Sophia turned and met the towering gentleman’s eyes before alighting on his muscular frame and dark hair. She had certainly never seen him at any of the parties she attended over the years since her debut. And did he just call me an angel . . . in reference to Prescott as his stepfather? The flitting illusion of being rescued was doused at once. “I am guessing you are Prescott’s stepson, Carver Ashton?”
“His much younger and much, much handsomer stepson.”
“And much humbler too.” Sophia laughed.
He grinned, his bronze eyes sparkling. “May I have this dance? I’m certain if the bride-to-be is found to be avoiding the dance floor all night, people will begin to suspect she is not in love with her groom.”
Her smile faded as she felt heat rush to her cheeks at his assumption of her loving the man. “Well, sometimes there is more behind a person’s decision than . . . love.” And it may not even be her decision. She placed her small hand in his outstretched one.
“Quite.” Carver pulled her into his arms for the waltz. “Tell me, how did my stepfather manage to capture the heart of such an exquisite lady?”
“He is a close friend of my father’s.” No, really? She swallowed at the obvious statement, but she had never met anyone quite as striking and she was finding herself at a loss for words.
“Ah yes, of course. I suppose proximity does have a hand to play in the game of matrimony. But I must say it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Lately, Prescott has spoken of little else but the pursuit of your hand, a hand he had never mentioned in previous months.”
I’d hardly called it a pursuit. He circumvented me and went straight to my father. To avoid inadvertently saying something she would regret, she snapped open her fan. “I heard from Prescott that you live in Louisiana?”
“Yes, I’ve been exploring some exciting investment opportunities in New Orleans. I am still heavily invested in our family’s shipping company, but I want to withdraw my assets to build something of my own. I don’t necessarily want to be tied down to Charleston for the rest of my life. The world is too vast. I want to travel and know life before I settle down and I think I have found the way to do just that.” His voice rose in excitement as they twirled about the room.
“I envy you, Mr. Ashton. I’d love to travel to new places and experience life outside of this safe little trunk my family has placed me inside. My father wouldn’t even allow me to take a grand tour for fear something may happen to me. Even touring the rest of the states is out of the question for him.” She shook her head and sighed. “But what wouldn’t I give for a chance to see the West.”
“Really? Not many women would wish to leave the comforts of home to travel into the unknown.” His eyes shone with approval. “Prescott has found himself quite the bride. But, sadly, I doubt that you will be doing much traveling once you two are married.”
“No?”
“Prescott is not the travelling sort. He usually sends me on his errands, near or far.”
“Which would explain why I have never met you before,” she interjected, her cheeks warming again at her admission of noticing his absence.
He nodded. “Now that I have finished with my classes at Tulane University and have some experience under my belt, Prescott thinks I am perfect for representing the company. However, he would never allow me to run it on my own, even though I am twenty-six and more than capable, which is part of the reason why I wish to venture out on my own so badly, but not in the shipping industry,” Carver admitted as the music faded and he finished their dance with a bow. “I hope I didn’t bore you too much?”
“Not at all,” Sophia reassured him, allowing him to escort her from the floor. It’s refreshing to be treated like I have a mind. “If not shipping, then what is your dream?”
“I wouldn’t want this coming back to my stepfather.”
“I assure you that I will not speak of it to him.”
He grinned. “Maybe someday soon then. May I bring you some punch?” He raked his fingers through his hair, lifting back a stray lock of his dark brown hair from his forehead when Prescott appeared at his elbow.
“You didn’t tell me that your stepson would be joining us, Mr. Payne.”
“I hardly knew it myself, Miss Fairfield.” Prescott finished off his glass and set it on a passing footman’s tray. “If you will excuse us, Carver, I must speak with my bride-to-be.” Without waiting for a reply, he guided Sophia out onto the portico, the cool air stinging her shoulders.
She rubbed her arms, missing the shawl she had left on a chair and waited for him to speak, but when he leaned toward her with desire sparking in his eyes, her stomach turned. Surely he did not think he would win a kiss from her now, especially with the upstairs guests in plain view.
He brushed a golden curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear in a practiced manner. “I am going to miss you.”
Sophia’s heart thudded. Is he going to release me? “Miss me? Whatever do you mean?”
His brows lifted. “I’m departing in the morning to go on an extended business trip. Your father didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head. Why would he? He arranged all of this without my knowledge or my permission.
Prescott chuckled. “Typical Ernest. It is because of the business trip that I desired to announce our engagement so quickly, so no one else could lay claim to my beautiful bride.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Still, I wish he would have told you like he promised me he would. I have to leave for the next couple of months of our engagement.”
Hope soared in her heart. A couple months was all she needed to convince her father to release her from this farce of an engagement. Perhaps she could even find another man better suited to her. Carver’s handsome face flitted through her thoughts, but she instantly dismissed him. Your would-be stepson as a replacement suitor? Father would laugh in your face.
“But I am certain you will be busy enough planning the wedding and won’t notice I am even gone.” He rubbed his thumb over her palm.
Hardly. She cleared her throat, trying to appear apathetic, for if she was to convince him it was safe to leave her, she needed to appear somewhat open to the arrangement. “What kind of business trip?”
Prescott gently squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that now. Just focus on planning our wedding.”
Sophia gritted her teeth into a smile. “You will at least write?” And give my father proof of how ill-suited we are?
His eyes brightened at this. “I would write you every day if I thought the letters would get to you, but the post is highly unreliable where I will be travelling.”
“Oh.” Sophia looked down at her ruffled hem to hide her relief.
“But remember that the entire time I am away from you, I will be wishing I could be by your side.” He lifted her hand to his whiskered lips and kissed it. “Until that day, I will see to it my stepson acts as your escort in my absence.”
That is exactly what she needed—a handsome gentleman squiring her about with no hope of being rescued by another more suited to her. “Won’t Mr. Ashton have other work to do besides taking care of me?” Like his work in New Orleans? Even though she had only just met the gentleman, there was no way she would tell his secret wishes to his stepfather.
He shrugged. “He will do whatever I tell him. And your safety is more important than any of his little hobbies down in New Orleans. You can be certain he will take care of you until my return.” He pulled her forward. “Now, about that kiss.”
She ripped her hands from his, spun on her heel, and charged into the East drawing room, cringing at his chuckle. Let him think I am playing coy. As long as it kept her first kiss safe for a little longer until she formed a plan.
* * *
“What do you mean that I am to look after your bride-to-be for the next six weeks?” Carver hissed to his stepfather, his fist enclosing the glass of punch. “You cannot expect me to drop everything in the New Orleans port office. I have deals on the brink of—”
Prescott motioned for him to keep his voice low and nodded at the guests passing their corner of the East drawing room. “The deals can wait. It is quite fortunate that you came before I had to summon you. As always, you will do what I say because it is I who is in control of the company and our family fortune. And I am the one shoring up our future by marrying Miss Fairfield.”
Carver thought of her sparkling blue eyes looking up at him as they danced, her golden hair curling about her rosy cheeks. If he wasn’t so drawn to her, it wouldn’t be a problem to stay, but as it was—Carver shook his head free from the disconcerting feelings rising in his heart. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“I will pay you handsomely for your sacrifice. Consider it a bonus.”
It wasn’t the money, but as he could hardly admit that without divulging his attraction to the lady, he sighed. “When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. I’ve already informed her that you will act as her escort until our nuptials.”
“Thank you for telling me about your little scheme.” Carver tugged at his white neckcloth, ready to be free from it, along with the pomp and circumstance of Charleston high society.
Prescott lifted his glass to a comrade across the room. “Go find her. She is probably off sulking in that little library of hers.”
“I thought she didn’t know you well enough to feel sorry for your absence.” Carver scoffed at Prescott’s postulation as he adjusted his cuffs.
“She doesn’t. But the annoying maiden seems to thrive on attention, attention that I cannot give, nor wish to give . . . at least, until our wedding night.” He chortled, reaching for a second glass from the nearby footman.
Carver grimaced, disliking his stepfather’s lack of affection for Miss Fairfield. A kind lady like her deserved respect at least. She did not deserve Prescott’s wandering eyes, nor his callous view of women. How was Carver supposed to hide his opinion of the real Prescott from such an innocent as Miss Fairfield? Why wasn’t her father protecting her when he certainly knew of his partner’s taste?
Prescott lifted his glass in the direction of the hall. “Get on with it. I don’t want a sullen bride on my hands when I return. Make her fall in love with the idea of me, won’t you?”
That would take a miracle. Carver set aside his punch and stepped into the hallway. He glanced through any open door as he went, searching for the library, when he spied a glow coming from a door left ajar. The familiar scent of leather-bound books greeted him as he nudged open the door to find her before a crackling fire in a wing backed chair, her feet tucked up under her dress. She was engrossed in a crimson book with gold lettering. He crossed the room to her side. “What are you reading?”
She started, clutching the book to her heart as she swung her feet to the rug. “Mr. Ashton!”
“Forgive me for startling you, but Prescott sent me in search of you.”
“So, your task has already begun, has it?” She gave him a despondent smile. “I’m sorry for delaying your business dream.”
“There could be worse ways to spend my time than with an intelligent woman.” Not to mention beautiful. He held out his hand. “May I?”
She bit her lip and reluctantly handed the book to him. “I’m not certain you would be interested in The Poetical Works of Lord Alfred Tennyson.”
Carver closed the book and recited, “‘If I were loved, as I desire to be, What is there in the great sphere of the earth, And range of evil between death and birth, That I should fear—if I were loved by thee?’”
“You know Tennyson?” Her thin lips parted in surprise.
“Well, not personally, but I must confess I have a fondness for poetry.” He gestured to the wall of books. “So, who is the lover of literature in your family, or did you come by your passion on your own?”
She smiled fondly at the bookshelves. “My grandmother. As a child, I used to crawl onto her lap, and she would read me story after story. She died when I was thirteen, but before she passed, she made certain I had a list of literature to keep me busy until my thirtieth birthday. Tennyson wasn’t on her list, but I didn’t think she would mind if I deviated slightly.”
“What a wonderful, thoughtful thing for your grandmother to do for you. Is Keats on your list?” He leaned toward the books, scanning the titles.
“She made a note for me not to read him until I was in love. She thought Keats might make me too romantical for my own good if I read it any sooner.” She rolled her eyes and laughed.
He lifted Sonnets from the Portuguese from the shelf, smiling at the well-worn volume and the annotations in a feminine hand filling the margins. “There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic.”
“Why? Do you spread your coat over puddles so a lady might walk without soiling her shoes?” She smiled up at him, the teasing light in her eyes softening her words.
“Chivalry will not die as long as I am alive,” Carver declared with a flourished bow.
“Does Prescott share your fondness for reading as well?” Miss Fairfield trailed her fingers across the spines of familiar titles on the shelf next to her.
“Prescott?” Carver threw back his head and laughed at the thought. “Besides the business section of the paper, no. I’m afraid Prescott doesn’t do much reading and I also never promote that I enjoy poetry. My stepfather would harass me relentlessly.” He looked pointedly at her. “A fact which now has me worrying that I have confessed my darkest secret to his future wife. As far as Prescott knows, my only hobbies are pugilism and shooting. So, this will be our little secret, yes?”
Miss Fairfield appeared to be swallowing back her laughter, but she nodded in agreement. “Have no fear on my account. I’ll keep your secret safe. But I must ask that if Prescott isn’t a great reader, what does he do in his spare time?”
“We both enjoy boxing lessons.”
“Boxing? I thought gentlemen preferred fencing over using their fists?”
He shrugged. “I suppose most do, but my father preferred the sport to any other and it was something that we did together since my boyhood. In fact, my father met Prescott while we were boxing and began inviting him over to our home.” He sighed. “And that’s how my mother met him. Two years after my father died, when I was about fifteen, she married Prescott and we continued to box together until Mother passed and he eventually became too busy. I continue the practice as it reminds me of Father.”
She grasped his hand for a moment, her slender fingers wrapping about his. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
He nodded, unable to voice his true pain on the subject. Though it had been years since he had last heard his parents’ voices, he could yet if he only closed his eyes. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat and reached for a book from the bottom shelf that appeared to house newer editions than the rest of the library.
“So, are you any good at boxing?”
Carver chuckled, the heaviness of the moment shifting. “Not at first, and while I will not be stepping into the rings with any champions, I can go toe to toe with the best of them.”
She rose, took the book from him, and set it on the oversized chair by the fireplace. “I suppose we must get back to the party before people notice I am gone—no matter how much I am enjoying our conversation.”
“As am I.” Remembering his missive, he cleared his throat and added, “I know quite a few stories that aren’t circulated about Prescott. Stories which I am certain he wouldn’t appreciate being shared, but since I find them highly entertaining and he won’t be here, that’s what you get when you leave your future wife in the hands of your stepson.”
Miss Fairfield pressed her gloved hand to her mouth, hiding her smile. “You know, I think you are completely right. You must tell me everything.”
He laughed and held the door for her. “Then I shall tell you all over a cup of coffee. You do like coffee? Please don’t tell me you are one of those ladies who only allows tea to pass their rosebud lips?”
“These rosebud lips drink two cups of coffee a day, Mr. Ashton.”
“Thank goodness. Because I don’t think escorting you about the city would have worked otherwise.”
Her giggle spilled out and he couldn’t help but join her laughter.
“And please, call me Carver.” He had not laughed this much in months. His task was going to be far pleasanter than he anticipated . . . a fact that was rather disconcerting.
“Well, if I do, you must call me Sophia.”
He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss atop it, loving the feel of her petite hand in his despite his mind reminding him with every breath that she was not free, and she certainly wasn’t his.