“I daresay we’ve both had enough to last a lifetime,” Sophie said with a rueful chuckle.
Alex nodded, but she didn't seem angry. “Proceed with caution, please. It would not be an easy decision for me to choose between the two of you should something go awry.”
Sophie pulled her into a tight embrace. “Thank you for that.”
Alex pulled away quickly, as always uncomfortable with the show of emotion. “Now, shoo! You have about, oh, forty-seven seconds left.”
Sophie left the retiring room in high spirits and made her way as quickly as possible down the hall. The Ridgley's home was not as large as some, so the library could not be far. Her mind drifted to the man awaiting her arrival as the opening strain of the waltz sounded. But it was the sudden chatter which caught her attention. The murmurs of the guests as they professed their disbelief were easy enough to imagine. She glanced over her shoulder towards the ballroom entrance, then connected, thigh to breast, with an all-too-familiar wall of steely warmth. She tilted her head back and found herself looking up into Andrew's roguish grin. A smell particular to him alone wrapped itself around her, eliciting an anticipatory shiver that buckled her knees.
His arms steadied her. “My dance, I believe?”
She shook her laggard wits into place with a regal nod. “Of course.”
He did not lead her far into the ballroom, instead choosing a spot nearer the entrance. After the first few measures had started, he tugged her along the perimeter, then swept her up into the dance.
“I cannot believe you did it,” she said as she twirled down the room in his arms.
“Never underestimate your opponent.”
Still chuckling, she met his gaze. His soulful stare penetrated, sending waves of longing throughout her body. She became agonizingly aware of every sound and move they made; the shushing sound of her gown as it brushed against his breeches, the graceful steps he took as he led them around the room. His thigh brushed hers as they rounded the corner, a touch too close for propriety’s sake, far and away too distant for Sophie’s.
Her body ached to be joined with his. The thought quickened her breath and she leaned a fraction closer, inhaling his scent. “I can think of a dozen ladies who are probably having an apoplexy as we speak.”
“One can only hope.” The look he gave her was beyond bold, it was predatory. A warm shiver snaked down her spine and into her soul, a lit match held just above the skin.
“You didn’t meet me in the library.”
“Nor did you plan for me to.” His wicked smirk had her itching to drag him off to find the library—or any empty room—that very instant. “Do you even know where the library is?”
“Mm hm.” His grin was devious. “Just. . .through. . .here,” he said as he guided them to darkened end of the ballroom and all but shoved her through a door.
Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness as her senses reached out. Where ever they were lacked the smell of books. “I don't think this is the library.”
“You would be correct,” he said, his hand slipping into hers as he tugged her across the room. “But don't let that dismay you. Everything you need is right here.” He drew one of the curtains open and the diffuse light of night revealed a window seat. He patted the empty space on the cushion. “Let’s talk.” Talk? She wanted to tear off her gown and beg him to bury himself inside her and he wanted to talk? “I assume by your presence tonight that you received my note.”
“I did,” she said, working to ignore the sudden flutter of nerves which assailed her midsection.
“Good. Then, you can begin.”
Her lips formed a perfect moue. “Begin?”
“It is the usual way of things. To discuss and agree upon terms, so that both parties are satisfied.”
She shot him an embarrassed look. “Oh. Well, I, ah. . .why don't you start? I haven’t the foggiest idea of how such a thing works.”
He chuckled, clearly amused by her discomfort. “It’s simple, really. You tell me what you require and I’ll tell you what I require. If the terms are acceptable to both parties, then an agreement is made.”
She stared at him. “I hadn’t really considered that there would be requirements other than enjoying each others company.”
“Ah, but in return for security, a mistress is at her protector’s leisure.” She pulled a face. “For example,” he said, leaning against the wall next to the window. “One of my requirements would be your presence by my side at all ton functions.”
“Why in heaven's name would you want that?”
“A man never shares his bed mate.”
“Nor does he escort said bed mate to social functions,” she said with no small amount of skepticism.
“If the woman is not normally accepted at the aforementioned functions, then I would be inclined to agree. But that is not the situation here. And I am not in the habit of sharing my mistresses. Ever.” The heat in his gaze matched the intensity of his words.
Her skin flushed, and she wasn't sure whether it was the way he was looking at her or his use of the word mistress. “You wish for me to remain by your side the entire time I am at a social function?”
“Absolutely.”
She stood, paced a few steps away from him. “You know that isn’t possible, Andrew.”
“Why not?”
“Because the instant I step into a ballroom on your arm, all of London will assume a wedding is in the offing.”
“True,” he murmured, but he didn't sound as concerned as she thought he should.
“I suppose if you joined me for a short period of time, say an hour at most, it would not appear too suspicious. Alexandra would be there, after all. You might even bring Lord Winterley with you, just to even out the numbers.”
He appeared to consider the idea, then nodded. “Very well. Have you any other terms?”
She laughed. “Since you only just made me realize I’d named one, I’d say not. Have you any more?”
He hesitated, but only for a second. “Not at present.”
Sophie beamed at him. “Perfect. So, what happens now?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now,” she repeated, brows furrowing. She could not bring herself to ask for what she wanted. “I mean, what happens now that we have come to an agreement?”
Andrew held his hand out. “We shake.”
Disappointment thinned her lips. “Shake hands?”
“That is usually what is done when an arrangement has been made.”
She shook his hand, expecting him to lean down and kiss her. Instead, he adjusted his coat and took a few steps towards the door. “My lord?”
He stopped and faced her. “Yes?”
With a bracing breath, she rallied her courage. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Before she took her next breath, he was before her, his body pressing hers against the wall, his perfect lips tasting hers. She molded her body to his as she slid her hands up under his coat. Beneath her fingers, his muscles twitched. The desire to devour, and be devoured by, him made the flesh between her thighs throb, leaving her wet, aching and needy. In the back of her mind, the muted last strains of the waltz registered.
“We should return,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Most definitely,” she agreed, stealing one last greedy kiss before releasing him. She smoothed down her hair and gown. “Do I look presentable?”
“Allow me,” he said as he turned her around and began re-pinning her hair with nimble fingers.
“All better?” she asked, turning to face him.
He laughed. “You look like an angel, love.”
She beamed, then linked her arm through his and tugged him towards the door.
* * * *
Later that evening, Andrew entered his opulent bedchamber, stripping off his coat and untying his cravat with a tired sigh. In his quest to make Sophie his wife, he was struggling to find solid ground. Their supposed arrangement had been a considerable first step, but it was a short-ter
m solution. She appeared to believe he planned to keep her as his mistress, but to his mind, a mistress was a kept woman, an inamorata who relied on her protector for financial and physical support. The limited women he had taken in that capacity had depended on him for both, but emotion had never played a role. It simply was not done. Once emotions were involved, things had a tendency to spiral downwards.
Sophie, who did not rely on him financially or physically, was wholly connected to him on an emotional level. Her soul was tied to his in ways deeper than she could accept or even fathom. Andrew intended to strengthen the bond in that grain until she came to terms with her feelings, until she could not imagine a life other than the one he offered; then, and only then, would he revisit the subject. By the time that part of his plan had played out, he intended for her to be amenable to anything he wished so long as they were together. In his mind, one step led to another. God only knew what thoughts she had on the matter. Her distrust was only one of the obstacles he faced. If she caught on that he was courting her, albeit in a rather underhanded manner, she would end things with him.
He undid his cuff links and began unbuttoning his shirt, another heavy sigh breaking from his lips. With Sophie, timing was everything. He donned his nightclothes then wandered over to the window. The lawn below was bathed in moonlight, the windows dewy from a misty rain. He stared, unseeing, into the night until a shadow moved across the lawn. Recognition overruled alarm. This was no criminal searching for a house to rob, it was the indifferent and slow moving figure of a man with everything on his mind yet nothing to lose. Gabriel.
Andrew tugged on a robe and headed downstairs, reaching the bottom of the staircase just as his brother opened the front door. “Evening, brother.”
Gabriel looked up. His bruises had not faded completely, but were much lighter. He held out his hand, offering a folded piece of paper.
“What’s this?” Andrew asked as he took the missive.
“The announcement of my arrival. You did not forget I was coming, did you?” Wry humor flickered in the black depths of his eyes.
Andrew chuckled as he shook his head. “Of course not. Do you have time for a drink?”
“Only if you have something other than brandy.”
“I’m sure I have something worthy of your palette.” He opened the door and stopped in his tracks. Alexandra was seated in his chair, feet on the desk as she sipped a glass of wine and gazed out the window.
She turned, snatching her feet to the ground. “Sorry, Drew,” she said quickly. “I was. . .” She stared past his shoulder in disbelief. “Gabriel?”
Andrew realized the volatility of the situation the instant Gabriel's name left her lips. In retrospect, he should have informed Alex the moment Gabe arrived on his doorstep, house party and injuries be damned. He suddenly felt like the largest arse for not telling her sooner. She was, after all, and adult and not a child. A woman grown, Sophie’s voice reminded, even as Alex set her glass down with a thump, sloshing a bit of wine onto his papers.
She darted into Gabriel's arms. “Oh, my goodness, it is you!” she said as she plastered herself to him. “Heavens, it’s been almost two years since you’ve been home! When did you arrive? How did you. . .what happened?” she whispered as her hands drifted over the fading yellowish-green marks on his face.
Gabriel took her hands and squeezed. “Took a tumble stepping out of the carriage. It was nothing, really. But look at you. You look splendid, Alexandra. I swear you’ve grown an inch since I saw you last.”
She did not smile. “You were injured on one of your missions.” Her intelligent gaze darted Andrew’s direction, as if seeking confirmation. “Oh, Gabriel!”
“Alexandra,” he said calmly, reaching out to take her hands.
She batted his away. “You simply must quit this ridiculous work,” she said, her voice low voice as she continued poking at his wounds. “If anything happened to you, I would be. . .” Her eyes welled up with tears.
Gabriel took both of her hands in his. “I promise to take better care of myself, Alexandra, but only if you promise to stop poking me.”
“Your promises aren’t worth a ha’ pence and you know it,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m just happy you’re safe.”
Gabriel gave Andrew a how-do-I-put-an-end-to-this look. “I believe you have a few things to take care of now that you’re no longer on house restrictions,” Andrew said, deciding for once to spare his brother. Gabriel mouthed a thank you.
“Must you leave so soon?” she asked, staring up at him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said promisingly.
Alex scoffed, but her tone was playful. “Last time you said that was two years ago.”
“I know,” he said, then squeezed her hands one last time. “This time will be different.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead then, with a last nod to Andrew, exited the room.
Alex wandered back over to the chair behind his desk and resumed her seat. She swiveled around, grabbed her wine glass and shot him a saucy smile. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not,” he said as he took a seat in the armchair on the opposite side of the desk. He watched her profile for a long moment, wanting to apologize, but unsure how to begin.
“You don't have to say it. I know you were only trying to protect me.” Her entire body shuddered. “In truth, I appreciate your secrecy. I can't even imagine what he looked like when he got here.”
Andrew confirmed her suspicions with a nod. There was a soft rap on the study door a second before Charles’s voice rang through. The tension that pulled Alex’s posture straight did not pass Andrew’s notice.
“Oh. Apologies. Am I interrupting?” Charles said as he entered.
In the family reunion, Andrew had forgotten he had requested Charles join him. “Not at all,” he said, but Alex was already moving towards the door.
“Good night, Drew. Lord Winterley.” The curtsy she gave was stiff and overly formal.
“Lady Alexandra.”
She pulled the door closed behind her.
“I take it she’s aware of Gabriel’s return?” Charles asked as he poured himself a snifter of brandy then took the seat Alex had just vacated. “I ran into him on the way in.”
“Yes. Took it rather well, I think, considering what a fright he still looks. She mothered him just like Kate did.”
Charles chuckled and took a healthy swallow of his drink while Andrew’s thoughts drifted from Kate to Alex to Sophie. He wondered what Charles would make of his current situation. “Might I get your opinion?” Andrew asked, curious to hear his thoughts.
“Depends on what you're asking,” Charles said around the rim of his glass.
“What do you think of Lady Sophia?”
Wry humor danced in his eyes. “Aside from her outstanding speaking abilities?”
Andrew shot him a dark look. “I'm being serious.”
“She's beautiful, intelligent, well-bred and, if you want my honest opinion, more than a little bit spoiled. My guess is she could have her choice of husbands.”
“She doesn't want to marry.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“The question isn't why do I, it's why don't you?”
Andrew shrugged, not ready to delve that far into details. “Let's move on to business, shall we?”
When it came to the women around them, some things were better left unsaid.
Chapter Seventeen
The beginning of the end of the season turned London into a whirlwind. The nights were packed with more parties than any one person could attend and hosts spent small fortunes to lure the highest ranking guests. The surest way to be elevated a notch above their peers was to throw a bash filled with so many of the ton’s elite that the party-goers were only able to breathe enough to comment about how much fun they were having. Lady Trumpley was no different. In addition to a ballroom capable of holding over a hundred guests, she offered the
best assortment of miniature sandwiches and sweets, and a back garden private enough to tempt the racier set. Even those wholly immersed in the pursuit of pleasure were willing to make an appearance at the Trumpley ball, knowing they could fill their tummies before disappearing soon thereafter to enjoy the privacy of the garden.
As Sophie entered the ballroom, she glanced around in search of Andrew. She gave up being discreet long ago. Short of asking her hostess if she’d seen the man, she would locate him by any means necessary. She spotted him lounging against the wall, deep in conversation with his brother and Lord Winterley. Her journey over was interrupted by Alex and Lord Courtland. “Sophie!”
“What are the pair of you up to this evening?” she said, catching the look which passed between them. Alexandra laughed.
“Oh, go ahead, tell her,” Lord Courtland said, punctuating his sentence with an embarrassed look.
“Tell me what?” Sophie asked, surprised by Alexandra's happiness. It wasn't that Alex was a miserable person by nature, but ton functions tended to bring out her surly side. At the moment, however, she appeared genuinely amused.
“It's Abby,” Alex said before bursting into laughter.
“What about her?” she asked as Alex wiped away tears. Lord Courtland hung his head and mumbled something indiscernible. “I cannot hear you over the music,” Sophie said.
“I said, my sister and Lord Bottley have. . .well, they've—”
“They’ve run off to Gretna Green,” Alex finished, sounding absolutely tickled.
“Say it isn’t so!” Sophie gasped. “Why?”
“Oh, but that's the best part!” She gave Lord Courtland a nudge. “Go on, tell her.”
“Because Lord Pompous allowed his mother to convince him to press her to delay the wedding.”
“And I suppose you are the infamous Lord Pompous?” She pressed a gloved hand to her lips to hide her laughter.
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