She was about to say she would never pretend anything, but Florence and her mother became distracted by a gown that a certain Miss Weatherbee was wearing—quite unlike anything she’d ever worn before, Florence said, with a very daring décolletage for an English girl who rarely spoke a word at these things, let alone attended them. It resembled the gown Sophia had worn to the Weldon House ball, when she’d first danced with James.
Florence winked at Sophia. “It appears you’re setting trends.”
They moved into the massive hall, brightly lit and adorned with ferns and leafy palms. For an hour or so, Sophia met gentleman after gentleman, peer after peer. There were politicians from the House of Commons as well as the House of Lords. Newspapermen, bankers, wives, sisters, mothers and aunts. It was the largest assembly she had attended thus far. She guessed the number of guests at an easy five hundred.
Not so easy to find her prince, however, when all the gentlemen were dressed the same—in black tails and white shirts and white waistcoats. Would he even come?
Then her mother whispered, “Look, there’s the duke,” as if they were strolling in the park and she had just spotted a partridge.
“There he is, indeed,” Sophia replied.
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all you have to say about it?”
“That’s all for now,” she replied with a small grin as she snapped open her fan.
It was another half hour before Sophia found herself on the same side of the room as James. He was engaged in conversation with someone, and as he sipped his champagne, he spotted Sophia over the rim of his glass. His green eyes flashed beneath the dark lashes.
A few moments later he was there beside her, tall and suave, greeting her mother and the others they’d been conversing with. After the appropriate light discourse, the duke turned to Beatrice. “Would you permit me, madam, to steal your daughter away for a moment or two? I wish to introduce her to my younger sister, who is here with my mother, the duchess.”
Beatrice’s face lit up like an exploding gas lamp. “Of course you may steal her away. Sophia would be delighted, I’m sure, to meet your family.”
He offered his arm to Sophia and they crossed the crowded drawing room together.
“I’m pleased you came,” he said quietly to her. “I was hoping that you would.”
“I was hoping you would, too.”
She could have said so much more—that she’d been unable to think of anyone but him since they’d parted, and that she wished he would pull her into his arms and kiss her, and end this painful, frustrating feeling of “apartness.”
They approached the young lady from the Weldon ball—the lovely dark-haired girl in the cream-colored dress. Tonight, she wore a becoming shade of blue. So, she was his sister. A wave of relief moved through Sophia.
James touched her arm. “Lily, if I may present to you Miss Sophia Wilson of New York. Miss Wilson, Lady Lily Langdon.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Sophia said.
“And you as well.” Lily’s smile was bright and infectious, and Sophia suspected that if she had the good fortune of becoming better acquainted with the duke’s young sister, she would come to like her very much.
“I do love your gown,” Lily mentioned, and they talked about some of the new fashions while James stood by, listening.
“Shall we go to the buffet table and see what delicacies it offers?” Lily suggested. “I’m feeling quite famished suddenly.”
“I’d like that very much,” Sophia replied. She followed Lily and was pleased that James was coming, too.
They made their way through the crowd to the long table clothed in white linen and topped with decorative dishes and an Epicurean delight of finger foods. Scalloped oysters, pastry puffs filled with lobster salad and fresh, colorful sliced fruit and grapes were carefully arranged on silver platters and spilling over the rims of huge china bowls. There were cakes and candies and fancy biscuits iced with butter cream and sugar sculptures towering as immaculate centerpieces. Sophia, James and Lily moved around the table, sampling and talking and laughing, and Sophia wished this night would never end.
They moved into a smaller drawing room that was less crowded, and Lily and Sophia sat down on a sofa at the far end. James chose a chair opposite them. Beyond them was the conservatory—visible on the other side of yet another hall—all lit up and looking like a great jungle of leafy greens.
The three of them sat and talked, and Sophia sensed a mild tension between Lily and James, a few looks of annoyance from Lily, the odd contradictory opinion. She wondered if they might have argued over something recently.
Two young ladies walked into the room and Lily recognized them. “Oh, look, it’s Evelyn and Mary. If you will excuse me for a moment.” She stood, crossed the room and went to join her friends.
Sophia was now sitting alone with James in front of the massive marble fireplace. “Lily is lovely,” she said.
He lounged back in his chair. “Lovely but rebellious. I’m afraid I have my work cut out for me.”
Glancing over at James’s sister, giggling with the two young ladies, Sophia was not surprised to hear this. “I sensed an element of tension between you.”
James gazed at Lily, too. Candlelight glimmered over his handsome profile. “We had a disagreement the other day. Over her marriage.”
Sophia could not contain her shock. “Her marriage? But she’s so young.”
“Precisely what I said. Mother would marry her off tomorrow if she could, and when I told Lily that she didn’t have to worry about that because she was too young, she didn’t seem to realize that I was on her side. She accused me of underestimating her maturity.”
Sophia smiled sympathetically. “She’ll come around. I’m sure she’ll meet someone respectable who will suit her very well.”
James rested his temple on a finger and gazed intently at Sophia. The lines around his eyes softened as he regarded her. “How is it possible that we have found a way to be alone in this crush?”
She raised an eyebrow, playfully. “Miracles do happen, Your Grace.”
He uncrossed one long leg and crossed the other over it. At the sight of his powerful, muscular thighs, she felt a tingle of desire move through her and had to quickly tear her eyes away.
“I recall the night we admired art in the Berkley gallery,” he mentioned. “We were alone, then, too.”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about those paintings we looked at. Especially the Rembrandt—the Young Woman Bathing. It was like peering into someone’s private moment. I’ve wondered what she was thinking about when she was posing.” Sophia gazed off in the other direction.
“I believe there is another Rembrandt just beyond that door.” James gestured toward it. “A self-portrait.”
Sophia glanced at the open doorway, then back at Lily, who was still conversing with her friends on the other side of the drawing room. Could Sophia go alone with James into another room that seemed currently uninhabited? Her mother would most definitely not approve. Nevertheless, Sophia stood up. “I would like to see it, if we could.”
“Certainly.”
As they rose from their chairs, Lily watched them.
Sophia and James crossed the quiet room. She listened to the sound of her heels clicking over the marble floor and echoing over their heads. Though she’d always considered herself a liberal girl, she felt uncomfortable with what they were doing.
“It’s this way.” James led her to a painting at the bottom of a wide, red carpeted staircase.
Sophia stood before it and let her mind relax about where she was and who she was with. “He looks very dignified.”
“Self-assured.”
“Yes, but sad, too. Look at his eyes. I wonder what he was thinking about when he painted himself like this.”
As she stared at the portrait, she
felt James watching her. “You often seem to wonder what people are thinking.”
“I suppose I do wonder that. People are a mystery, aren’t they? You never know what’s going on inside a person’s head. And even if they tell you, how do you know they are telling you everything?”
His eyes remained fixed on her profile in the golden light from the chandelier. “I can tell you this much, Miss Wilson, and I swear it’s the truth.” For a few seconds, he held her in his gaze as he took a deep breath. “I do believe that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”
Sophia’s heart swelled with rapture, and she turned to face him.
James glanced over his shoulder. They were still very much alone, but Sophia could hear the hum of the crowd nearby, and Lily’s laughter with her friends in the drawing room at the top of the stairs.
Her knees were turning to liquid.
James’s hand found hers, and he led her around a corner into a dark alcove.
She knew she was doing something unthinkable, but this man—this beautiful man—sparked a fire within her, the kind of heat she had longed to feel in all those dull, stuffy New York drawing rooms, when she’d resigned herself to the fact that her life was going to be one colorless, tedious, meaningless soiree after another. But with James, for the first time in her life, she felt potent and indulgent. Alive.
Heaven help me, she thought, as he backed her up against the wall and slowly lowered his mouth to hers.
All her life’s experience could not have prepared her for that moment—for the resounding impact of his kiss, for the tickling of his thumb as it gently caressed her cheek. For the naughty impropriety of kissing a man in a secluded corner of a Mayfair mansion. She knew it was wrong and dangerous, but she couldn’t help herself.
She parted her lips to taste the flavor of his tongue and suddenly he was gathering her more tightly into his arms. She floated into his embrace, holding on to him with a desperation that was almost frightening.
Before she knew what was happening, he had taken hold of her hand and was leading her across the hall, deeper into the shadows. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. There was no one, so she followed him willingly into the conservatory, which was unconditionally off-limits to a young lady and a single gentleman, but she had no common sense left—only the desire to feel James’s hands on her body again, to relish the flavor of his mouth and hold him close.
He led her down a set of stone steps into the heady humid heat of the conservatory, and around a wall of leafy ferns and palms and flowering shrubs and bushes, into a back corner where no one who might walk in could see them. Sophia would have followed him anywhere at that moment. She would have followed him upstairs to some unknown bedchamber and let him lock the door behind them if he had gone in that direction. Thank God he had not. There was still a chance they could sneak out of there unnoticed when they finished whatever it was that they were about to do.
He pulled her by the hand, firmly up against his hard body. “You taste like wine,” he said in a sensual whisper, “only better.”
“And you taste like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.”
And suddenly he was kissing her again, and she was running her hands through his beautiful, thick black hair and feeling his fingers at her shoulders and neck. It was too much for her to take—she didn’t know what to do, how to think, how to touch him. She’d never kissed a man like this. Had she been asleep her whole life? Was she waking up only now?
The next thing she knew, she was tossing her head back and he was kissing her neck.
“I wish we were alone,” she said breathlessly. “Truly alone.”
His lips worked over her like magic. “That could be dangerous. I may be a gentleman, but I do have my limits, and if I had you alone, mark my words, you would walk away quite without your virtue. So perhaps it is best that we are here—only somewhat at risk.”
“I don’t want to think about that.... About the risk.”
His hand slid down…over the curve of her hip.
What in God’s name was she doing?
“Oh, James,” she managed to whisper. But she did not know what to say after that. She couldn’t think.
Suddenly there was a noise. Laughter echoing in the hall outside the conservatory.
James dragged his mouth from hers and lifted his index finger to his lips. She gazed into his eyes, only inches away, and felt his breath beat against her cheek. Her heart was pounding out a breakneck rhythm in her chest. They stared at each other for a moment, then he kissed her again, quietly, and she kissed him back with abandon.
They heard the laughter again. James drew back. “This is insane,” he whispered.
Indeed it was. What had she been thinking, behaving this way? The duke probably thought she did this with every English lord who suggested it. Surely, he had lost all respect for her now.
Horror and regret coursed through her body. Had she spoiled everything?
“Let me go, this is wrong,” she whispered, in an instant of panic.
She tore herself out of his arms and hurried along the leafy enclosure to peer out into the hall. The group of assembly guests—whoever they were—were out of sight, so she left the conservatory and somehow found her way back to the buffet table, feeling breathless and bewildered and still dazed with passion.
James closed his eyes and buried his forehead in his hand. He felt disheveled and shaky and out of breath, and he wondered how—in a few swift, passion-filled seconds—he could have lost all physical control.
If he had any brains left in his head, he would recognize his failings and retreat from the path he was on.
But no…he could not do that. Not after tonight, for he had just started a heavy ball rolling with a momentum he could no longer stop. There could be no more ruminating, no more considering the possibility of proposing to Miss Wilson. After what happened tonight, it was inevitable. There was no turning back now, no way to get out of it, at least not honorably. He must propose immediately before word of this got out, for surely someone saw them. Lily certainly had. Her friends were young. They did not understand the importance of discretion.
Good God, the American heiress. Perhaps the strangest thing was that despite all his misgivings, it was wonderfully gratifying to know that one day soon, he would have her in his bed.
James opened his eyes and looked at the glass ceiling above him.
His mother was going to cough up her lunch.
Chapter 8
The following morning, Sophia woke early after a restless sleep. She ate a light breakfast and ventured outside to wander in the garden. Lansdowne House—one of the few London mansions to have its own private garden—was shrouded in a thick, yellow fog, as was the rest of the city. She felt the damp chill on her skin, imagined that her hair was turning frizzy, but what did that matter? She was alone at last, away from the constant looks of concern from Florence and her mother.
They had left the assembly quite abruptly the night before when she’d claimed she felt unwell. They remained unconvinced, however, and rightly so, for she was thoroughly ashamed of her behavior and could not bear to imagine her mother knowing about it. Or her father. He would be shocked and disappointed.
Just then, the clatter of hooves on the street alerted Sophia to a visitor. A large coach rumbled to a stop in front of the house and she watched from the garden as James, in a black greatcoat and top hat, stepped out of the vehicle and looked up at the house.
What in the world is he doing here, she wondered in a panic. It was not the proper time of day for a social call. If he was here, it was an important matter of business.
Ten minutes later, while Sophia was perched nervously on a bench under a tree, James emerged from the back door of the house and settled his hat upon his head. He crossed the stone terrace and descended the steps to the garden below.
&nbs
p; Her heart began to race. He looked like something out of a dream, dressed all in black, emerging from the fog. He stopped a fair distance away, removed his hat and held it at his side. “Are you not cold, Miss Wilson?”
She swallowed nervously. “It’s quite refreshing actually.”
Heaven help her. What did a girl say to a beautiful duke dressed in black the morning after she’d behaved like a trollop in his arms?
He took a few steps closer. “You’re not punishing yourself, I hope.” When she offered no reply, he said, “Because if anyone deserves to be punished, it is I.”
He approached and sat down beside her, and his nearness brought warmth, despite the chill in the air. “I have spoken to your mother,” he said matter-of-factly. “She was kind enough to tell me where to find you. She also gave me permission to speak to you about something rather important.” He set his hat and gloves on the bench next to him and reached for her hands, which were as cold as the grave. He held them snugly between his palms, rubbing to warm them.
After a few seconds, he bent to kiss them. Sophia’s heart leapt with longing and desire.
He gazed into her eyes. “You must know why I have come.”
Speechless, she waited for him to continue.
“I have come here, Miss Wilson, because I want to ask if you will consider…” He paused and looked down. “If you would do me the great honor of becoming my duchess.”
Sophia wasn’t sure she if she could breathe, let alone speak. She had dreamed of this moment, but not quite like this.
“Are you here because of what happened last night?” she asked. “Because I don’t wish to be a wife that you were forced to marry.”
His eyes lifted and he gave her a compassionate look that told her he had anticipated such a response. “I would be lying if I told you that last night had nothing to do with this. It had a great deal to do with it if fact, but only because I realized that I couldn’t bear another moment thinking that you might return to America, or marry some other man, or that I would never have the chance to hold you in my arms again. I was bewitched last night, Miss Wilson. You are the most beautiful, captivating woman I have ever known, and I must have you. I need to know that you will belong to me and no other.”
To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1) Page 8
