by Tarah Scott
“Miss Shaw,” Lord Emerson began, as the carriage lurched into motion, “I—”
The door swung open, and another man leapt inside.
Sophie blinked. “Mr. MacAlister?”
“MacAlister?” Lord Emerson frowned.
“Forgive the intrusion,” Adam said. He looked at Lord Emerson. “How are you, Vance?”
Lord Emerson’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of game is this?”
Sophie started to ask how they knew one another, but Adam looked at her and said, “I could ask the same thing. Do you know Lord Emerson?”
She liked Adam—perhaps too much—but this was downright rude. “Our friendship does not entitle you to these personal questions, sir,” she said, and wondered if he thought the kiss they’d shared entitled him to intrude upon her business. “What are you doing here?”
“Yes,” Lord Emerson said. “What are you doing here?”
“The same thing Lord Emerson is doing,” Adam replied.
Lord Emerson gave a small nod. “I am simply seeing Miss—”
“Really, Mr. MacAlister,” Sophie cut in before Lord Emerson could say her name, “you are being rude.”
He locked eyes with her. “You mean rude, as in when a lady sends a man to fetch her a drink, then she disappears.”
She shot him a narrow-eyed look, then turned to Lord Emerson. “Sir, it is one in the morning. Long past my time to retire. You are taking me directly home?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Then you won’t mind my accompanying you home along with Lord Emerson,” Adam said.
It wasn’t a question.
“I mind,” Lord Emerson muttered. “I wished to speak with the lady alone.”
Before Sophie could reply, Adam shook his head. “Why would she want to be alone with a pup like you?”
Lord Emerson scowled. “You are but five years older than my five and twenty.”
“Five more years to learn what a woman wants,” he replied without rancor.
Sophie’s mouth fell open.
Lord Emerson looked at her. “We are old friends, are we not?”
“Old friends?” she repeated. “We have not seen one another since I was sixteen.”
“I was a mere boy then,” he replied in a low voice.
“What?” she blurted.
Adam laughed. “Is that the best you can do, Vance?”
Lord Emerson’s expression darkened, and Sophie half expected him to draw a pistol and shoot Adam.
Lord Emerson moved from the opposite seat to sit beside her. He traced her cheek with a finger.” What of me now? Am I a mere boy?”
She swatted his hand away. “You are being ridiculous.”
Adam banged on the carriage ceiling. “You are walking home, Vance.”
The carriage came to a halt.
Lord Emerson gave a harsh laugh. “This is my hired carriage.”
“This is now my hired carriage. Get out,” Adam said in a voice that seemed to be made of steel.
“The lady promised the ride home to me,” Lord Emerson said with equal grit. “Make an appointment with her for another time.”
Adam held his gaze. “Perhaps I should play a game of cards with her? As you did?”
Lord Emerson’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Adam threw open the door. “Either get out or I will drag you out.”
Lord Emerson leaned back against the cushion. “Let us take the lady home then resolve this problem.”
“There is no problem to resolve,” Sophie cried. “You are both being ridiculous.”
Adam seized Lord Emerson by the lapel and shoved him out the door. Sophie yanked up a slippered foot and shoved Adam’s backside as hard as she could. He tumbled out the door nearly on top of Lord Emerson.
“Drive on, Driver! Quickly!” she shouted.
Adam caught himself and stumbled three paces. He spun, and in the dim lamplight, she glimpsed the startled look on his face in the instant before she yanked the door closed. The carriage lurched into motion at a quick pace. A shout went up outside, which she thought came from Lord Emerson.
Sophie yanked back the curtain. Lord Emerson had taken several steps in the direction of the moving carriage. Adam, however, stood just within the small circle of light cast by the streetlight. She couldn’t see his expression, but he’d crossed his arms over his chest. Lord Emerson spun to face him and shouted something she couldn’t discern. Adam turned and began walking down the sidewalk.
Sophie arrived home and went straight to her room. She was thankful to find her family and Beatrice hadn’t yet returned. Sophie stripped off her dress. She had no idea what had gotten into Adam—or Lord Emerson, for that matter. She understood the two men were vying for her attention, but they’d acted like children. She would never have believed Adam capable of being so…so silly. He hadn’t been silly when he’d kissed her. She shivered. Oh, she had gotten herself into a mess this time. If only Adam weren’t in Lord Monthemer’s employ. Her heart sank. Nae, that was not the only problem. She could never use him to force Lord Monthemer to decide against marrying her. She liked Adam, and he seemed to like her. To use him would be cruel.
She added two logs to the low burning fire in the hearth, then crawled beneath the cool sheets. Memory rose of Adam’s warm sure hand on the small of her back as he’d expertly guided her around the dancefloor. The warmth of his mouth on hers, the taste of him.… How long had it been since a man had touched her with such surety? Never.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie awoke to morning sunlight pounding onto her face She was certain the blinds had been closed when she’d gone to bed. She blinked and discerned a figure near the window. Sophie turned her head the other way.
“Close the blinds, Bea, please,” she begged.
“Up, my girl,” her aunt said. “We have much to do today.”
Sophie snapped her eyes open and turned her head toward her aunt. She faced Sophie, the sun streaming in through the window behind her.
“Aunt Maddie? What time is it?”
“Eight,” Maddie replied.
“Eight?” That was early even for when she was home in Invergarry. “I went to bed late. I need more sleep.”
“We are going shopping today.”
“Not more dresses?” Sophie groaned.
“Your father has much more than dresses planned for you today,” her aunt replied.
Sophie turned onto her back and closed her eyes. “He is angry I left the party. I sent a note telling him Lord Emerson was kind enough to bring me home.”
Lord, if her father knew how that ride had gone….
“Indeed, your father was very angry that you left the party—especially in the company of one of the most eligible young men in Edinburgh,” her aunt said. “But his mood shifted dramatically when he received the signed marriage agreement from Lord Monthemer this morning.”
Signed marriage agreement?
Sophie bolted upright. “What are you talking about?”
Her aunt crossed to the table near the armoire where sat a tray with a silver coffee pot two cups and saucers and a few pastries. Maddie poured coffee in the cups, then added sugar and milk to both and brought one of the cups to Sophie.
Sophie accepted the cup, then set it on the nightstand. “What are you talking about?”
“Where is the confusion?” her aunt asked. “Lord Monthemer has accepted the terms of your marriage.”
Sophie stared. “But— How is that possible? You said it was but eight in the morning. When did this happen?”
Her aunt seemed to consider. “I believe it was about three o’clock this morning.”
“Three o’clock this morning?” Sophie cried. “That—that is ridiculous. Who decides to sign a marriage agreement at three o’clock in the morning?”
Maddie shrugged. “A man who feels there is no time to waste, I imagine.”
“I don’t understand. What in heavens name made him do it?”
“Someone else?” she repeated. “Who?”
“Why Lord Emerson, of course.” Maddie sat on the edge of the bed. “Very clever of you to have Lord Emerson drive you home last night.” She leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Nothing makes a man want a woman more than when another man wants her.”
“You cannot be serious,” Sophie whispered.
But her aunt couldn’t have been more serious.
Fifteen minutes later, Sophie sat in the chair opposite her father’s desk, the signed marriage agreement in hand.
She looked up at him. “How could you do this?”
“Why are you surprised? You knew full well that you came to Edinburgh with the express intent to get the marquess to agree to marry you.”
Sophie set the agreement on the desk. “That was your plan. Not mine. I will not marry him.”
“There is no good reason not to.”
“No good reason not to?” she exploded. “There are half a dozen good reasons not to. He is a pauper.”
“I thought you cared nothing for how much money a man had.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It is not that he has no money, it is that he is marrying me strictly for my money.”
“My money,” her father corrected.
“He is a pirate,” she snapped.
“I have never known you to listen to gossip.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “This is more than gossip. It is well known he turned from buccaneer to pirate. It would not surprise me to discover the Crown intended to arrest him.”
Her father laughed. “Sophie, you are not prone to dramatics. If he was a pirate, where is all the money he stole from the Crown?”
“Exactly!” she cried. The man cannot manage money.”
“Why would a pirate pay off his father’s debts?”
“Now who’s listening to gossip? You don’t know that he paid off a single debt.”
“When have you known me to be a fool?” he asked. “Of course I know he paid off his debts.”
She shot to her feet. “I will not marry a man just so you can say your son-in-law is a marquess.”
Her father’s mouth thinned. “I had no idea you thought so little of me. But never mind that,” he added before she would reply. “Will you marry a man to ensure your well-being?”
She stiffened. “I do not need a man for that. I am tolerably good with money and will not squander your money when you are gone.”
“I see. When do you think this might be?”
“Not for some time, if we are fortunate,” she said with more of a bite than intended. “If I had no money, you would have reason to worry. But I am not destitute. I have a brain and will do quite well.”
“You will be alone,” he said.
She scoffed. “That is better than being with the wrong man.”
“I like Monthemer,” her father said. “He will give you children and care for you.”
“Children are a bother.”
“I cannot argue with that,” he muttered. “But I do not need to argue. He has signed the marriage agreement. It is settled.”
Sophie threw her hands up. “This is Scotland. I do not have to marry him if I choose not to.”
He leaned back in his chair. “You will refuse to give me grandchildren?”
Guilt pricked. There had been a time she wanted children. But marriage to Matthew had crushed that desire, and she hadn’t been able to resurrect it.
“Perhaps you should remarry and have more children,” she said. “You are not yet too old.”
He scowled. “I am not so weak-minded as to fall for that line of drivel. I will not have you grow old alone.”
“I have Beatrice,” she said.
He pinned her with a stare. “Would you have her give up the love of a good man and children just to keep you company?”
Sophie blinked. She hadn’t given any real thought to Beatrice’s future. How had she grown so selfish? Beatrice deserved happiness. But that didn’t mean Sophie had to marry a man who only wanted her father’s money. She looked at the marriage contract. The heading read:
Clarke and Osborn Esq.
They would know where to find Lord Monthemer.
Sophie returned to her room to find Beatrice stoking the fire. Beatrice turned as she entered and clasped her hands in front of her.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night, Bea?” Sophie asked.
“It was very kind of Lady Seafield to include me in the festivities, miss,” Beatrice replied.
Sophie might have been able to argue her father’s logic that Beatrice wanted a young man, if not for the heightened color in her cheek. She had clearly enjoyed the male attention she’d received last night. In truth, Sophie didn’t need Beatrice to confirm that fact. Sophie had seen her on the dance floor last night. Beatrice had tried to hide her feelings then, as she was now, but she had glowed.
Sophie sat on the chair near the window. “Lady Seafield is very kind to have included you in the festivities.”
“Your aunt said she is taking you shopping today.” Beatrice went to the armoire and began looking through Sophie’s clothes.
Sophie had been a fool to see a future with just Beatrice and her. Her father was right, of course—at least on that score. How did she feel about being alone for the rest of her life? She didn’t know. She was still young. Might she meet someone who made her want to remarry? Adam rose in memory, tall, ridiculously handsome—and childish. Perhaps not childish. Lord Emerson had been forward. Any more forward than Adam had been in the garden? Her insides gelled with the memory of his warm mouth on hers—and his hard body pressed so intimately against hers. What a shame Adam wasn’t in the market for a wife. Or was he?
Heaven help her. She’d lost her mind. She had to stay on track.
The way she saw things, she had three problems. How to convince Lord Monthemer that he didn’t want to marry her. Find Beatrice a nice young man. Then Sophie would deal with her father once she convinced Lord Monthemer he didn’t want to marry her. But Lord Monthemer had decided he did want to marry her—sight unseen. She found that strange, but everything about the man seemed strange.
Instead of convincing Lord Monthemer that he didn’t want to marry her, she had to show her father that the marquess was not the honest, upstanding man her father thought him to be.
The day dragged on. They were to attend a dinner that night with a group of Aunt Maddie’s friends. No doubt, Sophie’s father and aunt would announce Sophie’s engagement to Lord Monthemer and by morning the news would be all over Edinburgh. There was only one way to put a stop to her father’s schemes. She had to marry. If she was going to be forced into marriage, it wouldn’t be with some old man who wanted her only for her father’s money and whose touch was probably even colder than Matthew’s had been.
She had given the matter thought. She couldn’t hurt Adam by using him to make Lord Monthemer think she was a loose woman, but she could marry him. Adam was being let go, and he seemed to have no other prospects. At least she knew she could tolerate him. Tolerate him? She still hadn’t been able to push from her mind the memory of their kiss. It had been one kiss for goodness’ sake. Adam certainly wasn’t the first man she’d kissed. Though Matthew hadn’t once kissed her with such passion. How was that possible? Matthew had kissed her…. She thought back. Before they had married, Matthew had wooed her in what she had—at sixteen—thought to be the most romantic way a man could woo a woman. He’d read her poetry, sent her glances filled with longing and had stolen a handful of quick kisses that left her certain they would share endless nights of passion.
On their wedding night, he’d treated her as if she was made of porcelain. She’d thought that meant he was initiating her into the intimacies between a man and a woman with tenderness and consideration. As it turned out, he simply knew lit
tle about women and didn’t care to learn. The promised passion never materialized, and their kisses quickly became less frequent. It had taken a little while, but Sophie had come to understand that her husband chose her not because of any particular affection or even because she was beautiful. He had chosen her because her father was wealthy, and she was too inexperienced to know Matthew was a fortune hunter.
Was she making the same mistake with Adam? Was he skilled at making women believe he knew how to touch them? Or was she so desperate for the touch of a man she would so easily be fooled again? Nae, the latter definitely wasn’t true. After Matthew’s death, she had given men little thought. Why, then, did the memory of Adam’s kiss make her heart beat faster and the juncture between her legs throb?
Adam was nothing like Matthew. At least that much she could be sure of. She and Adam didn’t love each other. Sophie was startled at the small prick to her heart the thought elicited. She liked Adam much better than she had ever liked Matthew—and she was certain she liked him more than she ever would the fortune hunting Lord Monthemer.
Now all she had to do was find Adam and propose. He would understand her deception, surely? After all, how many women pretended not to have money? If he agreed to her proposal, they would marry immediately and consummate the marriage before her father knew she had eloped. A mental picture flashed of Adam, his long, lean body over hers, as he drove into her. Her heart thumped. God help her, she was still that sixteen-year-old girl who believed in passion.
Chapter Eighteen
Adam sipped deep of his brandy, then balanced the glass on his abdomen and dropped his head back onto the bed pillow. The liquor reached his belly, and warmth began to spread through him. He was glad he had decided to accept Mrs. Eldridge’s offer of staying at her home for the weekend house party. He was growing tired of the boarding house.
A short rest would refresh his mind, for this evening he faced Sophie Shaw, his future wife. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Her ridiculous plotting had gotten her into this mess—and had made him realize she had some grit. She hadn’t tried to play him against Emerson last, but had called Adam rude and Emerson ridiculous, then left them standing on the street. With that swift kick to Adam’s arse, she had gained his respect. Many a marriage had been built on far less.
