She was icy cold. She had flinched, out there in the courtyard, when he had affected to kiss her hand, though she had tried to conceal it. She was nervous, he expected. Well, so too was he. There was a great deal riding on her arrival.
On her wedding finger, she wore the simple gold band he had asked The Procurer to purchase on his behalf. She sipped her tea delicately. There was a poised refinement in her manner, that made him wonder if her birth was numerous rungs up the pedigree ladder from his own. But why would a gently born and raised female agree to play a French wine merchant’s wife? An intriguing question, though one he had no time to pursue. Whatever her origins, what mattered was that she was here, allowing him to establish his own. The Procurer had chosen well, as he would expect, given her reputation and the large fee she had demanded. A fee he’d happily pay twice, thrice over, if this masquerade of theirs proved effective.
Unthinking, Jean-Luc took a sip of the dishwater so beloved of the English, and immediately set the cup down with an exclamation of distaste. ‘So, madame,’ he said, ‘to business. Perhaps we could begin with what it is you know of the task which lies ahead of you?’
* * *
Sophia set the delicate Sèvres cup down carefully. Despite the tea, her mouth was dry, her heart thudding. To business, he had said, the identical cold phrase that Hopkins had used. But this time she was no ingénue. She cleared her throat. ‘Before we start, Monsieur Bauduin...’
‘Before we start, madame, I think we should agree to address one another less formally. We are, in the eyes of the world at least, married. My name is Jean-Luc. I would ask that you use it.’
‘Jean-Luc. Yes, I am aware. And I am Sophia.’
‘Of that I am also aware, though I know no more.’
He waited, one brow slightly raised. His eyes were a very dark brown, the lashes long, thick and black. One could not describe a man’s eyes as beautiful, and in any case, this man was too—too masculine. His jaw was very square. There was a permanent furrow between his brows. Not an Adonis, she had been mistaken to label him that, and not handsome either, if one took Lord Byron’s classic perfection as an example. This man who was to be her husband for the time being was not at all like Byron or Adonis or any other model of perfection, but in another mould altogether. Memorable. A vibrant presence one could not ignore. If one was inclined to find a man attractive, then this was undoubtedly such a man. But she was not so inclined. Nor was she about to satisfy his curiosity about her surname either, especially since he was a regular visitor to London. So she met his gaze blankly and said nothing. She was good at that.
‘Simply Sophia it is, then,’ he said eventually, with a casual shrug that might have been defeat, or more likely indifference. ‘Will you at least deign to tell me, Simply Sophia, what The Procurer told you of this assignment?’
Was he teasing her or mocking her? She couldn’t decide, and so decided not to care, which was always the safest thing to do. ‘I was told very little,’ Sophia replied stiffly. ‘Merely that you require me to play the part of your wife, and that I must convince everyone that it has been a love match. The reasons for my presence here, and my duties, she said would be explained by your good self, as would be the terms upon which our contract is to be deemed complete. In short, she was not forthcoming at all, though she assured me that you had disclosed all to her, and that she believed me to be an excellent match for your requirements.’
‘Her reputation for discretion appears to be well founded.’ Jean-Luc twisted the heavy signet ring he wore on his right hand around his finger. ‘It is ironic, that I must explain myself to you, while you are not obliged to tell me anything about yourself. Not even your surname.’
Ironic, and very convenient for her, but, judging by the tension around his mouth, extremely inconvenient for him. Why did a man like this—rich, confident, successful and, yes, Sophia could admit it to herself, extremely attractive—need to pay a complete stranger to act as his wife?
He was still eyeing her expectantly, waiting for her to fill the silence with the answer to his implied question. Sophia kept her expression carefully neutral. ‘If I am to fulfil my role convincingly, then, painful as it may be to explain yourself to a complete stranger, it seems you must.’ And painful as it might be, she must first ensure that her own terms were clearly understood. ‘Though before we proceed, I would like to discuss the conditions which I stipulated.’
‘I am not sure what there is to discuss,’ Jean-Luc answered. ‘I accepted them, as you must know, else you would not be here.’
Sophia smiled tightly. ‘In principle, yes. But I find it is best to be crystal-clear about the detail.’
His brows shot up. ‘You find? You have entered into contracts such as this previously?’
‘I have never before entered into an arrangement such as this one,’ she said stiffly, which was after all the truth, but he need not know the precise nature of her previous arrangements. ‘What I meant was, that I find it is—I think it would be best for us both to be absolutely clear, before we start, as to the extent of our—our intimacies.’ Sophia squirmed inwardly. She sounded like a prude. ‘If I am to play your wife, I presume it is for the benefit of an audience, and that therefore there will be some displays of affection required? I would be obliged if you could explain in plain terms what form you anticipate those taking.’
‘I confess, I had not thought so specifically—but you are right, it is best to be clear.’ Jean-Luc stared down at his signet ring. ‘Very well, in plain terms then, our marriage will be for public consumption only. In private, you have my word of honour that I will make no physical demands upon you of any sort. For the sake of appearances, in public and in front of my servants, our “intimacies”, as you refer to them, will be confined to only those acts which can be performed in public with propriety. Do you wish me to be any plainer or is that sufficient?’
‘It is more than sufficient.’ And an enormous relief. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased. Her instincts told her that she could trust him to keep his word, though her instincts had proven to be fallible in the past. Disastrously so. ‘You understand that any breach of these terms would render our contract null and void? Not only would I leave immediately, but you...’
‘I would be obliged to recompense you with the full amount. I am aware. I have already given you my word that I will not breach the terms, Sophia, I’m not sure what else I can do to reassure you, save to tell you that my reasons for bringing you here in the first place are, en effet, life-changing. This charade of ours must succeed. I have no intentions of doing anything to endanger it. You understand?’
‘I do.’ A little more of the tension eased. She allowed herself a small smile. ‘And I can assure you, monsieur—Jean-Luc—that I will also do all I can to ensure that our charade does succeed.’
‘Eh, bien, then I trust that is an end to the matter?’
‘Thank you, yes.’
He returned her smile, but only in a perfunctory way. ‘You must understand though, Sophia, that it is vital that we are convincing? I do not expect you to make love to me, but I do expect you to appear as if you wish to, or better still as if you just have.’
‘Of course.’ She could feel the slashes of colour stain her cheeks. It was mortifying to discover that even after all she had been forced to endure, her sensibilities could still be so obviously inflamed. It would be considerably easier than she had expected to spend time in his company. It might even be—no, it was too much of an exaggeration to say enjoyable, but it would be no hardship. ‘Though I’m still not at all clear,’ Sophia
