As Luck Would Have It

by Alissa Johnson

  He reached up and gently grasped a lock of hair that had been strategically left loose to curl seductively down the side of her face. He rubbed the strands between his thumb and forefinger, marveling in the softness, before tucking it behind her ear as if to keep it safe. He pulled his hand back slowly and caressed her cheek and jaw with his thumb.

  “I want you to know you can come to me for anything, Sophie,” he whispered. “Anything at all. There is nothing I would deny you.”

  “I…”

  “Nothing I would not do for you.”

  Bewildered, it was Sophie’s first instinct to say something coy, something sarcastic. Something that would shore up the wall she had spent the last week building to protect herself against the charming Alex. A wall that had been shaky at best, and now that she stood next to him, felt the heat of his caress, the warmth of his words, crumbled completely.

  She had been angry with him for chasing off her suitors tonight, but she had been angrier at herself. She’d been so happy to see him, so relieved to be rid of the company of men who valued a well-practiced giggle over a well-read mind. The charade had grown increasingly depressing with each passing minute. She hated pretending to be something she was not, hated catering to the whims of men she couldn’t respect, hated the knowledge that by binding herself to one of them in marriage, she would be giving up the chance of love forever. It was likely she would never know the joys of mutual respect, affection, and desire with her husband.

  But perhaps she could know them to night.

  “Walk with me,” she whispered.

  It was a terrible idea. A dangerous idea. She had a husband to find and Whitefield to save. She needed to make her way into Lord Forent’s study, find proof of treason. But she couldn’t bring herself to see to those tasks just now.

  What ever it took, she would secure her family’s survival. She’d traveled the world, seen more places in a decade than most people would see in their lives. Only one place was home. Only one held memories of a mother and sister she’d adored and lost.

  She would give her future to Whitefield. This moment, this small sliver of to night, would be hers.

  Alex took a cursory glance across the interior of the ballroom to make sure they wouldn’t be seen. Then he was leading her quickly down the stone steps and into a maze of well-lit paths past rosebushes, and fountains, and hedges, and more rosebushes, until she was completely lost.

  Alex brought her to a small gazebo, pulled her behind one vine-covered wall and then into his arms.

  For a moment, he simply rested his forehead against hers and held on. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, as holding Sophie. In the past, holding a woman was merely one of the steps to lovemaking, a sensual act that added pleasure to the occasion.

  It was different with Sophie. Her soft form molded against his was much more than a formality to seduction, much more than one step in a sequence of steps needed to reach that ultimate goal. Having Sophie Everton in his arms was an end in itself.

  He could feel her every curve, every angle through the fabric of their clothes. He could hear her heart pounding, feel her breath against his neck. He felt the way she relaxed against him and it sent a surge of pride and possessiveness through him.

  She was his.

  And suddenly it wasn’t enough just to hold her. He needed to taste her, to mark her as his own. To leave no question of to whom she belonged.

  His lips danced over hers lightly until he felt her yield. Then he slanted his mouth over hers hungrily, teasing her jaw open with his thumb until her lips parted enough to allow his tongue to slip between them. She gasped into his mouth at the new intrusion and his muscles tightened in response.

  “So good,” he groaned, leaving her mouth to taste her ear, then the side of her neck. He lingered in the tender spot where the base of her neck met her smooth shoulders.

  She gasped again and Alex knew that if one of them did not call this to a halt soon, it would go too far. As a gentleman, he should do it. He should set her away from him.

  His arms tightened around her instinctively at the thought. A few more minutes he decided, just a few more minutes.

  He returned his attention to her mouth, delighting in the little sounds she made, the tentative movements of her tongue against his, the shy exploration of her hands against his back.

  Without conscious thought, one hand stole up from her waist to settle lightly against her beautifully displayed breast. Perhaps her new dress had benefits after all. He felt her tense and he expected her to pull away. When she leaned against his hand instead, he knew he had to end it now or it would be too late.

  He pulled back from her, a little surprised at how wrong the movement felt. It took every ounce of his willpower not to snatch her back up again. He took a step back just to be safe.

  She blinked up at him. “Why did you stop?”

  “One of us had to,” he said in an equally strained voice.

  “Oh,” she responded, a bit stupidly she imagined. It took a moment for her to grasp the meaning of his words.

  “Oh,” she finally said with a great deal more feeling. “Oh, no. How long have we been out here?”

  “Not nearly long enough,” Alex muttered under his breath.

  “Mrs. Summers is sure to be looking for me.”

  “She shouldn’t have let you come out here in the first place,” he pointed out. And without the slightest trace of rancor, she noticed.

  “She could show up at any minute,” Sophie replied, mostly because she felt she owed it to Mrs. Summers.

  He caressed the side of her face with one finger. “No doubt you are right. Back to the ball with you then.” He wanted to press her about Loudor, but he’d kept her out too long already.

  “And you?”

  “I shall wait an appropriate amount of time before returning in case someone noticed our absence.”

  “And then?” Sophie rather hoped he would ask her to dance.

  “And then I shall take my leave. A duke is never first to arrive nor last to leave,” he explained with a touch of self-mockery. He also needed to put some distance between them before he did something they would both regret. Like tossing her over his shoulder in front of two hundred guests and hauling her into the nearest room with a door.

  “I see,” she laughed. “Well then. Good-bye.”

  And with that she leaned up on her tiptoes, gave him a parting peck, and took off for the house at a dead run.

  Alex almost called out for her, but swallowed the shout lest they be discovered. He hadn’t expected to end things quite like that. He thought a few whispered compliments, maybe an endearment or two were in order. Apparently, Sophie was not the sort of woman who put much stock in sweet words. That was a good thing to know.

  He hoped she was a fairly decent liar as well. She hadn’t given him time to recommend she straighten her appearance a bit.

  She had run off looking thoroughly, adorably rumpled.

  Sophie used the terrace doors leading into a small parlor rather than the ones leading to the ballroom, and made her way quickly to the ladies’ retiring room. Breathing a sigh of relief at finding the room empty, she sat down heavily on a cushioned stool facing a small mirror.

  “Good Lord.” She was a mess. She’d avoided the crush in the ballroom because she felt disoriented, flushed, giddy. She thought she’d need only a moment or two to straighten out her thoughts. By the looks of her, she’d need a quarter hour to straighten out everything else.

  A blush rose up her neck and spread out to her cheeks as she tidied her hair and thought, in detail, of how it had gotten so out of place.

  Alex’s hands.

  Everywhere. And still somehow not exactly where she needed them.

  Alex’s strong arms around her, his broad chest against hers, his soft lips moving over her own, his tongue…

  “No.” She glared at image in the mirror. Later. Later she could, and would, revisit that memory. But now she needed to concentrate on f
inding proof of treason and returning to her chaperon before someone sent out a search party.

  She took a fortifying breath and slipped out of the room.

  Earlier that night, she’d discovered the study unlocked and slightly ajar, and she’d been sorely tempted to slip inside and be finished with that particular business for the night. But it hadn’t taken her long to change her mind. She had no desire to spend the whole of the evening hiding incriminating evidence on her person.

  That she would find something incriminating, she was certain. Her last two endeavors had been alternately questionably successful and completely useless. She was due for a change of luck.

  She was halfway to the door before realizing the study was occupied. Masculine laughter and the smell of cigars drifted down the hall.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  She’d missed her chance. Scowling, she continued on to the ladies’ retiring room for the sake of appearances. She’d just have to wait for another opportunity. And if that didn’t happen fast enough, she’d make her own.

  Fourteen

  The next morning, the front hall of Sophie’s house was filled with flowers from her admirers.

  None of them came from Alex. Sophie told herself it was for the best and settled down to the task of writing thank-you notes, which seemed a pointless endeavor as most of them would be by in person in the next day or two. Even Sir Frederick had sent along a delightful mixture of tulips and roses.

  Sophie laughed softly to herself at the memory of the pained expression on Sir Frederick’s face when he’d been forced to play the ardent admirer to keep up appearances. Of all the men on the list, Sir Frederick was her first choice. He’d seemed as annoyed with her silly debutante imitation as she’d been. He’d even tried to engage her in intelligent conversation once or twice. She would have jumped at the chance, but the rest of the men, including Mr. Weaver she couldn’t help noticing, had looked at Sir Frederick as if he’d lost his mind. So she’d taken their cue and continued playing the adorable dimwit. She wasn’t quite ready to give up her chances with all of them just to impress one. If Sir Frederick didn’t come to call in the next few days, she’d simply have to seek him out. If they had an opportunity to form a better acquaintance, she reasoned, it was very possible they could become friends.

  Determined to redeem herself in Sir Frederick’s eyes, she sent her thank-you note to him first, careful to fill it with what she hoped was some semblance of intelligence and humor. No doubt he viewed his task of courting young ladies in much the same way as did the gentlemen who danced with wallflowers. If it had to be done, best to do so in the least painful manner possible.

  Sophie thought over the remainder of candidates on the list. Lord Verant hadn’t been in attendance last night, and Mr. Holcomb had danced with her once, then promptly ignored her in favor of an attractive woman closer to his own age. Sophie had briefly considered trying to entice him away, but found she couldn’t bring herself to do it. One look at the adoring glance the woman had sent Mr. Holcomb’s way, and Sophie had felt disgusted with herself for even contemplating coming between the two of them.

  She had panicked a bit at the thought of further shortening her already meager list, but then she’d been introduced to one middle-aged man and one perfectly ancient man who had recently returned from America and the continent respectively. The first had lost his wife several years ago at the birth of his only son. The second was a childless widower, but Sophie figured his age precluded any chance he might expect a wife to give him an heir.

  She hadn’t any preference for any one of her remaining candidates, although she was disinclined to like Mr. Johnson on the basis that he had spent the majority of his time speaking to her chest. She had the sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t be amenable to the idea of her leaving for China. Not alone anyway.

  Well she couldn’t afford not to give him another chance, she decided resolutely, but she sent his note out last.

  England was a beautiful country, Alex decided as he headed on foot toward Sophie’s house in the rain. And London was a beautiful town, he thought, sidestepping a suspicious pile on the sidewalk. Mayfield in particular was very nice, he mused, passing the fourth red brick house on that block. In fact, the world in general was a rather fine place, and Alex felt rather fine in it.

  All because he had finally kissed Sophie Everton properly.

  No laughing this time around, no gagging, no humiliating either of them. It had been damn good. He had been damn good, he reflected with purely masculine pride. He’d had her moaning and purring. And sweeter sounds coming from sweeter lips he could not imagine. Of course if memory served, she’d had him gasping and groaning, which meant she’d been damn good too.

  They were good together. And that knowledge put an extra spring in his soggy step and had him grinning like an idiot.

  Until he saw the carriage.

  A black shiny carriage parked outside Sophie’s house. A black shiny carriage he knew didn’t belong to Sophie.

  “Damn.”

  He took the front steps two at a time and wondered which one of her admirers he was going to have to frighten off. Scowling, he pounded on the front door. It seemed to take forever to open and when it did he had to fist his hands to keep from shoving aside the elderly butler, charging into the sitting room, and forcefully dragging out whichever swain was in there with Sophie.

  He could hear her laughing. Not the nauseating tittering she’d been doing last night, but that genuine soft melodic laughter that made his heart go warm. Or did, when she was laughing with him.

  “The Duke of Rockeforte,” the butler announced grandly.

  Behind him, Alex rolled his eyes. He hated being announced like that. He didn’t care for being announced at all, but it was particularly irritating to have one’s presence trumpeted to two people sitting in a drawing room in the middle of the afternoon.

  Remembering there were indeed two people in said drawing room, instead of just the one there ought to be, Alex girded himself for battle, stepped around the butler…and stopped.

  “Sir Frederick?”

  “Rockeforte, good to see you.”

  Sir Frederick?

  Feeling a little disoriented, Alex shook the man’s proffered hand.

  What the devil was Sir Frederick doing here?

  Alex gave himself a sound mental shake. What the devil did he care? The man was no threat. He would even go so far as to say he liked Sir Frederick. He didn’t understand him necessarily, but that was beside the point.

  He crossed the little parlor and took a seat, a little disappointed at a lost opportunity to thrash a potential rival. Although, in retrospect, that was probably for the best. He doubted that kind of behavior would go over well with Sophie. He glanced at her. She beamed at him.

  Ah yes, the world was a fine place indeed.

  “Sir Frederick was just telling me about Carleton House,” Sophie explained, passing Alex a cup of tea. He wasn’t thirsty, but she had never served tea for him before, and he found the feminine act oddly pleasant. He took the cup and looked to Sir Frederick.

  “I take it you’ve been?”

  Sir Frederick nodded grimly. “Only once, but once was quite enough.”

  “Is it as bad as all that?” Sophie inquired.

  Alex shrugged. “It certainly is…elaborate.”

  “And ever changing,” Sir Frederick added. “Prinny has commissioned more alterations than most men demand of their tailors.”

  “Part of the reason the man is so in debt,” Alex said. “And his enormous parties can’t help matters.”

  “Elaborate as well?” Sophie asked.

  “The dinner party I attended featured a scantily clad young woman as the table centerpiece,” Sir Frederick said by way of answer.

  Sophie’s eyes grew round. “Why ever would he do that?”

  Alex chuckled. “There is little hope in grasping the complexities of Prinny’s mind. I suggest you not attempt it.”

  “Oh.”
Sophie stifled a nervous laugh. “It’s not funny, of course….”

  “Of course,” Alex agreed, not bothering to hide his own amusement.

  “And he is our Prince Regent,” Sophie continued.

  “God help us,” Sir Frederick offered.

  “But, and I hope you don’t think this terribly unpatriotic of me, but could he…that is…do you suppose he might take after his father?”

  The men laughed outright at that.

  She smiled and tried not to squirm in her chair. King George was as mad as a hatter. A sad fact in and of itself, but the idea that the man who promised to pay her a fortune for spying on prominent citizens of London might be unhinged as well was truly disturbing.

  “Don’t look so frightened, Sophie,” Alex chuckled. “We promise not to denounce you for treason.”

  Sophie shot him a quelling glance for using her given name in front of Sir Frederick. He smiled innocently.

  “I don’t think Prinny’s mad,” Sir Frederick said, seemingly oblivious to the silent communication. “Just very, very eccentric and probably not overly bright.”

  “Actually, he’s fairly clever,” Alex commented. “But he has an alarming propensity for drowning his best attributes with spirits and laudanum.”

  Sir Frederick nodded and finished off his tea before standing. “It’s time I was going. Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Miss Everton. I hope I may call on you again? Excellent. Rockeforte, pleasure seeing you again.”

  “Sir Frederick.”

  Alex waited for him to leave before turning his attention to Sophie. “You look pleased with yourself.”

  Sophie gave a small smile. She was pleased with herself. Things had gone very well with Sir Frederick.

  “Care to tell me why?” Alex inquired casually.

  “Not really.”

  “I expected as much. Come for a walk with me.”

  “A walk?” She looked out the windows as if confirming something. “It’s raining.”

  “A light misting,” he countered.