by Katy Madison
Later in the morning, Sophie skipped down the steps. Keene came out of the library and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh, you're back."
"I brought you home from Almack's last night."
Sophie frowned. Last night was such a muddle she wasn't sure what had happened. "I thought I dreamed it."
"Are you feeling all right, now?"
Her enthusiastic bouncing down the stairs should have been answer enough. "I'm just fine."
His grimace was fleeting. "I brought your horse. I thought she might as well stay here in town. There is a hunter I have that you might prefer when we are home."
Was he giving her a horse?
He looked over her head. Had he already lost interest in her? "There was a letter for you."
He handed her a missive with her mother's spidery scrawl on it. Sophie popped the seal and eagerly read. All was well back home, if a little quiet. Her mother said she looked forward to receiving news of any coming additions to the family, and Sophie felt the burn of tears at the back of her eyelids. She was doomed to disappoint her parents in that there was no news to announce and none likely in the future if Keene didn't make her his wife in more than name.
"Your parents are well?" He leaned close to her. His dark eyes watched her with concern.
"They are fine."
He reached for the letter, but she folded it in tiny squares and tucked it in her palm. The moment stretched out and Sophie grasped for something to fill it. "So, you came back last night?"
"I missed you."
"By my reckoning, you've only lost the fifteen minutes a day we spend in the same room. Just a little over an hour. Why, we can make it up in a day."
He grinned. "Feeling neglected, Sophie?"
Yes, she felt neglected, abandoned, ignored. "I don't know what you're about."
He wound a finger into her curls and watched her with a steady gaze. "It doesn't have to be this way. Just tell me all your secrets." His breath caressed her cheek.
"I knocked a wheel off the dogcart trying to drive like you." There, that was a confidence that she hadn't wanted to share.
"Anything else?"
She shook her head. He was in a mood to tease, and she didn't want to play.
His eyes bored into hers for the longest time before his lips twisted in a wry grimace. She could hear the ticking of a clock contrasting with the irregular thump of her heart, the shallow cadence of her breathing. His finger stroked the side of her face, under her chin, down her neck.
Sparks shimmered under her skin where he touched her. They shot in fiery bursts through her, igniting a slow burn low in her body. He bent toward her. His kiss melted through her, turning her insides to fuel for the fires he started.
She wanted so much more than his slow sensual kiss. For a time he complied, his arms pulling her to him. Then he pushed her away and bent over, gulping air into his lungs.
"You're leaving." It wasn't even a question.
"Yes."
She shook her head and walked into the morning room. She didn't want to be there, but where else could she go? Keene didn't offer the option of leaving with him.
She was tired of the games, tired of having her hopes dashed. Her parents' quiet home in the country suddenly seemed appealing. At least there she knew where she stood.
* * *
"Where are the women off to tonight?" Victor asked Keene.
"Opera." Keene slouched in his chair in the poorly lit library.
"You're not going?"
"I haven't been since I . . . proposed to Sophie."
Victor studied Keene. "Since you pulled your protection from your little canary."
"There is that."
"Who is escorting them?"
"John."
"He hates the opera."
Keene shrugged and stared into his now empty glass. "I said I should relieve him of the need to see them home."
"So you are going?"
"I wouldn't be able to stay away."
"And you shall be by my apartments later, then."
The corners of Keene's mouth curled in a sneer. "Unless my wife decides to spill the soup about her baby." He glared at Victor. "Don't worry. It can't be too much longer before her belly swells."
Victor shook his head. "Your box?"
Keene nodded.
"Should you prefer, I can see them home."
Keene didn't answer. Victor left him to wallow in his self-inflicted misery. He'd be sharing it with him later, anyway.
* * *
Lord Algany sidled up beside Sophie and held out his arm. "Come with me, my angel, I have something to show you."
"Where?"
"In my box."
Sophie hesitated. She had just walked with their escort John Milholland about King's Theater during the intermission between the opera and the ballet to follow. He had taken his leave, assuring her that Keene would be along to see them home. She was returning to the box where they had left Amelia recovering from the vapors induced by the moving opera.
"Won't take but a minute," Algany urged.
She put her hand on his sleeve. She didn't trust him. She suspected he had something to do with what had happened to her at Almack's.
He led her to his box and opened the door, a smile on his face. "Since you won't consent to go out to supper with me, I have brought it here to share."
Sophie hesitated at the door of the box. Inside Algany's box, four of the chairs had been removed and in their place sat a sofa and folding table covered with shaved ham, pickled salmon, pears steeped in brandy, scones, clotted cream, enough food to fell Wellington's army by gluttony. Two bottles of wine sat on the end of the table alongside a stack of china plates, silver, napkins, and glasses. A footman stood in the corner with a towel draped over his arm. "Do have a seat, and we'll send for the lovely Mrs. Keeting to join us. I can see her just over there alone in your box."
Algany's hand at the small of her back pressed her inside. "To convince you my offer of supper was sincere."
While the back of the box was as readily visible as the two front chairs, the drape was open. Algany turned one of the chairs around and gestured for her to sit on the sofa.
Sophie sank down onto the cushions.
He nodded to his footman.
The man set the towel on the table and moved to the door. Her back was to it, but she could have sworn she heard the click of tumblers before the door was shut.
"He has gone to invite Mrs. Keeting to join us."
From her vantage point, Sophie couldn't see Amelia once she sat. She couldn't see much at all since the sofa was lower than the chairs. Algany picked up a plate. "What may I serve you?"
"There are so many choices, I can't decide." The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. "What are you having?"
Algany sat in his chair and scooted it forward. Almost as if on cue, one side of the curtain, shielding the back of the box, fell closed. "Dratted thing," muttered Algany. "Never wants to stay back."
Her senses on full alert, Sophie stared at him. He put the plate down and moved to pull the curtain back open. It fell shut again as soon as he sat back down. Sophie scooted down on the sofa to be on the inside half of the box that was still open. "I don't want to miss the ballet," she said.
"Of course not." Lord Algany smiled his ferret smile.
The one side of the curtain hanging closed blocked some of the light in the box. Algany handed her a plate with far more food on it than she could eat, and opened a bottle of wine. He poured her a glass and himself one, too.
"We should wait for Amelia."
"We should, but I know you don't want to miss the performance, so we shall be rude. There is more than enough food that she shouldn't feel slighted."
Algany handed her the glass. "It is a bit heavy, but I think you'll like it."
He couldn't hide the gleam in his eye as she raised the glass to her lips.
* * *
"Where is Sophie?" Victor asked Amelia as he slid into a s
eat behind her in the box.
"She sent this note saying she started feeling unwell and Mr. Milholland was going to escort her home."
Victor stared at the note. Had Sophie started feeling lightheaded the way she had at Almack's?
Keene joined them just before the end of the performance.
His question was the same as Victor's.
When Amelia handed Keene the note, he turned white. "This isn't Sophie's writing."
"Are you sure?"
"Not positive, no, but she should have been home before I left if John brought her home."
"He wouldn't have . . . would he?" Victor asked.
"No, John is trustworthy. Other than picking weapons."
"Good thing," muttered Victor.
Keene stared at the note. "Mayhap it is her writing," he whispered.
Victor scanned the boxes for Sophie. He had an odd sense of déjà vu. He noticed the box with the drawn curtains. He pointed across the crowded theater. "Whose box is that?"
Keene knocked over his chair standing up. "Algany's!"
Other patrons of the theater stared in their direction.
Keene was through the door in a flash. Victor was right on his heels.
Sophie stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. "Oh, good, you are here. I'm quite ready to leave."
Keene's rage ebbed slightly. Sophie appeared unscathed, unaffected and totally uninterested.
Of course, it was possible that she had already gotten what she came for. He glanced her over. She looked cool and unruffled—well, as cool and unruffled as Sophie ever looked. She didn't look like a woman who had just concluded an illicit meeting with a man.
Keene's attention was solely on Sophie. "Whatever were you doing?"
"Well, I have been waiting the longest time to get some ink to leave a note."
"Isn't he in there?" Keene stared at the closed door. Victor had a hand on his arm as if to restrain him from charging in and killing Algany, which Keene was wont to do if it wasn't for the baffling calm demeanor of his wife. When he kissed her, her eyes would grow bright, her lovely fair skin would flush and her expression would grow bemused. She looked . . . tired and world-weary.
"Well, yes, the note wasn't exactly for him. Besides, he is indisposed. So I thought I should leave a note." She turned and walked down the empty hallway.
He was sick? Exasperation churned Keene's thoughts. He hated talking to her back as she walked away. He caught her arm. "Sophie."
She turned and stared him in the eye.
"You must have a better care for yourself. You should avoid any sickness, now. Think of your own health." Think of the baby's health.
"My health is fine. If you are afraid I might pass some infection to you, I shall endeavor to give you as wide a berth as you give me." She flipped the train of her evening gown behind her and started away again.
He didn't like it. The sight of her moving away from him turned his stomach. The thought that he couldn't stop her from being alone with other men, men like Algany, made him seethe with frustration. He turned and rammed his fist against a wall.
"That will undoubtedly stop Algany from pursuing your wife," commented Victor.
"I'm going to kill him."
Victor stood between him and the door and gripped his shoulders.
Sophie returned to his side. "I'm sure you needn't bother. Lord Algany will undoubtedly be leaving London."
"Did he say so?"
"No, well, he didn't know he would have to before now."
"Sophie, start at the beginning."
She rolled her eyes and snorted. "I'm quite cross, and I should like to leave. And I don't need you to rescue me."
Keene folded his arms and stared at her. Algany opened the door of his box and stood with his hand held across his forehead.
Keene lunged toward the man and Algany dropped his hand for a second as he stepped back. Across his forehead in thick black letters was the warning, "Women Beware."
Algany slapped his hand back across his forehead and bowed. "Good evening, gentlemen. Your servant, Mrs. Davies." He scurried off down the hall. His manservant, loaded down with hampers, followed behind him.
Sophie watched him with a gimlet eye. "Well, I don't expect he shall insist I have any more private suppers with him again."
Keene was too stunned to answer.
"I quite agree," answered Victor.
Sophie took off again.
"You'd better go after her. She'll wait in the street." Victor pushed Keene in his wife's direction. "I'll see to it Amelia gets home."
Victor retrieved a distraught Amelia and led her to his carriage.
"Is she all right? I should have realized something was amiss."
"She's fine. I gather Algany waylaid her and she rather took care of him."
"I should have known something was wrong. I felt so strange at Almack's the night Sophie fainted. Keene will be so disappointed in me."
Amelia's worried glance was similar to the one that prompted his kisses a year before. Victor resisted the urge to put his arm around her.
"I should have gone with her. She is so innocent sometimes."
Victor couldn't help himself. He put his arm around Amelia's shoulders. She turned into his embrace.
The slow heat of desire crept up his body. "Remember who I am. I'm not Keene."
Amelia's hands slid across his shoulders. "I only know that you are not George."
Victor pushed her away.
Amelia looked down, her head shifting from side to side. "I'm sorry."
"Me too."
* * *
"Did I see you on Brutus this morning?" Victor tilted a glass of punch to his lips.
"Yes."
"Really, I thought Keene brought your horse."
"I put Miss Chandler on Daisy," said Sophie.
"Sophie is teaching me to ride." Mary Frances leaned forward.
"Where's your doddering old fool?" asked Victor.
Mary Frances winced. "He's quite a kind gentleman." A flash in her dark eyes betrayed her.
"We need some punch." Sophie ignored the two almost-full glasses sitting on a nearby table.
Victor rolled his eyes. "Your servant, madam. Should you like four or five more glasses, be sure to let me know." He stalked off to do as he was bade.
Sophie wrapped her arm in Mary Frances's and tugged her along in a brisk walk. "Tell me what has happened."
"Lord Brumley tried to kiss me."
"Well, he should kiss you if you are to marry him."
"He hasn't proposed, and it was quite disgusting." Mary Frances's shudder of revulsion spoke volumes.
"Well, it is not so disgusting when it is someone under eighty. Well, not that I should know, but when a man is under forty, perhaps."
"I'll put up with it when I have to, but no sooner."
"Brumley isn't the only available bachelor."
"He's the only shot I have at becoming a countess."
"Well, yes but there are other gentlemen, younger gentlemen."
"If I seek a man my own age, I will have to tolerate him for years; besides, a title would be out of the question."
"It's not everything. I should much prefer a husband who cared about me." If only she had one. Instead, she had a husband who could hardly stand to be alone with her.
"Yes, but my dearest, my most lovable quality is my father's fortune." Mary Frances smiled wryly. "I'd like marriage to a doddering old fool who has more interest in cards than in my affections. I would hope that my appeal would be short-lived."
Victor stood like an imbecile holding the two glasses of punch. He knew he'd been sent on a fool's errand, but the least Sophie could do was wait for him to return instead of leaving him looking addlepated. He spied a new entrant to the salon.
He watched as Keene's eyes circled the room and then stopped. Victor measured the hungry line of Keene's sight and turned. Sophie and Mary Frances strolled together. Victor approached them, eager to discharg
e his errand.
He studied the heiress. He'd made inquiries and found her appeal stretched to several thousand a year. Beyond that, she was not unattractive, but she'd set her cap for Brumley.
Brumley might be on the lookout for a new wife. Then again, he hadn't completely depleted his cash reserve from his last wife. He might be simply toying with Miss Chandler, enjoying her fawning over him and measuring how far she might be willing to pursue him.
Amelia joined them at the same time as Keene did.
"Have a drink, Amelia." Victor handed her a glass.
"I suppose I aspire too high," Mary Frances said as they approached.
"Not necessarily." Victor handed her the remaining glass of punch. "You might try broadening your horizons, though."
"You don't know what we were speaking of."
"I might hazard a guess it concerned the nasty old coot."
"I've never called him that," protested Mary Frances.
"No? I rather think you should. In which case you should take a turn about the floor with me."
Sophie watched Victor extend his arm and Mary Frances placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and they walked off. "Do you think Victor is setting his cap for Miss Chandler?"
"Mmm," answered Amelia.
Sophie cast a sharp glance at her companion. Amelia sighed. In the few short weeks they had been making the rounds of entertainments, Amelia had gone from listless to as animated as a cobblestone. "What's wrong?"
Amelia shook her head.
Sophie frowned. She knew what was wrong. Amelia was estranged from her husband and infant daughter, yet pretended to everyone that all was well. Better acquainted with the ways of society, Sophie understood the pretense.
She wrapped her arm in Amelia's and strode forward. "If you could be anywhere, where would you be right now?"
Amelia's eyes glistened. She dipped her head.
Sophie pulled her forward. She didn't mean to make Amelia cry, even though it might do her good to get it out. There was something to be said for a good fit of the vapors when things didn't seem right.
"I'm sorry," whispered Amelia.
"Would you like to go home?"
"Oh, yes!" The sudden spark of life in Amelia surprised Sophie. Just as quickly, Amelia snuffed it out. "But I can't."
"Sure you can. We don't need to stay."
Amelia gave a soft shake of her head.
Sophie steered them out into an empty passageway and swung around to face Amelia. "You mean your home?"
Amelia tugged her arm away, looking in every direction but at Sophie.
"You miss your baby?"
Amelia clutched at Sophie. "Oh, yes, and George. I just want to see them and be sure they are well. I know it is quite goosish of me, but I haven't seen them in so long."
