Meant To Be (Pendleton Manor 1)

“Well I’m here now,” she said, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

He felt the brush of her lips, and the sensation travelled all the way down to his groin. He tried not to groan, but the ache only reminded him yet again why she was not, would never be, safe around him.

“And I will dance with you,” she went on, oblivious to his raging desires. “Twice, if your father doesn’t notice.”

“Then let us hope he doesn’t notice.”

He let her hand slip from his elbow and reached down to clasp her fingers in his. He stumbled a little but regained his balance easily enough. She raised an eyebrow. “How much have had to drink, Harry?”

Not nearly enough to stop him thinking of all of the things he wanted to do to her, he thought. Aloud he said, “I want all our Christmases from now on to be spent together. All our days too, Sophy.”

Her expression softened and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “So do I, Harry,” she whispered.

Chapter 5

SOPHY

Sophy, her father and Aunt Anna were quickly swept into the noisy group of Christmas guests at Pendleton Manor. As usual, there were Baillieu cousins and aunts and uncles in every corner of the building, and even some of the more ancient relatives who were trotted out just for the occasion. It was at times like this Sophy wished she had a bigger family, but apart from Arnold and Anna, there was only her grandmother, Susan Jamieson. Her mother had had a brother, but he had gone to America to make his fortune and had not been heard of since.

Her father considered Grandma Jamieson too unsuitable to invite to occasions like this. She lived in London and Sophy could not remember ever seeing Grandma Jamieson’s home, and the one time she had suggested going to stay her father had refused outright.

“She is not respectable,” he had said. “Not the sort of influence I want in your life.” Did that mean Arnold was? Several times now Aunt Anna had mentioned her son in connection with Sophy, as if they were a couple. Or could be. She wasn’t sure whether to draw her father’s attention to it, and gently point out to him that if she married anyone it would be through choice and not because it was a comfortable prospect for her relatives. Until her aunt arrived she could not remember her father ever mentioning what he thought was an acceptable future for Sophy. Marriage? Well he still hadn’t mentioned that but she had an uncomfortable feeling that under Anna’s prompting he was thinking about it.

Sophy blinked and her gaze landed on Digby, twirling one of the young women about in time to the music, making her squeal. Several disapproving glances were cast their way by older guests who were still digesting their turkey. The room was too warm and several of the more ancient cousins had already dozed off.

“Sophy.”

She turned and found Adam grinning at her, his dark hair tousled and his face flushed. He was holding a glass of punch in his hand and swaying slightly.

“Adam.” Her smile faded and she eyed him with concern. The gleam in his eyes told her he had been imbibing more than good cheer. When she had seen Harry under the influence of brandy earlier today, she had been surprised. As far as she knew, Harry rarely drank strong liquor. But Adam was a different matter altogether. He seemed to have no sense of self preservation, and she had often seen him und

er the influence of his father’s liquor like this. Far more than she believed was healthy.

“It’s a wonder Harry isn’t glued to your side,” he said, slurring his words slightly. “He believes you’re his, after all.”

Sophy glared. Although Adam was the same age as her and she felt comfortable with him most of the time, when he had been imbibing like this he became unpredictable. “I’m not his!” she said, then quickly lowered her voice, and glancing about her. Thankfully, no one seemed to be listening.

“He treats you as if you are.” Adam sniggered, taking another gulp of his punch. He held up the glass, nearly sloshing it over her. “Father has watered down our Christmas spirit this year, so I had to find something extra to lift mine up.”

Sophy groaned. “Perhaps you should stop now, Adam. Sir Arbuthnot is going to notice.”

Adam stared at her solemnly, all humour draining from his face. He suddenly looked a lot older. “Do you think he cares?” he asked, leaning in closer. “Harry is the golden boy. Always was. I’m just the spare.”

Sophy tried to read his expression but he had turned his face away. “I’m sure you’re more than that to him,” she said at last.

When he looked back at her he was grinning, but the smile didn’t transfer to his hazel eyes. “Harry gets everything, you know that, Soph. The house, the land, the money. I’m the second son, so it’s the army for me. If there had been a third, he’d go into the church. My father is nothing if not a traditionalist.”

“I can picture you in a uniform,” she teased, trying to lighten his dark mood. “All the ladies will swoon.”

He cocked his head to the side and his next words surprised her. “You’re a nice girl, Sophy.” Then he leaned close again, bringing a gust of alcohol with him, “Be careful around Digby. He’s not like Harry and me.” And then he was gone, weaving back into the crowd.

Sophy stood and watched him, trying to make sense of the puzzle that was Harry’s brother, before she began looking for Harry himself. Last time she’d seen him he was being held captive by the age spotted hands of an elderly neighbour.

Someone swooped in front of her with a dancer’s grace. But instead of Harry, as she’d hoped, she met Digby’s green gaze.

She wanted to look away, but the intensity of his stare held her in place, and before she could break free he smiled and swaggered next to her.

“You really are exquisite, Sophy. I wonder, has Harry had you yet? He’s a fool if he hasn’t. You’d be wasted on a yokel.”