Never Courted, Suddenly Wed

by Christi Caldwell

  Christopher froze. His spine stiffened. Perhaps he did care about what Dennington had to say after all. “What about Mallen?”

  The other man gave a pleased nod. “Glad I have your attention, now. All quite scandalous,” he said. “One never expects a scandal from the duke. From her perhaps. But never him.”

  Christopher’s head spun as he tried to keep up with Dennington’s rambling. His stomach tightened. “From her?”

  “The incorrigible Miss Winters,” Dennington supplied. He gesticulated wildly with his hands. “If that isn’t an unlikely pairing? The flawless Duke of Mallen and the hoydenish Miss Winters are walking in St. James’ Park. Can you imagine?”

  Christopher’s hands balled into fists at his side. He’d rather not imagine. Christ, what was Mallen doing, taking her on a walk through St. James’ Park? With its location near the clubs on St. James’ Street, everyone knew it was not the place for an unmarried lady who wished to protect her reputation.

  Encouraged by Christopher’s silence, Dennington continued prattling on. “I have to be honest. I’m not altogether certain why he’d go about courting her.”

  That single condescending statement jerked Christopher’s attention back to the moment. It mattered not that the courtship had been fabricated by Christopher and Mallen. A haze of fury momentarily clouded his vision. He arched a single brow. “Oh?”

  Dennington was either a dolt or too absorbed in his latest morsel of gossip for he didn’t appear to heed the lethal edge in Christopher’s utterance. “It is no wonder she remains unwed. Why she’s nothing more than a plump, unseemly bit of—”

  Christopher punched Dennington in the nose, knocking the other man upon his arse.

  Dennington’s eyes went wide in his fleshy, pallid cheeks that stood in stark contrast to the blood streaming down his bulbous nose. “Whatever did you do that for?” he cried.

  A small crowd converged upon them. Christopher cursed at the unwanted attention. He leaned close to Dennington, who whimpered like a wounded pup. “If you ever, and I mean ever, utter Miss Winters’ name, I swear I’ll do more than blacken your eyes. Is that clear? You aren’t even to greet the lady in passing.”

  The whimpering dandy nodded so emphatically, he dislodged his beaver hat.

  Christopher stormed off. This time, with more purpose in his step as he made the long trek to St. James’s Park, wishing, not for the first time, that he’d taken his mount.

  Fury fed his movements. When Christopher had enlisted Mallen’s support, he’d never imagined his friend would do something so callous as to jeopardize Sophie’s reputation. Why, a walk through St. James’s may as well be tantamount to an offer for an unwed lady’s hand. Anything else was incomprehensible.

  Not for the first time since he’d concocted the blasted scheme to thwart his father, the guilt churning inside of him threatened to boil over.

  Sophie was a young, unwed lady. Mallen had been correct in his reservations…they both risked endangering her heart.

  His stomach tightened and he picked up his pace, until he reached St. James’s Park. He paused and scanned the open land. Less crowded than Hyde Park, it would still be nigh impossible to single-handedly locate a specific person…in this case, two specific someones.

  With a curse, Christopher resumed his search, finally admitting to himself that his walk had everything to do with Sophie. And Mallen.

  Christopher gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He flexed it and continued on his course until he reached the walking trail that led to the central lake.

  Mayhap the fool Dennington had been wrong about Mallen and Sophie. Mayhap they were in fact in Hyde Park. Mayhap…

  He froze.

  At the edge of the lake, stood a tall gentleman alongside a lush, blonde woman. The sunlight glinted off her crown of golden curls. Just then, a faint breeze rustled her pale yellow skirts. For an infinitesimal moment, the fabric clung to the young lady’s gently flared hips, highlighting her rounded buttocks. She looked up at the man beside her.

  And all the air left Christopher.

  Sophie?!

  Christ. He squinted.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  He took a step closer, and another until her familiar face pulled into greater focus.

  Except, it was.

  When had Sophie developed into this winsome goddess? He staggered back a step.

  Mallen tossed his head back and even with the distance between them, his laughter carried over to Christopher’s ears, the sound grating on every last one of his already frayed nerves. He didn’t care to analyze why he wanted to plant a facer on Mallen’s affable face and toss him into the lake. Or why he wanted to place an appropriate amount of space between Sophie and the bloody duke. Propriety aside, Christopher all but sprinted toward Sophie and Mallen.

  A cry rent the otherwise quiet park. Christopher’s heart froze suspended in his chest, and then resumed beating a frantic rhythm as Sophie stumbled and pitched forward into the lake. Christopher picked up his pace, tugging his jacket free as he ran. He reached the side of the shore just as Mallen waded in and fished Sophie’s damp figure from the shallow depths.

  The moist material clung indecently to her voluptuous form, hugging every delectable curve of her body; a mocking reminder that gone was the girl who’d taunted him and in her place was this nymph who beckoned him.

  “What in the blazes are you doing?” Christopher snapped, tossing the garment over her shoulders.

  Sophie glanced up, her cornflower blue eyes went wide in her pale cheeks.

  “Waxham,” Mallen greeted as casually as if they were meeting in a drawing room.

  Christopher spared a single glance for Mallen, and then directed his attention back to Sophie. “Are you mad?” he hissed. “Do you know the scandal you’ve caused here?”

  “Actually I do,” she said underneath her breath. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself.

  Damn if she didn’t look fetching in his jacket.

  “And you,” Christopher shot at Mallen, “a walk through St. James’s Park? Whatever were you thinking? No, you weren’t thinking,” Christopher said when Mallen opened his mouth to interject.

  “I prefer St. James’s Park.” Mallen spoke with all the authority befitting his station as duke. In his world, he could go where he pleased without fear of censure.

  Unlike Christopher, who’d spent the better part of his life living with the fear of being discovered as an idiot who couldn’t read a bloody sentence without giving himself a megrim. The reminder of his flaws only fueled his ire. “Are you trying to ruin the lady’s reputation?” he snapped.

  Sophie covered a gasp with her fingers. “Christopher!”

  Mallen’s brows dipped. “If you were anyone else, I’d call you out for such a charge.”

  And if Christopher had been anyone else, he might have been intimidated by the other man’s frigid glare. Alas, this was Mallen. He’d known him back when he’d been putting toads in his sister’s teacups. It would take more than a glowering visage to unnerve Christopher.

  Christopher returned his attention to Sophie. “Where is your maid?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “I sent her for a walk.”

  His eyes slid momentarily closed. “No wonder you find yourself in Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet,” he muttered.

  Sophie took one, two, three steps until less than a hairsbreadth separated them. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said…”

  “I heard you,” she snapped.

  “Then why did you say…”

  “Because I’m trying to convey suitable outrage.” Sophie’s chest heaved up and down with the extent of her upset.

  He stared transfixed, unable to remove his gaze from the sight of the plump white mounds of her décolletage.

  Sophie tugged his jacket closed, a pink, becoming blush stained her heart-shaped cheeks. “Did you hear what I said, Chris…my lord?”

  He yanked his gaze awa
y. “No.”

  Mallen folded his arms across his chest. “The young lady was wisely pointing out that you are in fact causing undue attention.”

  Christopher looked around and for the first time noted the gentlemen who’d halted their mounts and now gawked like they’d come upon a riveting stage performance right there on St. James Street.

  He took Sophie gently, but firmly by the arm. “Come along.”

  “Christopher,” she hissed. “Whatever are you doing?” Sophie dug her heels in with the same contrary stubbornness she’d demonstrated as a baby sinking her teeth into the tender flesh of his palms.

  “I’m escorting you home,” he growled and tried to urge her forward.

  Sophie remained rooted to the ground. It would appear the only way he’d get her out of this blasted park was if he tossed her over his shoulder.

  As though she’d followed the primitive direction his thoughts had taken, her eyes narrowed. “Do not even think of it, Christopher.”

  “Your brother will thank me.” He squeezed the words out past tight lips.

  “He most certainly will not.” She nodded none too discreetly toward Mallen, who stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest. He studied Christopher and Sophie with thinly veiled interest.

  Christopher’s eyes lingered a moment on Mallen and his gut clenched. Based on Sophie’s words, it would seem Christopher’s scheme was going to plan. He expected to feel relief that Redbrooke had turned his marital aspirations for Sophie on the duke.

  Instead, Sophie’s subtle reminder of the viscount’s intentions to wed her off to Mallen burned like alcohol thrown on an open wound. His gut churned.

  “Christopher?” Her hesitant question called him back to the moment. “Are you all right?”

  His breathing grew rapid as he confronted the shattering realization that he didn’t want Mallen to court her. He didn’t want anyone to court her.

  Christopher dropped her hand as if burned. He took a hasty step backwards. What is this? It defied logic. This was Sophie Winters. The bane of his childhood existence. The hoyden who’d tormented him when he’d been a boy. The girl he’d blamed for the fire in his father’s stables.

  And God help him, if he didn’t want her. “Nothing is the matter,” he said at long last, his voice hoarse to his own ears.

  Everything is the matter.

  When had this happened? Just then, it occurred to Christopher that he’d not given thought to the mystery Athena from Lord Thomas’s library since Sophie had re-entered his life.

  He extended his arm. “We’re leaving.”

  “I’ll see her home,” Mallen interjected, his jaw set at a stony angle.

  The hell you will.

  ***

  Sophie’s gaze moved between the two gentlemen. Her brother had once said that there was a greater likelihood of horses flying than her being courted by the Duke of Mallen.

  She peeked at the sky. Hmm. No horses there. It did, however appear that the duke’s intentions were serious where she was concerned.

  And…

  She looked at Christopher. The firm set to his square jaw, and the muscle that ticked at the corner of his eye indicated Christopher’s annoyance.

  Her heart flipped painfully in her breast. Christopher didn’t believe she was good enough for the duke. In fact, the very proper earl would rather create a scene then leave her alone with the Duke of Mallen. After years of Christopher’s aloofness, Sophie had thought herself accustomed to his disdain. The pain that knifed through her proved how very wrong she was. Her toes curled inside her sopping wet slippers. She’d never before resented him the way she did now.

  Mallen’s gaze caught and held hers for a moment. He frowned, returning his attention to Christopher. “I escorted the lady here. It is only appropriate I see her home.”

  Christopher’s hazel eyes snapped fire. “I’ve known the lady’s family for some time. I imagine they’d prefer I help her from this latest scrape she’s gotten herself into.”

  Oh, the lout.

  She dipped the tip of her wet silk slipper, beyond all hope of repair into a patch of mud and flicked it in his direction.

  Thwack!

  The thick, soppy dirt landed on the front of his fawn-colored breeches. It proceeded to drip a thin, muddy trail down his legs, and onto his boots.

  Christopher jerked as though she’d fired a pistol at his chest and not merely a small bit of dirt onto his once immaculate attire.

  “Uh-my foot slipped,” she said, when his gaze narrowed on her.

  Mallen chuckled and gave Sophie a slow wink that said he knew there’d been no accident there. They shared a smile.

  “And for the love of Christ, stop winking at her,” Christopher bit out.

  Mallen’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t wink at her before this.”

  “You winked at her during Lord and Lady Cavendish’s ball.”

  The lines in Mallen’s forehead deepened. “Did I?”

  Christopher ticked it off on his fingers. “During your first set and a second time when you fetched her ratafia. This is now the third. Stop winking at her.”

  Sophie started. What an odd thing for Christopher to note not once, not twice, but three times.

  The sun dipped behind a cloud and she shivered, tugging Christopher’s too large jacket close.

  His gaze snapped over to her. “You are cold, Sophie. Let me escort you home.”

  Did she imagine the gentleness to his offer?

  He held out his arm. Sophie hesitated a moment, torn. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and troubled the flesh, knowing with all the intuition of a lady who was written about regularly in Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet, that whatever decision she made just then, would be the wrong one.

  She placed her fingertips in Christopher’s, and he guided them to the crook of his sleeve.

  The Duke of Mallen cleared his throat. Her head whipped in his direction. “You needn’t go with the earl, Miss Winters. I’d be glad to see you home.” A thread of regret underlined his gallant offer.

  She gave a small smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. You’ve been gracious enough. I’m very sorry to have created such a scandal.”

  He bowed. “Think nothing of it. I must say I don’t remember smiling quite this much.”

  She laughed. “You are too kind.”

  “If he was kind, he wouldn’t allow you to stand here catching your death of cold,” Christopher said, sounding more and more like a petulant child and less like the polished earl so respected by Society.

  The duke directed a long, stern look toward Christopher who appeared immune to the duke’s displeasure.

  Fearing the two gentlemen would come to blows right there in the middle of St. James’s Park, and Lady Ackerly would have one more bit of gossip to report in her scandal rags, Sophie gave Christopher’s sleeve a gentle squeeze.

  The slight pressure seemed to pull him back to the moment. He shook his head. “Good day, Mallen.”

  Sophie opened her mouth to make her good-byes, but Christopher propelled her forward. She looked over her shoulder to the duke and found him frozen at the lake’s edge wearing the most bemused expression. With a sigh, she returned her attention to Christopher.

  “My maid…”

  “Again, you should have considered your maid before you dismissed her.”

  Sophie gritted her teeth at his high-handedness. “Must you be so contrary?”

  His lips turned down at the corners. “Contrary?”

  She slashed her free hand in the air. “I do not know how you’ve managed to convince the ton you are so affable when you are so…so…”

  He raised a single black brow. “So?”

  “Combative.” The word burst from her lips with a violent intensity and all the fight drained out of her.

  Christopher halted so suddenly, she stumbled against him. Their hips collided, and her thigh brushed against his sculpted, muscular leg. In spite of her wet garments, a wave of heat radiated from
where their bodies touched, and sent shivers of awareness racing along her spine.

  She swallowed hard.

  He tipped her chin upward, seemingly unaware of how attuned her body was to his every move. This time, there was no mistaking the gentleness in his hazel eyes. “I’ve been boorish, Phi. Forgive me.”

  Under any circumstances, Christopher’s apology would have raised warning bells. Staring up at him, Sophie felt herself hopelessly lost in the specks of gold and green dotting his irises. He studied her with a singular intensity; the way a man might study an old familiar lover. The warmth inside spread to her belly and fanned out, filling her, consuming her.

  She swallowed. Why, this was utter madness. This was…this was…Christopher.

  “Phi?” he whispered.

  The use of her childhood moniker should have grated. It always had. Only this time, it seemed to roll off his tongue like a silken endearment.

  “Yes?” Her response came out as a breathy whisper.

  His gaze roved a hot path over her face, lingering upon her lips and for one, long, hopeful moment she thought he might kiss her.

  “If you do not remember the way to Miss Winters’ home, I can escort the lady,” the Duke of Mallen’s droll voice cut into their exchange.

  It was as though Sophie was once again submerged beneath the surface of the lake. Christopher glared over his shoulder at the duke, and then with Sophie’s hand tucked in his elbow, continued walking.

  Sophie struggled to keep up with the brisk pace he set for them. Her breath came out in little gasping puffs. “Slow down.”

  “I’m trying to hasten our escape before we earn any further notice,” he muttered.

  Still, Christopher slowed his step.

  She sneaked a quick look at the passersby who continued to study her and Christopher. A small sigh escaped her. Once again she’d fulfilled his very low-expectations of her. “Your efforts are futile, Christopher.”

  The stretch of silence allowed her to consider the scandal she’d caused this afternoon. Her mother and brother would be livid that her outing with the duke had ended in such a dismal manner. At any other time the impending lecture she was to face would have consumed her thoughts. This time, she couldn’t stop focusing on the subtle shift that had occurred between her and Christopher. Her body had responded to his nearness with a savage heat and intensity that frightened and baffled her.