“I am not interested in arguing semantics with you, Sophie.”
“That’s another evasion. And should you be interested, wars are fought over semantics.”
“I am not at war with you. This is a disagreement, not a battle. And I apologize for insulting you.”
He looked like he wanted to add a sarcastic little “happy now?” to the end of that apology, but to his credit, he held his tongue.
“Thank you,” she replied sincerely, albeit a little primly. “Forgiven.”
“And forgotten?”
“Not yet. I’m not sure I’ve milked it for all it’s worth,” she said with a small teasing smile.
Alex accepted her overture of reconciliation with a smile of his own.
They rode a while in thoughtful silence. Sophie thought of all the ways she could shore up that wall she envisioned earlier between her and Alex.
Alex thought of all the ways he could bring down that wall Sophie seemed so intent on erecting between them.
They were nearly to her house when he suddenly transferred to the seat beside her and took her hand in his. “I will respect your wishes as you asked, Sophie. However, I ask that you respect mine as well.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And what might those be?”
“You retain the right to rebuff my advances as you see fit, and I retain the right to make them whenever I can.”
She made a face of patent disbelief. “The two are hardly compatible.”
“But doubtless the combination will prove entertaining.”
“I don’t think—”
“You needn’t worry. I’ll not embarrass either of us by acting like one of your lovesick swains…hauling cartloads of flowers to your door and the like. I merely wish for us to spend some time together—go driving in the park, dance at the balls, visit some museums, that sort of thing.”
“I’m still not sure…”
“You needn’t worry I’ll scare off your beaux, either,” he stated impatiently. “The attentions of a duke will only increase your appeal, not diminish it.”
She hadn’t thought of that. A little healthy competition might be just the thing to speed things along. Unfortunately, there was the small problem of Alex’s possessive tendencies.
“That might be true in the case of some dukes. You, however, tend to behave rather, shall we say, territorially?”
Alex grimaced, then sighed in the manner of one much put upon. “I hereby vow not to frighten off any young gentlemen—”
“Or old.”
He shot her a look of annoyance. “…not to frighten off any gentlemen who should choose to further their acquaintance with you, unless specifically asked to do so by yourself, or in the event that you are in immediate danger of harm.”
“Physical harm,” she amended. “I wouldn’t care for you to use that particular loophole every time I look like I might possibly be a little exasperated.”
“Good Lord, you are a natural-born barrister.”
“Yes, becoming a barrister was my second choice after ambassador. Sadly, both professions remain elusive to me. Now, finish the promise, if you please.”
Alex groaned but capitulated. “I promise not to frighten off any gentlemen who should choose to further their acquaintance with you unless specifically asked to do so by yourself, or in the event that you are in immediate danger of physical harm,” he recited dutifully.
She nodded along, then added, “Or serious social harm. I suppose that would be all right as well.”
“I’m not repeating that ridiculous promise again.”
“Of course not, it’s not as if you won’t be finding every possible excuse to get around it already. I simply meant that, should you choose to save me from social ruin, I won’t hold it against you.”
“How thoughtful,” he drawled. “You are a veritable fount of generosity,” he said wryly. In reality, he was already plotting ways around his impromptu vow. He still thought the old battle-wound tic had merit.
“I certainly try,” she returned pertly.
“Are we agreed then? Shall we respect each other’s wishes in this matter?”
“I’ll agree to spend some time with you, Alex. It’s not exactly a chore, is it? But I don’t promise to spend all my time with you.”
“Of course not,” he replied, mentally scratching the idea of working around his promise by keeping her too busy for it to become an issue.
“Then I agree to the arrangement.”
“Excellent. I suggest we seal the pact with—”
“A handshake?” she offered helpfully.
His gaze tracked down to her lips. “I was thinking of something a bit more binding.”
“A handshake is customary, I believe.”
“But hardly in the spirit of our little contract.”
“I think this argument might be in the spirit of our little contract,” she grumbled.
He couldn’t argue with that, so he ignored it. “I was thinking more along the lines of—”
“A blood oath?” she tried.
“What? No, a kiss. Where do you get these ideas?” he asked in bemusement.
“I believe I am allowed to rebuff your advances as I see fit.”
“You’d prefer a bloodletting over kissing me?”
“Well, it needn’t be a large cut,” she pointed out reasonably. “A minor pinprick would suffice. I have a hat pin in my reticule that will do nicely.”
Sophie reached into her bag and retrieved an implement that looked, to Alex at any rate, more like a lethal weapon than a clothing accessory. She waved it in front of him with a flourish.
“Here we are.”
He dropped her hand. “You have succeeded in ruining the moment.”
“What a pity.”
“Round one goes to you,” he said without rancor.
“I thought you said we weren’t battling.”
“As you’re brandishing a dagger, I’ll own myself wrong.”
“Well if we’re to spend any time together, you’ll have to get used to it.”
“The hat pin?”
“No, being wrong, as you will invariably be whenever we argue.”
“I am duly warned. Put the pin away, Sophie.”
She eyed him assessingly. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea just yet.”
“Perhaps not, but we’re about to arrive at your front door.”
“Oh!” She replaced the hat pin in her reticule and began making futile attempts to straighten her disheveled appearance. “Thank you for everything, Alex,” she said sincerely, if a bit distractedly.
“It was my pleasure. Shall I see you tomorrow then?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, slapping at the dirt on her skirts. “I may have other plans.”
“What a flatterer you are.”
She crammed her mostly crushed bonnet atop her head and tied the ribbons in a limp bow beneath her chin. “How do I look?”
Bedraggled, wrinkled, dirty, mussed and heart-wrenchingly beautiful.
Alex took her face in his hands and kissed her. He didn’t have time for anything more than a brief but passionate pressing of his lips to hers. But it was enough to heat his blood and render her breathless. He nipped her bottom lip playfully, then kissed her gently on the brow.
“I thought you said I had ruined the moment,” she whispered.
“You had,” he replied, “but only for a moment.”
Seventeen
Sophie sighed and stared listlessly out the parlor window. For the last week she had attended every dinner, soiree, picnic, ball, and musicale that had promised even the smallest chance of interaction with one of her “Listed Gentlemen,” as Kate and Mirabelle had taken to calling her matrimonial candidates. To the delight of her suitors, she had diligently played the role of adorable twit at each event. And at each event she grew increasingly tired and disheartened by the charade.
Prior to coming to London, Sophie had participated in less than a dozen social o
ccasions in her life, and she had been excited by the prospect of everything a season in London had to offer. But not like this.
She had never wanted to be an actual debutante. She just wanted to see them.
Now that she’d had the opportunity to do both, she was more than ready to move on to more pleasant endeavors. Thanks to her cousin, however, moving on wasn’t an option. She had to continue to act the insipid miss and catch a suitable husband. The trouble was, the more ardent her suitors became, the less confident she felt about her plan to marry one of them.
She didn’t want to be the wife of a man who thought all women were just pretty keepsakes to be bought or won. She felt guilty for deceiving them about who she really was, saddened by the realization that she would forever lose any chance of having a real husband and family. And she was overwhelmingly depressed by the certainty that she would never, ever, even if she lived to be a widow, feel as happy and free in the company of a man as she did in Alex’s.
Of course, she’d had precious little opportunity to challenge that certainty. She’d caught only glimpses of him since they’d struck their odd little deal in her carriage last week. A peek from across a ballroom before he’d disappeared with her cousin into the card room, a distant view of him in Hyde Park riding alongside Lord Thurston and Lord Calmaton.
She’d have thought he’d forgotten her entirely, a notion that brought both relief and terror, but two nights ago she’d settled into a seat at the opera, trying very hard not to think of the last time she had been there, with Alex, when she’d felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. She turned her head and there he was, ignoring the small crowd of people in his box and just…looking at her. She’d felt herself blush and he’d sent her a smile that was no smile at all. It was a long, slow, wicked grin. And it sent her blood racing. She wanted his arms around her again, his lips against her mouth, at her throat, his hands roaming, taking. She wanted the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him.
She ached, quite simply ached, with wanting him.
And it wouldn’t do.
“Why the long face, miss?”
Licking dry lips, Sophie glanced up to see Penny setting a tray of refreshments on a side table. The young girl had been exceedingly helpful since Sophie took over the town house. Penny knew everything about the staff. Who did what, who worked best with whom, who should never be in the same room with whom. She’d even found James, the butler, after the first butler had opted to leave with Lord Loudor. She’d make an excellent house keeper one day. If Sophie had the resources, she would have given the maid a well-earned raise by now.
“It’s nothing, Penny. I’m just not used to all this rain, I suppose.”
“It is dreary, isn’t it?” Penny remarked, taking a quick glance out the window. “I find it helps to spend some time in the garden now and again, to remind me of all the good rain does. Think of the lovely blooms you’ll have, miss.”
“You’re right, Penny. The flowers will be lovely. Thank you for cheering me up.” The thought of a colorful garden wasn’t really sufficient to improve Sophie’s mood, but it seemed unkind to say so.
“Why did you need cheering?” asked a male voice from the doorway. Sophie jumped, hoped fervently her reaction hadn’t been noticed, and turned in time to see Alex enter the room and claim a seat. He was immediately followed by Sophie’s butler, looking harried but determined.
“The Duke of Rockeforte!” James announced breathlessly.
“Yes, thank you, James.”
“I wish he’d stop doing that,” Alex grumbled as the man took his bow and left.
In an effort to appear mildly amused rather than suprised and imprudently delighted at his sudden appearance, she pasted on a smirk. “You tried to outrun him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and an undignified spectacle it was too, racing past your manservant like a twelve-year-old boy.”
“I could have told you it wouldn’t work,” Sophie informed him. “I specifically instructed him to announce your arrival regardless of the fuss you might make. I’ve noticed how much you enjoy extra attention.”
Alex just snorted.
Penny did an admirable job of smothering a giggle. “Will you be needing anything else, miss?”
“Thank you, no. You may take the rest of the day for yourself if you like, I won’t be going out to night.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Sophie watched her maid depart, then turned a critical eye to her guest. True to his word, Alex hadn’t brought flowers, candy, or poetry. Sick to death of the vapid conversation she’d been forced to endure with other gentlemen, Sophie was forced to admit she would have welcomed Alex today with open arms if he had come bearing a basket full of poisonous asps. She was that desperate for a respite from her exhausting charade, and Alex provided the first chance she’d had for one in days.
Kate had left for Haldon Hall, her family’s country estate, to assist her mother with the final preparations before their house party, and Mirabelle had reluctantly gone to her uncle’s for a short visit. Sir Frederick’s company had allowed for some mea sure of relief, but he seemed rather preoccupied with personal matters of his own and made only sporadic appearances at events. It seemed terribly unfair that the one gentleman on the list she actually liked was the one she saw the least.
“You’re woolgathering, Sophie.”
“Hmm? Oh, so I was.”
“You haven’t answered my earlier question. Why did you require cheering?”
He asked the question lightly, but she noticed the careful way he studied her face. She kept her voice and expression shuttered.
“Just the weather,” she remarked with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“You’re lying.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Why would you say that?”
“If I told you how I know, you’d take more care in the future and I’d lose that particular advantage, wouldn’t I?”
“I believe I was inquiring as to why you thought you knew I was lying, not how you knew I was lying, which would imply that I actually was lying.” And if that tangled mess of words didn’t distract him from his original query, she rather thought nothing would.
“I’ve no interest in deciphering that, let alone responding to it. Just answer the original question, if you please. Why did you require cheering?”
Damn. She should have known that tactic wouldn’t work on him. She tried not saying anything at all, but Alex quickly filled the silence.
“You’re not going out to night,” Alex murmured thoughtfully. “You’re not ill, are you?”
“No, I’m not ill. I’m just tired. Am I not allowed to have a bad day?”
“Of course you are. I’m just curious as to why today receives that particular distinction.”
Sophie slumped in her chair. She simply could not think of a way to answer him without lying.
“Did something happen this morning?” he asked. “I ran into your Mrs. Summers in the park this morning. She mentioned you had a pleasant time last night…said you looked happy.”
She hadn’t been happy last night. She just hadn’t been miserable, at least not until the very end. She’d attended a large dinner party at Mr. and Mrs. Granville’s Mayfield home. The only affair of the week that had not claimed a single one of her suitors as a guest. That alone had made the dinner more pleasant than most.
She’d accepted the invitation because Mr. Granville was on her other list—the one of possible traitors given her by Mr. Smith. She’d enjoyed an evening of good food, and surprisingly good company considering the host was a possible Napoleon sympathizer. And, once again, she had done her duty by sneaking about his house and slipping into his study while the ladies went to the drawing room and the gentlemen stayed in the dining room to enjoy their port. And once again, she had come up empty-handed.
To make matters worse, she’d returned to an animated discussion about the Duke of Rockeforte and Lord Thurston. Both of whom, it seemed, had been
recently heard at White’s making a solemn pledge to remain unmarried until the age of forty. Lord Loudor had acted as witness.
The evening had lost a good deal of its charm after that. No matter that she’d known all along that Alex wasn’t wooing her as one does a wife, to hear his intentions so plainly spelled out pinched at her heart. She could have done with the illusion that the idea of marriage to her had at least crossed his mind.
In the parlor, Alex continued to speak in spite of her obvious reticence. “Last night aside, I haven’t personally seen you truly enjoying yourself at a single event you’ve attended.”
“Not every event I’ve attended included you.”
“True,” he replied. But most of them had; she simply wasn’t aware of it. He’d wanted to give her some degree of space. A chance to come to him for help with what ever was eating at her. And, he could acknowledge to himself, a chance to miss him, just a little. “But I’ve been present at a few, and at every one you made certain to surround yourself with the same group of men with whom you have nothing in common. I’m willing to wager that has something to do with your current dissatisfaction.”
“Alex, we’ve been over this.”
“But I’ve yet to receive a satisfactory explanation for your behavior. You evade, you equivocate, and you lie. I want to know why.” He leaned forward in his chair and leveled a hard look at her. “Why are you so determined to encourage the attentions of men you don’t care for?”
“They’re only white lies,” she grumbled. “And I only make them when you press me for information I’m not ready to give.” She didn’t bother denying his correct assessment of her feelings toward the Listed Gentlemen, not when he could so easily tell when she was lying. She studied his face a moment, and in her mind’s eye she saw herself confiding in him, heard him offer his help…as a protector, or worse, as a matchmaker. Her stomach rolled at the thought, and she sat up straighter, lifted her chin.
“That’s an evasion,” Alex pointed out.
“It happens to be the truth. I’m not discussing this with you, Alex. You can either accept that and we can move on to far more agreeable topics, or you can leave, but I’ve no intention of squandering the rest of my afternoon arguing with you.”
As Luck Would Have It Page 17
