"It is not necessary to control me, my lord," Sophy said distantly. "But I am beginning to believe you will never understand that. No doubt you feel the need to do so because of what happened with your first wife. But I can assure you, no amount of control exercised by you would have been sufficient to save her from destroying herself. She was beyond your control or anyone else's. She was, I believe, beyond human help altogether. You must not blame yourself for being unable to save her."
Julian's strong hand closed heavily over her fingers on his arm. "Damn. I have told you I do not discuss Elizabeth. I will say this much: God knows I failed to protect her from whatever it was that drove her to such wildness and perhaps you are right. Perhaps no man could have contained her kind of madness. But you may be certain I will not fail to protect you, Sophy."
"But I am not Elizabeth," Sophy snapped out, "and I promise you, I am not a candidate for Bedlam."
"I am well aware of that," Julian said soothingly. "And I thank God for it. But you do need protection, Sophy. You are too vulnerable in some ways."
"That is not true. I can take care of myself, my lord."
"If you are so damned skilled at taking care of yourself, why were you succumbing to Waycott's tragic little scene?" Julian snapped impatiently.
"He was not lying, you know. I am convinced he cared very deeply for Elizabeth. He certainly should not have fallen in love with another man's wife, but that does not alter the fact that his feelings for her were genuine."
"I will not argue the fact that he was fascinated by her. Believe me, the man was not alone in his affliction. There is no doubt, however, that his actions tonight were merely a ploy to gain your sympathy."
"What is wrong with that, pray? We all need sympathy on occasion."
"With Waycott, it would have been the first step into a treacherous sea. Given the smallest opportunity, Sophy, he will suck you under. His goal is to seduce you and throw the fact of your seduction in my face. Need I be more blatant about it than that?"
Sophy was incensed. "No, my lord, you are quite clear on the subject. But I think you may also be quite wrong about the Viscount's feelings. In any event, I give you my solemn vow I will not be seduced by him or anyone else. I have already promised you my loyalty. Why do you not trust me?"
Julian bit off a frustrated exclamation. "Sophy, I did not mean to imply you would willingly fall for his ruse."
"I believe, my lord," Sophy went on, ignoring his efforts to placate her, "that the least you can do is to give me your solemn assurance that you accept my word on the subject."
"Damn it, Sophy, I told you, I did not mean—"
"Enough." Sophy came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the path, forcing him to stop also. She looked up at him with fierce determination. "Your vow of honor that you will trust me not to get myself seduced by Waycott or anyone else. I will have your word, my lord, before I go another step with you."
"Will you, indeed?" Julian studied her moonlit face for a long moment, his own expression as remote and as unreadable as ever.
"You owe me that much, Julian. Is it really so hard to say the words? When you gave me the bracelet and Culpeper's herbal you claimed you held me in esteem. I want some proof of that esteem and I am not talking about diamonds or emeralds."
Something flickered in Julian's gaze as he lifted his hands to cup her upturned face. "You are a ferocious little thing when your sense of honor is touched on the quick."
"No more ferocious than you would be, my lord, if it was your honor that was being called into question."
His brows rose with casual menace. "Are you going to call it into question if I foil to give you the answer you want?"
"Of course not. I have no doubt but that your honor is quite untarnishable. I want assurance from you that you have the same degree of respect for mine. If esteem is all you feel for me, my lord, then, by heaven, you can give me some meaningful evidence of your regard."
He stood silent another long moment, gazing down into her eyes. "You ask a great deal, Sophy."
"No more than you ask of me."
He nodded slowly, reluctantly, conceding a major point. "Yes, you are right," he said quietly. "I do not know any other woman who would argue the issue of honor in such a fashion. In fact, I do not know any women who even concern themselves with the notion."
"Perhaps it is only that a man pays no heed to a woman's feelings on the subject except on those occasions when her loss of honor threatens to jeopardize his own."
"No more, I beg you. I surrender." Julian raised a hand to ward off further argument. "Very well, madam, you have my most solemn vow that I will put my full faith and trust in your womanly honor."
A tight knot of tension eased inside Sophy. She smiled tremulously, knowing what it had cost him to make the concession. "Thank you, Julian." Impulsively she stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth lightly against his. "I will never betray you," she whispered earnestly.
"Then there is no reason we should not do very well together, you and I." His arms closed almost roughly around her, pulling her close against his lean, hard length. His mouth came down on hers, heavy and demanding and strangely urgent.
When Julian finally raised his head a moment later, there was a familiar look of anticipation in his eyes.
"Julian?"
"I think, my most loyal wife, that it is time we went home. I have plans for the remainder of our evening."
"Do you, indeed, my lord?"
"Most definitely." He took her arm again and led her toward the ballroom with such long strides that Sophy was obliged to skip to keep pace. "I believe we will take our leave of our hostess immediately."
But when they walked through the front door of their own house a short time later, Guppy was waiting for them with a rare expression of grave concern.
"There you are, my lord. I was just about to send a footman to find you at your club. Your aunt, Lady Sinclair, has apparently taken very ill and Miss Rattenbury has twice sent a message requesting my lady's assistance."
FIFTEEN
Julian prowled his bedchamber restlessly, aware that his inability to sleep was a direct result of the knowledge that Sophy was not next door in her own room. Where she should be. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair and wondered exactly when and how he had arrived at a state of affairs in which he could no longer sleep properly if Sophy was not nearby.
He dropped into the chair he had commissioned from the younger Chippendale a few years ago when both he and the cabinetmaker had been much taken with the Neoclassic style. The chair was a reflection of the idealism of his youth, Julian thought in a rare moment of insight.
During that same era, which now seemed so far in the past, he had been known to argue the Greek and Latin classics until late at night, involve himself in the radical liberal politics of the Reform Whigs and even thought it quite necessary to put bullets in the shoulders of two men who had dared to impugn Elizabeth's honor.
Much had changed in the past few years, Julian thought. He rarely had time or inclination to argue the classics these days; he'd come to the conclusion that the Whigs, even the liberal ones, were no less corrupt than the Tories; and he had long since acknowledged that the notion of Elizabeth having any honor at all was quite laughable.
Absently he smoothed his hands over the beautifully worked mahogany arms of the chair. Part of him still responded to the pure, classic motifs of the design, he realized with a sense of surprise. Just as part of him had insisted on trying a few lines of poetry to go with the diamond bracelet and the herbal he had given Sophy. The verse had been rusty and awkward.