She realized she needed Alexandra’s guidance more than ever. The time for secrets was past. Honest advice would only come with full disclosure of her indiscretions. “Many and difficult to admit though they are,” she said to her empty bedchamber. Sophie and her mother were heading to Hyde Park at ten, and she hoped Alexandra would be there.
The family carriage rolled to a halt. Her footman assisted her mother down before offering assistance to Sophie. As she alighted, she took in the milling groups of people chatting and the others parading about in an effort to see and be seen. She spotted Alex across the way and gave an excited wave. “Alex!”
“Decorum, Sophie,” Louise said, frowning. “Take Gracie with you. And don’t wander too far.”
“Yes, mama.” She headed in Alex’s direction with hurried steps, wishing for nothing more than to slip away for their serious conversation. She didn’t even care that they were in the middle of Hyde Park, where gossiping eyes and ears saw and heard everything. She didn’t have a choice. Time was no longer her ally. As she approached, Alex shot her a curious glance.
“You seem dispirited today, my dear. Is everything okay?”
“Do I? Then let us walk, so I can tell you why.” She linked arms with her and led them on, content to make the requisite small talk with their many acquaintances as she searched for a secluded spot. They happened upon Lord Courtland in conversation with Lords Roxford and Thomas. Off to one side stood Eliza. Sophie stifled a frown. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she could shun the proprieties draped like thinly veiled oppression over their heads. Eliza greeted them warmly, seemingly happy to no longer be the only female in the group. They had not been there for more than a minute before talk drifted to the scandalous third waltz Andrew had arranged.
“Must have been a sight to see. I wish I’d been there,” Lord Thomas said with a laugh. “And I never say those words in regards to a ton ball.”
“I daresay Lady Araminda would have given in to a fit of the vapors if she thought anyone would be there to catch her,” Lord Roxford opined, eliciting nods of approbation from the other gentleman and an unexpected snort from Sophie.
“I thought it was splendidly done. The break away from convention was refreshing, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I certainly would,” Lord Courtland put in, his eyes bright with mischief. “Indeed, I would have hosted the ball myself if I thought it would induce her type into fainting dead away.”
Without warning, Alex stiffened then leaned close, her gaze focused just beyond Sophie’s shoulder. “Oh, no. They're back.”
“Who is back?” she asked, turning to look. Andrew and Lord Winterley were strolling in their direction, the pair of them a walking advertisement for the ton’s best tailors. Andrew’s white shirt and buff breeches were set off by a bottle-green jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders. Even in those mild colors, he looked as dangerous as a marauding pirate. The undercurrent of their previous conversation sizzled through her nerves. What was he doing in Hyde Park?
“Good afternoon, gentleman. Ladies.” His gaze skidded past Sophie to Alexandra. “Before I leave, I need to speak with you for a moment.”
Alex inclined her head, but latched onto Sophie’s arm, towing her away with them. Sophie was certain Andrew did not appreciate her company, but she wasn’t about to leave her friend in a time of need. Besides, Lord Winterely had followed. If nothing else, she felt obligated to even out the numbers. To give the siblings a bit of privacy, she and Lord Winterley kept their pace slow. Once they were twenty feet or so behind, Sophie cast a sideways glance at the viscount’s profile. Between furtive glances in Alex’s direction and looking skyward, he was contemplative. Interesting. “How does the day find you, my lord?” Sophie asked, forcing him out of his reverie.
With a sidelong glance, he grinned, humor crinkling the side of his gray eyes. “Better than most, I would imagine. And what of you? Does this day find you in a better humor than previous days?”
Sophie blanched. How had she forgotten his presence during her tirade in Andrew’s study? The man walking at her side had bore witness to her deepest humiliation. Worse, he found tormenting her—and the duke, for that matter—enjoyable. “I imagine there is always more to one’s state than meets the eye,” she said with an offhand shrug. “I daresay mine on those days could be described as no worse than others of my acquaintance, yourself included?”
His laugh was uncomfortable. “Naturally, my lady.”
She glanced once again at the conversation taking place ahead of them. “Alexandra mentioned you have recently returned from America.”
His sudden tension surprised her. “I have,” he said, all humor vanished.
“Is the arrangement permanent then?” she asked, determined to learn more about him. Alexandra was never herself when he was near. Something definitely lay between them, but was it more or less than Sophie thought?
“That remains to be seen.” He glanced over at her then looked up, eyes squinting against the sun before finding their way back to Alexandra.
“I do not suppose the ton's offerings are enough to keep you here.”
This time his laughter was deep and genuine, and caught both Andrew and Alex's attention. His gaze averted instantly and his posture turned severe. “Absolutely not.”
“Really?” she asked, intrigued by the vehemence of his words. Here was a rich, handsome peer in possession of a wicked sense of humor, one who had taken the ton by storm, yet for every smile he handed out, he seemed to retain its accompanying shadow.
“I can honestly say, Lady Sophia, from the bottom of my heart, society offers nothing which could induce me to remain here.”
She considered the declaration; firm, unyielding, and yet with an undertone of wistfulness, and decided to press on. In addition to providing a welcome distraction from her own inner turbulence, her interest was truly piqued. “Perhaps you haven’t found the one thing that binds you wholly to this place.”
“Perhaps,” he said without looking at her. “Or perhaps that one thing is the reason that we flee into the night and condemn ourselves to a life of torment.” With that, he gave her a lopsided, teasing grin that seemed to push his tension away.
Sophie could not help but concede the point with laughter. As far as opponents went, he was definitely worthy. “Touché, my lord.” They spent the rest of the walk in silence.
By the time she got Alexandra alone, she had rehearsed her opening line a hundred times. I know it is important to you that I not keep secrets, so I wanted to tell you everything that has happened between Andrew and me. When it finally came tumbling out of her mouth, however, it bore no resemblance to the well-planned opening. “I slept with your brother.”
“You did what?” Alex said, stopping to look at her as if waiting for a retraction, or a laugh.
“I didn't mean to. It just happened.”
Alex tugged her off the path and into a patch of trees. “What do you mean, it just happened?”
She shrugged. “I don't know. We were just arguing and one thing led to another.”
“Arguing?”
“Well, discussing things in a heated manner.”
“Where did this happen?”
“In his carriage.”
“In his carriage?” she asked, her voice alarmingly high-pitched. “When?”
“Shh,” she said, glancing around. “A few weeks ago. I wanted to tell you the other night, but couldn't. Since then, we've been so busy. And everything has become muddled.”
“I'm going to kill him,” Alex said, looking as if she meant every word.
“No! Please don't mention I said anything.”
“What is the point of telling me, if I can't say anything about it?” she asked, sounding as plaintive as annoyed.
“Because I don't want to keep secrets from you anymore, Alex. And besides, I need your help.”
Alexandra's mollification didn't last long. “With planning the wedding, you mean?” To Sophie's hor
ror, Alex looked angry. “He has asked for your hand, hasn't he?” At Sophie’s nod, Alex's expression eased. “Well, that's wonderful news, at least! You have always been like a sister to me anyway.”
The tears burning in Sophie's eyes weren't maudlin, but guilty. She couldn't bring herself to admit that she had rejected him, even though the words felt as if they were clogging up her throat. She cleared it, twice, to no avail and in the end, gave a helpless shrug.
“There, there, dearest,” Alex said, pulling her into a tight hug. “Do not worry. I won't say anything to my brother, unless he mentions it to me first.”
Trusting in his silence was a risk Sophie would have to take.
* * * *
Andrew finished tying his cravat, then headed downstairs. He had plans to meet Simon, Charles and Gabriel at White's and was looking forward to a night of drink and conversation. Though he did not expect the absence of female company to rid his mind of matters with Sophie, he was hopeful that the distraction would provide a few hours relief. Replaying their moments together had become a torment he could no longer bear. He tugged on his coat and slipped out the front door, not noticing the man standing beside his carriage until it was too late. Without a word, Simon stepped forward, his features marred by a menacing look usually reserved for those he could not abide. Andrew stopped in his tracks, his mind warning that this was no social visit. “Evening, Simon,” he said, approaching slowly, the scent of alcohol growing stronger the closer he got.
“Leave us,” Simon ordered the coachman, though his furious gaze did not waver from Andrew.
Sam looked to his master. “Your Grace?”
Andrew fought back his hesitation. Loath as he was to admit it, the upcoming discussion did not need an audience. He nodded once and waited while the worried man faded into the shadows. “Shall we move inside to discuss what's bothering you?”
Simon’s expression grew thunderous, though his voice retained a deceptive softness. “What I would like to do, you cocking bastard, is tear you limb from bloody limb.”
He considered the threatening posture and the coiled rage a hairsbreadth away from springing free. This was Simon at his worst, full of enough piss, vinegar and alcohol to do a street thug proud. There would be no prevaricating, no excuses, not a single well-turned phrase to pacify the rage flowing through him. “Why is that?”
Simon straightened to his full height, fists clenched by his sides. “I saw you leaving my house a few nights ago, slithering into the shadows like a common criminal. It was the same night Sophie claimed a headache, and excused herself early from a ball.”
“What would you have me say?”
“You. Fucking. Lied to me. I want the damned truth. Now.”
Andrew met his gaze without fear. “If I had to guess, I'd say you already know the truth.” The sentence barely left his lips before Simon had him by the throat.
He found himself pinned against the side of the carriage, Simon’s vicious, vengeful voice at his ear. “You will marry her.”
At that, Andrew snapped. Between anger and years of wrestling with Gabriel, he was able to reverse their positions. He pressed his arm against Simon’s windpipe. “I plan to, as you bloody well know. I've spent the last few weeks working to make it happen, but you've pressured her so god damned much, she won't see reason.”
Simon struggled against him. “Make it happen,” he choked out.
Andrew let him go and took a step back as Simon bent over to catch his breath. “If it was as simple as all that, we would be on our damned honeymoon by now.”
“It is exactly that simple,” Simon repeated through ragged breaths.
He shook his head. “It has to be her choice.”
Simon scoffed. “Bollocks. She made her choice when she took to your bed.”
“An easy declaration for you to make, as you won't be married to a woman who despises you.”
Simon straightened, his arms folding over his chest. His expression held no sympathy. “You chose to make your bed with her in it, so your difficulties mean fuck all to me. You should count yourself lucky I don't call you out, Duke.”
Andrew reigned in his temper, knowing Simon's threat was born of brotherly protection. “I'm not asking for sympathy. And dueling won’t solve anything. One or both of us would end up dead and Sophie would be devastated.”
Simon absorbed his words, but did not seem to be mollified in the least. “Stop allowing her to lead you by your cock and do what you must to get her to the altar.”
“She isn't leading me any more than she is being led,” he shot back before giving Simon a pointed look. “There's something deeper involved, something which makes her think all men are controlling bastards. Any idea what that could be?”
Simon shrugged, but wasn't able to hide a flash of guilt from his face. “I'll give you two days.”
“That is not enough time and you know it.”
Simon took a step towards him. If looks could kill, Andrew would be six feet under dancing with the devil. “It took you less than that to bed her, so it should be plenty of time to gain her acceptance.” Andrew did not respond. What could he say? As usual, Simon was right. Until now, he had been content to ride the matter out, to give her time to reach the desired conclusion. “Two days,” Simon warned again. “After that, I will force both of you down the god damned aisle myself. By gunpoint, if need be.”
Andrew bit back a hot retort. Spewing his frustrations would only precipitate a physical response. And though the beast inside him clamored for release, a bout of fisticuffs with his future brother-in-law would be counterproductive. Simon continued to glare at him, clearly waiting for acknowledgment. “I will do everything in my power to win her hand, but first let me make something perfectly clear.” He moved forward until they were nose to nose. “If you ever threaten me, or my future wife, again, I will spend the rest of my days making you wish you were in hell.”
Without another word, Simon stomped off, the sounds of his footsteps ringing with determination against the cobbled ground. Forget Andrew's ultimatum, or her rejection. All bets, at this point, were off. Sophie's obstinacy had just met its match.
* * * *
Two days later, Andrew stood in a darkened alcove of the ballroom, watching from a discreet distance as Sophie waltzed around the dance floor. In Lord Courtland’s arms, laughter bubbled out of her lips and she appeared exceedingly happy. Her gown caught the glow of the nearby candles and sparkled. It was the last ball of the season. The ton was eager to spend one last glamorous night in splendor before the glimmer faded away and they were forced to retire to their washed out lives, to whatever wearisome place they called home.
Sophie had barely spoken a word to him since their conversation in her bedchamber. Hell, if he wanted to examine the matter, other than their uneventful meeting in Hyde Park, she had avoided him entirely. Some misguided sliver of Andrew's pride still held hope that she’d come to her senses and rush to him, eager to accept his proposal so they could begin their happily ever after. He recognized the sliver for what it was—arrogance. He knew, no matter how he wished otherwise, that she would never swallow her infuriating pride and relent, not after his ultimatum. But there was more at stake now. Simon’s deadline loomed with each passing second.
“It isn’t becoming to lurk in the shadows, Your Grace,” a sultry voice murmured from over his right shoulder. “And sneering is hardly appropriate, dark mood and drink notwithstanding.”
He recognized the voice instantly and smiled. “Didn’t you once refer to my dark moods as intriguing? You said something about how I should have no problem attracting a wife.”
Eliza nudged him playfully. “I believe the phrase I used was terrifying. And I remember saying you will never find a wife with an expression like that.”
He slanted a sardonic glance in her direction. “The only way you would notice me skulking in the shadows is if you were here yourself.” He glanced around her, searching. “Why are you here, anyway?”
She shrugged. “I needed a break from the constant chatter. I had somehow forgotten what a crush the end of the season is.”
Andrew masked his amusement, kept his tone casual and his gaze on Sophie as he tossed out his response. “Does this mean Clement is no longer at your side, scaring everyone off?”
She sounded chagrined. “Is it that obvious?”
He pinned her with a knowing look. “The pair of you have been inseparable for most of the season, Eliza.”
“We have not,” she countered with a derisive snort.
“If you say so.”
She swatted him with her fan. “You horrid man. I did not come over here so you could mock me.”
He laughed. “You came over because you were curious, and because deep down, you wanted to know if Simon had mentioned anything to me.”
“At least half of that is true. As a gentleman, it is you duty to appease my curiosity.” She waited for him to answer. He didn’t. “Well?” she asked impatiently.
“If he mentioned anything to me, it was with complete confidence in my discretion.” And had nothing at all to do with you, and everything to do with what a horrible friend I've been.
“You can be so very cruel.” He chuckled again, enjoying her torment. “Perhaps I'll just emit a feminine scream and pretend to have a fit of the vapors and you will be forced to explain why you are holed up in the shadows.”
Andrew regarded her skeptically. “You couldn't pull off faking a faint and I doubt you would scream if a ten pound rat ran across your foot.”
“Oh, my. That sounds distinctly like a dare.”
“I’m just watching the night unfold,” he said quickly.
“Watching Lady Sophia, you mean,” she said, answering his dark look with a cheeky grin. “Oh, bother, Your Grace, save your breath. You were never good at lying to me.”
“I never lied to you,” he said, affronted.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, I know how you feel about her.”
“Pardon?” he asked, something—sheer horror, perhaps—pitching his voice high as a choir boy's.
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