Trapping a Duchess

by Michele Bekemeyer

  “Do you think?”

  “My dear, I think if it’s a husband you seek, you shall have no end of volunteers. But come, let us not keep Simon waiting. You know how thin his patience is.”

  Simon met them in the foyer. “Shall we?” he asked, offering an arm to each. They arrived fashionably late to the ball, as witnessed by the line of guests waiting to enter the Ridgley's home. The moment she entered the ballroom, Sophie began searching for Alexandra. She found her surrounded by a group of men, including Lord Courtland, and headed her direction.

  He acknowledged her approach with an excited salute. “You look stunning, my lady,” he said, brushing a gentle kiss across her gloved knuckles.

  “You flatter me as always, my lord.”

  Alex caught sight of her and grinned. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”

  “And miss all this?” she said, sweeping out her hands to indicate the merriment throughout the room. Candles twinkled everywhere the eye could see. “Not for all the world.”

  “Pardon me for a moment,” Lord Courtland said, stepping a few feet away to converse with Lord Bixby.

  “Poor Abby,” Alex said, nodding her head towards the dance floor. “Lord Bottley cornered her the moment they entered. Asked for both waltzes, I believe.” She cringed.

  Sophie watched as the pair danced the minuet. “She appears happy with his attentions.”

  “To each his own, then,” she said, pulling a face. “I guess there is no accounting for taste.” The derisive comment struck Sophie as harsh. Alex was not the sort of person to begrudge a friend happiness, even if she couldn't appreciate the source.

  Sophie was watching the square of dancers when they parted, revealing a tall, blond gentleman who looked every bit like a Greek statue come to life. She was about to ask who he was when she noticed Andrew standing next to him, deep in conversation with an attractive brunette. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “Who?” Alexandra asked, leaning in to follow Sophie's line of sight. “Oh. You mean the Duchess of Bramley? She arrived a few days ago, while we were at the house party.”

  “I thought she looked familiar,” she said, trying to mask her jealousy. Last time she had seen the woman, she appeared tired and homely. Tonight, smiling as she chatted with Andrew and the blond god, she looked nothing short of radiant. Through the movement of the dancers, Sophie caught glimpses of their interaction; Andrew leaning down as if imparting a secret, his lips curved in a wicked smile; Lady Bramley reaching out to touch his arm as she talked.

  “She dined with us last evening.”

  “Did she?” she asked, still watching.

  “Yes. I must admit, she had Andrew and I both in stitches. It's been a long time since I have seen him enjoy himself like that. He has been so edgy of late.” Sophie felt a pang of jealousy, which must have showed in her expression, because Alexandra added, “She is an old family friend, you know. Nothing more.”

  She glanced sideways at Alexandra, but her gaze returned instantly to the goings on across the room. Broken up by the crossing dancers, it was like watching a play in bits and pieces. What were they discussing that had him so riveted?

  “Do you want to join them?”

  “What? No,” she said firmly, at the same time her gaze clashed with Andrew's. Desire pooled deep inside her, but resentment consumed the feeling, swallowing it up and molding it into an inflexible animosity. Family friend or no, their behavior was too intimate.

  “Too late now,” Alex said, jabbing her elbow into Sophie’s side. She sounded as irritated as Sophie felt, which didn't make sense, given her affection for her brother.

  Sophie watched Andrew tack along the perimeter, his prowl at odds with the reluctant pace of the man beside him. Slightly behind them was Lady Bramley. “I know you've met the duchess, but you’ve not yet met my brother's business partner, have you?” Alexandra's voice was tight.

  She shot her a curious look. “If I have, I do not remember.” Alex made a humphing noise. “Should I remember?” she asked, feeling as if an important detail had slipped her notice. Alex wasn't given to bouts of melodrama and Sophie thought the man looked harmless enough.

  “Not really.”

  Unable to avoid the confrontation, Sophie clung to the hope that their visit would be short-lived. Otherwise she was going to need something stronger than the watered-down wine the Ridgley's had available. Something much, much stronger than wine. Laudanum, perhaps.

  * * * *

  Andrew couldn’t tell what Sophie and Alex were discussing, but it was clear it had to do with him. Something was definitely amiss. At his approach, the group shifted deferentially and he was able to slide in next to Sophie. He remained silent as Charles and Alex exchanged an awkward greeting.

  “Sophie, meet Viscount Winterley, my brother's business partner.”

  “My pleasure, my lady,” Charles said, bowing.

  Sophie gave a tepid smile as she curtsied. If Alex found him lacking, then she was certain she would as well. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “And I am Lady Bramley,” Kate said, giving her a friendly smile. “I believe we've met before, but I'm here so infrequently, you may not remember.”

  “I have not forgotten, Your Grace.” Sophie's expression, while respectful, lacked warmth.

  Courtland arrived bearing three flutes of champagne and the introductions began all over again. While everyone was distracted, he turned to Sophie. “How are you?” he asked, his gaze searching hers.

  “Never better, Your Grace,” she responded with a smile that did not reach her eyes. She turned away from him, focusing her attention on Courtland and a few others, who were re-telling a story about a game of charades they had played at Roxford's. To anyone else, her subtle movement could be explained by an interest in the conversation, but Andrew knew when he was being ignored. And he did not intend on letting her get away with it. “I was sorry to have missed the house party,” he continued, forcing her again to acknowledge him. “Alexandra assures me the two of you enjoyed yourselves.”

  She nodded vaguely, determined, it seemed, to disengage herself from his attention. As the story unfolded, some nearby guests moved closer to join in the conversation.

  “Your Grace, was that you visiting the duke's house a few days ago?” Lady Araminda asked. Andrew had not noticed she had join them. He had to work to hide his frown as her nasally whine grated across his nerves.

  Kate merely gave her a bemused look.

  “The duchess is my cousin,” Charles offered, by way of an explanation.

  “Oh. That must be why, then. Mama mentioned she saw her leaving your home day before last. She shall be pleased to know she was simply paying a visit to her cousin.” She touched Charles’ arm in a manner as condescending as it was flirtatious. “I must admit the sight nearly gave her the vapors.”

  Andrew was about to hand the vicious creature a polite set down when Sophie spoke up. “Perhaps your mother should not concern herself over the personal lives of others, since they have an ill effect on her health.”

  Lady Araminda's smug expression fell; she looked ready to spew bullets. Andrew quelled her retort with a look of warning. Her face pinched unattractively before she sauntered away, her nose tilted in the air. He exchanged glances with Sophie, not bothering to mask his amusement.

  “Actually, Alexandra, could I borrow you for a moment?” Kate asked. “Earlier I was trying to describe your gown to Lady Braxton, but couldn't seem to do it justice. I thought we could just show her.” She laughed.

  “Sure,” Alex said, giving her an indulgent smile.

  “Come with us, cousin,” Kate said to Charles. “I promised her I would bring you by.”

  Charles heaved a sigh. “If you insist.”

  “Oh, absolutely, I do,” she said, slipping her arm through his. As was polite, he offered the other to Alexandra. She hesitated a moment, then took it.

  Andrew could feel Sophie’s tension as she watched them walk away. As if to torm
ent her further, the orchestra began tuning for a waltz. “Have you promised this dance, Lady Sophia?” Andrew asked, fully expecting her to say yes, even if she had not.

  Her gaze darted to Courtland, who immediately offered his arm. “Indeed she has, Your Grace. If you will excuse us.”

  “Of course.” Andrew dismissed them with an amused smile. The night was nowhere near over. And you can run, but you cannot hide.

  * * * *

  Sophie took her position in Lord Courtland’s arms, unsurprised when his gaze caught hers. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” It was the least she could do after he’d just saved her from Andrew's clutches.

  “We have become friends of a sort, have we not?” he asked, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “You know we have.”

  He nodded. “Good.” He pitched his voice low. “Then you will have no trouble explaining to me the reason I am waltzing with you in His Grace’s stead?”

  “Pardon?” Half-affronted, half-shocked, the question came out little more than a squeak. Friendship or none, they were in a crowded ballroom, the worst possible place to discuss something so personal.

  “Now, now. None of that. What is going on between you and the duke, Sophie?” he asked as the waltz began.

  Despite being frustrated with his timing, she did not try and avoid answering. He truly had become a friend over the past few weeks. She considered the consequences of telling him everything, then decided not to. If she did, she would lose his respect in addition to his friendship. “It is complicated,” she answered instead, wincing internally. Admitting complication meant admitting that things were happening behind closed doors, as a straightforward courtship would occur in plain sight.

  “Nothing is ever that complicated.”

  A simple opinion, but it rankled. “With him it is.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because he is overbearing, pompous, dictatorial—”

  “All of which I have been called myself on numerous occasions.” He laughed. “And not just by my sister.” Surprised by the admission, she stared at him in open-mouthed horror. “You look like a very adorable fish, my dear.”

  She snapped her mouth closed. “I apologize, but your comment caught me off guard.”

  “Because?”

  “Because not once in our dealings have you ever behaved like that. In fact, you have been nothing but kind, generous and pleasant. I'm having a difficult time believing your claim.”

  “I am those things, too, but not all the time. Those qualities, however disdainful you find them, are often required for us titled gentlemen to ensure order in our respective worlds.” A wry chuckle escaped him. “The Duke of Tolland's world just happens to be a considerable size larger than those of us of lower rank.”

  “Which neither excuses nor condones his behavior,” she snapped, peeved that Lord Courtland, the one man she had considered worthy of marriage—and the only unrelated male she could truly claim as a friend—considered Andrew’s behavior not only standard issue, but completely above reproach.

  “Perhaps not,” he said gently. “But you might consider what he offers in addition to those qualities.” Sophie missed a step. His tightened grip was the only thing that saved saved her from tumbling head-first into another couple. She frowned up at him, but he just grinned.

  “The comment was not meant to throw you off, my friend. Only to remind you to consider all of your options.”

  She was unable to stop the snide retort which issued from her lips. “I doubt you would encourage me to accept his attentions if you knew what it was he offered.” They were rotating towards the end of the ballroom.

  He let out a bark of laughter, catching the attention of the dancers next to them. He waved them off, then lowered his voice. “You cannot mean what I think you mean. Gentleman do not dally with innocents.” He tightened his grip, leaned closer in and murmured his next words into her ear. “The duke can phrase his offer any way he wishes. The end result will still be marriage.” Sophie stopped dead in her tracks; this time he nearly mowed her over. “What the—” he sputtered as he worked to gain his balance before they landed on the hardwood floor in an ungracious puddle of finery.

  She let out a nervous laugh, for she was acutely aware that her sudden halt was noticed by nearby onlookers. “I trod on his toes, the poor man. Perhaps we've had enough dancing for this evening.” She tugged him to a less crowded part of the room.

  “What was that all about?” he demanded in a hushed tone.

  “No matter what nonsense the duke's put in your head, know this. I will never marry him.” With that, she turned her back on him and marched through the open balcony doors. “In my head?” she heard him ask, then, after he'd followed her outside, “Sophia.”

  “I have not given you leave to use my Christian name, my lord,” she said, rounding on him.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then offered a stiff, overly formal bow. “My apologies, madam. I was unaware that you stood on such formality with those you called friend.”

  “She doesn’t,” a deep voice said from the darkness, just as Andrew stepped out from the shadows. “Formality is usually reserved for me.” He gave Courtland a wicked smile. “You must have irritated her during your dance.”

  “Ignore him,” Sophie said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Excuse us for a moment, won't you Courtland?” Andrew asked, and though his question came with a smile, the command was clear. Lord Courtland stared back and forth between them for a long moment before tossing his hands up in the air and storming back into the ballroom, leaving the two of them outside.

  No, Sophie realized, not merely outside, but quite alone on a darkened balcony. Again.

  * * * *

  “Who do you think you are, ordering him about like that?” Sophie's seething voice cut through the tense silence. “He is not some. . .some servant in your employ.”

  Andrew grinned as he faced her. “I thought a bit of protection was needed.”

  “I hardly need protection from the marquis,” she said, yanking her gloves off with frustrated jerks of her hand.

  “I meant to protect him from you. I know firsthand how difficult you are when your dander is up.” Scowling, she marched down the steps into the small garden below. He was caught up in the mesmerizing sway of her hips for a long moment before he realized she was still walking. “Where are you going?” he called out from behind her, finding great enjoyment in the beauty of her anger. Now that he had come to terms with his desires, not only to have her, but to do so permanently, her reaction was all the more amusing. “Sophie, wait.” She continued across the lawn, ignoring him. He lengthened his stride until he was on her heels. “Sophie, wait,” he repeated.

  She whipped around and cracked her hand across his cheek—hard. Ignoring the sharp sting, he grabbed her, forcing her to walk backwards until her back hit the trunk of a tree. “I warned you not to raise your hand to me.”

  “Go to hell, Your Grace,” she spat, and a gleam as dark as a murderer's sparked in her eyes.

  “Only if I can take you with me,” he said as he lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Though she kicked, punched and wiggled to free herself, he noticed she did not scream. They both knew that if anyone saw them they would be married in a heartbeat.

  “Put me down,” she ground out as he strode through the mews, doing his best to stick to the shadows. Ignoring her, he continued on, keeping his eyes and ears open. Parked the next street over was his carriage. He just had to make it there without being seen.

  “Damn you, put me down!”

  “Is everything okay, Your Grace?” his driver, Jonathan, asked, noting their approach with a curious look.

  “Everything is fine,” he said, yanking open the door and tossing Sophie inside. “Just drive.” A moment later, he climbed in and took the seat across from her.

  “Let me out. This instant,” she said through clenched teeth. Her hands were balled into fis
ts at her sides.

  “No,” he said, settling back into his seat as he watched her fingers clench and unclench. “And before you make another attempt to do me physical harm, know this; you won’t get the first strike in before I knock you on that sweet little ass of yours. Do you understand me?”

  Her eyes grew wide and her lips trembled. “I hate you,” she whispered venomously.

  “There are times when I almost believe you.” He allowed her a few minutes of fuming silence as the conveyance made a slow exit from the mews. Now that he had her where he wanted her, he had no idea where to begin. Her posture made it all the more difficult. She was glaring daggers at him, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if she might flail violently otherwise.

  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “I apologize—”

  “Don’t you dare,” she said with a look frosty enough to freeze lava.

  “Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Courtland, but I know it has to do with me. I realize this is difficult for you.”

  Tears filled her cerulean eyes. “You know nothing.”

  “I know your actions are at odds with your words,” he said in a level voice. “I know that every time I’m in the same room as you I don't know if I want to kiss you or strangle you. I know you are the most damnably stubborn woman I have ever met. And,” he added when she opened her mouth to contradict him, “the most desirable.” Her eyes closed and tears spilled in lines down her cheeks. She wiped them quickly away as he reached forward and took her hands in his. She started, but did not jerk out of his grip. “I also know you have some misbegotten notion about what you want for your future.”

  “What I want is for you to leave me alone.”

  “Because you’re convinced I am someone I'm not.”

  She scoffed. “So you say, Your Grace, yet your actions from the very start have done naught to repudiate my suspicions.”

  He gave her an arch look. “I have done nothing you haven’t allowed, nay demanded, in your own stubborn way.”