Emily French (34 page)
Authors: Illusion
Her fingers felt good against his skin. His every nerve and sinew sang as Sophy’s fingers kindled the shiver of pleasure that dwelt along his spine. Her fingers did something exquisite. For one long ecstatic moment he did not move.
Then he moved slowly, gently against her. Sophy’s slender body, incredibly soft, trembled against his. They stirred together like two leaves on a branch.
Seth groaned aloud, and raised his head off her arm. Her eyes, still heavy lidded with sleep, were shimmering, dove soft. Their pupils, dilated so completely there seemed no iris at all, were full of love...for him.
As always, her mouth opened in a smile, and, as always, he blinked, dazzled, and smiled back. Her gray eyes were like whirlpools spinning him down.
Seth felt himself melting, all his energy, all his reserves of strength flowing down the ribboning muscles of his thighs to his loins, pooling like quicksilver in his masculine core.
Putting out a hand to play with the tendrils of hair falling around her cheek, Seth let the other arm slide around her back, caressing the cascade of dark hair, the indentation of her spine, the rounded buttocks. His lips quivered at her musky scent.
With a sigh of yielding abandon, Sophy reached her palm up, bringing his head down until his lips opened against hers in a kiss of sweet promise. Her spread fingers pressed hard against the back of his head. She felt as if she never wanted to let him go.
Shaken like a leaf in the tempest, Seth allowed the full force of her marvelous power to blast through him. He pulled her tightly against him, his mouth descending to devour hers with a fierceness that was startling. His fingers buried themselves in her hair.
As their lips touched, all reality fled. Her grip tightened to steel, her warmth turned to fire. She clutched him with fierce strength, yet no stronger or fiercer than he.
His mouth broke away for something more important. To say it.
“I love you.”
Sophy reached out and touched the flat of his cheek with her hand. “I love you, too.” It was an airless whisper.
“I am no longer empty, hollow. You have shown me that my strength is in my heart.”
The fine trembling of his hand as he gently tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear elicited a feeling of deep tenderness in Sophy. She lightly touched his wrist in a small, intimate gesture.
“You have shown me what real love is. I am different now, content to play the role of obedient wife.”
Seth did nothing to destroy that reckless illusion. For the moment it was enough, more than enough. It was perfect, exciting because of the awareness, exhilarating because of the anticipation of what was to come.
Sophy’s legs were twining around him as if she sought to climb onto him, or into him. Seth moved slowly into a position of interwoven subservience and mastery, his fingers exploring every supple line of her.
His lips traced the swoop of cheek and neck and shoulder, lingered on the sweet curve of her breasts, savored their musk and silk. Slowly, tenderly he left them, seeking out the arch of her ribs, the subtle curve of her hips, the gentle hills and hollows of her belly, coming to rest at last in the meeting of her thighs.
Sophy felt the explosion of his breath against her breast, and gasped with pleasure as his mouth closed over her nipple.
His hands spanned her waist and she straddled his thighs. Strands of her unbound hair brushed lightly against him in concert with her hands. Moving. Swaying.
Suspended in time and space, all Sophy could see was Seth. All she could feel was Seth, pulsing at the very core of her. Something inside her, that same inner strength, lifted him up with her so that they moved together, united in a kind of spirit dance.
Their desire, now one living thing, could no longer be held in abeyance. The ultimate vibrations began inside Sophy. Seth felt her pulsing all around him. Tried to merge himself with her.
And almost succeeded.
By ten o’clock the grand ballroom of the Astoria was thronged with an incredible company, the room filled with the usual sounds of chatter and laughter betokening a good party. For a while, Sophy lost sight of Seth, who was monopolized by small crowds of men eager to converse with him, to congratulate him on Weston’s new lines.
A delightful air of pleasure seemed to seep through the ballroom. Steeple headdresses and flowing veils of the sixteenth century vied with gold turbans from the mysterious East. A centurion danced with a gentle Juliet. Cleopatra arrived, escorted by a full-bodied Henry the Eighth, who was, surely, the editor of the New York
National?
National?
Sophy identified an equally stout pirate as a famous socialite lawyer, and a banking baron dressed as Julius Caesar. Brigands rubbed elbows with Puritan gentlemen in wide white collars and Vandyke beards, while ladies of the harem entertained all corners.
Imps of mischief danced in her eyes as she caught sight of a tall female Viking bearing down upon her. The enormous helmet boasted two very large, upcurving horns, which presented a distinct hazard to those in her vicinity.
“You look very presentable, my dear. You’re sure to set the cat among the pigeons in that outfit. A good choice.”
Sophy flushed with pleasure. Familiar with her mother-in-law’s penchant for understatement, she knew the outfit was approved. She directed a gay little smile at Agnes, and pointed to a gypsy fortune-teller.
“Do you think Aunt Ella knows that posset is sherry laced?”
The older woman looked startled. “I think perhaps I had best remind her that sherry upsets the stomach if one eats immediately after imbibing. And you know Ella’s penchant for hors d’oeuvres!”
Sophy smiled gently, wondering if the two women would continue their gentle feuding about their planned excursion to the Caribbean. The smile lingered in her eyes and on her lips as she drifted on to converse with Uncle Heinrich and Aunt Ilsa in the guise of Don Quixote and a Dutch farm wife.
They were full of praise, not only for the new concept of matching furniture fabrics with drapes, and for the new and lighter designs, but also for the way in which Sophy had arranged for the display to be an integral part of the night’s entertainment.
Sophy looked around her. The first tension had left her. Everything was going well. The service was perfect; so, she knew, were the hors d’oeuvres and, of course, the punch.
To the strains of a waltz, the dancing couples commenced to weave brilliant rhythmic patterns beneath the gaslights. People stood in small groups talking. It seemed to Seth as if half of New York was gathered in the room.
A dashing buccaneer, twirling a milkmaid on his arm, nodded his scarfed head to Seth. Pieter? He looked around for Charles, but there was no sign of him. He wandered through the rooms with a glass of burgundy, hearing bits of conversation. Great peals of laughter.
“—The best buy on the market is American....”
“Did you hear the one about...”
“St. Nicholas Hotel has earmarked that silk brocaded with gold.”
“Charles” Seth ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I never got round to saying ‘thank you’ for your help the other night.”
Charles shrugged. “It was a close thing. Sorry the bastard drowned. Without the pressure George and I put on him, the affair might not have blown up as it did. We didn’t mean Sophy to be involved.”
“Sophy had already discovered Carlton had found a way to funnel profits out of Weston’s by assigning stock transfers to the Paterson factory. She started her own investigations with George, hoping to protect me from harm, and to catch the villain in the act. She suspected everything was too neat, with you channeling funds into a nonexistent corporation.”
“But you knew all that already, didn’t you?”
Seth shook his head. “I didn’t.”
“You mean you never did any... investigating on your own? You were so sure....” Blood came to Charles’s face, making his freckles fade. His eyes were wide. “How could you have known I was not deceiving you?”
“Because—” Seth returned his friend’s bruising handclasp “—I knew.” Charles heard the heavy emphasis in Seth’s words and felt the truth of them at the core of his being.
Unmindful of the web of drifting conversations, Seth’s eyes searched the room for Sophy again. He liked to know where she was. Bright, vibrant, enthusiastic, she was dancing with George Dunwoody, in the guise of a portly lord justice. In her dark Puritan outfit with its square white collar, she was as distinctive as an egret among a flock of crows.
Seth folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall, amusement and something far more intense gleaming in his blue eyes. A child. Dreaming in her dark womb, not yet making his presence felt. He would be something, this child of his and Sophy’s. Something wonderful.
Noticing his piercing regard, Sophy stared back, half fascinated, half defiant. She felt the corners of her mouth lift. There was something about him that made her want to smile, and yet there was a part of him, a dark, sensual side that touched her deep inside.
Then she grinned in open challenge as she was spun wildly, her little foot kicking out from beneath her demure skirts. Swirl of movement, swirl of laughter as her partner whirled her round and round.
The ancient silver talisman that she never took off was around her throat, winked as it caught the light. Seth watched her do one or two twirls, enjoying the way her red petticoats glittered beneath the black skirt of her gown.
Glitter? Red petticoats? Seth straightened, looking at Sophy through dangerously narrowed eyes. He felt his blood pounding. His gaze moved from the toe of her dainty shoe to the frill of French lace on her red pantaloons. He stiffened, incredulous.
The imp had
mirrors
on her shoes! Sophy really was the limit! His temper came to the surface. Thrusting aside a gentleman of the cloth who was dancing cheek to cheek with Joan of Arc, he aimed straight toward Sophy.
mirrors
on her shoes! Sophy really was the limit! His temper came to the surface. Thrusting aside a gentleman of the cloth who was dancing cheek to cheek with Joan of Arc, he aimed straight toward Sophy.
With his uneven gait, he looked like a big, savage animal that had somehow wandered into the ballroom. It was, Agnes Weston thought, like watching a prowling panther in its cage at the zoo, fascinated by the motion, too late realizing that it has abruptly padded out the open door in the side, leaving beast and watcher alone together with no barrier at all.
Almost knocking over a Chinese mandarin who was clasping Queen Elizabeth to his bosom, Agnes Weston hurried to catch up with her son. She might as well try to turn the tide. It would be easier.
“Seth!” Her fingers closed on his arm.
“Not now, Mother,” Seth muttered irritably, cutting her off with a gesture. “I’ll kill her. No, I’ll strangle her for this!” He growled under his breath, softly, dangerously.
Agnes Weston’s fingers tightened their grip. “Be careful, Seth. She is not aware of it, but Sophy carries my grandchild”
She saw the tremor at the side of his mouth. He hardly seemed to be breathing. Seth bared his teeth in a smile,.
“It’s all right, Mother. Sophy doesn’t need your help.” He prized her hand off his arm.
“You’ve got yourself a good woman, son, and I’m right glad of it.” Agnes looked squarely into her son’s vivid blue eyes. “It has something to do with the daughter-in-law of Pythagoras, I believe,” she said, watching his face intently.
It sounded as though some of her customary biting wit was lacking clarity. For a moment, he looked as if he were having trouble following the conversation, then he began to laugh.
A statuesque beauty clad in a flowing cream silk gown that left one dimpled shoulder bare, and was tied crisscross about the breasts with ribbons of green satin, passed by. Delilah. Seth grabbed the surprised woman’s hand almost roughly in his own and dragged her toward the dance floor.
Attuned to the fine element of danger that seemed to reverberate across the room, Sophy slid out of George Dunwoody’s arms seconds before Seth, with a great ruffle and flourish, thrust the hapless Delilah at the poor man.
Seth planted his considerable bulk directly in front of Sophy, a threatening glint in his eye. He seemed to her like a wild animal on the loose, dangerous and deadly and totally unstoppable. For an instant, she felt a slight shiver of fear crawling down her spine. Then it was gone.
He arched his eyebrows, inclined his head and held out a steady hand to her. Sophy felt hypnotized by that unwavering glance. She had no choice but to place her hand within his.
Seth raised it. Kissed it. Her skin was honey and fire. Her eyes wide and wickedly bright. A dull fire smoldered beneath his cheekbones. He was shocked to hear himself say involuntarily, “I’m as useless as a chocolate soldier, and this could be termed gallantry under fire, but would you care to dance with me?”
Aware of the heat in her cheeks, but totally unaware of the warmth in her eyes, she moved into his arms. How could she resist this closeness, this enchantment, when she had been seeking it all her life?
Seth held her close, moving her sedately around the room. His lips were in her hair. She felt his open mouth brush the shell of her ear as he said quite calmly, “Don’t tell me it’s my community duty to dance with the wallflowers. I am here dancing attendance on you only to discourage any of the others.”
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