The Wedding Duel

by Katy Madison

  The breaks in Amelia's composure were so few and far between that Sophie suspected worries and fears had been preying on her mind for some time. "Let's go, then."

  Amelia closed her eyes, gave a tiny shake of her head and reopened her eyes. "What?"

  "We'll call on your husband and take a peek in on the baby."

  Amelia blanched and looked around. "I can't go there."

  Sophie headed toward the front door. "Why not?"

  Amelia lagged behind. She finally fell in step beside Sophie. Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. "George evicted me."

  Sophie pivoted. "Did he say you couldn't visit?"

  "No, but—"

  "Pish. Keene visits. I don't see why we may not. Besides, if you wish, you may simply tell your husband that I expressed a desire to see the baby, and you didn't know how to tell me no." From what Sophie could see, Amelia had a hard time telling anyone no.

  "Oh, we can't. Keene said he might come here tonight."

  Sophie stopped. Why had he told Amelia and not her? "He did?"

  "Well, yes, he asked where we should be tonight and said he might attend, too."

  Might wasn't a surety. Besides, when Keene showed up at the same functions he rarely did more than offer a greeting before being on his way. She knew he was involved in political dealings, and the rumors of Lord Palmerston being made an English peer and moving from the House of Commons to the Lords had caused a flurry of speculation about a by-election.

  Beyond that, Sophie's hopes for her husband's attention had been raised and dashed too many times. As long as he didn't think she needed rescue, he didn't pay her any mind. And the truth was, she resented his belief that she needed rescuing on a regular basis.

  "Bother. If he wanted our company, he should have come with us." Sophie started forward. "I'll call for the carriage, and we'll just pop by your house. I know it is late to be calling, but surely one is allowed latitude with one's own family."

  "I'm not sure this is a good idea. I don't think he wants me there."

  "Has he forbidden you to see your baby?"

  Amelia winced. "He said I must leave her, and he doesn't want me there."

  Sophie heaved in a deep breath. "Yes, but what do you want?"

  Amelia blinked.

  "Come on. We shouldn't have even gone out if you are so miserable."

  "But—"

  "I know, you shall tell me that you aren't any less miserable at home, and that we might as well let me enjoy myself, but you need to fight for what you want, and I think you want to see your daughter. There is no earthly reason that Keene, or for that matter, your George, should find a brief visit to your house unacceptable."

  Amelia didn't look convinced, but she followed Sophie. One thing Sophie knew was that her companion found it very difficult to say no in the face of a strong will.

  * * *

  "He did what?" Keene asked Victor.

  "Lost twenty thousand pounds at the Cocoa Tree last night. You have to go get him. He is in deep again tonight. I would have stopped him, but I fear my influence would cause him to entrench deeper."

  "Twenty thousand?" While George's finances were healthier than his friends, even he couldn't afford to play that deep.

  "Yes, give or take a few thousand. Come on, Keene. Frankly, I shouldn't mind seeing him sink, but Amelia and the baby shall drown in his stupidity, too."

  Keene moved toward the door. He would have to go see to George. He greeted the problem with relief and disappointment. His plans for the evening had included attending the ball where Sophie and Amelia went. Staying away from Sophie grew more difficult by the day. "Is he drinking?"

  "No, he is managing this folly without the aid of being properly shot in the neck."

  "Well, at least he does not mix his vices."

  "Apparently the man cannot live without his wife, but is too full of spleen to live with her."

  "He's hurt."

  "Well, yes, but both of you are too damn caught up in what is past. The only thing you can control is what happens from this day forward. You are going to lose Sophie if you don't start treating her as your wife."

  "What do you mean?" demanded Keene.

  "What do you think of Miss Chandler? She is often in your wife's company."

  Keene shook his head. He didn't have any interest in his wife's young friend, who seemed a little brittle about the edges. Not that he could quite put a finger on what it was that bothered him about her. He wanted to know what Victor knew about his wife, but Victor exhibited a mawkish disinclination to elaborate.

  * * *

  If Sophie had ever thought Amelia's beauty was cold, the current expression on the young mother's face erased that thought. She jiggled the little baby in her lap, nuzzled and cooed at the wee one. The baby responded in happy gurgles and toothless grins, and even the drool that fell on Amelia's evening gown didn't dampen her enchantment.

  Sophie couldn't decide if Amelia was relieved or disappointed that George wasn't home. A little of both, perhaps.

  The sound of the door and strident male voices interrupted the mother and child. Amelia raised stricken eyes. Yet she leaned toward the opening door.

  "You!" George reared back. "What are you doing here?"

  Color drained from Amelia's face, and the hint of hope in her expression withered.

  Silence hung like a noxious cloud over the room, invading all the corners and settling into the nooks and crannies.

  Amelia broke the pall, speaking in a perfectly modulated voice. "Hello, George, how are you?"

  "We came to see the baby," Sophie said.

  Amelia stood up and tucked the infant in her arms. "We were just about to leave. I'll ring for her nursemaid."

  Exiting seemed like a good idea, except George blocked the doorway, and Sophie didn't particularly feel like challenging him. She liked to think of herself as brave, but not foolhardy.

  Keene and Victor peered around George's shoulders.

  "You don't belong here." George's voice was tight with anger.

  Amelia nodded. "I understand."

  Sophie swiveled to look at her. "You do?"

  George spurted into action, striding across the floor and adopting a menacing posture, towering over Amelia. "What do you mean to do? Steal the baby away?"

  Amelia shook her head. "No."

  "You come when I am not here. What meaning could you have?"

  "I didn't know that you were gone."

  He pushed closer and tighter. "I can't believe you would do this."

  Amelia seemed to shrink in on herself. "I'm sorry."

  Sophie stared. Was she the only one appalled by George's aggression and Amelia's cowed reaction? Victor averted his face and moved to the far side of the room. Keene stepped behind George as if ready to intercede.

  "You're a lying—"

  Amelia laid her hand against George's chest. "Please, I'll leave."

  George seemed to crumble. "Damn you."

  Amelia moved to skirt around her husband. She faltered. Sophie traced the line of her vision to Victor.

  Victor leaned his palms against the wall, one knee cocked as if he would push through the plaster. He suddenly stalked out of the room. The slam of the front door made Amelia wince.

  The baby began to fuss. Amelia bounced the tiny tot, whispering in her ear.

  Keene stepped forward and held out his hands. "I'll take her upstairs to bed."

  Amelia passed Regina into his hands, her eyes on George.

  The image of Keene holding the baby zinged through Sophie. He looked natural and comfortable with the baby tucked in the crook of his arm, in a totally different manner than a woman would hold a child. Still, the baby looked secure. And she was his.

  SEVENTEEN

  Keene tilted his head, indicating she was to follow him. Sophie hesitated, not sure she should leave Amelia alone with her irate husband.

  Keene called from the stairs. "Come with me, Sophie."

  She hesitated.

 
"Leave us," said George.

  Still, Sophie waited until Amelia gave a tiny smile and nod.

  Keene stood on the stairs waiting for her. Sophie glanced back at the drawing room. She moved forward. Keene continued up the stairs.

  Sophie trotted after him. "Are you sure we should leave them alone together. He . . ."

  "Won't hurt her."

  Sophie craned her neck, trying to see down into the drawing room. "Are you very sure?"

  "More danger he could harm himself."

  "Do you think so, for I think he looked quite angry at her."

  "Sophie, he needs to tell her what he's been about."

  She lingered behind. "Will he divorce her or not?"

  "I don't think he could afford to now. Will you come along?"

  She lifted the hem of her skirt and darted up the stairs.

  Keene stood on the landing at the top and frowned at her.

  She let go of her gown. Keene's frowns made her feel like a misbehaving puppy.

  That he stood waiting for her with a baby nestled in his arm made an ache and yearning start under her breastbone. He was her husband, but only in name.

  His dark eyes moved over her. There was something in the set of his mouth that made her want to glide like Amelia did, and then, of course, because she wouldn't be able to sustain the pose, she'd melt at his feet.

  "You look rather fetching tonight."

  His compliment startled her. "I do?" She crinkled her nose, regretting the question as soon as it popped out of her mouth.

  Keene simply watched her. He slowly raised his arm and held out his hand to her.

  Sophie wanted to run forward and thrust herself into his embrace, but would he even remember she was alive tomorrow? She gathered her skirts and sedately walked up the remainder of the steps. His dark gaze burned through her every step of the way. When she reached the top, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, the baby cradled in his other arm.

  "I see Amelia is teaching you some decorum."

  "She is a saint."

  "A miracle worker, perhaps."

  Sophie turned her face aside. He was pleased she hadn't run into his arms. She wanted to be his wife, the mother of his children, but he didn't want her. He wanted some mild, meek, Madonna type. Not that she wouldn't love children, but she suspected she would romp with them on the floor more than cuddle them in her lap.

  The baby whimpered in his arms.

  "Would you like to hold her?" asked Keene.

  Sophie was startled by the notion. Earlier she had thought to gather the infant in her arms, but Amelia was so starved for contact with her baby, Sophie held back. Keene had been here almost daily, and obviously from the easy way he held the child, the chore was familiar.

  The lump forming in Sophie's throat might make her croak if she spoke, so she held out her arms.

  Keene put Regina in her hold, positioning her hands and murmuring light encouraging words. His fingers were warm against her skin. He stroked her arms.

  The warm wiggling body against her chest provoked protective instincts Sophie hadn't known were there. She looked up at Keene. Why had he put his baby in her arms? Did he realize she knew?

  He stroked a curl back from the edge of her face. "Don't look so scared, Sophie."

  "I'm not scared," she whispered.

  "I love this child, even though I am only her godfather."

  Anguish broke through her. She could love the baby, too, precisely because he was the father.

  "I could love any child not my own," he said.

  Why the lies? "And if it was your own?" she asked.

  He shook his head as if she didn't understand. She understood all right. She wasn't the naive country girl that she once was.

  He leaned closer. His lips brushed hers. The kiss shattered her scant reserve. She strained for the power and passion she'd tasted before. Her heart ached with the need. Yet, she couldn't stand the strain of deceit. She couldn't play polite games. She was too honest and forthright for that.

  She wanted Keene with every fiber of her being, but somewhere along the line she knew she would no longer be satisfied with less than his full attention. She wanted a marriage in every sense of the word. Yet, he hid himself from her. She couldn't make him give of himself.

  She looked down into the little face.

  Dark wisps of hair peeked out from under the cap. Her features were still unformed, but Sophie followed the shape of her rosebud mouth, the tiny button nose and the line of her eyebrows . . . the line of her eyebrows. Sophie shifted her gaze up to Keene's face and noticed the same arch, thicker, more masculine. "She looks a bit like you."

  She held her breath, watching the transformation in Keene's face. The slip of his self-assurance. She thrust Regina back into his arms. Sophie scurried down the stairs, hearing the baby's startled cry.

  Keene was sure Sophie had verged on confessing her guilty secret before she'd run away. He would have gone after her and pressed the issue, but he had an upset child screaming in his ear. Not to mention several distressed friends floating about. He bounced the baby, trying to soothe both their ragged spirits.

  He hoped that George and Amelia were making progress in resolving their difficulties. But more than anything he wanted to get Sophie home, to pursue her odd statement that Amelia's baby looked like him.

  Although now that he peered closely into the unformed face, he thought perhaps there was a hint of Victor's features overlaid by Amelia's. He sighed. Would life have been easier for him if he resembled his mother?

  Keene counted the time in his head. Sophie must be three months along. Surely, she couldn't hide her pregnancy much longer. Perhaps even now the signs were hidden under her high-waisted gowns. Was a baby born six months after marriage enough of an anomaly that he could safely make her his wife? For he didn't think he could stand to avoid her any longer.

  He craved her touch, her zest for life. He wanted her easy laughter, her pleasure in simple things. He wanted her bright smile in his heart. Yet, as he knew he wanted her, he felt her sliding away.

  He could simply slip into her bed or he could seduce her into his. And he'd never had much of a problem persuading a woman to share her body with him.

  He handed the baby to her nursemaid and descended the stairs. Amelia stood in the foyer, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  "No progress?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "He doesn't want me here. Doesn't want me to see the baby."

  Keene looked at the closed door. "I'll talk to him."

  "No, Keene, leave him alone."

  Keene swiveled around. "What did you do when he told you he doesn't want you here?"

  "What could I do? I said I should stay away."

  George's words echoed in his head. Why doesn't she fight for anything? "I don't believe he truly wants you to stay away."

  "I pledged my obedience."

  Keene stalked toward the library. He flung back the door. "If you want your wife back, you shall have to stop sending her—what are you doing?"

  George straightened from behind his desk where he had yanked open all the drawers, their contents a jumble. Doors on a cabinet hung open. "What did you do with my pistols?"

  "I took them. You have no need of them now." More than that, Keene had made sure all the powder and shot were removed. "Did you tell Amelia of your loses?"

  George turned, his nose red and his eyes puffy. "So I can look like even less of a man in her eyes?"

  "If you don't want her here with you, then what need do you have of her good opinion?"

  George dropped down into the chair behind the desk.

  Amelia stood in the doorway. "What loses?"

  "George lost over thirty thousand pounds gambling. Twenty last night and another ten tonight."

  "Oh, George." Amelia glided across the room and reached for her husband.

  He held out a hand to ward her off.

  She drew to a halt, her spine ramrod stiff. Her head dropped forward. She star
ed at the floor as if she'd become a connoisseur of fine rugs and was determining the exact weaver by the pattern in the Turkish carpet.

  Keene watched George's expression turn from belligerence to a plea for comfort, but Amelia couldn't see it with her gaze downward. She lingered for a moment before turning around. "Shall we go, Keene?"

  George reached for Amelia's hand, but she was gone.

  Victor would have shared an analysis of George's actions, or perhaps another cat dying of a broken heart story, but the only thing Keene could think to say before he shut the door was, "You're a fool."

  * * *

  As Sophie stood outside, the breeze ruffled her short curls. She didn't understood why she'd run away from Keene. It wasn't in her nature to flee from a challenge. But the way she had been trying, subjugating her reckless nature to become some demure correct, boring lady tugged down her spirits.

  If she won Keene's affection under the guise of being something she was not, what good should that be? What good was Amelia's perfect obedience when her one slip was wielded like an ax?

  Sophie had no idea why Keene had married her. He would do a lot of the things his father asked out of loyalty, but she knew him too well to believe that he would shackle himself to a woman he disliked. It was only that thought that kept her hanging onto the hope that their marriage could be real in all senses of the word.

  Yet, she was tired of banging into his displeasure at every turn. She couldn't make Keene love her, but she could be who she was. She would no longer pursue his good opinion.

  She paced down the street, impatient to be on the way. At the end of the block she turned and walked back toward George's house. She didn't want to stray out of the coachman's earshot. She should, of course, wait in the carriage, but she was not the most patient of creatures.

  As she drew up alongside the carriage she noticed him leaning against the boot. His dark hair stirred in the breeze. Had he been waiting for her to return? Or waiting to see if she needed rescue?

  He stepped away from the carriage. A street lamp behind him silhouetted his broad shoulders and slim build. Now was her chance. Her heart thundered in her ears. She sucked in her breath and stepped forward, her hand landing on his upper arm. When he didn't move forward, she hastily revised her plan to throw her arms around him. Nervously she said, "This seems a perfect place for a kiss, don't you think?"

  "I daresay so, if your husband wouldn't shoot me for it later."

  She snatched back her hand. "Victor?"