by Katy Madison
"Whatever are you wearing? Bloody hell, you need her guidance if you are buying clothes like that. Or am I buying it? Where have you instructed the dressmakers to send the bills?"
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. She had forgotten the irregular closure of the sheet gown. "You will be relieved to know that you shan't have to pay my mantua maker bills. Remember, Mama gave me money for my trousseau."
"I daresay I'd be relieved if no one paid for that dress."
"Perhaps you had better tell me why she is staying with us."
"Because Victor suggested it, and what could I do but extend an invitation."
Sophie clenched the drapery in her hand. "Do you wish me to be like her?"
"No one could fault Amelia's behavior in polite company. If you could be more like her . . ." His voice fell off.
What? Would Keene love her if she was more like Amelia? Did she want him to?
Keene moved to stand behind her. He settled his hand at her waist. "She is always perfectly behaved in public."
His touch warmed her skin, but she was still sorting through her disappointment at learning another woman would be staying with them, that he had seen the opportunity to pass off his wife's introduction to London to another person and stolen it. That the mother of his child would be living with them. "But not so in private? I understand she had a baby that is not her husband's."
Sophie held her breath waiting for Keene's response. Would he tell her he'd fathered the child?
His response was slow. The "Yes," drawn out. His expression grew enigmatic. "So you know about it?"
Her heart pounded. "Not everything."
Keene moved away from her. His distance pulled warmth from her. "The crux of the problem is that she lied to George. She let him believe he was the father."
Sophie wasn't convinced. Keene paced the room. She turned to watch him. "Is that what George says?"
"No, but I think if she had been honest—"
Sophie snorted.
Keene rolled his eyes.
She supposed snorting was one behavioral faux pas he wished to break her. If he thought her so unmannerly, why had he married her? Why, indeed, other than a mixture of misplaced family honor and obligation? Certainly not to get an heir through her.
He folded his arms across his chest as if he would launch into a homily. Perhaps all men expected a woman to be modest, meek and mindless. Did he think she was too featherheaded to understand the connection between him and Amelia?
She started to suggest he just tell her the whole story, but her throat felt raw. She'd never believed that Keene held her in any great affection before his proposal, certainly he didn't now. Her hope that he might come to love her needed to be thrown to the wolves. She should be content that he allowed her the lifestyle she'd always wanted, the freedom, the gaiety, the clothes. His former mistress living with them shouldn't be so bad.
Questions and half-baked inferences swirled into a muddy mix in Sophie's brain. She turned to stare out the window.
She put a stop to her runaway thoughts. All of the mysteries surrounding Amelia and her ill-conceived child really had nothing to do with anything Sophie wanted. She supposed if she didn't go chasing after things that were not likely to be, she could be content with her marriage. She presumed she and Keene would rub along tolerably well. Her behavior was more likely to upset him. And her mother had warned her that Keene would not be content with one woman's company. Her hand closed around the curtain, and she gripped it as if it were a lifeline.
Keene's voice startled her out of her thoughts. "You may tell me anything."
She pivoted to return his words. "Odd, I was about to say the same thing to you."
Two lines furrowed between Keene's eyebrows, and he tilted his head sideways. "But you do understand, you should not speak of Amelia's situation to anyone."
How simpleminded did he think she was? "Of course, I understand that. But I still do not think she wishes to be my teacher."
"She will, though. Sophie, you must let her lead you. She knows everyone who is anyone. She'll steer you around trouble. You don't know what you're about. The gossips here can destroy you."
"I have never been afraid of what people think of me."
"You need to have a care what people think and how your actions would reflect on me. You could destroy me politically."
He had political aspirations? "You aren't a member of Parliament . . . are you?"
"I can't be. I don't own property. I can't run for a seat in the House of Commons without an estate, but I do plan to take my seat in the House of Lords when I inherit the title from my father. For now, I do what I can to influence the lawmakers."
Why hadn't she known? For an awful moment she felt dimwitted and all at sea. But then, how could she have known? She hadn't been around him enough to form any opinion of what he did in London beyond staying out all night. Anger spurted through her. "Were you perhaps campaigning for something special last night?"
"Of course not."
"Shooting one's friend in a duel doesn't adversely affect one's influence?"
"Sophie, we are not discussing my behavior. Fighting a duel may be a regrettable lapse on my part, but being seen unescorted in Algany's company is a much less forgivable offense."
"For a woman."
"For you."
How did housing his former mistress sit with the ton? Or was their former liaison a well-guarded secret? It must be, if George accepted Keene's company. How could Keene have been any more honest about the situation than Amelia was?
"I still don't think you have consulted Amelia about this. She doesn't seem the least bit enthused by your proposition."
"She'll do it, though. And if you aren't willing to let her help you, I'll send you back to my father's house."
"I have no choice, then?"
"You have a choice. You may return to the countryside for the time being."
What kind of a marriage was that? What had she gained by marrying him?
Keene crossed to her side. His voice dropped to a soft murmur. "Sophie, this is not just about me. I am concerned about your welfare. Last night you could have been badly abused. I don't want you in situations where you could come to harm. You are reckless beyond consideration."
A protest rose to her lips. His fingers stopped it with a gentle touch that shot sparks rocketing through her.
"Any misstep you make now could have long-lasting repercussions. Not only for me, but for you and for our . . . uh . . . for any children."
Her breath did a stutter step. The corner of his mouth curled as his fingers slid across her cheek. He gave a small shake of his head.
"What?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. Her heart began a footrace. He pulled back. "No more hotels, Sophie."
She nodded like a deaf-mute.
"No more travel without my escort."
Her head continued to bob up and down as if independent of her control. Why didn't he just kiss her again?
He wound a strand of her hair around his finger. "I can't protect you if I don't know where you are."
Did he want to protect her? She wanted to melt at his feet. Not that she needed his protection.
"Have Amelia guide you in fashion, too."
Sophie stopped the snort before it escaped her. Keene grinned. She wasn't sure if she wanted to smack him or beg him to kiss her again. The only thing she knew was he muddled her thoughts, jumbled her senses and made her blood dance.
A knock on the door prompted Keene to turn. "Yes?"
The butler entered and stood uneasily in front of the doorway.
"What is it, Blythe?"
"Begging your pardon, sir. But it seems the upstairs maid reports that your bed linens have gone missing. The housekeeper is concerned we may have a thief among the servants."
Keene looked at Sophie, then shook his head. "Not among the servants. I believe my wife is the culprit. No need to concern yours
elf with their removal."
"Very good, sir. I'll have the maid put on fresh sheets." Blythe bowed and left, discreetly closing the drawing room doors as he exited.
Keene cocked an eyebrow at her. "First, Victor's clothing, now, a sheet, Sophie?"
She shrugged. "My clothes aren't here, and you stole my evening gown. I suppose I should wear nothing."
"As enchanting as that sounds, love, I should not think it quite the thing." His dark eyes held hers. "At least not in anyone's company but my own."
He had to be kidding if he thought she would share his favors with Amelia.
* * *
Later, as the three of them rode to an "at home," Sophie plied them with questions. "Will there be dancing?"
"No dancing. We shall just make our way through the room and introduce you to as many people as possible," Amelia answered.
No dancing, no refreshments, a lot of names she would never remember, still, her eyes glittered with excitement. Keene almost regretted picking the bland soiree for Sophie's first exposure to the ton.
Their carriage inched forward, caught in the crush of people to arrive. "Is it always like this?"
"Usually." Amelia cast an inquiring look in Keene's direction.
He leaned back against the squabs, holding his silence. His voice might reflect the feeble grip on his control. He wanted nothing more than to stare into his wife's luminous eyes and make her his. Her enthusiasm infected him with desire.
Sophie leaned forward and looked out the window. Her décolletage dipped dangerously low. He wanted to feast on the sight. He shut his eyes. How was he to make it through the next few months with her so near?
He should have sent her back to his father's house, out of temptation's reach.
Finally, they stopped in front of the house's steps. Keene slid out and reached back to hand out the women. Sophie didn't wait. With her skirts gathered around her knees, she leaped off the stair. The sight of her sheer pink stockings and the glimpse of bare skin above her garters made his blood fire.
He swallowed hard. "Lower your skirts."
She raised her startled face. "I didn't want to rip them."
He could drown in the blue pools of her eyes.
Keene appealed to Amelia. How could he explain what the sight of Sophie's legs did to him? He folded his arms across his chest to prevent himself from reaching out and lifting her back into the carriage to spirit away home to bed.
Amelia looked between them. "Keene would have assisted you. Any gentleman would."
Keene leaped forward, realizing he'd been remiss in assisting Amelia. He held out a hand. She placed her fingers in his and gracefully descended the carriage stairs.
Sophie chewed her lip.
Keene wanted to give her mouth a very different sort of attention. What was wrong with him that he was acting like a green boy on the verge of losing his virginity?
He held out his elbows to both women. Underneath his superfine jacket perspiration dampened his shirt. He couldn't spend the evening circulating in such an aroused state.
Once they had made it up the stairs and into the congested salon, Keene bowed and said, "I'll leave you ladies to your own devices. I shall return in an hour."
"He's leaving?" His withdrawal made Sophie's question moot.
Amelia leaned close. "Don't worry about it. This crush isn't Keene's favorite pastime, but it is a good place for you to get your bearings." She turned to greet a gentleman in clocked socks.
Amelia gently steered Sophie to meet person after person. Many were curious, and she managed to lightheartedly say she had no idea what Keene was about. Amelia nodded encouragingly until Sophie could paste a smile on her face and convince others that husbands were mysterious, contrary beasts, and that his absence meant nothing.
Inside, as she absorbed the animated style of talk, she wished he were there. But then, when had Keene ever done anything other than ignore her and leave her to her own devices?
She grew cross that her thoughts revolved around her absent husband when she should be enjoying the high life she had so yearned to experience. His disapproval was far too overblown and hurt much worse than any reproach her father had ever laid at her door. And considering the source, it made her angry.
She laughed harder and spoke faster. Amelia gave her a gentle smile and hung back, only stepping into the conversations when Sophie grew too animated.
Sophie vowed she would enjoy this evening, if it killed her. To perdition and back with Keene.
Amelia led her across the room to a woman surrounded by a crowd. "This is Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack's. She's very important," Amelia whispered.
The crowd parted at Amelia's light gesture. "Lady Jersey, allow me to introduce you to the new Mrs. Davies."
Sophie doubted if she could ever emulate the easy grace Amelia used. She would have tugged on a man's jacket or shoved through the throngs of people. Sophie felt like a gauche country bumpkin compared to Amelia.
Lady Jersey nodded, unmasked curiosity lighting her countenance. "So you are the young lady who absconded with one of our most eligible bachelors."
Amelia watched her out of the corner of her eye. Sophie wondered if she should act like a cat who swallowed a canary or one that lapped up sour milk.
"I'm not so sure that Davies didn't steal her from all the hopeful gentlemen." Amelia gave a soft smile.
Sophie finally found her voice. "I'm quite sure I've done a service to all the other young ladies who might have considered him a prize."
"You do not?" Lady Jersey's voice had an edge, and Amelia sucked in a startled breath.
Like a cat dropped upside down, Sophie needed to scramble fast to get her feet underneath her. She thought of her wedding day when they had embraced in the snow and of the interrupted kiss yesterday. "When he is not cross with me, I am quite fond of him."
"Our Keene is cross? I can't imagine."
"Quite. I daresay we know each other too well."
Lady Jersey smiled. "How long have you known him?"
"Since I was born. We are distant cousins. He stayed with us every summer. I remember when he used to hitch horses to the dogcart and take the corner of our drive at full gallop until he could do it without landing in the ditch or scraping the pillars." She was rattling like a spook with a chain.
"I can't imagine Keene in a ditch."
"I don't think he liked it much. He liked that I saw it even less." He'd probably be totally disgusted that she had compounded her transgression on his privacy by blabbing it to the world.
"You must be the cousin he nearly drowned," said Lady Jersey.
"No, he saved me once when I fell into the river."
Lady Jersey shook her head. "I am quite sure he claimed to have pushed you in. I imagine you both have amusing anecdotes to share about each other. Funny, he is such a dark horse that none of us thought he should ever marry. I shall be at home tomorrow afternoon, do stop by, ladies."
"We should love to," answered Amelia.
"I do so hope I will see you at the Wednesday assemblies. I am sure you will want to speak with Countess Lieven. She is just over there. Good evening, Mrs. Davies, Mrs. Keeting." Lady Jersey turned to greet another eager aspirant.
Amelia turned to Sophie, a rare, full-blown smile on her face. "You did it!"
"I did what?"
"Secured vouchers for Almack's. By the stars, it took me weeks. I was so afraid to speak to the patronesses that I could hardly do more than mumble when they were around."
"I was speaking off the top of my head."
Amelia patted her hand. "You did a grand job. Keene will be thrilled."
"Not if he learns I have been telling tales about him." He'd probably strangle her. It was a good thing she hadn't told about the time she convinced him to jump his horse over the paddock gate and he'd parted ways with his mount and landed in a pile of offal.
"We shall have to call on her, of course, but it is truly wonderful. Let us go talk to the c
ountess before she leaves."
"Of course." Sophie stared across the crowded room, her mind wandering back to the day many years ago when Keene had pulled her from the water. He claimed to have pushed her? Better yet, had he actually remembered her existence when he wasn't rescuing her?
A young woman caught her eye. Sophie eagerly waved, before she remembered she should have consulted with Amelia about the acceptability of doing so.
Amelia frowned ever so slightly, but by the time the dark-haired woman shouldered her way across the room, Amelia's face was a pleasant mask of serenity.
"We meet again," said Sophie's acquaintance from the dressmaker's.
"I would like to introduce you to my friend"—Sophie copied Amelia's style of introduction—"Mrs. Keeting, this is Miss Chandler."
Mary Frances extended her hand. Amelia slowly leaned forward to return the gesture. Her words dripped with reserve although Sophie couldn't find fault with her manner. "Charmed, I'm sure."
Mary Frances beamed. "I am so delighted to see you again. We must get together. Are you perchance attending the coming-out ball of Miss Cecilia Covens, Friday next? We were at school together."
"I believe I might know her older sister," said Amelia.
Sophie could almost feel her escort relax. After they had spoken a few minutes and Mary moved away to speak with someone else, Sophie turned to Amelia and said, "I should have asked before I hailed her, but I was so eager to see someone I met on my own. Did I make a mistake introducing you to Miss Chandler?"
"No, Miss Chandler is apparently accepted in polite company, but I shouldn't make fast friends with her. She comes from trade." Amelia's eyes widened, "Oh, no!"
"What?" asked Sophie.
"How are you, my angel?" asked a familiar voice just behind her left ear.
Sophie swiveled around and encountered the urbane good looks of Lord Algany.
"I'm well enough, and you?" Sophie answered politely.
Algany smiled in a way that might be considered charming; Amelia squeezed her elbow.
"Where is your keeper?"
"Keene? He's not a keeper, he's my husband." And not much good at either.
Amelia's hand tightened, and she tried to pull Sophie back. Only, in the crush, there was nowhere to go.
Algany flicked his gaze over Amelia. "And where is your husband, my dear Mrs. Keeting?"
