Trapping a Duchess

by Michele Bekemeyer

  Eliza let out a knowing laugh. “I have been acquainted with him for many years. In fact, I count him as one of my closest friends. As you can imagine, his happiness is important to me. I would not wish for him to be hurt again.”

  Again? Sophie looked up, confused. “Lord Courtland—”

  “Not Lord Courtland,” Eliza interrupted softly. “The Duke.”

  Sophie paled, a sharp inhale rushing out of her mouth in a sudden sputter. “Of Tolland?” she asked, swallowing convulsively.

  “The very one. But fret not, my friend. I do not believe anyone but I have seen. Your brother certainly hasn’t. Of course, I have done my best to keep him distracted.” A smug grin tugged at her lips.

  “I do not love him.” The protestation came to her lips by rote.

  Eliza tilted her head. “And yet he loves you all the same.”

  The revelation brought the sting of tears to Sophie's eyes. “He is playing a game.”

  “Not where his heart is concerned,” Eliza said firmly.

  As Sophie opened her mouth to refute her, Lady Araminda burst into the room. Excitement lent the woman’s already nasally voice a high-pitched screech. “He’s here. He’s come! See for yourself,” she squealed, jumping up and down like a child. Sophie's heart seemed to tumble in her stomach. She had hoped that Andrew's estate matter would keep him unavoidably detained for the remainder of the party. Four days hadn’t had been nearly enough time for her to reconnoiter.

  And now he is here. She tried to maintain her composure, determined not to let his presence rattle her. Still, she sat up straight, crossed her legs at the ankles and smoothed out her gown. She heard the front door close, the click of boot heels against the wood floor as he moved towards the sitting room and then the butler’s muted voice. The door opened and, through the crowd of excited guests, Sophie could not see him as he entered. Then, he did and her uncertainty fled.

  Lord Courtland, not Andrew's, form graced the doorway. Dressed in buff breeches and a blue jacket, his ivory shirt was opened at the throat. His Hessians were dusty from travel. Her relief was accompanied by a burst of laughter.

  “Lord Courtland!” Lady Araminda exclaimed, moving to the man’s side in a frothy blur of rose colored lace. “How wonderful of you to join us.” Sophie watched the proceedings with amusement. The marquis caught her gaze and smiled. Knowing it was all he could offer while surrounded by the gaggle of tittering women, she lifted her brows and offered a teasing grin.

  He let out a bark of laughter, which raised the titter and babble to a fever pitch. “Ladies, ladies, please. I was not expecting such a warm welcome,” he said, deftly removing Lady Araminda’s arm from his as he addressed the group at large. “Thank you, all of you, for your generous greeting. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my belongings.” He bowed graciously but exited the room as if the parson himself were hot on his heels.

  Sophie watched his departure with a genuine smile, resisting the urge to laugh outright at the dejected look Lady Araminda shot at his back. Instead, she turned to resume her conversation with Eliza, who had somehow managed to sneak out of the room during the commotion. Settling back into her seat, she considered what the viscountess had imparted. Harnessing her jumbled feelings proved impossible. The woman must be mad to think Andrew in love with her. Given the way he behaved, Sophie was hard-pressed to believe him even capable of the emotion. She stared out the window for a few minutes and then decided to find Alex and give her news of Lord Courtland’s arrival.

  As she passed the alcove underneath the staircase, an arm shot out and yanked her deep into the shadows. “What?” she nearly screamed, then shut her mouth when the marquis shot her an amused grin.

  “Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady. I just wanted a private moment and was not brave enough to venture back into that vulture’s nest to request it.”

  Chuckling, she nudged him playfully. “They were rather fierce, were they not?”

  “Scariest thing I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing,” he said, wrinkling his nose like a child whose ordered to finish a bowl of cold peas.

  “What did you wish to tell me?” she asked, suddenly aware that they were standing too close in a darkened section of a well-hidden room.

  “Only this,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips across hers in the lightest of caresses.

  Sophie waited for an explosion of heat, of want, to consume her, but she did not go up in flames. He murmured something under his breath and pressed his mouth more firmly against hers. Still, she felt absolutely nothing. It wasn’t for lack of experience; his tongue slid over her lips and at their parting, swirled around and stroked in a manner she was certain could have buckled the knees of a courtesan. But not, apparently, her knees, which were not only unaffected, but still rigid. She was considering all of this when he stopped.

  An arrested look marred his features as he planted his hands on his hips. “Did you feel that?” he asked, sounding vexed.

  “Feel what?” she asked cautiously, afraid to admit that his kiss had not affected her. No, it wasn’t just that it hadn’t affected her. For as nice as his kiss had been, it had not inspired an iota of the awareness garnered from a mere glance from Andrew.

  “Exactly,” he said, a frown crossing his usually happy features. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not a thing. It was like kissing. . .my sister. Not that I’ve done so,” he added with a disgusted shiver. “I just meant—”

  “The spark you were hoping for was not there,” she finished for him, then sighed. “It wasn't for me, either.”

  “How odd,” he said, scratching his head. He appeared as puzzled as she felt. “You should know that it is not that I find you undesirable.”

  “Nor I you,” she said reassuringly. The whole conversation was bizarre and she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “But I guess that answers that question.”

  He laughed outright then and the sound drew a blush to her cheeks. “Indeed it does. I apologize for presuming you would accept my attentions. It was most ungentlemanly of me.”

  She waved off his apology. “No need, my lord. I am flattered you found me desirable enough to try. But now I am going to dart out of here and hope that no one is standing in the hall, lest I look like the grandest of fools.”

  “Wait!” he ordered, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. “Allow me. I’ve only just arrived. If someone should see me, they will simply think me confused. I’ll stomp hard on the stairs above if the coast is clear.”

  “And you claim to be ungentlemanly,” she said, unable to hide a note of regret from her voice. The man had no idea how utterly charming he was. Sophie was quite sorry indeed that their kiss had not sparked passion.

  “You shall make some man the envy of all of London when you marry, my lady,” he said, giving her a jaunty grin and wink before exiting the alcove.

  Sophie pushed herself as far back into the shadows as possible while he made his escape. The instant he had gone, she heard him speaking to someone. She waited a moment longer, smothering her laughter with her hand when he stomped hard on his way up. As she headed up to her room, she considered his parting words. She had counted on having him as a husband, had not considered the possibility that they would not make a match in the one respect she knew mattered above all others.

  The realization, coupled with Eliza's observations, caused her breath to catch in her throat. She wanted to scream. By the time the house party was over, she would have little more than a week to find another prospect. There would be plenty of opportunities to meet people given the mass exodus of balls at the end of the Season, but to procure a husband? She would be more successful besting Napoleon on her own than accomplishing such a feat in so short a time.

  And what of Andrew, she thought as she entered her room and lay down on the bed. Though she could not deny the pleasure she had experienced in his arms, it wasn't enough to sustain a marriage. The momen
t she took her vows, the freedom she longed for would be forfeit. He would rule her life as her father had ruled her mother's, and in doing so tear her soul to shreds. She had half a mind to march into Lord Courtland’s room and beg him to marry her despite the lack of physical attraction between them. They certainly had friendship. Many ton marriages were based on far less. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision the mischievous grin on his face at her offer, but the one staring back at her had chocolate brown eyes and a charming half-smile that sent a thrill chasing down her spine and a pulse of longing between her legs.

  Grabbing her pillow in frustration, she finally gave into the urge and let out a rather unladylike, and thankfully, muffled, scream.

  * * * *

  Gabriel’s injuries had apparently reached the stage where they looked worse than they felt. Though his face resembled a well-used artist’s palette and he was still adjusting to the missing finger on his right hand, his strength—and incisive demeanor—were returning.

  “I may have to kill you if you don’t stop that,” Gabe said around a mouthful of eggs.

  “Stop what?” Andrew asked, hiding his smile behind a sip of coffee.

  “Asking questions without asking them. I am not willing to revisit the experience just so your curiosity can be appeased. I am here and I am alive. Nothing else matters.”

  He let the comment pass. Gabe was the most reserved of the family, a man who said little and lived a good portion of life in his own head. He would not offer information unless he was willing to do so and pressing him for details would only drive him further away. “Alexandra will be arriving home tomorrow,” he said, happy to change the subject.

  Gabriel looked up from his plate and nodded as he bit into his toast. “I am moving into my lodgings tonight.”

  “She will want to see you.”

  “Not like this. In a few weeks, perhaps. I’ll post a letter announcing my impending arrival and have it send round.”

  Andrew did not ask how such a thing could be accomplished, but accepted his brother’s words with a brief dip of his head, then left the room. A few hours later, Kate arrived. Andrew and Charles were playing billiards whilst Gabriel enjoyed a whisky when Weston knocked on the door. “Your Grace, you have a caller.”

  He took the calling card off the silver salver and smiled. “Show Her Grace into the sitting room, if you will, Weston.”

  “Apologies, Your Grace, but she is—”

  “Standing just outside the door,” Kate said as she breezed into the room, ignoring Andrew and Charles to rush to Gabriel’s side.

  “Hello,” Gabriel said, wincing as she began poking at his face.

  “You appear quite a bit better off than you were last time I saw you.”

  “Lord, Kate, you’ll kill him with all that.” Charles chuckled.

  “Nonsense. Does it hurt much?”

  “Didn’t until you started prodding at it,” Gabe said, taking her hands in his and offering a small smile. “How are you, Kate?” Andrew watched their interaction with intrigue. Since his return, it was the first time Gabe had even attempted a smile.

  “I am not prone to distraction, my lord,” she said, tugging her hands from his and continuing to gauge his reaction.

  “Not even by tea and crumpets? I am certain His Grace would be happy to ring for some.” With a pointed look in Andrew’s direction, he swatted her hands away.

  Kate stopped then and faced Andrew. “My apologies, Your Grace,” she offered with a dazzling smile. “I have had quite a bit of time for my imagination to run wild. His injuries appear to be healing nicely.”

  Andrew smiled. “Indeed they do.” Gabriel shot him a vaguely pleading look. “Perhaps we could move into the sitting room.”

  “Of course,” she said, grinning.

  “I’m going to have a lie down,” Gabe said as he moved into the hall, leaving the group no choice but to follow. He paused, then faced Kate. “It is good to see you again.”

  “You, also,” she said with a tender smile.

  “And how are you, dear cousin?” Charles asked, falling into step beside her. “Seems like forever since we've visited.”

  “I am travel weary and excited at the prospect of a proper ball, to be honest. The roads and inns run rampant with the uncivilized. I'm looking forward to being cosseted in the arms of polite society for a few weeks.”

  “Speaking of which,” Andrew said, growing serious. “Let us retire to the salon for a moment. We need to discuss a few things about my sister's arrival.”

  “Which can be done without my presence,” Gabriel grunted. “I am heading back upstairs. It was a pleasure to see you again, Kate.”

  “And you, my lord.”

  They watched in silence as he left, all seeming to understand that Gabriel was coping with his injuries, both external and internal, the only way he knew how. “Weston, have tea and biscuits brought into the green salon, please.”

  “At once, Your Grace.”

  “He is bottling it all inside, then, as usual?” Kate asked as she entered and took a seat in the chaise.

  Charles assumed a seat in a chair opposite as Andrew went to the sideboard. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, holding up a bottle of wine.

  “No, thank you, tea will suffice.”

  Charles' hand shot up. “If you're offering, I’ll have a brandy.”

  Moments later, Weston entered with the tray of refreshments and set it down on the table between them. “Shall I pour?” he asked.

  “Heavens, no, Weston. I can manage. But thank you for the kind offer. ” Kate offered him a brilliant smile.

  “Very good then, Your Grace,” he said with an uncharacteristic blush.

  Andrew took his seat, leaning forward to hand one of the glasses to Charles. “To answer your question, my brother is as he always is. There is not much I can do to draw him out. I was hoping you might have better luck.”

  “I will do my best,” she said, dropping a few lumps of sugar in her tea.

  “Which brings us to my sister.”

  “And how is Alexandra?” she asked, her gaze darting quickly to Charles.

  Andrew let their shared look pass without comment. “She is in Surrey at present, attending a house party, but is due to return in two days time.”

  “She has not seen him then,” she concluded in a sober voice. “That is probably for the best.”

  “I believe so. She has always feared for his safety. Knowing what he endured would make her—”

  “Mother hennish?” she asked with a laugh. “Believe me, I can understand why. Absent a wife, the duty of caring for brothers always falls to unmarried sisters.” She sipped her tea. “So, Gabriel plans to play least in sight until his injuries are completely healed?”

  “Yes.”

  Her mouth formed a moue. “I suppose that means I will be unable to check up on him?”

  Andrew nodded. “He is moving back to his lodgings this evening.”

  She stood suddenly, both men rising a second later. “I should speak with him, then, before he goes. Perhaps even leave him with another poultice.”

  “I do not think that will be necessary, Kate,” Charles said. “Leave the man be, for goodness sake. All what’s left is bruises.”

  “And the family physician visits every other day. I assure you, he is well attended.”

  “Perhaps he is,” Kate said in a dark voice, then brightened just as quickly. “At any rate, I should head home. I have not yet been there.” She moved towards the door then turned. “I shall see you at the Ridgley soiree, then?”

  “Of course, cousin,” Charles said, moving to join her. “Please, allow me to accompany you home. You can fill me in on my niece, Celia. She must be at least fifteen by now.”

  She beamed and offered a polite curtsy to Andrew. “Good day, Duke.”

  “Duchess,” Andrew said, bowing in return.

  Once they left, he headed to his study, his thoughts turning to the upcoming soiree and to Sophie. Almost a w
eek had passed since he’d seen her. Taking a seat at his desk, he considered riding out to Roxford’s, but discarded the idea when he recalled her temper, which was no doubt high since he had missed the house party almost in its entirety. He could only hope that her anger did not preclude her missing him. Absence, after all, made the heart grow fonder. Didn’t it?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Three days later, Sophie stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedchamber at Sinclair House and tilted her head. The woman staring back at her appeared composed, confident and didn’t betray a bit of the agitation roiling inside her. The pale green muslin gown hugged her body to just below her breasts, where a thin line of deep green corded trim cinched her thin frame. Below that, the material hung loosely, every turn providing a shimmer of silver-white flowers which twinkled like stars as the gown settled. A matching wrap draped over her arms. Her hair was piled in loose curls on top of her head, matching satin ribbon threaded throughout and the large pearl which dangled just above the cleft of her bosom complimented her earrings.

  She applied a small amount of rouge Eliza loaned her to her lips, rubbing them together to spread the deep red into a dusky pink. She stared directly into eyes that shimmered blue-green against slightly sun-tinted cheeks. And smiled. The intimacy she’d shared with Andrew had roused a physical need inside her. What had started as mere awareness—a feather-light suggestion like hot kisses over her skin—had shifted into a murmur which thrummed through nerve and muscle, invading places he recently awakened. After a week long starvation, of being denied the pleasure it needed, the feeling was no longer hinting at what it craved, but shouting, demanding satisfaction in no uncertain terms. Sophie had given up hope of curbing her desire. Why deny herself the pleasure Andrew offered? With Simon’s deadline fast approaching, her chances of finding a husband were slim. She had already scoured through the eligible bachelors and found them wanting. If she was to spend the rest of her life as a country spinster, she intended do so with enough memories to warm cold, dreadful nights.

  “Your brother is losing his patience,” her mother Louise stated as she entered the room, pausing to look Sophie. “Heavens, child,” she said, her voice ringing with approval. “You look nothing short of dazzling.”