Illusion. Emily French

a way out of the stupid impasse she had thoughtlessly created. It had taken some fast-talking to convince Matt Tyson to agree, but Sophy knew there was no real alternative.

      Work absorbed all Seth’s spare energy. He needed the money to restore his battered pride. Only then might he change his outlook. Allow his leg time to heal. Find time to live, to love.

      Thoughtfully, Sophy eyed the carved wooden jewel box that hid the telegraph message. The problem appeared in sharp outline again. She had been thorough. There was no way Seth would discovered her deceit. She had a mind for detail.

      What concerned her was that there had been no information available from the insurance company, not even a compilation of contracts covered. A sure sign that someone was systematically draining funds from Seth’s business empire by fraud. She would find the evidence.

      It would take time. Later, there could be a thorough examination. Now, she had more urgent work to do. Seduce her husband.

      Sophy was still planning how to get Seth to join her when the door opened. He stood there, still dressed in his evening attire. His gaze was unreadable, but the fighting stance of his body was not.

      Legs braced slightly apart, he looked prepared for battle from any quarter. He gave her a strange smile, as if he knew what she was thinking.

      Immediately all the compelling emotions she’d felt when she first met him came back to her. Her heart leaped. Gathering her shattered composure together, she managed a faint smile. “Good evening, Seth. Would you like some chocolate? I was just about to have a cup.”

      She poured as she spoke, as if she fully expected him to join her in this small domestic activity. Her hands moved quickly, slim, exciting.

      Before he could reply, Seth found he had accepted the cup and saucer. So he leaned against the barley-twist brass bedpost and swallowed a mouthful. He grimaced at the sickly sweetness of the thick brew.

      “Chocolate is good for you. It is a natural source of energy.”

      Sophy smiled at him, a shy and pleased expression, then went back to the marble-topped dressing table and began brushing her hair. The gesture, so deliberate and full of meaning, hovered in front of Seth’s eyes as he silently drank the warm chocolate.

      Minute by minute the storm within him mounted. With her dark hair streaming down her back, she looked as meek. as an angel on the chapel ceiling. He realized with a sinking, helpless feeling that it was going to take every ounce of willpower he had to keep his emotional and physical distance from Sophy.

      “Leave that! I want to talk to you,” he commanded, unable to keep the heaviness out of his voice. He so much wanted to put his hands on her hair that his fingers tingled.

      Sophy looked up, blinking. He was standing beside the dressing table with the cup and saucer in his hands, watching her with his intense eyes. She stared at him mutely, then put her brush down.

      Seth considered her, and hesitated for a moment. When he spoke the words came out with quiet ferocity. “I would be obliged if you would refrain from such activities as you indulged in today.”

      There was a flash of indignation. This was not what was supposed to happen. Sophy drew in her breath. Her chin tilted up.

      “You expect me to be kept here like a parrot on a perch with a chain around my leg?” Her voice was high, ten decibels above her normal speaking voice.

      He picked up his cup, drained it, then set it down with a grimace before he spoke. “You signed a marriage contract. You are my wife, sworn to obey me.”

      Sophy jumped to her feet. “In the eyes of the law, infants, lunatics, felons and married women have limited contractual ability. Accordingly, the contract I signed is worthless,” she flung back, mimicking his tone of voice with biting accuracy.