“Indeed? How fortunate. Lord Montrose is a fine gentleman. He would make any lady an excellent husband,” Wesley commented, a false smile taking over his face.
“Ah yes, well. We shall see about that,” the Duke said. “All in good time. Nothing is decided, but I hold out hope that a union of our two families is imminent.”
Wesley looked up when the Duke said this, for it gave him perhaps the most important piece of information of the entire meeting. And that was that Lady Sophia was not yet engaged.
I still have a chance.
Wesley knew it was wrong to be thinking of another gentleman’s lady, but he felt better knowing it was Lord Montrose’s lady. He would practically be doing Lady Sophia a favor, saving her from a lifetime spent with the gentleman.
With renewed hope, he left the Duke’s study ten minutes later. He was smiling more than he had in days, and was so distracted with happiness that he nearly ran right into Lady Sophia.
Sophia’s luck had turned just minutes after the meeting between her father and Wesley had begun, for a footman had entered the library and informed her that the Earl of Montrose had sent a card. The card communicated his regret that he would not be able to visit her today, as he had been called away on some urgent business at one of his estates, and would not return for three days.
This, combined with another delicious glimpse of the Duke of Bersard, had been enough to brighten Sophia’s mood considerably. She had thought catching a glimpse of the Duke to be the only bright spot in an otherwise dull day, but now, with the rest of the afternoon uninhibited by stilted tea and conversation, she was free. Free to dive back into her books, free to fantasize about herself in the role of heroine and the Duke as her hero.
Indeed, Sophia found herself engrossed in her novels like never before. So engrossed, in fact, that she did not even see the Duke as he was walking toward her down the hall.
It was her own fault, she supposed, for walking with her head in a book, a packet of notes under it, but she found, once she picked it up, that she could not put it down. Page after page, the drama continued, and she simply could not bear the idea of walking to the dining room for luncheon without the story at her side, or in this case, in front of her nose.
Thankfully, the Duke saw her a moment before their bodies crashed into each other, and he reached out to steady her by the shoulders just before she walked into him, saving her papers from being crumpled by his hard chest.
The page she had just left off was still in her thoughts—a deep embrace between Countess Willoughby and her foreign lover—so for a moment, it was strange just how much her present situation mirrored the one contained in the pages her fingers were still gripping. She had left off with the Countess and her lover colliding together, the hero’s hands coming to her shoulders while she laid her own palms on his chest, which was shockingly exposed by an untied white linen shirt.
For a moment, Sophia almost wanted to close her eyes and pretend she was in the story herself, in the role of Countess, of course. She imagined tipping her head up towards his in anticipation of the kiss she knew was coming in the next line.
But then he spoke, and two things happened at once: her fantasy was ruined, and she jumped in surprise.
They had collided near the stairs, and Sophia was angled in such a way that when she jumped, her foot caught on the hem of her gown. She found herself tumbling backwards, her back nearly meeting the hard wooden bannister of the stairs.
It was only thanks to the Duke that she was saved from a severely bruised spine and a heap of embarrassment, for he reached out and brought her towards him, crushing her against him. In the process, he lifted her off her feet, and the sudden loss of contact with the ground had her hands flying up and reaching out for purchase, which she found by lacing her hands around the Duke’s neck.
Her papers fluttered to the ground all around them, and yet Sophia did not care a whit.
How can I care when I am in the Duke of Bersard’s arms?
Arms that were lean but strong as they encircled her, making her feel safer, more cared for, than she could ever remember feeling in all her life.
She could feel his skin beneath her hands where they were wound around his neck, and she found him to be warm, with soft, fine hairs tickling the sides of her hands. For a lady who had only moments before nearly embarrassed herself with a fall to her bottom, she was feeling surprisingly calm.
She felt slightly less so when the Duke opened his mouth and began to speak, for his voice was deeper than she remembered. It was like thunder rolling in from a far distance; she could practically feel the vibrations in her ribs, and it made her feel suddenly excited, suddenly aware of just how close they were.
It made her aware, too, of how untoward this all was, in his arms, her hands entwined around his neck. And yet still, she could not find it in her to care.
“Might I suggest that in the future, you put your papers down before you begin walking? You do not seem to be able to move and read very well at the same time,” the Duke said, a jesting smile quirking at the corners of his mouth, pulling his top lip further over the bottom one.
“Indeed, I don’t,” she said with a laugh.
“Is there a particular reason why you choose to walk around with your vision so obstructed?” he asked, and Sophia nearly moaned in displeasure as he dropped his hands from around her and stepped back, allowing a foot of space between them.
She felt the loss of his heat keenly, but she did not show it, focusing instead on answering his question.
“I was reading something I very much enjoyed. A novel. A romance, actually,” she told him. She knew she ought to have learned her lesson with Lord Montrose, clearly, she shouldn’t be telling gentlemen of her reading choices. And yet, the Duke of Bersard struck her as the sort of gentleman who did not judge a person based on their reading choices. Indeed, he seemed the sort of gentleman who might even enjoy the occasional novel himself. There was a sensitivity in his eyes, an understanding that Sophia found only came when one partook of books that discussed people and their interactions.
Novels taught you to feel, to understand the people around you, and she could see that gift of perception in the Duke. No doubt it was why she felt so comfortable around him.
“Ah, romance. A worthwhile thing to read, though it does give us a hope that we, who do not have the luxury of choosing our partners, can little take advantage of.”
How was it possible for this gentleman, this stranger, to say the exact thing she had been thinking for so many days, months, really? Was he a wizard, a mind-reader, a charlatan?
Or is he just perfect for you?
“It is my favorite thing to read. I know it is a fantasy, but I cannot seem to keep myself away from the stories. They are so…wonderful,” she told him.
He nodded as though he knew precisely what she meant. “The happy endings. Those, I think, are the true draw. Life has few of them, so we must gain ours from fiction instead.”
Sophia was about to ask the Duke what his favorite books were, and was sure that whatever answer he gave, it would, unlike Lord Montrose’s, be truthful. However, she was prevented from doing so by the sound of her father’s voice echoing down the hallway.
“Your Grace. Good, you are still here.”
Both her head and the Duke’s turned toward the sound of her father’s voice, and they watched as her father walked at his normal, unhurried pace down the corridor, a small sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Here are the notes from the previous committee meetings. Look them over, familiarize yourself with the details. That way you will be better able to contribute to the discussion tomorrow,” he said, handing the papers to the Duke.
The Duke reached out to take them, but Sophia’s father pulled them away suddenly when his eyes alighted on the novel and her notes scattered all over the floor.
“Oh dear, what’s happened here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the pages. “Lady Sophia, did you do this?”
/> Sophia opened her mouth to respond in the affirmative, but the Duke beat her to it.
“I’m afraid it is my fault the papers are on the floor. Lady Sophia was walking down the hall with them in her hand, and when I greeted her, she was startled. The pages went flying all about. It is entirely my doing,” he said to her father, though he sent her a quick, furtive gaze out of the corner of his eye.
“Ah well, sometimes these things cannot be helped,” Sophia’s father said.
The Duke nodded and bid them both farewell. The butler provided him with his coat and hat, and then he was gone, out the door and into the world. But though he had left the house, he had not left Sophia’s mind, and would not for some time.
Chapter 8
Wesley walked out of the meeting with the Duke of Wellingson and the rest of the gentlemen in the select parliamentary committee feeling good. Very good, in fact, which was odd. He had assumed that, having no previous experience with Parliament, he would make an absolute idiot of himself. To his delight, however, all those years of listening to his father talk about Parliament and foreign investments must have stuck.
He had found himself more than capable of adding to the discussion, and had even made a few points the gentlemen had jumped on, lauding him for his good thinking. In the end, it had been decided that they would put the bill forward in three weeks. Another meeting had been set up a few days prior to the submission, and Wesley had volunteered to meet with the Duke of Wellingson separately to go over the bill.
As Wesley walked down Pall Mall, he decided to take a turn into St. James Park. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and he could see a bench that was not occupied. He could sit in it and read his book, wiling away the final hours of the afternoon before dinner.
This splendid plan was ruined a moment later, however, when Wesley checked his pockets and realized he had no book.
This was an odd occurrence for him indeed, for he made a point of carrying with him always a small piece of literature. Often it was a book of poetry, in which he took secret pleasure. Sometimes it was traveler’s journals. The size of the reading material often mattered more than the subject matter itself, for his pockets were small and it was not becoming for one’s coat to bulge with literature.
Turning back toward the street, Wesley saw the awning for Marcum’s Bookshop.
It was not his favorite purveyor of literature in London; no, that title went to Smith-Gabriel’s. Its owner was a taciturn old bibliophile who let Wesley wander the shop for hours without so much as a word of assistance. In a world where so much of his day was taken up with chatter, Wesley found it blissful to be surrounded by nothing but silence. That, along with an excellent collection of translated Greek poetry, was exactly what Smith-Gabriel’s provided.
Marcum’s was, however, a passable establishment, and it would surely hold some volume that Wesley could purchase and spend the rest of the afternoon engrossed in.
Looking both ways so as to make sure he was not about to get trampled by a carriage, Wesley made his way across the crowded street. The sidewalks were packed with other Londoners out enjoying the fine weather. They were in fact so crowded that at first Wesley did not notice the familiar blonde coiffure in front of him.
It was not until he had entered Marcum’s minutes later, in fact, that he realized that the lady in front of him was none other than Lady Sophia.
His heart immediately took to beating an erratic rhythm and his palms began to sweat. Reaching up to tug at his collar, Wesley suddenly wished for a cold, blustery day. He was quickly becoming overheated, and entering the crowded bookshop was doing nothing to lower his body temperature.
He could not linger in the doorway, however, seeking out what little breeze there was, for more people were filing into the shop. Stepping aside, he sequestered himself into an alcove that was blessedly empty.
Turning around, he read the wooden sign that indicated what subjects the shelf covered. It became instantly clear why this section was empty when Wesley read the words, “Ships & Other Nautical Matters.”
Wesley had always loved adventure novels, but he hated when those stories got into the minutiae of a ship’s baser elements. He didn’t care about the construction of the vessel. He wanted to know what happened once it went into the water—who was its captain, its crew? To what far off, exotic places did they journey?
It seemed he was not alone in this opinion, since the whole of the section was deserted and covered in dust. Some of the books looked like they had not been pulled from the shelves for years, perhaps even a decade.
Still, this meant that Wesley had time to collect himself. He had time to shift his thoughts away from Lady Sophia. He rearranged his cravat, took deep breaths to steady his heart rate and breathing. Within the space of a few minutes, he was able to set himself to rights once again, and turn toward the store looking every inch the put-together Duke.
And then his eyes locked with hers, and all his efforts were for naught.
Those eyes…I’ve never seen the like.
It was impossible to maintain composure when those amber eyes were upon him. They stopped him in his tracks, forcing him to stand stock still even as he felt unknown forces pulling him toward her. It was as though his body was straining to be nearer to hers, to mimic that minimal distance between them from yesterday. When his hands had been upon her shoulders, her arms entwined around his neck.
A small set of stairs separated the front section of the store from the rest, and Wesley watched with rapt attention as Lady Sophia navigated these few steps with a grace and elegance befitting of a dancer. Her maid, carrying her wool cloak, eyed him with more boldness than he thought a maid should.
As she moved, the fabric of her gown moved with her, making it appear almost liquid as she floated through the air.
When she came to stand before him, Wesley was distressed to find out that she had, somehow, become even more beautiful in the last day.
Is that even possible?
Her eyes sparkled, her lips were a deeper shade of pink, and there was a plumpness to her cheeks he had not noticed before.
All these traits served to make him speechless before her, and he was relieved when she took over the task of starting the conversation.
“What brings you to Marcum’s today? Have you come for more of the—” she paused, leaning in toward him and lowering her voice, “—romantic stories we spoke of yesterday?”
Wesley laughed even as a thread of sensation made its way down his spine. That was what her whispers did to him. When Lady Sophia whispered, her voice took on a seductive quality that made Wesley feel drunk with desire. It was not a feeling he was particularly familiar with, but he liked it.
Very much so.
“No. Or at least, not specifically. I just finished meeting with your father at the club, and thought I would spend the rest of the afternoon in the park. I seem to have forgotten my book at home, though, and so I have come here to find my afternoon’s literary entertainment.”
“Ah, I see. Well, might we browse the shelves together?” Lady Sophia asked. She turned her head for a moment and Wesley saw her meet the eyes of her servant and chaperone.
“Erin, come along now, I am going to look for books with His Grace, over there in the fiction section,” she said, raising her hand and pointing towards the back of the store.
The maid nodded. “Very good, m’lady.”
Turning back to Wesley, Lady Sophia smiled and said, “Shall we adjourn to the back of the store? I do believe they have a new novel I have been dying to get a copy of, and perhaps you could show me some of your favorites. I am always looking for good stories on the recommendations of others. It is a tragedy that so few of my acquaintances read.”
“Well then, by all means allow me to assist you as I am able,” Wesley said.
As they walked through the store, Wesley felt various pairs of eyes falling upon them both. Belatedly he realized how odd it must look for Lady Sophia to be spending time
with him at all, let alone when she was being courted by another. But then, surely browsing for books could not be thought of as untoward?
It became clear fifteen minutes later that book browsing could indeed be of a highly scandalous nature if one did it in the company of a lady as beautiful as Lady Sophia. Fortunately, the presence of her chaperone made the moment entirely proper and scandal-free.
Every time she reached over to a shelf beside him, Wesley drew in a breath of the cloud of scent she emitted. Freesias and lilacs, flowery and sweet and intoxicating, just like the lady herself. Knowing such a personal detail about the lady had his body screaming with feeling. The heat under his collar returned, as did the prickling down his spine. His palms felt so slippery he feared he might drop a book the moment he picked it up, and he knew his cheeks were red.
They talked only of books, of their favorite and least favorite authors, of the best and worst things to read when one was sad. The conversations were banal in nature, and yet they felt so intimate. They talked of books, and yet in doing so, they also revealed themselves.
Addicted to a Rascal Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 7
