They watched as the birds flitted from tree to tree and the occasional squirrel chattered its annoyance at the intrusion. To any passerby, they were an unremarkable couple enjoying the rare appearance of the English sun.
“How are things progressing?” he inquired, lifting his face into the wind, enjoying the way it brushed lightly across his skin.
“I’m not certain,” she replied. “They haven’t met for several days, as far as I know.”
“Hmm.”
“Could you be mistaken about him?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.”
She nodded thoughtfully and turned her attention to her toes. They were covered in the not-quite-yet-soft leather of new boots and peeking out from under the hem of her dress. It had been a long time since she had bought new shoes.
“And you?” he asked, watching her watch her toes.
She looked up. “I don’t even know him.”
“I meant her,” he replied with a small smile.
“Oh.” She resumed the inspection of her footwear. “No, she is perfectly suited. I suppose things shall come about. We need only be patient.”
“I am not a patient man.”
“No, you are not,” she chuckled. “If it’s any conciliation, there is the most intriguing rumor being circulated.”
“And that rumor would be?”
She raised her head to meet his eyes. “It’s being said that she is looking for a husband.”
By the night of the Forents’ ball, Alex was very nearly climbing the walls of his London home. His self-imposed exile had proved a spectacular failure. He’d spent the last few days alternately anxious, bored, and intolerably frustrated. His usual pursuits had done nothing to relieve his mind, and subsequently his body, from thoughts of Sophie.
He had worked on estate business, taken a quick trip to Rockeforte for some fishing, read two books on the history of China (for self-improvement and his own edification, of course), gotten drunk once with Whit and Lord Loudor, once with just Whit, and once entirely by himself.
The first bout of drinking had been all business, with Alex steering the conversation toward the unpopular Prince Regent, the war with Napoleon, and what Loudor made of the whole messy affair. But then Loudor’s change of residence had come up. Sophie’s cousin had given the excuse of needing more privacy. Alex thought it a weak explanation at best, and so he invited Whit over for a few drinks the next night to discuss the matter. That bout of drinking had resulted in nothing more productive than an endless demonstration of Whit’s clever—and vastly amusing to Whit—insights on Alex’s interest in Sophie. This had prompted the final, solitary bout of drinking which, sad to say, had coincided with his perusal of the second book, leaving Alex with the muddled idea that China had somehow once belonged to the French.
He was tired, hung over, and annoyed by the certain knowledge that he would have to reread that book before attempting any sort of conversation on the topic with Sophie.
And he had every intention of speaking with her to night. And the night after that. And every night thereafter until he was finally sick of her.
He had to have her. There was nothing else for it. He wasn’t sure in what capacity he wanted, no had, definitely had to have her, although in his bed was a certainty. And if it became necessary—and with this thought he gave a long-suffering sigh that some small part of his brain recognized as an affectation—he would marry her.
The idea had some merit, really. He needed to marry sometime, didn’t he? He needed to produce an heir. She seemed as likely a candidate for a bride as any. He might even go so far as to say better than most since he truly liked Sophie.
Liked? Hell, he was obsessed with her. Every part of her. Her broad smile, her quick mind, her adorable struggle to reconcile the proper British lady with the world traveler, her complete indifference to his wealth and rank. Of all Sophie’s fine qualities, this last was one of his favorites. She made no effort to butter up the Duke of Rockeforte, preferring to match wits with the man rather than the title.
She’d make an excellent duchess, he decided. She was strong, intelligent, and fortunately—because she was going to be his duchess—highly desirable.
No simpering, flirting miss, his Sophie.
Thirteen
She was simpering and flirting.
From across Lord Forent’s ballroom, Alex watched in absolute shock. Sophie was smiling demurely, fluttering her fan seductively, and—dear God, this was the most disturbing part—batting her eyelashes like a well-trained debutante fresh out of the schoolroom.
Worse, she was good at it. There wasn’t a man under the age of seventy not taken by her charms.
Not that he could blame them. A good deal of her charms were on display at the moment. Sophie was wearing a concoction of ivory silk designed to attract a man’s attention. It turned her thick hair the color of the most de cadent of dark chocolates, her eyes the clearest of sapphires, and her skin the richest of creams.
Like her previous gowns, it was relatively unadorned, with only a simple gold ribbon trimming the puff sleeves and hem. Unlike her other gowns, however, it hadn’t been cut with an eye for modesty. Oh, it was still well within the bounds of propriety—she hadn’t dampened her skirt to make it cling to her legs, or raised the hemline. But the material hugged every curve of her body, and there was an unmistakable extra inch or two of bosom showing. Alex could make out the swell of her breasts and a tantalizing line of cleavage.
He scowled. What he could see, everyone could see. And by the looks of the veritable swarm of eager young men attending upon Sophie, they all liked what they saw.
“You’re looking very fierce.”
Alex barely turned his head to acknowledge the arrival of a chuckling Whit. How hard could it be to scatter the fops? Surely not that difficult. He could easily manage at least two and probably that would prove sufficient incentive for the rest to flee. His mood lightened considerably.
Of course, there was the slight chance they’d have the sense to join forces. He doubted it, but one never knew for certain, and then what would he do? Alex smiled and turned to Whit. That, he figured, was why one had friends.
“Absolutely not,” Whit said.
“Do you even know what you’re refusing?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion. I know only that you were glaring at them,” he indicated the offending group of men, “and then grinning at me.” He shook his head. “And it was enough to surmise that no good would come of it. Particularly not for me.”
“And that’s all that really matters?”
“Yes,” Whit responded with good humor.
Alex turned back toward Sophie just as some libertine escorted her to the dance floor.
“Again. Fierce,” Whit said.
“Hmph.”
“I spoke with her earlier this evening.”
“Did you?” Alex snapped his head back toward his friend.
“Easy, good lord, I only wanted to take her mea sure.”
“And?”
“And she reminds me of my sister.”
Alex was surprised to hear Whit’s assessment in such an ominous tone of voice. “You like Kate,” he pointed out.
“I adore the chit. I’d walk over hot coals for her, stand still on them if she asked me to, but she’s a hellion and well you know it. She’ll be nineteen this winter,” Whit continued. “Mother’s decided to postpone her debut so Kate can have a year of intensive deportment lessons.”
“Does she really think that will help?”
“She must, or she wouldn’t be doing it. Mother’s just itching to get the lot of us married off. She was bad enough when I came of age, but I’m a son. Poor Kate, Mother’s preparing for her first season like they’re going into battle. It’s quite disturbing, actually.”
“Yes, well for Kate’s sake, I hope your mother’s efforts are met with success.”
“I intend to see that they are,” Whit said with unusual fervor. “I won’t ha
ve Kate trampled by the nastier members of society. I won’t have her stepped on by anyone, come to that, and I expect your assistance.”
“You should expect it. For all that we are not blood relations, you know I still consider Kate a sister.”
“And accept the responsibilities that come with such a connection?”
“Of course.”
“Good, then we shall be miserable together.”
“Splendid.”
Alex practically snapped that last word. His irritation with Sophie’s admirers was growing by leaps and bounds. He wasn’t a jealous man by nature; possessive, yes, but not jealous. If asked what the difference was a month ago, Alex likely wouldn’t have been able to answer with any degree of eloquence. That had changed, however, the moment Sophie had teased him about meeting someone else in the Pattons’ garden. And she had been teasing, he decided firmly. Not just because Sophie was not the type of girl to make a midnight assignation at a stranger’s ball, but because the alternative— that she was exactly that kind of girl—was too disturbing to consider.
And that was the difference between feeling possessive and feeling jealous. Fear.
Fear that she might be playing him for a fool. Fear that she would seek the arms of someone unworthy of her. Fear that she might find him lacking. Fear and all the uncomfortable side effects that came with it—anger, suspicion, insecurity.
Alex focused on the anger. He waited until he caught the eye of one unfortunate young man in Sophie’s entourage, then gave one very menacing, very ducal shake of his head and began to move in the group’s direction.
As he anticipated, the first young man whispered to the not-so-young man next to him and then left. The not-so-young man repeated the procedure with the positively elderly man at his side. By the time Alex crossed the room, only three dawdlers remained. Either they were very brave or very stupid. Alex managed to dispatch them in quick order with a glare, a scowl, and for one stupidly brave lieutenant, an actual growl.
Alex watched him flee with no small amount of satisfaction before turning his attention to Sophie. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand just what in hell she meant by wearing that dress. But upon further consideration, he felt it might be best to ease into that line of questioning. Sophie already looked a little put out with him. And he was interviewing for the role of husband, not chaperone. Speaking of which…
“Where is your Mrs. Summers?” he demanded, his voice sounding harsher than he intended.
She scowled at him. No sickly sweet smiles for him, he noticed. Alex wasn’t sure if he was pleased by that or not.
“Why did you do that?” she snapped crossly, ignoring his question.
“Do what?”
“Charge over here and chase off my new friends like some great snarling—”
“Orangutan?” he offered.
“Bear,” she concluded.
“What a menagerie you seem to think me.”
“It’s not my fault you behave like an animal every time I see you.”
Alex stifled a groan. He’d like to be able to behave like an animal every time he saw her. He caught sight of a young man who looked to be headed in Sophie’s direction, and glowered.
The youth veered off toward the refreshment table.
“Stop doing that,” Sophie hissed.
“I wouldn’t have to if your chaperone was where she was supposed to be,” he snapped, growing irritated.
“Mrs. Summers is with all the other chaperones, if you’re so desperate to find her. Their chaperoning duties being somewhat diminished as their charges are all in clear view of half the ton. Besides,” she caught sight of the elderly Lord Buckland and gave him an encouraging little smile and wave before continuing, “I’m not doing anything that requires censorship.”
Alex followed her line of vision.
“That’s it.” Taking her by the elbow, he half escorted, half dragged her to the terrace doors.
Sophie resisted only briefly before apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the attention it would draw. She smiled pleasantly at the people they passed, but Alex heard her mumble something about chaperones not being forced upon the right people.
Finally they reached the relative privacy of the stone terrace. She dropped her smile at once.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed angrily.
“I could ask the same of you,” Alex bit off. “This isn’t like you, Sophie.”
She jerked her arm from his grasp and took a step back. “How would you know? You’ve known me for less than a month. That hardly makes you a qualified judge of my character.”
There was simply no rational argument against that observation. Alex felt in his gut that he did know Sophie, that he understood her—and he made it a point to always trust his gut. But somehow the phrase, I just know, no matter how sincerely spoken, seemed unreasonably juvenile. He chose to ignore her words instead. It seemed the next best thing to logic.
“Why are you encouraging those men?” he demanded.
Sophie lifted her eyes heavenward and blew out a long breath. “Because it was enjoyable, Alex,” she said as if explaining something to a small child, one who had long, long ago exhausted her patience. “Because it was fun. I was having fun. And now,” she said pointedly, “I am not.”
Alex forced himself to relax, reminding himself again that he was trying to woo this girl.
“We can fix that easily enough, I imagine.” He leaned back against the side of the house and crossed his arms. “What would you like to do?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What would you like to do?” he repeated. “You expressed a desire to have fun. I am at your disposal. We can dance, if you like.”
“My card is full.”
“I could fetch you some champagne.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“We could sneak into the garden.”
“Nor am I stupid.”
“That last bit is what I would like to do. In case you were interested.”
“I wasn’t.”
“So make a suggestion, Sophie. Help me along here.”
“What I would like,” she said, “is to return to my friends.”
“Not an option.”
“Perhaps you’re not clear on the concept of being disposable.”
“You’ll have more fun with me.”
She gaped at him in astonishment. “Do you realize how pompous that sounds?” she asked, sounding more amazed than off ended.
He merely shrugged. “I’ve only the vaguest of notions, actually. It’s part of being a duke.”
“You are really quite unbelievable.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t intended as a compliment.”
“A small oversight on your part, I’m sure.”
She looked at him curiously. “Do you know, there’s a very good chance if your head grows any bigger, there won’t be enough room for both of us on the terrace.” As the terrace extended the entire length of the house, this was saying something. “I’m a little frightened for you.”
“I’m touched. Does this mean you’ve decided to remain out here with me?”
She shot him a scathing glance and walked over to lean against the far railing. “I believe you decided I’d be staying.”
“Fortunately, that amounts to the same thing.”
“I’m deciding how best to go about detaching your enormous head from your body.”
Alex smiled and followed her to the rail. “You may try if you like, but by your own account it’s too big for you to get your hands around. You’d never be able to get a proper grip.”
She struggled to hide a smile. “How bloodthirsty you must think me—”
“Well, if your choice of entertainment is decapitation—”
“—ripping your head off with my bare hands,” she continued.
“—I think the description is justified,” he finished.
“—and Lord Heransly right inside with a pe
rfectly good saber.”
“Sophie.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind my borrowing it for a few minutes. He was most attentive before you scared him off. Perhaps I’ll just pop back inside and see if I can find him.”
Alex’s amusement had faded, then faded further, then disappeared all together.
“You’re not to have anything to do with Heransly.”
“And why is that?” she murmured thoughtfully.
“Because I forbid it.”
“Hmm,” she mumbled, tilting her head assessingly to one side. “Perhaps the swelling process is a delayed one….”
Alex took her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his eyes. “Listen to me, Sophie. This is not a game. Lord Heransly is not a man to be trifled with. You may have your fun with your new admirers.” He nearly choked on the lie. “But keep clear of Heransly. He’s a bounder, a rake, and—”
“So are you,” she said breathlessly.
“And he’s a personal friend of your cousin.”
She blinked at that, a shadow fell over her face for a split second before she righted her features into a mask of nonchalance. She reached up and pushed his hand away.
“Why should that matter?” she asked with assumed indifference. “You’re a friend of his as well.”
“I’m an acquaintance. And you tell me why it should matter. What happened between you and Loudor?”
“Surely you’ve heard. It’s nothing remarkable. He’s lived alone for years now and wasn’t comfortable with all the commotion caused by two women.” She said the words calmly, but failed to meet his gaze.
“One could argue that as your nearest male relative, his comfort should not have taken priority over your safety.”
“Oh, Mrs. Summers and I are perfectly safe. We’ve two dozen servants at least, some of them quite burly.”
She was safer, Alex thought, with Loudor out of the house, but there was more to it all than a man desiring his space.
“Sophie,” he said quietly. “Sophie, look at me.”
She looked up a little reluctantly. Alex knew she was hiding something. She seemed nervous, maybe even a little afraid. He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to kiss her lips, her ear, her neck, until the little furrows in her brow eased away. But most of all, he wanted her to trust him.
As Luck Would Have It Page 13