Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03]

by Duke Most Wanted

  Poor boy.

  She ought not to feel bad for him. He’d never looked at her twice when she was poor, plain Sophie.

  Well, he’s looking now.

  It didn’t matter. She could never marry a pup like that.

  In the box the dress had arrived in, there had been a note from Lementeur. “Strike at the summit. Don’t wait for the fall.” In other words, don’t waste a moment.

  Cinderella only had until the stroke of midnight. Sophie’s breath left her at the realization that her own midnight might very well be nigh. Graham could even now be proposing to Lady Lilah. Time to stop wasting the evening on these silly boys.

  Where the blazes was Graham?

  Then Mr. Wolfe appeared in Sophie’s blurred vision. He bowed courteously, then leaned closer.

  “I fear I am underdressed for such an occasion,” he admitted.

  Sophie spared his attire a glance. He was rumpled and his neckcloth was far too informal. “Just a bit,” she said with a smile. Poor fellow. The fact that he found himself out of his element at such entertainments only endeared him to her more. The fact that the other younger gentlemen could scarcely hide their derision made her broaden her smile and bestow rather more interest on Wolfe than she truly felt.

  Mr. Wolfe brightened under her regard and seemed to lose his shyness a bit. “I had hoped to see Lady Tessa this evening. I fear I did not pay my due respect to her this afternoon, especially considering my business responsibilities to the family.” He flushed awkwardly and glanced away. “I was quite distracted.”

  A man who forgot to look at Tessa while Sophie was in the room? That was perfectly charming. Sophie tilted her head and smiled. “You flatter me, sir.” Then she waved a hand. “Tessa’s health is quite unpredictable these days, I’m afraid. Lady Peabody invited me to join her daughters under her chaperonage this evening.”

  Mr. Wolfe turned to gaze across the room at her ladyship, who was busily promoting her daughters to any and all gentlemen within the confines of the ballroom and not paying one iota of attention to Sophie. “I see.”

  Sophie took advantage of his distraction to glance swiftly about the ballroom. Where was Graham? Had he changed his plans and gone to Lilah’s? Was it even now too late?

  She turned back to find Mr. Wolfe gazing at her intently, that disturbing glint in his eye once more.

  “May I help you find someone, Miss Blake?” He seemed terribly eager to please. “Are you perhaps looking for your cousin, the duke?”

  “He isn’t my cousin, not really,” Sophie said swiftly. “Why, have you seen him here tonight?”

  Mr. Wolfe nodded calmly, but his eyes seemed full of dark excitement. “Indeed. I saw him entering one of the retiring rooms just a moment ago.” He gestured to the far corner of the ballroom. “Over there.”

  At that moment, the musicians began to play softly, guiding the guests back to their seats with a tune. If she wanted to search for Graham, she must slip away now.

  She curtsied absently. “Thank you, Mr. Wolfe. I am in your debt.”

  Her attention focused on the far doorway, Sophie made her way against the crowd. Even through her distraction, however, she imagined she could feel that dark intensity following her through the room, like the heat from a furnace on the back of her neck.

  IN THE CORNERS of Peabody’s ballroom, there were small chambers, hardly more than alcoves really, furnished with fainting couches and mirrors to check one’s hair, and doors to close on private moments. Graham had retreated to one in order to compose the perfect apology.

  Sophie had finally arrived. Graham had watched her serene parade from a corner. He’d smiled to himself when he’d realized that her dreamily haughty gaze was partly due to the fact that she couldn’t see a damned thing without her spectacles.

  He’d hesitated, unsure of how to begin to make up for his cruelty, at a loss to explain his conflict and confusion—and then the slavering hordes had descended. The moment was lost. He’d retreated to this quiet place, determined to find the right words to repair their broken friendship.

  Lilah, with the unnerving instinct of a predator, found him there.

  “Hello, lover.”

  He whirled to see that Lilah had her back pressed to the door, cutting off his escape. She slouched there, one hip cocked, her fingers toying with the edge of her shawl, stretching it out before her in a langorous manner. “You’re not kissing me yet,” she pouted.

  A pout on that beautiful, marble face was ludicrous. Graham fought back his repugnance. Lilah is going to save my estate.

  He let out a breath. “I thought you were going to wait for me at your house.”

  She shook one long-nailed finger at him slowly. “That’s not the correct response, my darling. You’re supposed to be thrilled to see me. You’re supposed to passionately pull me into your arms and kiss me like I’m the last drink of water in the desert.”

  She pushed off from the door and slinked nearer. “You’re supposed to beg my permission to do nasty, naughty, dirty things to me in this little room, with the entire world on the other side of the door. You’re supposed to apologize on your knees and promise never, never to keep Lilah waiting ever again.”

  Feeling very much like bait in a snare, he woodenly waited as she approached him. She slid her dainty, smooth hands up over his chest and around his neck.

  “Did you hear me, Grammie? I waited for you,” she murmured. “I was all creamy and damp from my bath and I waited naked in my bed, just the way you like.” She stood on tiptoe and snapped at his chin. He managed somehow to neither quite flinch away nor be bitten. Lilah liked to use her teeth as much as her nails.

  “But you. Didn’t. Come.” She emphasized her complaint with strategic tugs on his neckcloth. He allowed her to pull his mouth down to hers, where she promptly kissed him hard, hot and wet.

  There was a part of Graham that liked it. Or perhaps he was merely remembering liking it. Or maybe there was something of his louty, lusty father in him, for as Lilah squirmed enthusiastically against him, he managed to stir up a small flame of the old arousal.

  Yes, he was going to be all right, he realized with relief, ignoring the other, much larger portion of himself that claimed it was time to push her away and then wash his mouth out with a stiff whiskey.

  He was going to be able to use Lilah as surely as she was determined to use him. Equally gainfully. Equally blatantly.

  Equally reprehensibly.

  “Tell me I’ll be your duchess, Grammie,” she urged as she tugged at his clothing and her own. “Tell me that I’ll be the Duchess of Edencourt and that we’ll be the most fabulous couple in all of Society and we’ll throw the most magnificent house parties—” She paused in the middle of undoing his waistcoat. “Is Edencourt in very bad condition? I’ve heard stories that it’s gone a bit dirty and dingy with nothing but men living there.”

  Graham managed to not quite laugh. “Dirty and dingy,” he repeated noncommitally. If the rest of the world didn’t know the true state of Edencourt, it was more due to his father’s lack of hospitality than any real sense of secrecy. Still, best not to paint too grim a picture now, before he’d secured its future with the sale of his name.

  “I’ll be a good girl, Grammie,” Lilah promised, panting. “At least until you get a son.” She licked his lips. “The usual arrangement.”

  Abruptly, despite the general acceptance of just such terms amongst the ton, Graham found that he didn’t want the usual arrangement. His mother’s ring rested in his waistcoat pocket, ready to bring forth and offer to his betrothed. He imagined he could feel it between them, a small bit of gold-and-diamond armor keeping her at bay.

  Could he even imagine putting it on Lilah’s talon-tipped finger? She would sneer at such a paltry stone, no doubt. Yet what choice did he have?

  As Lilah pressed him back to fall onto the fainting couch and then climbed astride him, false passion aflame on her lovely face, Graham did what thousands of reluctant partners had done
before him.

  He closed his eyes and thought of England.

  THE USUAL ARRANGEMENT.

  Sophie felt her gut go cold. She’d seen Lilah slip into this little room and not come out.

  Needless to say, she’d found just the fellow she’d been looking for all evening. Her stomach roiling at the tangled limbs and skirts and long lustrous obviously false hair displayed before her, she waited.

  For pity’s sake, the two of them were so involved they didn’t even realize they’d been interrupted!

  Sophie couldn’t resist the urge. She went forth and yanked. Lilah’s fall came off in Sophie’s hand, along with a shower of pins and a few strands of Lilah’s real hair as well.

  Lilah’s screech mingled with the soprano’s aria. Sophie quickly kicked the door shut on the assembly outside.

  Lilah sprang off of Graham’s lap to turn on Sophie. “You?”

  “So sorry to interrupt, but I feared you were about to suffocate this gentleman with your ample breasts.” Sophie sent a vicious non-smile at Graham. “Good evening, Grammie.” Then she turned to Lilah and held out the fall. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Lady Lilah, but you’re losing your hair.”

  Lilah made a grab for it, but Sophie held it high.

  Lilah’s uncanny eyes narrowed. “I’ll make you sorry, you . . . you . . . whinnying nag!”

  Graham stirred. “Lilah, there’s no call—”

  Lilah turned on him with a snarl. “Don’t you dare defend her, you puling maggot—not if you want my money!”

  Sophie folded her arms, dangling the ebony tresses idly. “My goodness, Graham,” she said placidly. “Think of the years of wedded bliss before you.” She sighed dreamily. “Years and years and years . . . ” She tilted her head. “Then again, Lilah’s last marriage didn’t last nearly that long.” She smiled at Lilah. “Did it, pet? And we all thought he was such a healthy, vigorous man . . .”

  “Sophie,” Graham stood. “I’d rather you didn’t interfere—”

  But Lilah and Sophie had locked swords in earnest now. They ignored him.

  “A dead husband is better than never getting one at all,” Lilah said with a sneer. “I don’t know who you stole those gowns from, but when I get through with you, everyone in London will know what a common little piece of country rubbish you really are.”

  Sophie raised a brow. “I’ve made no secret of that.”

  Graham moved forward then to put a hand on Lilah’s arm. “That’s enough!”

  Lilah swung too quickly for him to duck. The crack of her hand on Graham’s face was shocking, but the faint trails of blood on his cheek from her nails made Sophie sick with fury.

  Stepping between them, Sophie advanced on Lilah until she loomed over the smaller woman. Even Lilah finally began to discern her own danger. Good. Sophie hadn’t been nearly as gently raised as the world thought.

  Now seemed the time and place to reveal that little fact.

  “Stay away from Graham,” she said, her tone easy but her eyes fierce. “You don’t deserve him. No one speaks to him the way you just did. No one—” she emphasized her point with a hard poke to Lilah’s shoulder “—insults or abuses this man ever.” She leaned close enough to whisper. “Stay far, far away, Lilah, or I will, with my own two hands, drag your pretty, privileged Mayfair arse from here to Brighton.” She raised her prize and shook it in the other woman’s stunned face. “By the hair.”

  It was astonishing how fast Lilah could move that privileged arse when she really wanted to. The door slammed on the musicale once more, leaving Graham and Sophie alone in the silence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Graham retied his neckcloth with hard, impatient jerks. “That was quite a display. For a moment there I wasn’t entirely sure you were faking.”

  He saw doubt flare in her cloudy-sky eyes. Neither was she.

  “It looked as though you needed rescuing,” she said, giving a careless shrug.

  He ran distracted hands through his hair to rearrange it. “I know you’re trying to help, Sophie, but Lilah is better than some insipid virgin bride!” He shook his surcoat out with a flap and shrugged into it. “The last thing I want is to take some inexperienced infant to wife!”

  He’d have to start all over again now. Lilah wouldn’t be likely to forgive such a humiliation, not even to be his duchess. His head spun in circles with his heart, confused. What a sight Sophie had been when she’d fought for him! No one had ever fought for him in his life! Disturbed and unsettled and, of course, being him, he said the wrong thing.

  “Duke to be had—cheap!—going fast,” he snarled.

  He saw her recoil, the disappointment plain in her expression. “But Graham . . . Lilah? No number of fine waistcoats is worth spending the rest of your life tied to that—that—canine!”

  Miserable, he gave as good as he got. “That’s easy for you to say. No one is giving me lavish garments for nothing!”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve been given gifts for approximately a week. You’ve been parasitical your entire life!” She threw out her hands. “God, Graham! When are you going to grow up? When are you going to realize that life isn’t a toy-filled nursery where no one cares what you break? Is that really all there is to you—a three-inch layer of self-indulgence and arrogance, wrapped around nothing at all?”

  Graham stopped short. “Is that how you see me?”

  She went mulish, her arms folded, her eyes furious. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  No, actually, there wasn’t. A careless man-boy, thoughtless and destructive. That was precisely who he was—or at least, who he had been.

  Sophie misinterpreted his silence and rolled her eyes scornfully. Only then did Graham see the dampness in them.

  “Soph.” He took a step toward her.

  She turned away, giving him her back as she swiped a secretive hand at her eyes. “Bugger off,” she snarled. “I’m going back out there to find someone who has more on his mind than money!”

  “You’ve turned into such a lady,” he teased softly. He made a grab for that hand and caught it. He tugged her around. “Sophie, don’t let’s be angry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She kept her face turned away. “I’m not upset. I’m just dead sick of you, that’s all. No time for this, I fear. Too many more important people waiting for me outside.”

  He drew her chin about with tender fingers. “Here now. You’ve mussed your fancy doings.” He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at her powdered cheeks, smoothing the lines of her tears away. “There now, all pretty again.” He dropped a quick, meaningless little kiss on her lips, so close to his own.

  Except . . . it wasn’t meaningless at all.

  SOPHIE FROZE AT the brief touch of Graham’s lips on hers. So did he.

  Time hung there, sweet and long, each unwilling to move away, unable to think or protest or do anything but stay.

  The little room was a haven, the gathering outside growing more distant with every pulse beat, the sounds faded and misted beneath the pounding of two hearts.

  When she inhaled, taking in the heat and scent of him, it was as though she breathed some of his life and vitality into her spirit. Suddenly nothing was to be feared, nothing was to be hidden. There was no one in the world but the two of them, and she reveled in that isolation.

  He was here and he could be hers. All she need do was reach out—

  His solid pectoral muscle flexed beneath her palm and she realized she already had.

  It was all he’d needed, it seemed, for in the next instant she found herself pulled roughly into his arms, against that rock-hard chest, into the circle of his scalding sexuality.

  She made no sound of protest, not even a gasp of surprise, for there was no surprise here. He was precisely as he ought to be and so was she, quivering for him, on fire for him—

  Willing.

  Nay, eager.

  It was so easy to let go that it made her doubt she’d ever held on. She slid both
hands up to lace them around his neck, moving slowly as if in a dream. He exhaled harshly at her voluntary embrace and she was ashamed of how much she’d held back from him. She vowed she would show him herself, in such a way he might never forget it.

  She twined her fingers through his hair gently, then tightened them. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Shh.” It was stunning how sure she was, how she knew just what to do. She’d never kissed before but she knew just how to tilt her head to make their lips fit just so. She went up on tiptoe, sliding her body slowly up his hard stomach and chest, making no attempt to hide her enjoyment of the sensation.

  He swallowed, hard. She felt the power surge through her, raw feminine power older than time. She claimed her seductress self, allowing her to well forth and play out the moment with slow, sure enticement.

  He waited, his jaw tense, his eyelids heavy with unexpressed desire. He hardened against her. She smiled slightly and rotated her hips to press the softness of her lower belly into his rigidity. A rocky shudder went through him and the cords of his throat throbbed, but he kept his silence, still pinned in place by her fingers entangled in his hair.

  He could have broken free, but Graham was finally in the place he’d dreamed of since . . . how long? Just this week—or for months?

  He dared not so much as breathe too hard, although he could be panting by now if he allowed himself. She was so innocently, wickedly sensual—this was not his careful, restrained Sophie. This was the woman who had fought for him, the woman who had stood fiercely between him and Lilah’s vicious insults.

  Then there was no more time for memory, there was only now, for she kissed him at last.

  Her lips were soft, her nipples were hard, her fingers in his hair causing him pain he would not have forgone for a thousand nights of heartless pleasure. She was the one. She had ever been the one. He’d known, in some place he’d never investigated inside himself, he’d known since the first time he’d rescued her from running into a wall.