Married to a Stranger (Danger and Desire 3)

‘Sorry I’m late. Minor domestic crisis,’ Cal said, as he slung his saddlebags on to a chair and hung up his hat.

Pettigrew’s very silence and the way he turned back to his map had Cal glancing at his reflection in the glass over the mantelshelf. The shadows under his eyes did not help, but he looked grim enough for a man going to his own hanging. Sophia was getting under his skin, into his heart where he had vowed never to allow anyone again. What if something happened to her? What if she grew tired of this marriage she had been forced to make? What if he hurt her?

Then the memory of her touch, her compassion, the tough way she would not allow him to shy away from talking about Dan, her sweet delight in their lovemaking, all came flooding back and he smiled.

‘Confusing state, married life,’ Cal said as he sat down. ‘As complicated as negotiating a contract with a Chinese silk dealer and about as comprehensible.’

‘Compromise would be the thing, I suppose,’ George offered. ‘You’ve got the good faith—at least you can take that for granted.’

‘Yes,’ Cal agreed and felt better. Good faith and a wife who came into his arms with a generous passion that took his breath away. Whatever else he felt about this marriage of duty, he knew that their lovemaking at least was right and that act, surely, stripped away all pretence. Was he falling in love with Sophia? Was this what it felt like? It must be love. My God.

‘Pull yourself together,’ George demanded. ‘I want to have a sensible discussion about tea warehouses, but if you’re going to brood on married life I’ll go and see if I can get some sense out of Jorgenson instead.’

‘No, I’m not going to brood,’ Cal said with sudden certainty. ‘I know what I’m going to do about it.’ He was going to woo his wife. If it was possible to make Sophia fall in love with him, he was going to do it. And if he failed? His stomach gave a sudden sickening lurch as though he had stepped off a high cliff. If he failed, he did not know how he was going to live with it; it would be the pain of losing Dan all over again with the added torment of having to live the rest of his life with a woman he desired body, heart and soul and knowing all he could ever have were her caresses and her kindness.

Sophia did not go back to bed, but it was a long time before she could stir herself to do anything but sit and think. She had known, theoretically, how terrible a shipwreck must be, but she had not felt it, not allowed herself to dwell on the terror and the sheer crushing inevitability of the ocean once it had frail humans in its grasp.

But Callum had not been frail. He had fought and battled and even when he had known it was hopeless, that he would not find his twin, at the moment when he could just have given up, he had battled on to save the others who he did find, had held them on the upturned boat until help came, even though he was hurt and freezing and in utter despair.

He was a hero and even now he could not believe it. But he had forgiven himself, that she did believe. And he had spoken about Daniel and his feelings and perhaps now he would not dream that dream again. If he did, she was determined that she would be there. As she finally roused herself and sat brushing out her hair, it occurred to her that perhaps she had finally been able to repay something in return for Callum’s offer of marriage, his payment of their debts, his guarantee of security. And there was the money she had earned from her drawings, the money she had thought to use instead of her dress allowance—she could buy something for Callum.

What would he like? He wore jewellery sparingly and he had any number of good family pieces—links and pins and fobs. A horse? He seemed content with the gelding he hired, but perhaps he was just too busy to think about buying one. Sporting guns? They would all take quite a lot of money, she knew that. But she could save up and that would give her more time to find just the right gift.

More content than she had been since Callum had put his ring on her finger, Sophia went to work on another set of drawings for a memorandum book. She would prefer to draw Callum, or try her hand at imitating one of those wicked caricatures, but she was a professional artist now, and this was what Mr Ackermann wanted. If she sold these drawings, then she would tell Callum. He would see it was all harmless and safely anonymous and he would, she hoped, be proud of the standard of her work.

Chapter Nineteen

There were no fresh flowers on the breakfast table when Sophia came down the next morning after a night alone in her room. Nor was there any sign of her husband. Callum had sent a note from the office apologising for missing dinner and then had come in late and had gone to his own room, hours after she had retired to bed. Sophia told herself firmly that she could not read anything into it, that Callum was not regretting the intimacy of the night before and his frankness. He had simply been overwhelmed by work at the office, that must be it.

‘Has Mr Chatterton gone out early?’ she asked Andrew who was arranging plates on the buffet.

‘He said he would be back very shortly, ma’am. He’s gone to the market.’ The footman looked as confused by this as she felt.

‘The market?’

‘Shepherd’s Market, ma’am. It’s only just round the corner. It’s where I usually get the flowers every morning, ma’am. But the master said not to go today.’

‘I will wait breakfast until he returns,’ she said. ‘Please bring me a cup of coffee in the drawing room.’ What on earth had possessed Callum to go to a market of all places? If he wanted early morning exerc

ise after a bad night, surely a walk in the park would be more usual?

The front door opened just before she reached the drawing room and Callum came through it, obscured behind a large bunch of flowers. Country flowers, late wild flowers and foliage, a riot of shapes and colours all mixed together as though a small child had plucked the contents of a hedgerow and thrust them into his arms.

‘Callum?’ Sophia parted the bunch and he smiled at her, petals on the brim of his tall hat.

‘I thought these would be a change from roses and give you something else to draw. I realised when I thought about it that there are hardly any wild flowers in Green Park—the park keepers’ scythes and the cows see to that.’

‘But they are lovely! Thank you—and you went to fetch them yourself.’ Not many gentlemen would battle through a crowded market to buy flowers and then carry them back through the streets just because they thought their wives would enjoy drawing them.

She dodged round the flowers as Callum handed them to Andrew. ‘That was so thoughtful, Callum.’ He turned his head so their lips met and, with his hands free now, pulled her against him. The kiss was slow, thorough and possessive, his lips open over hers, his tongue taking possession of her mouth until the heat flooded into her and she moaned, wanting him, wanting what he had not given her last night.

Then he set her back on her unsteady feet and smiled, quite as though nothing had happened. She stared at him, breathless. ‘I’ve kept you from your breakfast. I’m sorry. I had no idea the market would be so busy and colourful—I thought I was back in India! You must come with me one morning, I think you would find it amusing—it made me want to paint.’

‘I would love to come.’ Bemused, Sophia preceded Callum into the dining room. ‘I thought perhaps you had not had a good night last night and had gone out to take the air.’

‘Because I was so late back? I wanted to clear my desk for a day or two and there were things I needed to plan. There are meetings I must attend today, but I am going down to look at the ship again tomorrow—would you like to come?’

Time with Callum, entering into his world, sharing with him—and he wondered if she would enjoy it? ‘There is nothing I would like better,’ she admitted. ‘But don’t be late back tonight; it is your cousin Mrs Hickson’s party this evening.’