Illusion

A ruthless man, Sophy decided, and a relentless one. He would go where he wished to go, do what he wanted to do, with implacable will and drive. Her stomach lurched, and for a moment a strange, unfamiliar sense of dizziness almost overwhelmed her.

Sophy was looking for something in life; she did not know what. All the men she had met she could rule. None of her would-be husbands had made her feel as this one did!

She tore her eyes from his assessing gaze with a distinct effort, directing them toward the empty grate. For a moment, she battled with an odd uncertainty. Then she began to breathe again and coherent thought replaced the drumbeat in her head.

Sophy strode forward, hand outstretched. Her slender body moved quickly, and she walked with a purposefulness that few women possessed.

“Good morning. I’m Sophy van Houten. What can I do for you?”

The words were no more than a whisper, and seemed to come out in an exasperated rush. Her heart was pounding so hard, she could scarcely breathe. She looked up at him, but not as far as his eyes. She avoided his eyes. Instead she looked at the slant of his jaw, the wide, uncompromisingly masculine mouth, the curve of his upper lip.

Hell, she couldn’t even look him in the face! All he could see was a swirl of black hair, shiny as a raven’s wing, concealing most of her face. Seth wondered why he felt a vague sense of disappointment. His mouth tightened. Surely she had been aware of his disability when she put forward her audacious proposal to Matt Tyson? Or was this some trick?

His suspicion was a weakness, momentary and unwelcome. But he could not stop the thoughts that buzzed round in his head as he accepted the hand waving vaguely in his direction.

The instant pressure, warm and firm, was like a bolt of electricity to his system. Her head jerked up. Around its edge glowed a shimmering halo. Seth jerked, released himself and fumbled with the collar of his jacket, which, for some reason, suddenly seemed too tight. Even his voice sounded hoarse, as though he had a sore throat.

“Seth Weston. I called to... that is, I was at the bank yesterday going over my affairs with...”

Sophy’s eyes widened at the deep, well-modulated voice, which clipped the words with the precision of an executioner. It was a voice that carried the authority and menace of a master. It would seldom need to be raised.

She rubbed her hand against her skirt to rid it of the nerve-tingling sensation his cold flesh had generated. The tingle grew, radiating out to encompass her entire body.

Face aflame, Sophy feared she looked ridiculous. Breathing raggedly, a strange knot deep in her throat, she blurted, “You’re freezing! Come upstairs. I have a fire going in my drawing room. We can talk there.”

Seth Weston just stood there for a moment, as though he didn’t understand the language she spoke. Sophy knew she was gabbling, but she had to do something to dispel the tension. She shrugged, trying to appear calm and disdainfully unconcerned.

Doubt crossed Seth’s face, but only for a moment. In a strange kind of elfin way, she seemed timid and embarrassed, yet he knew she was playing a game. A dangerous game.

Not only was she flirting with her looks, she was dangling her money as bait. She was even breaking conventions and inviting him to her private drawing room. He thought he saw her game. It was incredible what a wealthy woman would do for amusement.

He quickly weighed his chances of backing out and laughing the whole mess off as a joke, yet something stopped him. Looking down at her, he realized Sophy van Houten interested him. His probing gaze burned into her tense features.

She had a little pointed face and her eyes were huge with some carefully concealed emotion, as if it took an astonishing amount of nerve to confront him. For the first time in months, genuine amusement flared in his blue eyes.

Sophy took a step forward, about to take his hat and gloves, just as Seth shifted his weight to one hip. In her haste, she accidentally pressed against him. For some reason, this seemed to knock him off-balance, and he grabbed her shoulder to right himself. Sophy’s eyes flew to meet his. Both went rigid with shock.

The clock ticked in the silent room.

Eyes more violet than gray, as fathomless as the sea, fringed by dark, long lashes, widened to an impossible extent. Seth did not think he had ever seen such a look of gentle allure in a human being before. He was suddenly taken with a longing to see those eyes darken with passion.

For a long moment he stood as though paralyzed before he swallowed a faint sense of chagrin. For an instant, he had glimpsed the promise of a wife, and children he could love and cherish.

An illusion. A dream. Dreams were for children... and fools. The thought brought a strangled sound from his throat.

Sophy came out of her state of stunned immobility. As though she had been scalded, she stepped back abruptly, and the color deepened in her cheeks. Her eyes flashed between the soft lashes.

Seth watched her. His sharp eyes saw through people. He knew she was nervous, and not stupid, and he wondered what caused this state of mind.

His eyelids drooped a fraction as his eyes shifted to the curving lips of a full, shapely mouth. The underlip, edged with a trace of moisture, was drawn over the upper, as though she were thinking deeply.

Sophy was. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but something liquid seemed to be collecting deep inside her. A new experience to meet someone who could make her feel so strange! If her stomach kept turning somersaults, she would have Aunt Ella prepare one of her potions!

“First door on your left. You go on up. I’ll just tell Tessa to bring the refreshments there.”

Sophy’s light, musical voice sounded distracted to her own ears, but she did not want to humiliate Mr. Weston by making reference to his affliction. While issuing instructions to the maid, she watched him surreptitiously as he made his way up the stairs.

He limped, barely able to move his right leg, and there was a way he held his shoulders that made her think every step he took was painful.

Every instinct urged her to offer assistance to her visitor to mount the stairs, but she knew pride would result in an angry refusal. So she allowed him five minutes before she ran lightly up the steps. He was standing composedly by the fire in her drawing room.

“Warmer in here, isn’t it? I’ll leave the door open so all will be correct.”

Sensing his instinctive withdrawal at the comment, she waved toward an antique silk-upholstered sofa. They did not speak again until coffee had been served, each busy with private, uncomfortable thoughts.

How neatly he had been backed into a corner by Matt Tyson, Seth reflected bitterly. A yoke of matrimony hanging about his neck to weigh him down, or the loss of all he had labored for over the past ten years. He couldn’t let that happen, whatever the cost.

Sophy absently stirred her coffee. The war was over. Had been for nigh on six months. Yet still the legacy of misery lingered. She did not know how much excruciating agony Mr. Weston must have undergone, but he still seemed in pain.

Sometimes the test of courage was not to die but to live. It would be good to ease this man’s hurt. Deliberately she took a grip on her thoughts and looked up at him through her lashes.

“Did you want to tell me the reason for your visit, Mr. Weston?”

Seth watched her face for a long moment. His blue eyes seemed to see right through her gleaming head. Then he appeared to reach a decision. Leaning forward, he set down his cup on the low cherrywood table, an air of sudden determination in his eyes.

“I wanted to talk to you, Miss van Houten, on a very personal matter. With the war and all—” indicating his leg “— I’ve been out of commission for two years, and become a social hermit, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, I suppose you have,” Sophy replied slowly. A fleeting smile touched her lips, and she looked him straight in the eyes. “I promise to do whatever I can to help you.”

“I know it’s asking a great deal, but...”

Hell, this was more difficult than he’d thought. Damn, but Matt Tyson had put him in one hell of a spot, Seth fumed. Another six months and he could have traded out of his financial quagmire.

“Go on, Mr. Weston.”

Seth ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t have another six months and Sophy van Houten was looking at him so intently, with such unblinking fervor, he felt as though she were reading his mind.

She sat, hands folded in her lap as she waited politely. He was aware she had rejected dozens of offers of marriage. His would be another. It seemed a calculating look had entered her cool gray eyes.

She was probably enjoying herself immensely! Fresh as the violets tucked into her belt, she appeared a product of the present day’s spoiled, overindulged young womanhood. Such a creature could be of no interest to any thinking man, except for one aspect, and he was much too busy to bother with such things at the moment.

“In order to be honest, I shall tell you I have numerous assets, including several factories, but no ready cash for working capital. The trouble is that even with hard work and a lot of luck, it will be years before modern manufacturing methods can be introduced.”

Seth looked at her just a trifle savagely as he leaned forward in his seat, absently kneading his right thigh. His resolve was diminishing with each passing second.

Fresh autumn air, gray eyes and pink velvet cheeks, to say nothing of a Cupid’s bow cherry mouth that owed nothing to artifice, were upsetting factors. The most insane desire flooded him to kiss those dusky eyelashes and crush the little fragile body in his arms.

As he pulled himself together with a jerk, a scowl settled upon his stern face. If he wanted her fortune, he would have to marry her. He looked at his hands and took a deep breath.