diamonds certainly looked charming. The man had admired the jewels at her bust for most of their morning walk…he had admired her bust, too.
Sophia made sure to keep her shoulders back. She didn’t want to obstruct Maximilian’s view of her bosom. She had chosen to wear the most dramatic piece of jewelry she owned, and she had positioned it to sit squarely across her chest, the heavy diamond center kissing the line between her breasts.
Sophia had learned an important lesson the other night: a lady had to exhibit her best qualities if she wanted to snag a man’s interest. It was not enough to talk about her fortune, Sophia needed to show the earl her wealth, bedazzle him with gold and precious stones. To make the riches even lovelier, she had presented the necklace on her smooth skin and full breasts. Let the Honorable Anastasia Bedford compete with that!
“Ah, India,” he said wistfully. “The jewel of the British crown.”
Sophia gestured to the woods with her eyes. “Some might think so, but I feel the jewel you have here is far lovelier.”
The earl looked at her thoughtfully. “Thank you, Miss Dawson.”
She had stroked his pride with the compliment. She sensed the blush that singed his flesh beneath the layers of formal wear: the stark, white breeches and the stone gray, double-breasted coat.
He possessed everything she desired. He was sophisticated, esteemed by his peers. As the man’s wife she was sure to be respected, even admired. She was sure to go through the rest of her life a part of high society…instead of standing at the fringe of it, being ridiculed.
“What do you think of mighty England, Miss Dawson?”
Drab at times. Too rainy. However, she had witnessed some lovely and haunting countryside in the north. She had docked there three months ago. It had seemed like a dream, the purple heather along the moors, the fog. So unfamiliar. It was not Jamaica. And she had suffered the loss, the separation from her homeland. But with her father gone, there was nothing for her on the tropical island. And so she had set out for the strange new world: mighty England. Everything was so different…except for James.
Sophia’s heart swelled at the thought of the pirate. He reminded her of the plantation house. He reminded her of home. The image of him in her head stirred memories, longings for star apples and tender orchids and cool cedar planking under her bare toes.
But he also reminded her of darker times.
She swallowed the bitter memory inside her…the rejection…and returned her thoughts to the conversation at hand. “The company in England is very agreeable.” She peeked at the earl to stress he was the agreeable company. “However, I have yet to see much of the countryside. Or London for that matter.”
“Do you mean to tell me you haven’t been to the races? To the theater? To the opera?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“That’s monstrous! Lady Lucas is remiss in her duty as chaperone.”
Sophia touched his arm. “Oh no! Lady Lucas is very attentive. But it’s taken me many weeks to get settled.” And learn the customs of high society . “I just haven’t had the time to explore the land.”
He stared at her fingers.
Sophia sensed a muscle in his forearm dance. She removed her hand, brushing the bone at his elbow in a deliberate caress. It was a subtle movement, an innocent gesture. But it was also an intimate act…and it lighted the man’s arousal.
She smiled inwardly. She had learned a hard lesson on the island: a respectable woman showed little emotion and had stiff mannerisms. It was deemed a virtue to be asexual, a purity of the soul to have no desires. Too much emotion was considered a form of mental illness; hysteria, she had heard. And she didn’t want the earl to think her hysteric. No man wanted to sully his wife with his sexual cravings. No man wanted his wife to be passionate; it was a trait reserved for a mistress. And Sophia would be nobody’s mistress—ever again. However, every
Sophia made sure to keep her shoulders back. She didn’t want to obstruct Maximilian’s view of her bosom. She had chosen to wear the most dramatic piece of jewelry she owned, and she had positioned it to sit squarely across her chest, the heavy diamond center kissing the line between her breasts.
Sophia had learned an important lesson the other night: a lady had to exhibit her best qualities if she wanted to snag a man’s interest. It was not enough to talk about her fortune, Sophia needed to show the earl her wealth, bedazzle him with gold and precious stones. To make the riches even lovelier, she had presented the necklace on her smooth skin and full breasts. Let the Honorable Anastasia Bedford compete with that!
“Ah, India,” he said wistfully. “The jewel of the British crown.”
Sophia gestured to the woods with her eyes. “Some might think so, but I feel the jewel you have here is far lovelier.”
The earl looked at her thoughtfully. “Thank you, Miss Dawson.”
She had stroked his pride with the compliment. She sensed the blush that singed his flesh beneath the layers of formal wear: the stark, white breeches and the stone gray, double-breasted coat.
He possessed everything she desired. He was sophisticated, esteemed by his peers. As the man’s wife she was sure to be respected, even admired. She was sure to go through the rest of her life a part of high society…instead of standing at the fringe of it, being ridiculed.
“What do you think of mighty England, Miss Dawson?”
Drab at times. Too rainy. However, she had witnessed some lovely and haunting countryside in the north. She had docked there three months ago. It had seemed like a dream, the purple heather along the moors, the fog. So unfamiliar. It was not Jamaica. And she had suffered the loss, the separation from her homeland. But with her father gone, there was nothing for her on the tropical island. And so she had set out for the strange new world: mighty England. Everything was so different…except for James.
Sophia’s heart swelled at the thought of the pirate. He reminded her of the plantation house. He reminded her of home. The image of him in her head stirred memories, longings for star apples and tender orchids and cool cedar planking under her bare toes.
But he also reminded her of darker times.
She swallowed the bitter memory inside her…the rejection…and returned her thoughts to the conversation at hand. “The company in England is very agreeable.” She peeked at the earl to stress he was the agreeable company. “However, I have yet to see much of the countryside. Or London for that matter.”
“Do you mean to tell me you haven’t been to the races? To the theater? To the opera?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“That’s monstrous! Lady Lucas is remiss in her duty as chaperone.”
Sophia touched his arm. “Oh no! Lady Lucas is very attentive. But it’s taken me many weeks to get settled.” And learn the customs of high society . “I just haven’t had the time to explore the land.”
He stared at her fingers.
Sophia sensed a muscle in his forearm dance. She removed her hand, brushing the bone at his elbow in a deliberate caress. It was a subtle movement, an innocent gesture. But it was also an intimate act…and it lighted the man’s arousal.
She smiled inwardly. She had learned a hard lesson on the island: a respectable woman showed little emotion and had stiff mannerisms. It was deemed a virtue to be asexual, a purity of the soul to have no desires. Too much emotion was considered a form of mental illness; hysteria, she had heard. And she didn’t want the earl to think her hysteric. No man wanted to sully his wife with his sexual cravings. No man wanted his wife to be passionate; it was a trait reserved for a mistress. And Sophia would be nobody’s mistress—ever again. However, every
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