She smiled and leaned close. “I know,” she whispered. Again, that loose golden tendril he’d released from her intricate chignon fell over her brow. He reached up and tucked it under the thin diamond band that rested like a shining halo upon her shimmering gold locks.
Christopher cupped the back of her satiny soft neck and rubbed the flesh.
A little moan escaped her. “I’m sure I shouldn’t say this, but that feels delicious.”
He lowered his brow to hers. “I like that you’re honest with me, Phi.” You crave her honesty, but you’ve been duplicitous in your intentions for her. He crushed the jeering voice inside his mind and lowered his head.
“I thought you didn’t like me,” she blurted.
His mouth froze a hairsbreadth away from her bow-shaped lips. He pulled away. That had been true at one time. Everything had since changed.
“Christopher?”
“Of course I like you, Phi.” He sat back and rested his head along the back of the ivory striped sofa.
“You haven’t spoken to me in years.”
“That’s not true.”
She pinched his arm. “I’ve already said hello and good-bye do not count, Christopher.”
Christopher draped a hand over his eyes as he weighed just how much to reveal to Sophie. For the easy camaraderie that had developed between them in the past weeks, the prospect of humbling himself at her feet, of acknowledging his greatest failings dug at his insides. What woman, especially one of Sophie’s intellect, could respect a man who struggled to read?
His throat moved reflexively.
Her brow wrinkled. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said, his word garbled to his own ears. “Sophie, we were both awful to each other over the years. We had a way of knowing each other’s greatest weakness and using that to hurt one another.” That was as close as he preferred to get without acknowledging the whole truth.
“Very horrid of us.”
He felt the first real stirrings of amusement that night. His lips twitched. “Yes. It was.”
“We’re no longer children, though,” she said and her husky alto better suited to kisses and forbidden whispers reminded him of all the wicked things he wanted to do with her.
Christopher lowered his head. Her breath, fanned his lips…
“You courted Emmaline.”
Only Sophie could douse his ardor as quick as she’d enflamed his senses. He quirked a brow. “Do you really care to discuss my courtship of Emmaline again?”
Her wide, unblinking blue eyes indicated that she very well did. Christopher would never fully understand a woman’s mind. There was nothing less Christopher wanted to consider than Sophie with another man. Yet, in this moment, instead of allowing him to kiss her senseless, Sophie preferred to discuss his courtship of her dearest friend.
He sighed. “I already told you, Phi. I’ve known Mallen since we were children.”
“You’ve known Geoffrey since you were children.”
“And?”
“Is that why you’ve been courting me?”
Christopher realized with a dawning awareness that for all the time they’d spent together these past weeks, Sophie still mistrusted his motives. His sweet, prudent Sophie. She had the good sense to be cautious of him.
It felt like he were one slip away from saying the absolute wrong thing. He picked his way carefully around his next words. “Sophie, I like being with you. That is why I’m courting you.” The lies between them reared their ugly head but Christopher tamped them down. Originally his interest in Sophie may have been born of his father’s ultimatum, but somewhere along the way, all that had changed.
“Christopher?”
A long breath of air escaped him. “Yes, Phi?”
“Is it wrong that I want you to kiss me?”
He groaned. “You need to go,” he pleaded.
Fire lit her eyes. “No.”
His mouth closed over hers…
A startled gasp cut through the stillness of the room.
“Oh my goodness! Miss Winters!”
Christopher looked to the doorway and his stomach clenched.
Bloody hell.
Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet
Though not of particular note, Miss S.W. was seen at the Bartholomew Fair. What is of particular note was the manner in which the young lady rescued the dog used in the bear-dancing routine. Also noteworthy was the manner in which Miss S.W. ran from the fairgrounds with the dog in her arms.
~16~
Sophie tumbled from atop the perch of soft contentment she rested, and careened back down to earth.
Her gaze flew to the doorway where a bevy of spectators stood, witness to her social demise. And there at the center of the macabre scene were her mother and brother.
When Sophie had been a girl of five, her brother Geoffrey had tossed her into the lake upon their family’s country estate. She’d sunk beneath the dark, icy surface. Water had filled her throat and lungs until she’d been consumed by a cloying helplessness.
This moment was not remarkably unlike that horrific day from long ago.
Sophie’s stomach churned and in a paltry attempt to blot out the shame and fury radiating from her mother and brother’s eyes, she buried her face within the crook of Christopher’s shoulder. Her efforts were for naught. Until she was gone from this earth, she would forever feel that keen sense of disappointment; greater than all other moments in her past.
“Waxham.” Her brother’s voice fairly dripped rage. “Remove your hand from my sister’s person this instant.”
Sophie’s eyes fell to the Aubusson carpet. She wanted to pull back the red trim border of the fabric and tug it over her head. She’d counted no fewer than five people alongside her mother and brother.
As if a warrior of old defending his lady, Christopher stood and placed himself between Sophie and Lady Brackenridge’s guests.
It did little, however, to shield Sophie from Lady Brackenridge. The thin, wrinkled older woman stepped into the room, clapping her hands. “Now, now. We’ve seen enough here.” The victorious glint in her eyes was the response of a woman who knew she’d stumbled upon the latest on dit.
“Sophie, come along, now,” her mother barked.
Sophie jumped to her feet, but not before Christopher reached for her hand, and leaned down to whisper, “I’ll do right by you, Phi.”
She managed a jerky nod, knowing that equated to an offer of marriage.
Even though he didn’t want to, he would wed her. It was as though a vise were being squeezed about her heart. He would do right by her…but not because he desired a match with her.
“Sophie,” her mother said again. “Come.” Mother wrapped her fingers around Sophie’s forearm and all but dragged her from the room, and through the same halls Sophie had wandered ten, twenty, thirty minutes ago? Some point in Christopher’s company, time and reality had all fallen away.
A half-sob, half-laugh lodged in her throat.
Her mother shot her a silencing look.
They didn’t speak again until they were safely ensconced within their carriage.
Sophie slid into the seat opposite her mother. She pulled back the red velvet curtain that covered the window and peered at Lady Brackenridge’s townhouse, awash in candlelight. The glow radiated off the carriage window. Sophie rested her head against the glass, expecting the surface to feel warm against her skin. Instead, the cool of the glass chilled her already trembling form.
“Drop that curtain, Sophie,” her mother snapped.
Sophie did as she was bid. She held her palms up. “Mother…”
“Not a word. Not a single word.” Rage poured from her mother’s blue eyes.
She tried again. “I’m sorry…”
Her mother’s bitter laugh interrupted her paltry attempt at an apology. “Do you think an apology can fix what you’ve done this evening, Sophie?”
“Christopher will offer for me,” Sophie said. Surely that certainty
would appease her mother and brother’s ire. Not that she wanted a husband whose hand had been forced in such a public manner. There were, however, certain scandals a young lady’s reputation could not weather. Being discovered alone, locked in an intimate embrace with a gentleman…tears flooded Sophie’s eyes. She blinked them back.
“You don’t comprehend the damage you’ve done, Sophie. Your brother and I have been very tolerant of the scandals you’ve created over the years. But this,” her mother hissed. She slashed the air with her hand, “this is beyond the pale. For if Waxham doesn’t offer for you…”
“He will!” He’d said he would, amidst a sea of witnesses. She couldn’t imagine the man she’d come to know would so callously abandon her to weather this scandal on her own.
“For if he doesn’t,” her mother went on as though Sophie hadn’t spoken. “You’ll be ruined and no one will want you.”
This wouldn’t serve as a time to remind Mother that she’d hardly been sought after before this scandal.
The carriage door opened and Geoffrey climbed inside. Sophie curled her fingers into tight little fists until her nails dug painfully into the soft flesh of her palm. The door closed behind him with an ominous click.
He slid into the seat beside their mother, giving him a direct vantage of Sophie. His gaze, however, remained fixed on the velvet curtain that shielded them from view.
The carriage lurched forward and Sophie’s stomach went with it. She swallowed down the bile that surged to the back of her throat.
“I hope you’re pleased with what you’ve done,” he said at long last.
Sophie shook her head until she realized Geoffrey’s hard stare remained fixed on the garish, red fabric.
“I’m sorry, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey’s silence stretched until Sophie wanted to toss her head back and scream. She could take the disappointment dripping from his blue eyes. She deserved that. She would even welcome it if he railed at her until his voice rattled the windows of the carriage.
What she could not take was this portentous, stony silence.
The carriage jerked to a stop.
Sophie folded her hands upon her lap and studied her interlocked fingers until a servant opened the door.
Mother accepted the servant’s help. Geoffrey followed, and then held a hand up to Sophie. “Await me in my office,” he said, his tone low.
She nodded and made her way up the steps of their home, through the front doors.
The old butler caught her eye and gave his head a slow, pitying shake. She swallowed hard. It appeared word of her ruin had already made its way here. Sophie all but ran to her brother’s office. She closed the door behind her.
Mother and Geoffrey were most certainly off in discussion about Sophie’s latest scandal. Her mother and Geoffrey had made it quite clear that her response merited more than an apology. Beyond that, Sophie didn’t know how else she could try to make the situation right.
She pressed her fingers into her temples and forced herself to relive the moment when she and Christopher had been discovered.
Except, God forgive her, the taste of Christopher still lingered upon her lips, his touch still burned her skin.
She didn’t want him to wed her out of a sense of obligation and that was what his offer on the morning would amount to. Yet, she’d discovered only too late that she wanted him to court her and more than that—wanted him to want her; the way he’d wanted Emmaline.
Her heart turned over at the reminder of his affection for Emmaline. Oh, he’d spoken about his respect for the Duke of Mallen when discussing his courtship of Emmaline, but Sophie had known with a woman’s intuition that there’d been more there. Mayhap not on Emmaline’s part but on Christopher’s…and it ravaged her bruised heart.
“Sit down, Sophie.”
Sophie slammed her hand to her breast and spun around to face Geoffrey.
“Geoffrey…” Her words faded to silence and she promptly slid into the leather winged-back sofa across from his oak desk. It would be better to do as Geoffrey bid, if just this time.
Geoffrey walked over to the sideboard. He poured himself a brandy, downed the contents, and then filled the glass to the top. This time, he crossed over and propped his hip on the desk until Sophie had to crane her neck backwards to look at him.
“You insisted you wouldn’t wed Waxham.”
Sophie held her hands out, palms up to speak, but Geoffrey continued. “You even used Mallen’s title to deter my goal for you and Waxham.” He raised a brow. “Did you truly believe I didn’t see through your efforts? Imagine my surprise when Mallen actually began courting you.” The hot flood of shame burned her cheeks. Her brother never had really held her in high-regard. “You hated Waxham.”
She flinched. “I didn’t hate him.” She’d resented his treatment over the years, but hate? No, she’d never hated him.
He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “Then in a few short weeks you’ve become so enamored of the earl that you’d throw away everything; a possible match with the Duke of Mallen, your reputation, any pride you might have possessed.”
Sophie tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.
“Waxham, who’s ignored you for years, of a sudden is paying you court, luring you away from polite company.” Her gaze slid away from his. “Surely you must have wondered at Waxham’s sudden interest?”
A frisson of unease unfurled along her spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her mouth dry with fear.
Geoffrey gave his head a sad little shake. “I don’t think you can comprehend the error of your mistake, Sophie. You will in due time. And I only hope you are able to live with the decisions you made this evening.”
Ice dotted her flesh at those cryptic words.
Geoffrey tossed back the remainder of his brandy. “Now, why don’t you find your rooms? I expect I’ll have an early visit from Waxham.”
Sophie swallowed and fled like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Her brother’s dark pronouncement continued to twist and turn around her brain. Geoffrey had alluded to there being something dishonest, something more sinister behind Christopher’s interest in her these past weeks. At one point, she too had been skeptical of Christopher, but in a short time, she’d come to see him not as the removed figure revered by the ton, but as a real man who laughed and who made her laugh. She set her jaw stonily. Geoffrey was wrong.
The man she’d left behind at Lady Brackenridge had been one determined to protect her at all costs. She wondered how he’d fared in her absence. A little sigh escaped her. She suspected sleep would be a fickle friend this evening.
***
More than an hour later, Christopher stared out the double windows of his father’s office, his gaze trained out into the ink black, starless London night sky. He’d made his escape from Lady Brackenridge’s shortly after Redbrooke had dragged off Sophie.
Christopher raked a hand through his hair. He knew ruin had awaited Sophie on the other side of Brackenridge’s library door. He should have insisted she leave before Polite Society converged upon them like hawks devouring their prey. Now Sophie would pay the price with marriage to him.
A bitter laugh escaped him. His father would be bloody well pleased by the turn of events. In the end, even though inadvertently, Christopher would wed Sophie. She deserved so much more than a hurried wedding to salvage a ruined reputation. Guilt stabbed at him like so many blades pressed to his flesh.
She would become his wife. At the thought, a calming peace filled him.
Odd, how so much had changed in so little time. The insecurities he carried, his greatest fear that she knew his failings and delighted in them no longer mattered. Christopher allowed himself to imagine a passel of daughters with blonde ringlets like Sophie’s and her wide cornflower blue eyes.
His musings brought back remembrances of the young girl she’d been. Christopher’s lips twitched. Sophie had followed him around his father’s country esta
tes with a dogged intensity that, as a young boy, had aggravated him.
A knock sounded at the door. He glanced over his shoulder.
The butler cleared his throat, his eyes downcast. “Lord Waxham, you have a visitor.”
Christopher’s gaze narrowed on the intricate English Bracket clock on the mantle. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning.
The Duke of Mallen stepped into the room.
“He said he needed to speak with you on a matter of some urgency,” the butler said, an apology in his tone.
Mallen eyed him with a stony set to his firm jaw. “Waxham.”
Christopher inclined his head.
The servant hurried from the room.
Mallen closed the door behind them. It would appear whatever his friend intended to say wasn’t for the ears of passing servants.
“Can I offer you a brandy?”
Mallen’s brows dipped. “I’m not here on a social visit.”
No, Christopher rather thought there was more to the duke’s early morning call. He gestured to the leather sofa.
“You and Miss Winters left quite the scandal in your wake.”
His chest tightened. It would have been the height of foolishness to have expected a different outcome. “Did we?”
Mallen’s eyes narrowed into thin, dark slits. “Imagine my surprise to learn the Earl Waxham, so above reproach compromised Miss Winters.”
A dull flush worked its way up Christopher’s neck. He tugged on his suddenly too tight cravat. He’d come to expect stern disapproval from his father—but never Mallen. Mallen had been the one person to stand alongside him through all the darkest points in his life; the death of his mother, the cruelty of his father, the years of shame he’d known as a student.
Mallen couldn’t possibly hate Christopher any more than Christopher hated himself. He swiped a hand over his brow. “It’s been a long evening, Mallen.” He shot a pointed look over to the doorway.
Mallen folded his arms across his broad chest, wearing his go-to-hell-expression.
“I’m not in the mood to discuss this with you, Mallen.”
Mallen stepped deeper into the room “Oh, I’m sure.” The caustic bite to his tone threatened to singe Christopher where he stood. “Tell me this. Were you or weren’t you discovered kissing Sophie Winters?”
Never Courted, Suddenly Wed Page 17