyelashes, and her mouth quivered.
There was a long pause, during which Seth’s features settled into a stony mask. Abigail’s sniveling had somehow been overlaid with Sophy’s wide-eyed sincerity, her genuine smile, her frank speech.
Sophy would not have sat by and watched her husband fritter away her marriage portion. Her sense of honor would not allow it. His little wife would have boxed his ears and set him about his business!
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