Read Song for Sophia for Free Online

was a town, and in that town there was a house, and in that house there was a room, and in that room there was a bed, and in that bed there lay a little girl … .

Chapter 5
    A Bargain With The Devil … Or Worse — Lord Devon
    Sophia felt a prickle on her neck, intuition alerting her she was being observed. She closed the book and slid it onto the shelf, then gripped the railing of the ladder as she turned to look for Lord Devon.
    He sat so still her eyes passed over him at first. Then she spotted him: Apollo’s coarser, meaner elder brother lounged in a leather armchair between two tall bookshelves opposite her, not twenty feet away.
    “Vous faites des ravages partout où vous allez, madame.”  You wreak havoc wherever you go, madam.
    Sophia smirked, then realized she had given much away. He assumed she spoke French, and she confirmed it with her expression. Or if he had exceptionally good eyesight he might have recognized Odes et Ballades by Hugo on the spine of the book she had been caught reading. She grasped the ladder with both hands as she teetered on the rung, mortified. Sophia had last dusted a book more than a half hour ago and spent the time reading instead.
    He straightened, looking up from his book with an arched eyebrow and one corner of his mouth pulled up in a sly smile. Not so patiently awaiting her response.
    “Lord Devon,” she greeted dryly, in the same tone she might say, You impish prankster . He shrugged one shoulder to mean, So you finally figured it out. Bravo .
    “The only havoc I see here is the dreadful cataloging. For one so meticulous, it strikes me as odd that the alphabet should be beyond you.”
    He nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps I organize them chronologically by genre.”
    “You have the Bible next to Homer.”
    “Fiction.”
    Sophia scoffed and made a show of looking up at the ceiling as though she expected lightning to strike him down.
    “Keep waiting, madam. If there is a god, he is busy punishing the righteous.” He laughed at her stricken expression. “Does blasphemy offend my lady?” he mocked.
    Sophia tried to stifle a rush of pleasure. A philosophical debate? Intelligent flirting? Do not take the bait, Sophia! She couldn’t help it. She mirrored his cocked eyebrow and lowered her voice, purposely making the tone a bit purring, “It is not my wrath you should fear, my lord, and I am not a lady.”
    He stood and walked with a swagger to the base of the ladder. He bent to retrieve her dusting rag from the floor and held it out. She had no choice but to climb down and take it.
    His storm-gray eyes narrowed. “Aber ich fürchte dich, Sie.” But I do fear you.
    German. He was testing her. What he really meant was, Are you a worthy opponent? Can you match wits with me?
    “Warum sagst du das?” And why do you say that?
    “Hai tentato due volte di uccidermi.” You have tried twice to slay me .
    Italian. Easy. Her mother was Italian, and Sophia grew up spending summers in Florence. Her smile warmed, not the coy version she saved for flirting. The one she gave Lord Devon came from genuine enjoyment. “On the contrary, when I set out to slay a man, there are no failed attempts. Tenga cuidado, señor. ” There, take that. Spanish.
    One side of his mouth pulled into a flat smile, but his eyes beamed. “The o r o ton ea f to mou proeidopoi i meno.” I consider myself warned , in Greek.
    “Sapiens tui.” Wise of you , in Latin. Sophia would soon run out of languages and hoped he would too, because she did not want to lose his little contest. “Where do you hide the novels? I missed the last Wilkie Collins.”
    “Not so fast. Let us bargain, you and I.” He leaned closer and her throat tightened. “You tell me why you call yourself not a lady , and I will surrender Oscar Wilde’s latest.”
    Throw in Trollope and you can have anything you want . Sophia bit her lip. This was not one of her mother’s decadent parties in Paris, and Lord Devon was no swain.
    “Shall I