by Tarah Scott
“Like insisting you marry?”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Yes, like insisting I marry. But he would never send you away. He knows what you mean to me.”
Chapter Fourteen
The day of Lady Seafield’s ball arrived, and Sophie practically chomped at the bit to get out of the house. Even the prospect of being forced to dance with the loathsome Marquess of Monthemer wasn’t enough to make her stay home. Her father had kept her a veritable prisoner. She had been allowed to leave the house only once and that had been in the company of her father, her aunt and Beatrice for church.
If the marquess did not marry her, they were to return home three days hence. Sophie had no intention of returning home without at least one more adventure. She had received no word from Adam. Not that she had really expected to. He couldn’t know why she hadn’t met him the night they were supposed to go to the wharf, and he was too much of a gentleman to simply appear at their door. Still, she had hoped he might send a note to at least ask if she was well. Her only hope of seeing him was if he was in attendance with his master at Lady Seafield’s ball. The chances were slim, she knew. But one never knew.
After dinner, Sophie dressed in a violet-colored muslin dress with darker ribbon around the hem and sleeves. She had to admit the gown was beautiful. Beatrice wore a yellow muslin that complimented her creamy skin to perfection.
“Bea, I would not be the least bit surprised if you had to fight off the suitors,” Sophie told her.
She hid a smile when Beatrice’s cheeks pinked.
“Your father has insisted I come with you, miss. I will not be dancing.”
“Oh, pish, you will dance every dance, just as my father has insisted I must.”
“Two dances with the marquess,” Beatrice said.
Sophie shot her a narrow-eyed look. “I will step on his toes and make myself generally disagreeable.”
“He is handsome,” Beatrice said.
“So you have said. At least a dozen times.”
“You feared he was a snaggle-toothed old man. He is not. He is tall and very handsome.”
“I do not care if he is a Greek god,” Sophie retorted. “I will not marry him.”
“Your father might make you marry someone else who is not so agreeable.”
“Agreeable?” Sophie grimaced. “Nothing about the man is agreeable. I hear he’s difficult, and you remember that gossip about him and Lady Fleming.”
“That is terrible gossip.” Beatrice said.
Sophie couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman would allow the father of the man she claimed to love lose his fortune like that? Sophie had told her father the story only to find out he knew and didn’t believe the story painted Lord Monthemer in a negative light. That was men for you. They protected one another. Still, Sophie couldn’t prevent a pang of sadness for the marquess. His whole life had been before him. Then, poof! He’d lost everything, his fortune, his father and the woman he loved. That did explain why he wanted to leave Society.
Sophie scooped up her gloves from the bed, then nodded at the other pair still lying on the quilt. “Put on your gloves, Bea. You know how Father hates being late.”
They put on their gloves, and Sophie gave her hair a final look in the mirror. Beatrice had done a beautiful job of arranging Sophie’s hair in a fashionable chignon with soft curls that framed her face. She had tried to do the same for Beatrice, but Bea would only allow a simple chignon at the back of her neck. Still, Sophie privately thought her friend looked more beautiful than she ever had and believed she truly might attract the attention of some young gentleman. They would only be in town another three days, but Beatrice deserved to be worshiped by a lovesick swain.
They went downstairs and found Sophie’s father waiting at the front door for them.
“You look lovely, Sophie,” he said. “Beatrice, you, as well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Beatrice said.
Her father locked eyes with Sophie. “You will dance two dances with the marquess, and you will, above all, behave.”
“Of course, Father.”
“Sophie,” he said in a warning voice. “You will not dance with any other gentleman more than once. Lady Seafield has seen to it that your dance card is full.”
“I will dance with the marquess, but that is all,” Sophie said.
“Let me make myself clear,” her father said. “Your antics here in Edinburgh have proven to me that you need to be settled once and for all. Therefore, if you find a way to ruin your chances with the marquess, when we return home, I will marry you to Robert Barrett.”
Sophie frowned. “The pastor’s son?”
He nodded.
“You might as well damn me to purgatory. The man is a mealy-mouthed, self-righteous—” She floundered, at a loss for words.
“Prig?” her father finished for her.
Sophie glared.
He gave a single nod. “I am pleased to see we understand one another.”
Half an hour later, the carriage let them off in front of Lady Seafield’s home. Vehicles jammed the street, and they walked behind two other couples. Sophie linked arms with Beatrice as they ascended the stairs with her father and aunt to the third floor. When they reached the ballroom, Sophie was surprised to realize she was nervous. Not because of the party, but because tonight was the moment of reconning. If not for her father, she would be able to completely avoid the marquess, or at least brush him off after the obligatory first dance—for she hadn’t any intention of granting him a second dance. But that was not to be the case.
They were met by their host, and she and Beatrice were given dance cards.
“Oh, my lady, no,” Beatrice told Lady Seafield. “I am only here as Miss Shaw’s companion.”
Lady Seafield laughed. “My dear, you are far too beautiful to stand on the sidelines.”
“My lady, really—”
Lady Seafield waved a hand. “If I do not give you a dance card, fights are likely to break out for the privilege of dancing with you. I cannot have that.”
Beatrice blinked.
“Oh look,” her ladyship said. “Here comes your first partner now, Miss Frasier.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened, and she cast Sophie a pleading look. Sophie shrugged and didn’t quite hide the smile she fought.
A young man no more than twenty years old stopped beside them. “My lady.” He bowed to Lady Seafield, then faced Sophie and Beatrice and bowed again.
“Baron Kinley, may I present Miss Beatrice Frasier.” Lady Seafield angled her head toward Beatrice.
Sophie was silently pleased when the young man’s eyes lit with pleasure.
“Miss Frasier, a pleasure to meet you,” he said.
Beatrice extended a hand—as Sophie knew Beatrice had been trained to do at Miss Childer’s School for Young Ladies in Inverness.
The baron grasped her hand and bent over her fingers. Beatrice blushed, and Sophie realized she’d been thoughtless to have not seen before now that her friend was lonely.
The music ended and Sophie quickly helped Beatrice tie the small string attached to the dance card around her left wrist, then watched as the baron lead Beatrice to the dancefloor. The orchestra began a country dance, and Beatrice and the baron became lost in the sea of dark suits and flared silk and taffeta.
“She does not know how beautiful she is, does she?” Lady Seafield asked.
Sophie chuckled. “No, my lady. She has not the slightest idea.”
“I would say the same of you.”
Sophie tied the string on the dance card around her left wrist. “I have endured enough male attention to know I am beautiful.”
Lady Seafield lifted a brow. “Endured?”
“Sometimes, that is the case.” She leaned close. “But not always.”
“Exactly,” the older woman replied. “Ah, I believe I see your dance partner. He is late.”
Despite knowing this partner was not Lord Monthemer, Sophie’s heart began to beat fas
t, and she looked in the direction Lady Seafield stared. A man of about thirty years of age nodded to a man to his right, then his attention shifted onto Sophie. He was very handsome. Tall, fair haired with broad shoulders. A perfect companion for a dance or two. Nae, only one dance, as her father ordered. Maybe.
The gentleman reached them and bowed. “Lady Seafield. I beg your forgiveness in being late. Miss Henshaw took a fall and sprained her ankle, and I was obliged to help her to her carriage.”
“How gallant of you,” Lady Seafield said, but Sophie thought she detected a touch of sarcasm.
“Hardly, ma’am,” he said. “It was my fault she tripped. Helping Miss Henshaw to her carriage was the least I could do.”
“You will have to explain that to me in more depth—later. For now, if you wish to claim any part of your dance with Miss Shaw, you had better get onto the dancefloor.” Lady Seafield faced her. “Miss Shaw, this is Mr. Gilroy.”
He bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Shaw. Would you do me the honor of finishing the dance with me?”
“Of course.”
He winged an arm, and Sophie nodded at Lady Seafield, then allowed him to lead her onto the dancefloor. Mr. Gilroy turned out to be an excellent dancer, and Sophie found herself quite out of breath and ready for something to drink when the song ended.
“If you will give me a moment, Miss Shaw, I will fetch us some lemonade,” he said.
Sophie would have preferred champagne but nodded and thanked him. He quickly disappeared in the crowded ballroom, and she wondered who her next partner would be. She opened her dance card to see if Lady Seafield really had filled every dance as her father had said she would.
“Lord Monthemer may be handsome, but he’s still a pirate,” said a woman behind Sophie. The woman spoke in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the din so that Sophie instantly realized they intended that she hear.
“And penniless,” replied another woman. “Can you imagine a penniless pirate?”
So, word had finally leaked out that she was Lord Monthemer’s victim. She rolled her eyes. She knew society in Edinburgh loved to gossip, but she hadn’t expected to be the center of gossip here as she was in Invergarry. Sophie faced the two women. They weren’t quite as young as she’d thought. She would guess them to be at least three or four years older than herself.
“Ladies,” she said.
They both blinked as if startled to see the one person who shouldn’t have overheard their conversation had been eavesdropping all along.
“We all know that gossip is usually more lies than fact,” Sophie said. “How much of the rumor that Lord Monthemer was a pirate is truth?”
The ladies glanced at each other, clearly surprised that Sophie had confronted them.
“Have no fear,” Sophie said. “I would appreciate the truth.”
They exchanged another look, then the shorter of the two looked around before leaning closer to Sophie. “The news is contributed to a young sailor who said that Lord Monthemer paid his men well to remain silent. The young man said the marquess didn’t turn pirate until near the end of his career as a naval officer.”
Sophie started to reply, then stiffened when a man brushed against her backside. She snapped her head to the left, but the so-called gentlemen didn’t even look back, but continued through the crowd.
“Gentlemen who use a crowded ballroom as an excuse to touch a woman should be shot,” she muttered.
“Yes,” the shorter of the women agreed.
Sophie returned her attention to the women.
“My brother will happily oblige,” the taller woman said. “He loves any excuse for a duel—and hates men who take advantage of women.”
Sophie laughed. “Nae, let us not risk your brother’s life over something so trivial.”
“It’s not trivial at all,” the woman replied.
“Never mind that for now,” Sophie said. “If Lord Monthemer turned pirate, why isn’t he in prison?”
“Lord Monthemer’s father was very powerful,” the shorter woman replied.
“I heard Lord Monthemer paid his father’s debts,” Sophie said. “A pirate doesn’t pay debts.”
“Oh yes, everyone knows he paid his father’s debts,” the taller woman said.
Sophie caught sight of Mr. Gilroy scanning the room, two glasses of lemonade in hand. She thanked the ladies, turned, and headed toward the other side of the room. The orchestra began playing again, and two couples in front of her hurried to the dancefloor. She rounded two men and came face-to-face with a broad chest. Sophie took a quick step back and glanced up. Adam MacAlister stared down at her.
Chapter Fifteen
Adam’s hackney turned onto the street where Lady Seafield’s townhouse was located. Carriages lined the well-lit street. The hackney stopped in front of a carriage parked in front of the townhouse, and Adam opened the door and jumped onto the street. He tossed the driver his fare then rounded the carriage to the sidewalk. Light shone from every visible window of the four-story home and music seeped through the walls into the night. Lady Seafield’s ball was always a crush. This year was clearly no exception. He strode up the walkway, then up the three stairs to the front door. The footman standing at the door bowed slightly, then opened the door for him. Adam murmured thanks, then followed another youth up a flight of stairs.
The music grew louder as they ascended, and they reached the next floor to wide open doors that revealed a large ballroom nearly bursting at the seams. The footman bowed, then left Adam in the doorway. Adam surveyed the room. Attaching himself to a woman who lied wasn’t worth the money. He would find a way to survive without her father’s money. If he could finance another stallion and begin racing this year—and win—that would give him some much-needed funds. His banker John Bateman knew personally that he was debt free. John had handled most of the transfer of funds to Adam’s father’s larger debtors. Surely, John would extend him a loan?
Was forcing Sophie Shaw to face him and admit she had known all along who he was worth spending even a moment in this hot, stuffy room?
Someone clapped him on the back, and Nicholas and Alistair stepped up alongside him with their wives.
“Adam.” Nick grinned.
Adam ignored him and looked at the woman. “Ladies.” He bowed.
They both smiled.
“How nice to see you, Adam,” Charlotte said.
“And you, ma’am,” he said.
“I hope you are saving a dance for each of us,” Olivia said.
Adam angled his head. “Of course. A dance with each of you ladies will be the highlight of the evening.”
“I should hope not,” Nick said.
Adam continued to ignore him.
“Shall we go in?” Olivia said.
“After you.” Adam stepped aside.
Nick entered first with Olivia, then Alistair said as he passed with his wife, “I had nothing to do with this.”
That, Adam could believe, and he couldn’t help a laugh.
After one turn around the ballroom, and many greetings, Adam finally caught sight of Beatrice. Or, more accurately, Sophie Shaw. Her back faced him and she seemed in deep conversation with two women. Adam worked his way through the crowd as quickly as possible, and she turned toward him as he reached her. Her head snapped up and her eyes widened when they met his.
***
Sophie’s heart thudded and all she could think of was Adam’s warm hand covering her throbbing sex in her dream.
“Good evening,” Adam said.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted.
He lifted a brow.
“I mean, I—that is, I hadn’t expected to see you here.” If her father talked with Adam and learned she had pretended to be Beatrice—
“Come, let’s dance.” He grasped her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm.
“I have a dance card, and this dance is promised to”—she didn’t know who the dance was promised to—“to someone else.”
“I feel certain he will not mind.”
They reached the dancefloor, and Adam pulled her too close and stepped into what she realized was a waltz. Her father would throttle her. She had no intention of capitulating to her father’s demand that she marry, but to purposefully anger him would not help her cause.
“You look quite lovely tonight,” Adam said.
She started at the sound of his voice and missed a step. He yanked her close and executed a sharp turn around another couple. The crush of her breasts against the hard planes of his chest caught her off guard, and she tried to push away. He lifted her feet from the floor for the remaining seconds of the turn, then deftly set her feet back onto the floor in perfect time to the music. Her heart pounded and she feared she would trip again. Adam held her close, and she gave thanks when she stepped into the rhythm.
“You are an excellent dancer,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” She winced at the shrill demand in her voice.
He lifted a brow. “You are not happy to see me? You did not meet me the other night, as planned. I was worried.”
She forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I am very sorry. My—my mistress was ill.”
“Indeed?” he replied.
Sophie nodded. “Yes. I would have sent you a note, but I don’t know your direction.”
“It was kind of your mistress to allow you to attend the party.” He directed them around another couple, then dodged a second couple who came perilously close.
“She is very kind that way.”
Sophie caught sight of her father talking to another man. If he turned even a little, he would see them. She told herself not to worry. Her father would take Adam to be one of the many men Lady Seafield had arranged for her to dance with tonight.
Still, she wanted very badly to put distance between Adam and herself. He held her scandalously close, and that would not please her father. Another horrifying thought struck. What if Lord Monthemer saw her dancing with Adam? That would chase him away—which was good—but he would likely tell her father why. That, she realized, she could live with much more easily than her father trying to force her to marry the marquess.
