Married to a Stranger (Danger and Desire 3)

What, he wondered with a frown, did she think of him?

It was an hour since she had heard Callum come in. Sophia unpicked the last dozen stitches that she had set in her embroidery, pricked her finger, said ‘Rats!’ in a most unladylike fashion and stuck it in her mouth before the blood got on to the linen.

‘What on earth is the matter?’

And now her careful pose of sweet domesticity for her returning husband was shattered. She took her finger out of her mouth and held it away from her gown while she fumbled in her reticule for a handkerchief. ‘I was sewing and I pricked my finger and I do not want to get blood on the cloth or my new gown—oh, thank you.’ Callum shook out a large clean linen square and handed it to her. ‘Have you had a good day?’ He did not look as though he had spent a tiring day bent over paperwork or in stuffy meetings or whatever it was that he did. She realised that she had no idea.

‘Interesting and quite positive, I think. That is a very handsome gown.’

Was that warmth in his eyes as he studied the amber silk with its coffee-brown ribbons? She felt a definite warming herself as she studied the lean figure in the dark elegance of evening dress. There were muscles under that smooth tailoring; she had felt them shift under her hands as he drove into her body.

‘You do not think it is too bright in colour? I was a trifle unsure, but it had been returned to the modiste and it happened to fit and I thought that while I waited for the other gowns I had ordered to be finished …’ She was prattling with nerves. Sophia stopped and reminded herself to breathe.

‘I think it is very suitable. The ribbons are a trifle sombre, perhaps. Could they be replaced with ruffles or something?’ Callum grinned, transforming his expression. ‘Or am I completely adrift—will it quite ruin the style if you do that?’

That smile. Oh, my goodness. That was all she needed on top of her overheated thoughts. Sophia smiled back, her heart lifting. She had not realised just how tense she was. ‘Of course it will! Have you no experience of ladies’ fashions, sir?’ It was meant as a joke, but then she remembered that he had no sisters, had not been in England for years, so the only ladies’ fashions he would have encountered would have been in India and the ones he would have taken an interest in were probably on the backs of his mistresses.

She knew she had blushed and that her smile had frozen on her lips. She could tell he understood why she was so suddenly out of countenance; the wretched man seemed to read her like a book. Sophia subsided into embarrassed silence.

‘Very little, beyond admiring them at social events. And, of course, society fashions in India are always a good season or two behin

d the mode here. If you are enquiring if I bought my mistresses fashionable gowns, no, I did not.’ He waited a beat, then added, ‘They always preferred silks.’

The image of Callum reclining on heaped cushions like an Eastern potentate surrounded by exquisite golden-skinned beauties with long black hair and dark eyes swam vividly into her mind. She recalled the robe and slippers in his room and how she had found the idea of him wearing them unsettling. She had heard that the East India Company encouraged liaisons, and marriages, between their officers and Indian women, but somehow she had never related that to Daniel or Callum.

Pride came to her rescue. ‘I can well believe it,’ Sophia said with a smile that felt tight on her lips. ‘Why should they want to be enveloped in tight lacing and layers of petticoats and silly frills in that heat when there are those beautiful fabrics and flowing costumes?’

Callum narrowed his eyes at her response. So, he had been trying to shock her, had he? ‘Did you bring her with you?’ she asked. ‘Your current mistress at the time? Was the poor soul drowned?’ Even as she said it she winced inwardly at how her temper had betrayed her into cruelty—he would have felt affection for the woman at the very least.

‘No, I did not. We should not be discussing such things.’ He strode into the room and poured wine into a glass.

‘Why not? I am not a sheltered little virgin any more and you brought the subject up.’ Callum lifted the glass to his lips, his profile turned to her, revealing nothing except a complete absence of humour. ‘And I would like a glass of wine, if you please.’

He put down his glass and poured another. ‘I paid off my mistress when I returned to Calcutta. And I have not taken one since. Are you satisfied? May we drop the subject now?’

‘Certainly, if it makes you uncomfortable.’ She took the proffered glass and pointedly avoided touching his hand as she did so. ‘Thank you.’

‘It does not make me uncomfortable,’ he snapped, ‘if by that you mean I have a guilty conscience. It is simply not a suitable subject for discussion with one’s wife.’ Sophia merely arched one eyebrow in what she hoped was elegant disbelief. ‘Do you think Daniel and I were living like monks?’

‘Of course I do not! I suppose I always knew that is how men behave, whilst unmarried women must maintain an aura of virgin purity and wait for them to decide to stop their raking and come home.’

But that was a lie. She had never once thought about Daniel and other women because the truth was, by the time she had come to understand about such matters, she must have fallen out of love with him and it did not matter to her. But whether Callum kept a mistress did matter somehow, even though she knew many married men thought nothing of it. ‘Not that coming home and marrying is any guarantee of fidelity, I quite understand that, too.’

‘Indeed?’ Callum demanded. He had taken up position before the empty fireplace beneath a large mirror that reflected his back to her. The rigid set of his shoulders appeared as furious as his front view. Sophia quaked inwardly and took a gulp of wine. ‘You expect me to set up a mistress in London, do you?’

‘Well … not immediately. You have a lot to deal with just now and I expect it is not a matter of impulse. It must be like choosing a quality horse, I suppose—an investment.’

‘Let us be clear, Mrs Chatterton. I am married to you. I took vows. That means I am faithful to you. If I had made arrangements before, then those are now over. Is there anything in that statement that is open to misinterpretation? Because if so, let us deal with any further questions you might have about my morals here and now.’

She had made him very, very angry, she realised. What on earth had made her think she could tease him? It must have been that grin, that sudden flash of humour. Sophia said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I am sincerely glad that I am not one of your clerks, or some poor soul up before you as magistrate.’ His expression of cold displeasure darkened and she added, ‘That was very clear, thank you.’

‘Excellent. And I hope the same goes for you. I will not tolerate unfaithfulness.’

‘How dare you! If you think for one moment that I would take a lover—’

‘Dinner is served, madam,’ Hawksley said behind her.

Chapter Twelve