Sophie dropped her gaze onto her lap, shamed by her rash words. Father had died several years before she’d made her come out. He’d always had such grand hopes for the match she would make. She wondered what he would say now if he were to see the current, sad state of her marital prospects. “Forgive me,” she said.
Her mother must have detected the sincerity in that apology, for she nodded.
“I merely meant that Christopher has no like sense of obligation to our family.” Ugh, there was something horribly depressing in thinking of oneself as an obligation.
Geoffrey wagged his finger in a small circle. “That is where you are wrong, sister.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes at the odd note in her brother’s tone. He spoke as though he possessed an interesting bit of gossip about Christopher’s family that he had no intention of sharing—something that would compel him to marry her. “There is a greater motivation for him to wed me, then? Something that goes far beyond our familial connections.”
Geoffrey gave his head a shake and seemed to remember himself. “Don’t be silly, Sophie. I merely meant the marquess has a good deal of influence over Waxham.”
Great, so he’d marry her off to a gentleman with no spine or mind of his own. Just lovely.
The wheels in Sophie’s mind turned rapidly as she began to feel this situation was moving beyond her control. “Emmaline indicated that the duke holds me in high esteem.” Surely Em had said something like that over the years?
The lure of a dukedom apparently was too great for Geoffrey. “I’ll allow you to try and bring Mallen up to scratch, but in the meantime, you are not to do anything to discourage Waxham’s suit.”
She lunged forward in her chair to protest the terms laid out by Geoffrey, only to wince as the sudden movement sent the room spinning around her.
Geoffrey raised a brow. “Everything all right, dear sister?”
“Fine,” she said between gritted teeth.
“Very well.” He turned to their mother. “I’d like you to invite Waxham’s family for a dinner party.”
“You conveniently leave out the important fact that Waxham and Mallen are close friends. Mallen would never betray him by courting me while Waxham is.” It was a desperate grasp on Sophie’s part. She held her breath.
Geoffrey picked his fork up and speared a piece of kidney. He popped it into his mouth and chewed it with meticulous care. “If Mallen is as enamored as you’d have us believe, then trust me, it will not matter.”
Sophie bit the inside of her cheek. He had her there. Still, there was hope. After all, Geoffrey was making the very powerful assumption that the pompous, ‘much sought after,’ beast who’d teased her as a child and ignored her as a young woman, would in fact honor his father’s wishes and court her.
Sophie acquiesced. “As you wish, Geoffrey.”
“So it’s settled. A dinner, then.” He nodded his approval.
Ever eager to host guests, the viscountess clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”
Sophie slumped back in her chair. Yes. Just wonderful.
“If I thought it would help, I’d recommend we bring in the finest tutors to school you on appropriate dinner conversation.”
Sophie’s jaw hardened. “I know appropriate dinner conversation.”
“That isn’t what the scandal sheets purport,” her brother muttered from under his breath.
Sophie folded her arms. “It is hardly my fault that Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet took exception with my mention of Duke.”
“Surely you know it is not acceptable to discuss a breeding pup?”
“I merely made mention of the pups Duke had sired.”
“To Prinny.”
Sophie sat back in her seat. “Hmph. I suspected he would be fascinated by the blending of my pug with a mangy bi—”
Mother gasped. “Sophie!” She clapped her hands. “That is more than enough. Geoffrey, do not bait your sister. Sophie…don’t…don’t be…”
Sophie.
Don’t be Sophie.
How many times had her mother uttered that very statement? Sophie’s earliest remembrance of it went back to the days of Sophie’s first governess. How was Sophie to have known that the woman had worn a wig because she’d been bald underneath? And what five-year-old girl wouldn’t have very many questions about that very thing? After all, if the woman had been bald, would Sophie suffer the same fate?
In the end, the woman had been thoroughly insulted. She’d packed her things and Sophie had been down her first governess.
She sighed and shoved back her chair. “Really, Mother. I’m no longer a child. Nor should I be subjected to such unfair scrutiny.” Society had their diamonds of the first water. In Sophie’s case, she’d never even be considered a paste gem on the muddy Thames.
Mother sighed. “Lady Emmaline was such a good influence on you. It is really such a shame that she’s married and you are, you are…” Mother passed her hand over the air in Sophie’s direction.
Sophie tipped her head. “And I am?”
“And you are unwed,” Geoffrey finished from across the table, effectively bringing the conversation round to where it first began. He rested his palms on the table and held Sophie’s gaze. “Sister, I’ve long accepted that you are no great beauty. I’ve also accepted that you have a penchant for saying the wrong things. What I’ll no longer accept is your unwed state. The sooner you resolve yourself to the inevitable, the better off you’ll be.”
Sophie’s fingers curled into tight balls of fists on her lap. Oh, if she possessed a tad more courage, she’d plant Geoffrey a facer to rival Gentleman Jackson himself. Except Geoffrey and Mother both expected such a reaction from his incorrigible sister.
Determined not to descend into their lowly opinion of her, Sophie forced a smile to her lips and took to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Duke is due for a walk.”
“Do behave,” Geoffrey called out.
“And do bring Lucy,” Mother followed up.
Sophie directed her gaze to the ceiling. “You act as though I’ll find trouble on a morning walk.” She gave her curls a flounce and sailed past her mother and brother, choosing to ignore the pained look her less than confident family exchanged.
Oh, how little faith they had in her.
Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet
Miss S.W. collided with a servant at the Countess T’s ball, who in turn dropped his tray of champagne flutes and sprayed the ballroom floor with bits of glass. Baron W and his partner fell amidst the debris.
~4~
Sophie held a hand to her eyes in attempt to shield the sun’s bright rays. She winced at the blinding light, and swallowed back a wave of nausea. Never again. She wouldn’t ever touch spirits. She glanced down the crowded walking paths of Hyde Garden, off into the distance. Her gaze scoured the horizon for a glimpse of her dog. “Where are you, Duke?”
Short of breath from the pace she’d set for herself, she weaved between the fashionable couples who strolled the gardens. Her unladylike behavior was met with shocked gasps and horrified stares from passing lords and ladies.
Her ears perked up at the whinny of a horse, followed by a series of shrieks. “Duke,” she panted, and sprinted toward the mayhem.
“Miss Winters!” Lucy called out sharply. “The viscount…”
Sophie increased her pace, so that her maid was left in the distance. She very well knew the trouble awaiting her at home. She certainly didn’t require any reminder from her faithless maid.
Sophie crested a small grassy incline and arms akimbo, scanned the area. She froze at the sight of Duke. Her fawn-colored pug ran in circles about an enormous black mare. She groaned, and raced down the slight hill.
Her foot became entangled in the lace trim of her ivory gown. A gasp escaped her and she threw her arms out to steady herself but it was too late. She tumbled forward, bouncing, and sliding until she landed with a thump at the base of the rise.
Duke pounced on her chest with his front paws.
She winced and gently moved him off her person. His coarse, salty tongue lapped her cheek and she turned her head to face the troublesome dog. “Oh, Duke. This is bad. This is very bad.” She could just imagine what Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet would read the next morning.
A towering figure leaned over her, blotting out her unfettered view of the late spring sky.
The gentleman dropped to a knee alongside her. “Are you hurt?”
She swallowed. “No. I…” Sophie shoved herself up on her elbows and groaned. Of all the riders in Hyde Park, it would be her misfortune that Duke should stumble upon Christopher Ansley, Earl of Waxham—her childhood nemesis and paragon of Society.
She’d have rather accepted help from Lady Ackerly. “You.”
Christopher frowned. “I should have suspected when this unattended fiend,” he jerked his chin in Duke’s direction, “nearly unseated me, you were somehow behind it.”
Duke sat back on his haunches. His little pink tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and he yapped happily at the earl. Apparently the dog was a far worse judge of character than she’d credited.
“I’m certain your beast spooked him,” she said in defense of her precocious pug. After all, that fiend, as Christopher had referred to him, was a good deal more loyal than most people.
Christopher’s frown deepened. “I’ll have you know, Intrepid is not a beast. She is a refined and beautiful lady.” He patted Duke upon the top of his head. Then, he seemed to remember his annoyance, for he yanked his hand back and grasped the edge of her skirts.
“What are you doing, Christopher?” she hissed, stealing several glances at the nearby voyeurs. She could only imagine how the scandal sheets would report on this latest scrape she’d managed to land herself in.
Christopher followed the direction of her stare, and glowered at the people staring at Sophie’s prone form. “I’m inspecting you for injury,” he said after their observers scurried off.
Her skin tingled from where his long fingers still clasped her ankle. She slapped his hand away, her heart hammering in the oddest way. “You mustn’t touch me. Not in public.” Not with said touch causing all the strangest, unfamiliar little sensations in her stomach.
Christopher grinned, and his attention shifted from her leg to her eyes. “Is that an invitation to touch you in private?”
Sophie slammed a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened. “You sir, are no gentleman.”
He gave a slow wink. “And running disheveled through Hyde Park, you hardly epitomize ladylike gentility.”
She wondered what the highly proper earl would say if he knew she was half seas over from alcohol she’d pilfered with a mystery gentleman the previous evening.
He cocked his head.
“What?” she blurted.
“I’m merely trying to interpret that mischievous glimmer in your eyes.” Christopher didn’t allow her an opportunity to respond, instead, leaned over her leg, and again reached for her ankle.
“I said, you mustn’t touch me,” she said, hurriedly. It wouldn’t do for her to be seen with Christopher handling her person in this very intimate manner.
He glanced up with such alacrity a black lock escaped the queue at the nape of his neck, and fell over his eye.
It was merely because he was trying to help her… and because it must be so very difficult for him to see…and the fact that he’d been surprisingly gentle with Duke, but Sophie gave in to the urge and brushed the lone strand back from his forehead.
Christopher’s whole body seemed to freeze.
A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. “I…uh…imagined it was difficult to see and thought if I moved the hair from your eyes that you’d be able to see a good deal better and…” Be silent, Sophie. Be silent. She promptly closed her mouth.
“You’ll touch my hair in public but won’t allow me to inspect your ankle?”
“It’s entirely different.”
Fortunate for Sophie, Christopher didn’t press the point because she really wasn’t altogether certain how it was dissimilar.
A beleaguered sigh escaped him. “Very well, then.” He stood and held a hand out to help her up.
And because she couldn’t sit there indefinitely in the midst of Hyde Park with an audience privy to her every action, Sophie placed her hand in his. Tears flooded her eyes when she made to rise and sank into a moist patch of soil. She fell back against the ground.
Duke jumped up and proceeded to dance in circles about Sophie, clearly believing she and the earl played some kind of game.
Christopher spared him a single glance, then shifted the whole of his attention to Sophie. “Don’t be silly, Phi. Let me ascertain whether there is a break.”
She shook her head with such vigor that her already loose chignon tumbled free, and sent curls tumbling down her back. “There is no break, Christopher.”
He lowered his voice. “Really, Phi? You’d rather make your way through Hyde Park with a broken ankle than accept my help?”
“You mustn’t call me Phi.” She stole a sideways glance at the voracious spectators who’d converged upon them yet again. “You are creating a scene.”
Christopher arched a single brow. “I think you moved well beyond a scene when your holy terror of a dog went racing through the park and nearly unseated me from my horse.” Either her dog was a good deal less intelligent than she’d given him credit for or in desperate need of attention, for the faithless pup nuzzled his head against Christopher’s lower legs and gazed up at him with wide, adoring chocolate brown eyes.
So much for being a loyal pup.
She tried to look at Christopher objectively. Odd, she’d never noted how his lean, muscular frame towered over her by more than a foot. The tan hue to his skin indicated he was a man comfortable with the sun on his person. Goodness. A startled squeak escaped her. She fanned herself. Why, Christopher was…Christopher was…
“What is that look?”
Handsome!
“What is what look?” she asked, a touch too quickly. She probed her head with the tips of her fingers. Surely she’d hit her head in her fall. There was no other suitable explanation for her sudden awareness of Christopher as a far too handsome gentleman.
“You look like you swallowed a plate of rancid kippers.”
Sophie remembered herself and dropped her hands back to her sides. “Aren’t all kippers rancid?” she mumbled.
A bark of laughter slipped past perfectly sculpted lips, and seemed to startle him as much as it did Sophie.
Christopher swept her into her arms as though she weighed no more than one of the pups Duke had sired on the mangy dog who called the kitchens home. No minor feat considering Sophie’s plump form.
Sophie gave her head a clearing shake. She’d not been injured in her earlier fall but surely she was still foxed from the prior evening’s indulgences. There was no other explaining this odd breathlessness at Christopher’s strength. But, how had she failed to notice the specks of gold and green dancing in his hazel eyes until this moment? Or his lithe power and the olive coloring that bespoke his Roman roots? He possessed the thickest black hair and though unfashionably long, he pulled it back at the nape of his neck, putting Sophie in mind of a rogue pirate.
“Madness,” she muttered aloud.
“Phi? I say, are you all right?”
No. She rather believed she wasn’t. Not if she were studying Christopher with a woman’s eyes.
Desperate to place much needed distance between Christopher’s broad, muscular chest and her too-fast beating heart, Sophie gave him a discreet shove. “Put me down. Do you hear me?”
“Oh, I heard you, Phi. If you aren’t careful, all those watching will also hear. Furthermore, the last thing I need is for my father to discover I’d abandoned you to your own devices, even if it is entirely your fault that you’re in this condition. You’ll have to suffer through this humiliation.”
“Hmph.” Sophie settled against his chest. She directed her gaze to his crisp w
hite linen shirt to keep from noticing the fascinated stares of the lords and ladies they passed.
Christopher stopped alongside his black mare that chomped away at a bush. He set Sophie down with the care he might have shown a priceless treasure, and mounted his horse. Then, leaning down, he scooped her up into the spot in front of him.
Her maid Lucy descended over the rise. She gasped and all but sprinted to Sophie’s side. “Miss Winters!”
Sophie nodded toward her pug who barked wildly at Christopher. “See to Duke.”
Lucy’s mouth fell agape when Christopher kicked the horse into motion and raced off.
“My maid…”
“I trust can find her own way home,” he whispered against her ear. His breath, a blend of coffee and citrus tickled her skin.
Sophie held her form erect. As Christopher’s enormous black beast carried her closer and closer toward home, her mind spun. She could only imagine what the scandal sheets would read. The Incorrigible Miss S.W. and her unruly dog nearly killed the ever-charming Earl of W.
She bit down hard on her lip. Oh, how she hated proving her brother and mother correct. They always expected Sophie to cause some scandal or another and here she’d gone and made quite the scene. No one would care that Duke’s leash had snapped. Nor about the geese on the lake that had spooked the skittish pug and sent him hurtling toward Christopher’s enormous black mare.
All anyone would see was that Sophie had once again fulfilled everyone’s very low expectations of her.
“Phi, you can rest against me.”
She hesitated a moment, and then relaxed, allowing him to support her. “Geoffrey is going to be livid.”
“I’d imagine that is an understatement,” he drawled.
Sophie peered over her shoulder at him, and expected to find a condescending grin on his lips. His hazel stare was directed forward, his flat expression gave little indication as to what he was truly thinking.
“Then, considering what Geoffrey proposed this morning, mayhap that won’t be the case,” she muttered.
Never Courted, Suddenly Wed Page 4