A chill wind blew over them and she ran her hands over her arms. Another small step and she was less than a foot away. He was torn between snatching her to him and railing at her for her stupidity. “What I mean to say is that I have something to say.”
Andrew ran his fingers through his hair. “You're making about as much sense as a two-legged racehorse. I want to know why you are walking the streets in the middle of the night. Alone.” Worse, she was wearing clothing that molded to her curves and practically begged to be removed. Dressed like that, he was just as much a danger to her as any street thug. He’d done a quick sweep of her belongings before he caught up with her. A cape and a walking stick, but no bag. She wasn't running away. At least his mind was at ease on that count. “What is it you wished to tell me?” he asked, unable to keep irritation out of his tone.
Her posture relayed confidence, but she tripped over her words. “I was. . .I was on my way to your house before you yanked me into this. . .where the devil are we, anyway?”
“The alley between—” he started, then realized that he had pulled her against a stone wall between the homes of Lady Araminda and Lord Johnson. He clamped his mouth shut. Without another word, he tugged her deeper into the shadows. Before he had time to ask the question burning inside him, she slid her body against his, tipped her head up and pressed a hot kiss to his lips. The moment caught him so off guard that it was several heartbeats before his arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. The warmth of her body seeped through his clothes. When she pulled away, she was staring up at him. Her wide-eyed adoration hit him low in the gut, then slipped lower, inflaming his passions and nearly shredding his control.
“I wanted to tell you that,” she said, smiling. “And that I love you.” All he wanted to say, every lecture he’d planned to give her flew right out of his head. She loved him.
He loved her. They loved each other. And he suddenly needed her with an intensity that refused to be denied. It took a concerted effort not to take her against the wall like an animal. “Come with me,” he said, pulling the cloak’s hood over her head and dragging her into the street. A split second decision had him heading right towards his house. At this time of night no one would be about. He could carry her to his bedchamber and make love to her until morning. Straight through the wedding if need be.
She followed him silently, seemingly caught up as he in her emotions. Despite stopping every few steps for kisses that delayed their arrival and raised his desire to higher levels, they made short work of the distance to Tolland Place. As he led her upstairs and into his bedchamber he felt a surge of pride that this woman—heart, body and soul—would belong to him forever.
It was, as Byron and Shakespeare and every other master had written, glorious.
Chapter Twenty
The morning of the wedding brought complete and utter chaos to the inhabitants of Sinclair House. Except, of course, for Sophie. While her mother, Simon and Alexandra searched high and low for the woman whom they considered a prime candidate for Bedlam, Sophie lay fast asleep, wrapped in the warm embrace of the man she loved.
A repetitive knocking on Andrew's bedchamber door jerked the pair from their slumber.
“There in a minute,” Andrew said, causing Sophie to laugh. They might have had the decency to rush, but between nibbling kisses and locating their hastily strewn clothes, the two were slow to make themselves presentable. When they finally made their way downstairs, they were met with surreptitious, but knowing, glances. More than once, Sophie felt warmth color her cheeks, yet the enthusiastic spring in her step never waned. Naturally, Andrew acted as if nothing was amiss, as if walking hand in hand with her was both expected and appropriate. And in an odd sort of way, it was. They were practically married, after all.
Sinclair House proved slightly more daunting. “Where have you been?” Her mother's demanding tone changed as soon as she saw Andrew.
“She was with me,” he said smoothly.
“You two won't be happy until one of us has an apoplexy, will you?” Simon said, tossing his hands up in the air before storming into his study.
“I should probably go talk to him,” Andrew said, pressing a kiss to Sophie's forehead.
“It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, anyway,” Alexandra said, giving him an arch look before bursting into a fit of giggles.
“I am so sorry you've had to deal with my mother,” she said after Andrew had gone.
“No apologies necessary, Sophie. I am just glad to know everything is okay. I just hope she recovers in time for the ceremony.”
Sophie grinned as she linked their arms together and led them to her room. Perhaps it made her the worst sort of person, but not a single moment of regret pierced the coveted memories of the prior evening. “In a few short hours, your brother and I will exchange vows and I will become a duchess. My mother may be upset now, but I assure you, she will recover.”
* * * *
Sophie and Andrew's wedding had become the wedding of the decade. At the close of any other Season, the majority of titled elite would take themselves off to whatever destination served as their home away from London when the balls weren’t in full swing. This year, however, they remained. For no matter what became of the noon service, they had all been granted a boon. If the wedding went off without a hitch, they would wear their attendance as a badge of social prestige. If history repeated itself, they would be primary witnesses to the scandal. Not a single guest had declined.
Confident as ever, Andrew strode down the aisle, took his place at the front of the packed church and without a single word of explanation for his delay, signaled for the ceremony to begin. For a long moment, nothing happened. The sounds of a wedding march reverberated against the stain-glass windows and the ton held their collective breath. And held it. Andrew's smile never faltered, though after two full minutes of waiting, the crowd was drawn tight as the bowstrings of the orchestra. Whispers of curiosity turned to murmurs of speculation, but just before they had a chance to sprout the wings of a full on-dit, the heavy wooden doors pushed open, revealing a beaming, gorgeous Sophie. A hush settled over the crowd.
Andrew watched as she made her way down the aisle. Even in her simple white gown, after the stress of getting dressed in a mad rush, she was the epitome of grace and beauty. She did not merely glow, as brides often do, she exuded radiance. And she, just as he, spared no glances for the men and women whose masks of enthusiasm barely concealed their disappointment at being deprived fodder for the gossip mill.
Her gaze remained firmly fixed on his, a delightful, nostalgic smile tugging the corners of her mouth. But it was the look in her eyes which filled him with contentment. They sparkled as bright as any star. When she reached his side at last and placed her hand in his, a sense of homecoming resounded within him with all the force of cannon fire. And though he knew the hearts of several hopeful debutantes beat with disappointment, he knew also that there wasn't a single member of the ton who could ever dispute that theirs was a love match. By the time he dipped down and took the lips of his duchess in a searing kiss, there wasn't a single frowning face in the crowd. Even the oldest of married couples had not been immune. And so it was in this spirit of euphoria that Lady Sophie Sinclair became the Fifth Duchess of Tolland and the pair the happiest in the world.
Hours later, Andrew bowed over his wife's hand, then turned it over and placed a tender kiss to her wrist before pulling her up and leading her to the middle of the ballroom floor. His wife. Even as he caught the sparkle of her diamond wedding ring, he still could not believe it. A familiar thrill shot through him, bringing a grin to his face.
“You look like a child who just discovered a castle made of tea cakes,” she teased.
The start of music set their feet in motion. “I look like a man in love.”
Her laugh echoed through him, speeding his pulse and bringing with it a flood of warmth over his skin. “A fool in love is still a fool.” In that moment, he didn't give a
fig what name she chose to call him, for she was gazing at him as if he were the moon and stars. His heart pounded with as much love as there were endless glimmers of light in the night sky.
“I would rather be a fool and loved by you than a genius watching you dance with someone else.” The look in her clear-blue eyes said she felt the same way, but her smile faltered. He lifted a brow. “Dare I ask?”
She shook her head. “'Tis nothing of consequence. It just occurred to me this may be the first waltz we have ever shared not plagued with strife.”
Her explanation pulled a broad grin to his face. “Surely we had at least one before now.”
She shook her head again, but smiled in a manner so beatific he felt as if all his blood was funneling to one part of his body. He shifted and tried to think of something other than the promise of the upcoming evening. As they waltzed past Alexandra and Simon, Andrew saw them lift their glasses in toast. Vaguely, he wondered what they were discussing.
“What is so amusing?” she asked, wiggling their joined hands to get his attention. He had not realized he'd chuckled.
“Simon and Alexandra. If I didn't know them as well as I did, I would say they were half in love with each other.”
Sophie's gaze moved to where the pair was sat and she watched them for a long moment before laughing. “Those two wouldn't survive a courtship, much less a marriage. Besides, I think your sister has her heart set elsewhere.”
“Really?” he asked, wondering what, if anything, Alex had confided in Sophie. “Do tell.”
“Absolutely not. It's only a hunch, anyway, so I shall leave it to time to tell.” He let out a humph, but did not press her further. “Have I ever mentioned how adorable you are when you pout?” she asked, wiggling their joined hands to get his attention.
“I am not pouting, I am thinking.”
“About?”
“This mystery man who has captured my sister's heart.”
Sophie laughed. “Who do you think it might be?”
He shrugged, not because he didn't want to say, but because he couldn't imagine that Alexandra had found love and hadn't informed him. Times, he was beginning to realize, were definitely changing.
“Go on, husband, and say, for I know you have an opinion.”
He slowed their steps, then stopped and leaned down to murmur in her ear, ignoring the onlookers watching the exchange with rapt interest: “Enjoy teasing me while you can, wife.” He leaned close and pressed his lips against her ear. “In a few hours we will be in our bedchamber and you, my love, will be in dishabille. I'll have all evening to coax information out of you, every evening from this one until forever.”
At that, her eyes widened and she threw her head back and laughed before pulling him down for a heated kiss. And though the shocked gasps of their guests reached them, Andrew reveled in the moment. He could not imagine how, but with that single kiss his love for her swelled even more.
* * * *
A few hours later, Sophie burrowed into Andrew's embrace as he leaned back against the leather squabs of his carriage. He gave her a gentle squeeze and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Comfortable?” he asked, his fingers toying with her hair.
She let out a soft “mm-hm” and raised her gaze to his. “Thanks to you.” Her finger drifted over his strong jaw, then tweaked his nose. His answering smile was relaxed and easy and her own broadened before she pressed her lips together. “You're doing it again,” she said, shaking her head in mock disgust.
“What? Behaving like a man in love?”
“A fool in love.”
“Only because I am happier at this moment than I could ever have imagined. If that makes me a fool, then so be it.”
Sophie felt exactly the same way, the emotions running through her as clear and calming as a gentle stream. The struggle between them had been long, but in the end, the love they found chased away the last of the shadows. If they were battle worn and a little weary, it was to be expected, and if she never forgot the sensation of his hand clasping hers at the front of the church, she would consider that a gift on its own. She let out a soft laugh.
“Something funny?” he asked.
She shook her head and gave him an impish smile. “I'm just as happy as you are, is all.”
“I know something that will make you even happier,” he said, suddenly straightening. The loss of his warmth sent a chill chasing through her and she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed. He dipped his hand into the inside of his coat and pulled out a black velvet box.
She shot him a curious glance, her thumb moving over the rings on her finger. What in heavens could this be? Intrigued, she reached out.
“Uh-uh-ah,” he chided, moving the box out of her reach. “Did no one ever teach you that it is considered poor form to take a gift without first thanking its bearer?” He leaned down, sliding his lips back and forth over hers in the barest of caresses.
“I prefer to save my thanks for after the gift has been deemed worthy,” she answered against his mouth.
“Mercenary minx,” he said, swooping in to steal a kiss anyway.
Sophie responded instantly, her tongue darting in for a taste of him. Within moments, the kiss changed tenor and she sighed, knowing that if she did not put a stop to it they would end up making love in the carriage. Again. She groaned and laid her head against his chest.
“So naughty, my wife.”
“Too naughty by the feel of it,” she said happily as an ache began to throb within her. “How long until we reach the inn?”
He shot her a devilish look. “You're not tired, I hope.”
She leaned in and nipped his earlobe with her teeth. “Positively exhausted,” she breathed, delighting in the shiver which passed through him.
He turned his head and met her gaze, brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “If you're exhausted now, you're going to be half-dead by morning.” He kissed her again, worshiped her with his mouth like the goddess he made her feel. It was a full minute later before she remembered the box and only then because he shifted his hand and poked her with its corner.
Sophie diverted his attention by arching her body against his then filched the box from his grasp, a triumphant grin breaking across her face at his momentarily confused look. “I love besting you.” She didn’t do it often, not that Andrew would agree. According to him, he was wrapped so tightly around her finger that he could no longer show his face at White’s or Boodle’s or any other of those manly haunts he claimed to have frequented. What's good for the goose, she mused.
“Can you guess what it is?” he asked softly as she tugged at the simple ribbon.
“Not without looking at it,” she laughed as she lifted the lid off the box. Her eyes widened as she pulled out the silver chain and a familiar pear shaped diamond charm slid into her palm. She stared at it as memories flooded her mind. The sparkling two carat stone had been the solitaire in her engagement ring all those years ago. “I can't believe you kept it,” she said, turning into a watering pot.
He took her head in his hands and placed a tender kiss on the tip of her nose, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “I think perhaps part of me had always hoped that I could give it back to you.”
She threw her arms around his neck and worked not to sob into his shoulder. She had not imagined that she could love him more than she already did, but the next few beats of her heart proved her wrong. She met his indulgent gaze and sniffed back her tears. “I think part of me had always hoped the same.”
“Is that so?” he asked, a disbelieving laugh bubbling from his mouth. “Could have fooled me.”
A naughty little smirk played over her lips. “It's the truth.”
“Are you saying there was no need for the battle?” Sophie started to ask what he meant, but before she had a chance to utter a single word he had turned her and pinned her against the seat, his hands roaming over her body, his eyes seductive.
She giggled breathlessly as his hand slid up her thigh, tak
ing her gown with it. “You deserved the fight and you know it,” she said, teasing him with words and body. “Your ego's just smarting because in the end, I beat you.”
“On the contrary, madam,” he said, his fingers finding their way to her most sensitive spot, “our battle is not yet over. And now you have been captured.”
Her breath quickened. “That sounds distinctly pleasant.” Andrew’s eyes glinted as he pressed his hard body into hers. All thoughts of battles and winners gone, Sophie focused on her husband, who was stoking a fire of need within her that would not soon die out. “You can engage in any battle you choose, my love, but you will always come out the victor in my eyes.”
“And why is that?” he asked, pulling back to look deep into her eyes.
In his gaze was her past, present and future, and the promise of everything she had ever wanted.
“Because you have already won the battle for my heart.”
Coming Soon!
The Scandals of the Heart series continues in
At Journey’s End
by Michele Bekemeyer
Where was Lord Winterley, anyway?
Alex had not heard a single sound from the adjacent room all evening; not movement nor footsteps nor even the whisper of an entrance. Even if he finished his meal and stayed an hour or two for drinks, he should have already made his way to his room. Unless he found something worth staying up for, some devil inside her whispered.
She made the mistake of closing her eyes. Vivid images of hands, his hands, large, strong and as wandering as her wayward thoughts, assailed her. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, willing the visions away. Not a heartbeat passed before her brain fought back, this time with a vengeance. Alex could see his lips, strong and firm, against her skin, could swear she felt the warmth of his breath and wet flick of his tongue as he traced along the line where her pulse beat wildly. Her hands rose to her neck to soothe away the wicked thought, while her foot tapped impatiently against the foot board.
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