Emily French - Illusion

“As a charity worker in the army hospital, I helped tend hundreds of wounded soldiers, both Union and Confederate prisoners. The agony and misery I witnessed affected me deeply. I have sworn that I will never bear a child and so perpetuate the terrible things that brother can do to brother.”

The harsh contours of Seth’s face seemed to harden at the depth of despair in her voice, but he did not release the grip on her fingers. “The idea still distresses you?”

She frowned uncertainly. “No. But I made a solemn vow. One which I intend to keep.” Her fingers flexed against his palm. “Now that you know I will never give you a child, do you want to withdraw your offer of marriage?”

Seth’s eyes narrowed to blue slits as he examined her face carefully. Her eyes were wide, reflecting an appeal of which she wasn’t aware as she waited for his reaction.

He found his gaze drifting to her mouth, observing the way the lower lip slid beneath small white teeth. Was the action to prevent its trembling? Or a contrived expression of mystery, sensuality and allure? Whichever it was, Sophy van Houten was not what he had anticipated.

He had expected a weak, easily led woman, helplessly adrift without the support of her father, and instead here was a creature who, though she looked fragile, possessed a devastating candor, an integrity, that set all his preconceived notions of women in a spin.

Humor flickered briefly in the set features of his face. “Is that all? You don’t want children? That is your terrible confession?”

Sophy’s chin rose at the trace of amusement in his voice. “I am constantly told I am too unconventional, too reckless, that I must curb my foolish thoughts.” A little ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I am also aware that, even in a city that prides itself in being on the cutting edge of the new morality, to go against custom is to invite ostracism.”

“Money will open most doors, and we’ve just finished four years of bloodshed to confirm all men are born equal.” He slanted her an odd glance. “In any event, one man’s rose is another man’s cabbage. It seems we have things in common, after all. Children are not high on my list of priorities from this marriage.”

Recognizing in the simple statement both the truth and the utter insufficiency of the words, Sophy closed her eyes for a moment, relief surging through her. He had no intention of withdrawing his offer, she thought, with a trace of wonder. It was comforting and slightly scary, but it also gave her an oddly warm feeling right behind her breastbone.

Silence fell around them. Sophy stole another look at him, wishing she could sit here and savor this warm, comfortable feeling for the rest of time. Her fingers quivered a little in the warmth and strength of his clasp, and she smiled brilliantly up at him.

“We can call it settled, then?”

Seth went still. The unnatural quietness in him was unnerving. Deep down, it sent prickles of a very primitive, very feminine alarm through her.

“Not quite.” His voice was gentle. “There is one detail I would like to clarify. It might not be fair to either of us to commit ourselves to the arrangement you propose on a permanent basis.”

Sophy marveled at the perfectly neutral tone of his words. Whatever happened, marriage or no marriage, would not be a neutral event to her. She leaned forward earnestly, breathing tremulously, searching his face for hidden meanings.

He was watching her with a startling intensity. “I know that you consider this marriage to be founded on necessity, so I am prepared to wait until you feel comfortable enough to fulfill the...er, shall we call it, duties of a wife.”

His thumb stroked the back of her hand, tracing the lines of the bones there. “I’ve tried to make it plain that I can’t give you romance. That part of me does not exist anymore.” His jaw tightened. “But I promise to be a faithful husband, Sophy, and I will not act the cuckold. Do you understand?”

Sophy could feel the tension emanate from his body, a tangible thing, matching her own. A deep wariness and a grim determination lit his eyes, as if he were silently setting down the rules of war. The challenge was there, in his eyes, waiting for her.

With a feeling of sliding from a great height, she responded, her fingers tight on his. The suggestion of warmth and laughter that was reflected in the curve of her mouth became a full-blown smile.

“Yes.”

It was all that she could manage, that one syllable, but nothing could halt the rush of red into her cheeks. She had won a glorious victory! The matter of marital intimacy had been satisfactorily resolved. She had control of herself and the situation.

Realizing suddenly what he’d agreed to, Seth pulled his hand from hers as if her fingers were a sheaf of snakes. Damn her to hell! Had he consented to a marriage he did not want simply to save a factory? Sold his soul to the devil for thirty pieces of silver?

No. Not quite true. Most men would kill for a smile like the one she had just given him. The smile that was on her face was like the rising of the sun. A sweet, feminine gift, which dazzled the senses.

For a second, he’d stepped into an illusion, allowing it to enclose him so completely that he’d felt her delight as if it were his own. And, in reality, the kind of marriage she was offering was precisely the type to which he was most suited.

They each had something the other wanted, or needed.

Sophy moved restlessly in her seat, hurt at his abrupt withdrawal. She wanted to leave her hand in his, warm and safe. The pain seemed to grow round her heart, but there was self-deprecation too. She should not have dared to show such foolish emotion before him. She glared at Seth as he poured fresh coffee from the porcelain pot on the cherrywood table.

An odd smile edged Seth’s mouth as he looked into those well-spaced gray eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her and held up the pot in salute.

“Well, Miss van Houten, it would seem that you and I have ourselves a marriage contract. I hope you consider the bargain worthwhile.” He shut his eyes in brief irritation when his leg protested angrily at the movement. He shifted position gingerly. “Would Sunday week suit you?”

“Whenever you wish. I won’t change my mind,” she said gravely, accepting the cup he passed to her.

Seth gave her a sharp look as though to detect levity, a slight frown hardening the lines around his mouth. When Sophy’s eyes solemnly met his fierce blue ones, her whole body went tense.

There was something about the way he looked at her that confused her. Something shrewd. Something dangerous. The taut strain in him was etched around his eyes, making her want to lift her fingers to soothe away the lines. A nervous tremor skittered along her nerves, and she tore her eyes from his, breaking the spell.

“I’ll wait on your uncles tomorrow to make the necessary arrangements.”

Relieved, Seth realized his voice was even, as though he were in full command. For a moment those soft gray eyes had stirred feelings that were strange and unwelcome, yet pleasurably compelling. It was a long time since a woman had so disturbed his equilibrium.

Sophy lowered her eyes demurely to the contents of her coffee cup. Thinking she shouldn’t even be considering the suggestion and knowing it was already starting to tantalize her, she glanced up at him through lowered lashes.

Setting down her cup with great care, she put her small hand to her mouth, shocked by the heady notion. It would be a bold move to try to squeeze further concessions from him, but why not enter into marriage on terms favorable to the wife?

Her mouth tilted slightly at the corners. Fortune sides with him who dares. She tried to make her voice bland. “I would like to continue with some projects I’ve been working on, maybe even undertake some new ones.”