Free Emily French by Illusion Page A

husband!”
    Seth’s eyes, which had been communicating with Pieter’s over the top of her head, came back to her. What a little firebrand she was, so easily touched to the quick, changeable, lashing out. Never lose your advantage. Of course, the colonel had been talking of the battlefield, but the advice was apt here.
    “Just as it should be. How else are we to keep our wives in their place? If this idea of universal suffrage gets out of hand, we’ll find women dictating terms to us, and what will happen then?”
    “Anarchy and revolution!” Pieter contributed.
    “Can you imagine it?” Seth murmured, with an air of masculine amazement that set Sophy’s teeth on edge.
    Pieter drained his wine and announced in sepulchral tones, “This movement must be nipped in the bud.”
    “Just think what would happen if women were entitled to vote? The infection would spread. Next they’d be wanting to become doctors and lawyers!” added Bernard with enthusiasm.
    Sophy, seeing him seething with barely suppressed delight at the gathering dispute, felt decidedly annoyed. Bernard was too young to have any opinions on the matter. And, if he did, he was young enough to change. It would be one of her projects.
    “But that is iniquitous! It leaves women with no choice, no pride, no...” She trailed off, realizing she was being baited.
    A serene smile touched her lips. “Odious creatures. Do not tempt me into an argument. You promised, Cousins, if I fed you, not to mention universal suffrage or discuss the role of women.”
    Seth caught the tranquil smile, and his heart leaped. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps seeing her in Greene Street had been a figment of his imagination. The mask of politeness that had been clamped down upon his face suddenly split into fragments, and he laughed.
    “Promises and piecrusts are made to be broken.”
    This time, everybody laughed.
    “Isn’t Sophy an angel to put steamed fruit dumpling on the menu?” Bernard appealed to Seth a little later, licking the last dollop of cream from his spoon.
    “A veritable angel indeed,” Seth agreed, turning to Sophy, watching the mobile curve of her mouth.
    All his doubts came rushing forth, sucked back by memory. The inconceivable happened. The words that had plagued him for hours in his mind sprang from his lips.
    It came as quite a surprise to Sophy when he leaned forward and asked, his voice rich and warm, “How did you get on in Greene Street?”
    His question had been quite casual, but it had an instant effect.
    Utterly shocked, Heinrich van Houten nearly choked on the portion of dessert that he had just placed in his mouth. He managed to splutter just one word, “Sophy!” as if the sky had fallen in.
    Bernard made a peculiar sound. Seth thought it was a quickly stifled chuckle. Pieter preserved a tactful silence.
    Sophy felt the heat flow into her cheeks as she recalled the scene with Madame Bertine. Swiftly averting her eyes, she played for time. She looked down at her spoon, rubbing her thumb against the embossed silver handle. Her lashes rose.
    “Greene Street? What do you mean?”
    Seth’s expression hardened. Her hair framed her face in a mass of dark ringlets that cast strange shadows on her elfin face. Candid, clever, guileless face. A strange conflict rose in his breast. Propriety bade him prod her no further, but he felt his anger returning.
    With a menace that would have made any soldier tremble, he probed. “Did you, or did you not, go there this afternoon?”
    Sophy swallowed. Her heart pounded unbearably at the bitterness in his voice. She thought she recognized what was wrong. In her ignorance, she had blithely visited an area where, she now knew, no decent woman would dare to go.
    Seth’s sense of honor was offended. Which was very stupid. She had never doubted the usefulness of knowledge, and Madame Bertine had proved most informative. Of course, she had never paused to see with what coin such information could be