All I Ever Needed Page 5

  Her perceptiveness did nothing to ease his mind. He did indeed imagine he would be on the ground without the support of the stone cherubs, but he did not thank her for pointing it out. How she managed to unsteady him was a thing worth considering, though he doubted he would intimate as much to her. In the event there were future encounters, Eastlyn acknowledged that he would do well to be prepared, and that perhaps the better course was to simply avoid her altogether. At this moment, however, there was still the matter of the question she had put before him and her expectation of his reply.

  "Naturally I have considered the consequences of your acceptance," East said. "Did I not say you would make me most happy?"

  Sophie's amusement slowly faded while her slight smile remained fixed. "I should say yes, you know, not to this last question, but to your proposal. It would go a very long way to proving how wrong you are. It is my opinion, however, that that sort of lesson has import for me as well. I find I am selfish enough not to trade the prospect of my own happiness for the certainty of ruining yours. You surely have acquitted yourself admirably today, making your proposal when you could not be certain of my answer. It was wrong of me to tease you with the anticipation of my acceptance when I knew you hoped for precisely the opposite outcome, and while I acknowledge the wrongness of it, never think I regret it. You deserved it, my lord, for placing your need to discharge yourself honorably above my express wish that no proposal be offered."

  Sophie watched the marquess's eyes darken at the centers and wondered that he did not flinch or move to strike her. Although neither would have had the effect of silencing her, she would have understood those responses. His calm in the face of her censure was outside her experience. "You spoke of your happiness," she said quietly, "and not of my own. Indeed, how could you when you have not the least notion of what would bring that elusive thing about? As you said yourself, we have only had benefit of a short acquaintance. It is inconceivable to me that anything that has passed between us this afternoon has altered your true opinion that we would not suit. More to the point, my lord, it has not altered mine."

  East observed the high color in Lady Sophie's cheeks slowly recede, leaving her eyes to sustain the passion her words had aroused. She had more than pricked him this time with her words, yet she seemed to take no satisfaction from it. The rather odd framing of her fixed smile suggested something more than regret, something mayhap closer to sadness, though whether it was an emotion prompted by his ill-conceived proposal or the necessity of taking him to task for it remained unclear.

  Returning his empty glass to the tray between them, Eastlyn considered what reply he might make. She would not find it in any way flattering that he once again had to revise his opinion of her. There was no good way to say that she was possessed of more resolve than he had ever supposed was possible. Far from being as serenely insipid as her sainted looks might suggest, Lady Sophia could brace herself quite firmly to deliver the direct setdown. "You are right, of course," he said at last. "I was not considering your feelings in the matter of marriage, but only in the matter of this rumored engagement. The fact that we have become tasty whispers for the gossip mill cannot have any appeal for you."

  "It doesn't," Sophie said. "But you must admit that a hasty marriage will do nothing to quell the speculation surrounding us."

  "At the risk of offending you anew, I never suggested that we bring the thing about quickly."

  "A prolonged courtship? I think not. It would be an agony for you."

  He smiled a little, one of his dark brows edging upward. "An agony? That is perhaps overstating it, don't you think?"

  "An agony for me, then."

  "Pray, do not spare my feelings."

  Sophie realized that he was not entirely put out with her, but rather more amused. "You are still laughing at me," she said quietly, averting her eyes lest he see that she was hurt by it.

  "Still?" Eastlyn tried to catch her glance as she turned away, but she would not meet his eyes. Her assertion did not have the sting of an accusation; it was simply a statement of her perception. "I have never laughed at you. In fact, it is quite the opposite. You make me laugh at myself. There is little chance that I should be puffed with self-importance with you ever at the ready to deflate me. My friends would heartily approve, you know. They never pass an opportunity to do the same."

  She looked at him sharply, wondering at the truth of his words. "Then you must be regularly in need of pricking, m'lord, for you are always laughing in their company."

  Eastlyn thought about that. "Not always," he said. "But often. You must know it is the way of old friends."

  She didn't, but she nodded anyway. To do otherwise would have prompted him to make an inquiry or a comment about her friendships, and she was loath to explain that she had none. Given the fact that he derived such satisfaction from his own, he would find her lack of the same pitiable, and Sophie found the thought that she might elicit pity from him unendurable.

  "Did you think they were amused upon learning of this engagement?" Eastlyn asked, watching her closely. When she nodded again, he noted the hesitation in her response, as though she were giving something away in this small confession. "They were," he said softly and saw that his admission elicited some surprise. It was then that he understood. "It was amusement at my predicament, Lady Sophia. Not yours. They had only the utmost sympathy for you."

  "I do not think I believe you."

  He shrugged lightly. "Does this mean you are no longer disposed to think of me as an honest man?"

  It did present a conundrum, Sophie realized. "Very well," she said finally, "but I cannot help but point out that their response is hardly flattering to either of us."

  "Ah," he said, unperturbed. "There you have me."

  Sophie felt the corners of her mouth twitch and resolutely resisted the urge to smile. "And I am not in want of their sympathy," she said somewhat coolly, her chin lifting a notch.

  "I shall tell them you are certainly in need of none. They will learn the truth of it quickly enough for themselves."

  "Whatever can you mean by that?"

  Eastlyn could not miss the immediate change in Sophia's demeanor. The defensive tilt of her chin vanished, and there was no longer the brittle edge of frost in her words. "Perhaps I should not have given you such full marks for your perspicacity," he said pleasantly. "I did not think interpretation was required."

  "But surely you do not intend that I should become acquainted with your friends, nor they with me. To what purpose?"

  "To no purpose. It is done all the time in society. Introductions are made. Certain rote courtesies are exchanged. Perhaps there is conversation on a topic of mutual interest. Dry stuff, all of it. In the main nothing comes of it, but one is given the sense civilization will cease to exist without the effort." He regarded her steadily. "Never say you mean to put a period to civilization. It's a fragile thing, you know. A small misstep in one direction and..." Eastlyn let his voice trail off while he held up his hands, palms out in helpless appeal.

  "You are shameless," Sophie said.

  "Yes."

  "And provoking."

  He smiled. "You are very kind to say so."

  Sophie shook her head slowly, exasperated but not undone. "I cannot decide what to make of you, my lord." She added quickly, "And, pray, do not say again that I could make you a happy man. I should likely be as successful making you a pigeon."

  * * *

  "Tell me again," John Blackwood said, giving his guest the benefit of a second wry appraisal while he tried not to laugh aloud. "The lady said she would as likely make you a pigeon?"

  "It was perhaps amusing the first time I told you," Eastlyn said dryly. "On successive recitations I am finding it less so."

  The colonel's slim smile grew infinitesimally wider. "Forgive me if I disagree. If anything, it strikes one as more deftly comedic. She has a certain talent, this Lady Sophia, that bears watching. I think you would do well not to let her slip so easily from y
our grasp."

  Eastlyn sank into the wing chair opposite the colonel. Upon leaving Sophie he had traveled directly to his town house in Everly Square and availed himself of a bath and fresh clothes. There was some consternation exhibited by his valet regarding the state of his person, most particularly what his person was wearing, but East was too tired to pay heed, knowing all the while Mr. Sampson would put everything to right. Now East stared down the length of his long frame as he slouched low in the chair and stretched his legs before him. His boots had been polished to a reflective sheen and the tops turned down to reveal the soft brown leather underside. His buff breeches were pressed. The brass buttons of his waistcoat shone. The line of his jacket lay just so over his broad shoulders, and the loosely tied cravat gave the appearance of careless grace when in fact upward of ten minutes of his life had been surrendered to Sampson to achieve that look. It still astonished him that he had had the patience for it.

  The marquess was no Brummel. He gave the matter of his wardrobe little enough heed, leaving the particulars to his valet. That he wore his clothes with such indifferent elegance owed much to trusting Sampson to turn him out in a satisfactory manner. It was not the usual thing for him to tolerate fussing over the knot of his cravat, yet he had given over to it because of Sophie. It was not that he had been thinking of her precisely; it was simply that she had worn him out.

  "Do you see your future there?" the colonel asked.

  "Hmm?"

  Blackwood cocked one eyebrow as he considered the problem of East's preoccupation. What was required was the younger man's full attention, not this diversion, especially as it was unplanned—and therefore entirely unpredictable. The colonel, priding himself on knowing many things about many people, knew little about Lady Sophia Colley. "I say," he repeated, more firmly this time. "Is it your future you see there?"

  East looked up. "Pardon?" he said, still somewhat vague as to the colonel's meaning. "Oh, you mean the contemplation of my boots."

  "Precisely. One might suspect you saw in them some glimpse of the future."

  "Like a crystal ball?" He grinned crookedly, shaking his head. "No, not at all, though my valet has buffed them to that perfection. How does he manage it, do you think?"

  "I hope you do not mean for me to answer that." The colonel could only imagine East was more in the way of exhausted than he had first let on.

  "No," Eastlyn said.

  Blackwood wheeled his chair closer to the marquess. The colonel's physical strength was tested by the wasting disease laying siege to the long muscles of his arms and legs, but there was nothing wrong with his mental acuity. From behind gold-rimmed spectacles, he regarded Eastlyn thoughtfully. Not one to rush to judgment, he let his gaze slide over the marquess's face, taking note of the fine lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, then lower to the slope of the shoulders and incline of the posture. East might have taken the time to turn himself out, but he was bone weary. Even as he thought it, he watched Eastlyn try manfully to stifle a yawn.

  Amused, the colonel shook his head. "Give me your drink, lad. Another sip and you will surely take your slumber here in my library."

  It was true enough, Eastlyn thought. He leaned forward and passed his tumbler to Blackwood, noting the fine tremor in the older man's hand as he made to grasp it. He didn't think he had allowed his eyes to linger long, yet the colonel had noticed and did not let the moment pass.

  "Bah! These hands." He waved the one not holding the tumbler in a dismissive gesture. "Don't give them another thought. I find that whiskey calms them."

  Eastlyn smiled as he was expected to. Like Sophia, the colonel had no use for his sympathy or anyone else's. "Mayhap it is that drink makes you insensible to the tremors."

  "Now you sound like my physician. Frankly, it is but two sides of the same coin." He knocked back what remained of East's drink, set the tumbler on a nearby table, and held out both of his hands, fingers splayed and rock steady. "There. You see? It is done. The tremors are gone or we are both unconcerned by them. It makes no difference." He laced his fingers together in a loose fist and rested his elbows on the curved arms of the chair. "I think it would be prudent to discuss the particulars of your assignment later," he said. "I had not thought to see you so soon. I believed I would have to send for you at the Battenburn estate, and I fully intended to do that on the morrow; yet here you are, and not because of a summons from me, but because you desired to see Lady Sophia. Perhaps an opportunity will present itself so I can thank her."

  "Perhaps," Eastlyn said slowly. "But I will not arrange it. You would not thank me."

  The colonel's slight shoulders shook as he chuckled, the sound rumbling deeply from his chest to his throat. His body might no longer be robust, but his laughter was. The assignment he had for Eastlyn would not suffer by waiting a day or more to discuss it. Of more interest to him now were details of Eastlyn's return. "She is a termagant?" he asked.

  "Termagant?" Eastlyn shook his head, thinking of Sophie's serene countenance, the perfect line of her lush mouth, the solemn expressiveness of her eyes. He did not recall that she had ever once raised her voice or given him reason to believe that she was possessed of a nature that could. His dressing-down had been accomplished in a completely reasonable tone of voice. "No, Lady Sophia is no shrew, but I defy you to name a woman who can deliver a more cogent argument."

  "On what subject?"

  "On any subject, I fear, though marriage and my character were the main points of discussion."

  "She was disinclined to see the merits of either, I take it."

  Eastlyn's half smile was disarmingly self-effacing. "Called me to task for wagering."

  "I see." The colonel raised one hand to his chin, massaging it thoughtfully to rub out his growing amusement.

  "Drinking, too," East added.

  Blackwood cleared his throat. "Is that right?"

  "She pointed out that I was a murderer."

  The colonel was immediately sober. "A murderer? What would make her level that charge at your head?"

  "She has apparently heard about the Hagan affair. We know it is a very old business, but there is always someone willing to repeat it. Her cousin perhaps." Eastlyn shrugged. "It hardly matters. I did shoot the man."

  "You did not kill him."

  East said nothing, plowing his hair back with his fingertips instead. A small puff of air parted his lips, the passing of a weary sigh.

  "Ah," Blackwood said. "You did not clarify that point. You allowed her to think just the opposite."

  "It seemed important to her. I endeavor not to disappoint."

  The colonel wheeled himself to the sideboard where he poured himself two fingers of whiskey. "You are an odd one, East," he said over his shoulder. "After all these years, you are still something of an enigma."

  "It is not by design."

  "Isn't it?"

  Eastlyn realized he should have known the colonel would not permit him so easy an exit. "Perhaps it is," he said finally. "But it is also true that you know me better than most."

  "As well as the Compass Club?"

  East considered that and decided the colonel was in the right of it. "Yes. Every bit as well as they do."

  "Then it follows that you are still a puzzle to them."

  "I suppose I am, though they are kind enough not to refine upon it in front of me."

  The colonel laughed shortly and wheeled himself around. He sipped his whiskey. "Your point is taken."

  It did not seem odd to him that it was as if he had known Eastlyn and his friends for a lifetime. This was not the case at all; indeed, the years of his acquaintance with each member of the Compass Club were varied. It was Brendan Hampton, now the Earl of Northam, who had made the introductions. Blackwood had first heard of the Compass Club when young Hampton, then a second son with no expectation of inheriting the title, served under his command in India. The stories his lieutenant told of his Hambrick days were harmless enough, mischief really, of schoolboy tricks and
intrigues, and yet there was some bit of cleverness in the schemes of these particular boys that stayed with him. Later, when illness forced him to leave his post in India, he returned to London and accepted a position in the Foreign Secretary's office at Wellesley's request. In very short order he had cause to elicit North's special talents as a soldier and strategist. When it was a sailor's specific skills he required, he asked North about Matthew Forrester, Viscount Southerton. Evan Marchman, West to the others in the group, came to his attention next, and finally it was the tinker, Gabriel Richard Whitney, now the Marquess of Eastlyn, whose expertise was required to make an unusual and sensitive repair between a certain Austrian archduke and a former mistress of the Prince Regent.

  It was not always possible, the colonel had learned, to achieve even a fragile peace with customary diplomacy. Eastlyn often had an imaginative way of striking a balance.

  "Balance," the colonel said, plucking the thought from his head to test it aloud.

  Eastlyn frowned, wondering if he had briefly fallen asleep. It seemed he was having difficulty following Blackwood's conversation of late. "Pardon, sir?"

  "Balance," he repeated, more firmly this time. "It occurs to me that you have lost yours." The creases at the corners of his dark eyes became more pronounced as he made a thorough examination of Eastlyn's person. There was a deepening of the slight downward curve of his mouth.

  Having little choice, East waited for the colonel to finish his assessment. It was not the first time Eastlyn had been virtually held immobile by the strength of that black gaze, but there was no likelihood of ever becoming accustomed to it.

  "Yes," Blackwood said after several long moments. "It is most certainly true that you have managed to lose your equilibrium."

  "It is true now," East said. "For I haven't the vaguest notion what you mean. I had it when I came in here."

  The colonel snorted, the nostrils of his hawkish nose flaring slightly. He raised his glass of whiskey and took a drink. "Look at yourself," he said, gesturing with the glass. "You are sprawled across my wing chair as if it were a chaise longue. Your appearance would suggest you are either boneless or were raised without benefit of civilizing influences, quite possibly in the Americas."