by Regina James
“Oh,” Sophia murmured, wondering why she struggled to find words to form any kind of reply. “Then I am relieved, Lord Roderick.”
She glanced up at him, catching the swift smile that crossed his face.
“I have been thinking, Lady Sophia. Now that we are betrothed, I think you may call me Christopher, if you wish it."
That was quite proper, but still, Sophia felt a blush rise to her cheeks.
“Then you may address me simply as Sophia,” she murmured, wondering why she felt such a rush of pleasure when he spoke her name.
“Sophia,” he said, smiling at her. “That is such a lovely name. You are a beautiful creature and I am glad to have you on my arm.”
“But you must tell me, Christopher,” she said, growing a little more serious. “Why have you never married?”
At his surprised look, she colored but continued on bravely. If they were to pretend to be betrothed, she believed she ought to know.
“You are handsome and titled, so surely there must have been some young lady who caught your eye at some point.”
“I suppose that is true. Many young ladies have caught my eye. But in truth, Sophia, I do not wish to marry someone who cares only for balls and fripperies.”
His eyes flicked to hers. “I believe I have spoken to you of such a thing before. If I am to marry, I want a wife with whom I can have a pleasant and engaging conversation, as well as someone who will be an excellent hostess and can fulfill the duties required when the time comes for me to take my title.”
He threw her a quick smile. “Perhaps I am too severe with my requirements, but as yet, no one has met my standards.”
Her entire body buzzed with awareness as he looked into her eyes, the fervency in his expression making her breath catch in her throat.
The engagement was meant to be broken in a few weeks, but Sophia was beginning to wonder whether she might ask him to consider making it of a longer duration. Perhaps, in time, he might come to feel for her what she was beginning to feel for him, and he would want to make their arrangement something permanent himself.
In her heart, Sophia knew that there would never be another gentleman like Christopher, one who managed to capture her heart in the way he did.
Their discussions were lively, and the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at her always made her glow inwardly. There had been times when he had touched her hand, and even one occasion when his ungloved hand had taken hers for a good few minutes.
“Sophia, I—” she heard him say, his voice husky and filled with emotion.
She opened her mouth to ask him what it was he wanted to tell her, only for his lips to brush hers.
Startled, Sophia stepped back and raised one hand to her mouth, touching her lips with her fingers.
“I apologize,” Lord Roderick muttered, looking around in an entirely self-conscious manner. “I know this is meant to be a sham, Sophia, but my heart does not believe it.”
Sophia drew in a breath, the tension leaving her shoulders, and she drew close to him again. She had never been kissed before, but it seemed entirely right to be doing such a thing with Christopher.
He was looking down at her uncertainly, possibly wondering whether she might slap him for his actions, which only made her smile.
“You are not angry?” he asked, relief evident on his face.
She shook her head and, reaching up on her tiptoes, pressed her mouth to his. Stars exploded inside her as his arms slid around her waist, holding her tighter against him than ever before.
He broke the kiss after a few moments, releasing his hold a little. Sophia laughed softly when he let out a long breath of relief, as though he hardly believed what had happened.
“I think we have much to talk about,” he murmured, lifting her chin with one gentle finger. “Unfortunately, now is not the time for that.”
She gave him a slightly wry smile. “No, it is not. Perhaps tomorrow?”
He nodded. “Tomorrow sounds wonderful.”
Chapter Eight
The next day, the surrounding landscape was entirely transformed. Where there was once pale, dead grass, there was now endless, rolling hills of crystal.
Trees looked like thin, bare dancers, twisting up from the cold ground, and as the snow gathered on the branches, they were clothed with decadent ivory jewels.
Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon. The blackbird swooped down to its nest. The sun was rising and the thick blanket of snow was now visible.
The walnut brown trees swayed in the cold winter wind. Icicles on the trees dropped with a smash. Like glass cracking and shattering.
The weather was frosty and the snow was glittering. Like white sequins laying all over the floor. A chilled squirrel hopped from tree to tree, carefully trotting on branches. The ghostly wind broke the peaceful sound of silence.
Large flakes fells as if angels in heaven were having a pillow fight. Though the snow was beautiful it was cold and sharp. Crisp, white, pristine, shining covering that transformed the landscape making it a magical land full of wonder and undiscovered mysteries.
The Duke of Langley had it seemed, gone completely mad – at least that is what Sophia thought, when he pounced on her on her morning walk.
She had not been paying attention to where she was going when, from behind a thicket of bushes, the Duke of Langley had emerged, drunk as a skunk and brandishing a pistol.
“Your Grace!” Sophia had gasped, for the first time in her life experiencing what felt like mortal terror.
“I had wanted to meet with your future husband m’dear,” the Duke of Langley said, licking his lips. “But instead I have stumbled across the prize he won – and now I intend to claim you for my own.”
The Duke lunged at Sophia, who though afraid, leapt out of his way. He chased her through the bushes – the twigs and branches scrapping painfully at her bare arms – before finally catching her and pushing her to the ground.
“Stay till,” the Duke roared, delivering a most painful back-hand that made Sophia think her jaw had fallen off.
Dazed and disorientated, and acutely aware that the Duke was brandishing his pistol most recklessly, Sophia found herself being dragged through the woods by her hair. At first she had no idea where they were going, but as the trees began to thin, Sophia recognised the hut which belonged, long ago, to a hermit.
“What fun we’ll have, Lady Sophia,” the Duke was saying, a wicked smile upon his lips. “And how I long to see Roderick’s face, when I tell him that I have debauched the prize he thought was his.”
Sophia registered his words through a haze of pain, as she realised what he meant to do to her, she began to struggle violently, but every move she made was agony as the Duke has a strong grip on her hair.
“Stop struggling,” the Duke said through gritted teeth, before finally losing patience and smashing the handle of his pistol against her temple.
Sophia registered the pain, and thought longingly of Roderick coming to save her – before her whole world went black.
***
When Sophia opened her eyes, it took her a moment to recollect where she was and what had happened – though only a moment, as the Duke was sitting beside her, a lewd smile on his face.
“Finally my love has awoken,” he said in a mock voice, rising from his seat, and coming to sit on the bed, which was no more than straw covered with blankets, beside her.
“How pretty you are,” the Duke said, taking her chin in his brutish hand, and painfully turning her face upwards so that it faced his. “I shall enjoy plucking your flower, young lady…”
The Duke dipped his head to hers, and forced his lips upon her most grotesquely. Sophia longed to cry out in disgust but was afraid to in case he should force his tongue into her mouth, so instead she settled for pummelling him with her fists.
“Stop struggling, God-damn you,” the Duke roared after a few minutes of struggle, though Sophia did not cease.
With a grunt o
f rage the Duke drew back his hand and slapped Sophia squarely across the face. The echo of the slap seemed to reverberate through the entire hut, and as the Duke gathered his breath, and Sophia tried to control the pain she felt – the sound of horses galloping and men shouting could be heard not too far away.
“I’m here!” Sophia screamed, leading from the straw pile, and pushing past the Duke who was momentarily shocked by the speed of her reaction.
He soon gathered his wits however, and leapt for his pistol which was laid on the table and pointed it at his young captive, who was screaming her lungs out.
“Stop it,” the Duke said in a low ominous voice, cocking the trigger and aiming it square at Sophia, who immediately stopped shouting.
The voices outside could be heard quite clearly now, and among them Sophia recognised Christopher.
“It seems we are backed into a corner, Lady Sophia,” the Duke said, sweat coating his lips, his eyes manic as he scanned the hut for a means of escape.
“Please, Your Grace,” Sophia replied, keeping her wary glance on his hand which held the pistol. “Please give yourself up. I shall explain it was all just a misunderstanding, you shall not be in trouble.”
“Roderick will see me hung,” the Duke replied in a low rasp.
A thunderous banging on the wooden door of the hut distracted him, and sensing her opportunity Sophia jumped forth and wrenched the pistol from his hand.
In the altercation that ensued, it landed on the dirt floor. The Duke lunged for it while Sophia ran for the door – she had to escape!
“Sophia!”
The door was kicked open and there was Roderick, his face a picture of dark fury.
“Run, Christopher,” Sophia cried, grabbing his hand to drag him with her, though Roderick ignored her and rushed towards the Duke.
“He has a –“
The sound of a gunshot echoed all about them, finishing Sophia’s sentence for her, and when she looked back Roderick was on the floor, blood seeping from under him.
Chapter Nine
Roderick lay very still on the bed, attempting to keep every muscle still. It was not the pain that kept him that way, rather the pleasure of having Sophia sprawled across his chest.
I must have died and gone to heaven, he though to himself, before daring to crack open an eye to see where he was. It was a grand room, he lay in a large four-poster bed, with dark green hangings and a fire crackled cosily in the hearth.
The curtains were not pulled, and Christopher could see that dawn was approaching. The sleeping form upon his chest gave a little sigh as he stirred, then jerked suddenly as though it had received a shock.
“Christopher!” Sophia’s eyes were sleep filled still. “You’re awake!”
“Indeed I am, and you’re asleep beside me. Did I miss our wedding day?” Christopher asked.
“I wished to sit with you until you woke up,” she stammered with embarrassment. “Tell me how do you feel?”
She reached towards his waist, which was wrapped with white bandages – though hesitated at touching him, her shyness now restored.
“I feel perfectly fine,” Christopher lied, in truth every muscle ached with pain.
“Tell me what happened to the Duke of Langley?”
“After he shot you he turned his gun on himself,” Sophia whispered.
Christopher grimaced; he could well imagine how awful it must have been.
“Did he hurt you before we arrived?” he asked grimly, anger still coursing through him at the thought of the now dead Duke harming her in some way.
“No,” Sophia lowered her eyes; “A slap or two nothing more, though if you hadn’t rescued me I fear what he may have done.”
“Oh, Sophia.”
Though he was sore and in pain, Christopher sat up and drew Sophia against his bare chest. His breathing was laboured, though out of desire, not injury.
With a determined smile he dropped his head to Sophia’s and placed a kiss upon her lips. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Christopher sighed heavily but did not release her.
“Then let me say to you now, Sophia, that my heart is filled with love for you.”
His voice softened as he gently rested his forehead against hers, and Sophia felt her breath catch in her throat.
“I have fallen so deeply in love with you that I cannot bear to think of being apart from you. Our marriage cannot come soon enough.”
Sophia flung her arms around Christopher’s neck and kissed him deeply. She felt tears flood her eyes as their lips met, knowing that the same love was in her own heart. It had been growing slowly, rooting itself in her heart the first time they had met, and it was now fully blossoming.
Reluctantly, she broke their kiss, holding his dear face in her hands.
“Christopher,” she whispered, her racing emotions pushing at her already shaky composure. “You saved me so many times. I love you, too.”
He smiled gently. “I am very glad to hear it,” he murmured softly. “It seems we shall both go into this marriage with what we have always hoped for. You will marry me, won’t you, Sophia?”
She pulled back a little out of his embrace to look up at him as she gave her response, “Christopher, I think my answer is quite obvious.”
A smile spread across his lips. He lowered his head and kissed her softly, running his fingers through her loose curls at her temples.
Sophia's heart swelled at his tenderness, feeling him hold his passion firmly in check.
“Tomorrow?” he whispered against her mouth.
“Tomorrow,” she replied, taking possession of his lips once more.
She was so deeply in love with this man, and knowing that he loved her in return was more than she had ever dreamed about. Christopher’s kind and selfless character were what continued to draw her to him. He lacked the arrogance that came with so many titled men, always gracious and more than generous.
Epilogue
Christopher held his breath as he saw Sophia walk down the aisle towards him, stunned at her beauty. She looked like a floating angel, practically glowing as she walked towards him, a gentle smile on her lips.
Letting it out in a rush, he gazed into her eyes as she took his hand, marveling at how his wife-to-be had managed to fill the empty place in his heart. For so long, he had searched for love, refusing to take a mistress even though his search had lasted for years and his patience had often worn thin. It had been worth it, he thought to himself. She had been worth it.
Christopher smiled into her eyes as he made his vows. In a soft voice, Sophia repeated the same words to Christopher, her breath hitching as he placed a ring on the third finger of her left hand.
She could hardly believe it, seeing it catch the light as it sparkled on her finger.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the vicar intoned. “You may kiss the bride.”
Instead of the customary kiss on the cheek, Christopher wrapped his arms around his new wife and kissed her thoroughly, speaking to her of passion, of desire, and of love.
“I love you, Sophia,” Christopher whispered in her ear.
She turned to him, lifting her hand to his cheek.
“I love you, Christopher,” she replied, a beautiful sheen of tears in her eyes. “And I promise to love you forever.”
The End
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