Free The Secret Lover by Julia London

that of society women. That, and she simply had too many enticing curves for a man to just walk away.
    She was still looking at him with a sweet expression of curiosity.
    "If you come for your walk tomorrow, I would very much enjoy the privilege of showing my house to you."
    With a beguiling smile, she glanced down at her hem. "Perhaps," she murmured.
    Now
that
was the best thing Caleb had heard in several days, and in fact, her tentative response thrilled him like a child. As absurd as it was, he
wanted
to show this woman his house. He wanted her to see what he was capable of building, the house he would one day call a home, would one day fill, God willing, with children and happiness and love.
    Shyly, she peeked at him through her lashes; Caleb grinned, gave her a jaunty wave with his riding crop. "I shall come round here on the morrow to see if you are so inclined. Good day, Miss Dane."
    "Good day, Mr. Hamilton."
    He turned, walked up the hill without looking back, feeling more buoyant by the moment. He sensed something wholly unique about Sophie Dane. There was something about her that made him feel hopeful in a strange sort of way.
    And he needed to hope.
    He was, of course, far more handsome than she had thought, impossibly rugged and strong and… the bulge between his legs… Sophie practically floated back to
Maison de Fortier
and through the rest of the afternoon, closeting herself in the small library off the west corridor.
    Seated in an overstuffed chair, she brought the book she was supposedly reading up to bury her face in it for the thousandth time since her encounter with Mr. Caleb Hamilton. She felt hot, red hot, burning from the inside out with her racy and hopeful thoughts, exactly the way she had felt when she had first seen him standing above her on the embankment of the pond. Her own behavior had astounded her—she had never been so bold as she was today, calling him back as she did. The very thought of it made her blush furiously, and she could think of little else but him, his image seemingly affixed permanently to her mind's eye.
    So enrapt in the memory of him was she that she scarcely heard Fabrice when he wandered into the study.
    He cleared his throat impatiently; Sophie slowly lowered her book.
    "Monsieur Trevor Hamilton," he said, and Sophie all but sent the book flying across the carpet as Trevor Hamilton strolled in behind Fabrice.
    "He said I should follow," he said apologetically, to which Fabrice shrugged and paused to adjust his neckcloth just so, then promptly strolled out of the room, his duty complete.
    "I… I… Won't you come in?" Sophie stammered nervously as she tried to artfully kick her book beneath the ottoman.
    "Thank you." He moved to the hearth, watching her, pausing there with his hands clasped behind his back, a smile playing on his lips.
    What was he doing here again
? Several things fluttered through her mind—none of which she found terribly appealing. All right, there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, and if she would take a breath and stop acting so addlepated, he might very well tell her! Sophie clumsily gained her feet, preparing herself…
Because of your reputation, I'd prefer
my son not be seen in your house
—
    "Lady Sophie, won't you sit? You look a bit flushed."
    Oh, she was flushed, all right. Her heart was battering so wildly against her chest she was surprised it didn't leap from her bodice and land squarely on the carpet between them.
    "I… Yes. Yes, thank you."
She should be the one asking him to sit
! She moved abruptly to a chair at the hearth, hardly able to think what to do.
    She sat—fell, really—and weakly motioned to the leather wingback chair directly across from her. "Please, Mr. Hamilton."
Tea
. Yes, she should ring for tea!
    "Thank you," he said, and took his seat at the precise moment she stood to ring for tea. He quickly came to his feet again, but not before Sophie had flung herself into the chair again. He crouched, halfway