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dislike for the marquess rose.
In fact, he thought as they entered the dining room, Sophia and Charles made a very handsome couple, just as she and the late marquess had. They looked as though they belonged together, and there could be no doubt that Charles wanted Sophia. The hunger in his gaze when he looked at her was unmistakable.
So why did she look more like a poor relation than a rich man's mistress?
It was none of his concern. After tomorrow, when he and Letitia were on their way to London, he wouldn't give Sophia or her lover another thought. They could go at it on the dining-room table for all he cared.
But when Julian imagined Sophia naked and writhing on that polished oak surface, it wasn't Charles Morelle he saw poised to devour her like the tart she was.
Good lord. What the hell was wrong with him? How could he even imagine making love with a woman he didn't even like? But he had liked her very much at one time. He never had Sophia as he had wanted all those years ago, perhaps that was the reason he was having these thoughts now. That had to be it.
Sophia sat at one end of the table, Charles at the other. She seemed much more relaxed with several feet of china and silverware between them. Did she hope that he wouldn't notice the way Charles looked at her? A man would have to be blind to miss that.
Dinner was an informal affair, with each of them serving themselves from platters on the table and nearby sideboard. The food was simple but delicious, and Julian was thankful for it as there was little conversation.
"So you're bound for London tomorrow, eh, Wolfram?" Charles asked around a mouthful of bread.
Lowering his fork to his plate, Julian nodded. "Yes." He didn't bother to add he'd steal a carriage if he had to.
The marquess looked very pleased to hear this. "Lady Aberley will miss your lovely sister's company, I fear."
If he feared it why did he look so damn happy about it?
"I invited Lady Aberley to join us," Letitia replied, fixing Julian with a mutinous expression. "But she declined."
This announcement seemed to surprise Charles as much as it surprised Julian.
"If you want to go to London, Sister, all you have to do is ask." There was a hint of innuendo in Charles's tone, a trace of intimacy that made it sound as though Sophia could have whatever she wanted, provided she asked the right way.
With her body.
It was tempting to knock the marquess's teeth into his lap. How dare he be so blatant in front of Letitia!
But Letitia didn't seem to notice. She was too busy moving her vegetables around her plate with her fork.
Julian glanced at Sophia. She looked as though she might throw something at her brother-in-law. Julian rather hoped that she would. He wanted her to refute the insinuation that Charles knew her more intimately than a husband's brother should.
Instead, she tightened her grip on her knife and fork. Disappointment stabbed at Julian's breast. "I have no desire to go to London," she replied politely. Only that brief flash in her eyes betrayed how truly angry she was.
She turned to Julian, her face an expressionless mask. "Please do not think I was trying to win an invitation, my lord."
In other words she didn't want to be in the same city as him, let alone the same house. It shouldn't affect him, but it did. It served to drive home the fact that she had never truly cared about him, that she had only paid attention to him because of his title and his fortune. What a fool she must think him.
Julian forced a smile. "Of course not," he replied, his chest strangely tight. "I would never assume such a thing."
* * *
She needed a drink.
Setting the heavy, silver-backed brush on the vanity, Sophia rose from the thickly padded stool, reached for the silk wrapper draped over the foot of her bed and slipped it on over her matching night rail. It wasn't very warm, but it was all she had. Edmund hadn't liked her in warm, heavy fabrics such as velvet. They hid too much, and he liked to have
In fact, he thought as they entered the dining room, Sophia and Charles made a very handsome couple, just as she and the late marquess had. They looked as though they belonged together, and there could be no doubt that Charles wanted Sophia. The hunger in his gaze when he looked at her was unmistakable.
So why did she look more like a poor relation than a rich man's mistress?
It was none of his concern. After tomorrow, when he and Letitia were on their way to London, he wouldn't give Sophia or her lover another thought. They could go at it on the dining-room table for all he cared.
But when Julian imagined Sophia naked and writhing on that polished oak surface, it wasn't Charles Morelle he saw poised to devour her like the tart she was.
Good lord. What the hell was wrong with him? How could he even imagine making love with a woman he didn't even like? But he had liked her very much at one time. He never had Sophia as he had wanted all those years ago, perhaps that was the reason he was having these thoughts now. That had to be it.
Sophia sat at one end of the table, Charles at the other. She seemed much more relaxed with several feet of china and silverware between them. Did she hope that he wouldn't notice the way Charles looked at her? A man would have to be blind to miss that.
Dinner was an informal affair, with each of them serving themselves from platters on the table and nearby sideboard. The food was simple but delicious, and Julian was thankful for it as there was little conversation.
"So you're bound for London tomorrow, eh, Wolfram?" Charles asked around a mouthful of bread.
Lowering his fork to his plate, Julian nodded. "Yes." He didn't bother to add he'd steal a carriage if he had to.
The marquess looked very pleased to hear this. "Lady Aberley will miss your lovely sister's company, I fear."
If he feared it why did he look so damn happy about it?
"I invited Lady Aberley to join us," Letitia replied, fixing Julian with a mutinous expression. "But she declined."
This announcement seemed to surprise Charles as much as it surprised Julian.
"If you want to go to London, Sister, all you have to do is ask." There was a hint of innuendo in Charles's tone, a trace of intimacy that made it sound as though Sophia could have whatever she wanted, provided she asked the right way.
With her body.
It was tempting to knock the marquess's teeth into his lap. How dare he be so blatant in front of Letitia!
But Letitia didn't seem to notice. She was too busy moving her vegetables around her plate with her fork.
Julian glanced at Sophia. She looked as though she might throw something at her brother-in-law. Julian rather hoped that she would. He wanted her to refute the insinuation that Charles knew her more intimately than a husband's brother should.
Instead, she tightened her grip on her knife and fork. Disappointment stabbed at Julian's breast. "I have no desire to go to London," she replied politely. Only that brief flash in her eyes betrayed how truly angry she was.
She turned to Julian, her face an expressionless mask. "Please do not think I was trying to win an invitation, my lord."
In other words she didn't want to be in the same city as him, let alone the same house. It shouldn't affect him, but it did. It served to drive home the fact that she had never truly cared about him, that she had only paid attention to him because of his title and his fortune. What a fool she must think him.
Julian forced a smile. "Of course not," he replied, his chest strangely tight. "I would never assume such a thing."
* * *
She needed a drink.
Setting the heavy, silver-backed brush on the vanity, Sophia rose from the thickly padded stool, reached for the silk wrapper draped over the foot of her bed and slipped it on over her matching night rail. It wasn't very warm, but it was all she had. Edmund hadn't liked her in warm, heavy fabrics such as velvet. They hid too much, and he liked to have
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