Wesley learned that Lady Sophia felt awkward and shy around others, often resorting to babbling when she was nervous. She felt the pressure of society weighing heavy upon her, something to which Wesley could of course relate.
“I often find books more palatable than people. Present company excepted, of course,” she told him with a slightly sheepish expression.
“I don’t think I fit in well with the rest of the ton. When I was a child I often wondered if I was a changeling. Perhaps the real Lady Sophia is out there somewhere in the forest, living like an animal. And here I am, meant to take her place, but ill-equipped to do so.”
“I am quite certain you are not the only person of noble birth to feel that way,” Wesley told her with a small smile.
I certainly have done.
Sophia walked out of Marcum’s with her arms loaded down with books. So many, in fact, that she had to enlist the help of a footman to assist her and Erin in ferrying her purchases back to her family’s townhouse.
It was the Duke’s fault, really, that they were all so loaded down with books. He had offered her so many good recommendations. It was the first time in Sophia’s entire life that she had met someone else that shared her love of reading. It could be said that she had been a little overenthusiastic as a result, buying ten more volumes than she had planned.
But can one ever have enough books? I think not.
When she approached the townhouse’s front door, she was greeted by the butler, who took one look at the books piled in the footman’s arms and paled.
“Good afternoon, m’lady,” he said, nodding at Sophia.
“Hello, Williams,” Sophia said to the butler as she ascended the steps. She was hoping to get to the library before her mother and father saw her and her purchases, which had required all of her pin money for the week. And it was only Wednesday.
Luck, it seemed, was not on her side, however. As soon as the door was shut behind her, the sound of her father’s footsteps could be heard echoing down the corridor. He appeared a moment later with his usual expression of apathy, which quickly transformed into one of shock when he saw the pile of books.
“Lady Sophia, please inform me that these are not all your purchases,” her father said, with what she knew was a barely restrained eye roll. He tolerated her purchase of the occasional book but he had long ago placed a limit on her. She could buy no more than one book and one serialized fictional piece per week. Any more, and she risked being relieved of her pocket money for the rest of the month.
“Too much fiction is bad for the mind, my dear,” was his reasoning, which Sophia put no stock in. Surely more books were better, whatever kind they were? But then again, her father never partook in anything beyond the newspapers, so he would little understand the allure of a good story.
“Er,” she mumbled. How exactly was she going to explain going thirteen books over her weekly allotment?
Before she could think of an appropriate lie, however, a knock sounded at the door. Williams jumped to open it, revealing the sight of the Duke.
“Your Grace!” her father exclaimed, stepping away from Sophia to execute a bow to the Duke. “How good to see you again, and so soon.”
The Duke followed with his own bow, and when he stood, Sophia was treated to a sly wink from him before he turned back to her father.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I was at Marcum’s this afternoon when Lady Sophia entered, and I fear I convinced her to buy a great many more books than she ought to. It is so rare that I find someone else as enamored with reading as myself. I got carried away, and in the process I believe I accidentally left her to travel home with one of my titles,” he said, bowing his head like a child awaiting punishment.
“Ah, oh. Well, these things happen from time to time. I do hope you were able to convince my daughter to partake in some forms of literature outside her usual favored genres, however. I have told her time and time again that fiction is bad for the mind. It is entirely lacking in logic, which is of paramount importance to those of us who lead, or will one day lead, households and estates,” her father said.
“Indeed I did. There are histories in this pile, and a few epics as well. I know they are fiction by nature, but the political philosophy they contain ought to be, in my opinion, required reading for anyone who plans to ascend to a position of power. Including ladies, if I may be so bold as to add,” Wesley said.
Sophia was so shocked she could not speak. No one spoke so boldly to her father, and yet, when she looked at him, she saw a queer expression on his face. It almost looked like…a smile. A true smile! Of mirth, of enjoyment! Impossible.
Never, in her eighteen years, had she seen her father smile. But it appeared that two days of knowing the Duke of Bersard had taught the gentleman the art of the expression.
I could kiss the Duke for that alone.
When Sophia looked at the Duke, she was treated to a saucy wink before he turned back to her father and said, with a bow, “Your Grace, I am so sorry, but I must beg my leave from you. My mother expects me home for tea, and I do not want to worry her.”
“Of course, of course. You cannot keep the Dowager Duchess waiting,” Sophia’s father said, and she watched as he gestured for a footman to take the books into the library. The Duke gave Sophia a last, lingering look before giving a short, swift bow and walking down the hall and out of the house.
“A good gentleman, His Grace,” her father told her as they watched the butler close the door after the Duke’s departure.
“Indeed, I cannot help but agree,” Sophia said. And she did. The Duke of Bersard loved books, including romances, shared her insecurities, and had managed to make her father, the least emotional gentleman in London, smile. He was a very good gentleman, indeed.
If only Lord Montrose could be half as good.
Chapter 9
“My Lady, you are looking exceedingly beautiful this evening. You far surpass the rest of your peers,” Lord Montrose told Sophia as they finished their dance. It was their second of the night, and Sophia knew they were garnering more than a few looks as a result. There were meddling mothers and whispering young ladies stationed at the walls of the ballroom staring at her curiously.
She knew what they were thinking.
“Only a matter of time before he proposes!”
“Oh, what a fine couple they make!”
“Her first Season, and she has already caught the eye of the finest gentleman of the ton! Such luck!”
If only Sophia could tell these ladies she would happily give up Lord Montrose to anyone who asked. Anyone, any lady at all, who liked the look of him. She would be more than happy to be rid of him and his incessant chatter.
Sophia had never found dancing particularly easy. She was not naturally blessed with grace of movement, and it took real concentration for her to remember the steps of each of the dances at a given ball. Therefore, she needed her partners to be silent, so that she could focus on the task at hand.
Lord Montrose, however, seemed incapable of silence, or anything remotely approaching it. Every single moment had to be filled with words, no matter how inane.
Does he talk to himself? In his sleep, when he is alone? Does his mouth ever stop moving?
“Lady Sophia,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. He had led her off the dance floor and deposited her by the refreshments. For this, at least, she was grateful. Biting her tongue, tamping down her frustration and concentrating on her steps for the last hour had made her fiercely thirsty, and she could see there was still some ratafia left.
“Hm?” she mumbled in response, reaching for a glass and pouring herself a good, thirst-quenching dose of the sweet punch.
“I wondered if I might—”
Sophia looked up to find him paused mid-speech. It became clear why when she looked to her right and saw the Duke of Bersard standing there.
“Your Grace!” she said, nearly spilling sweet red wine down her pale gold gown in surprise.
“Lady Sophia,” he said, executing a bow that showed off the fine cut of his coat and tails. “A pleasure to see you this evening. I am coming to inquire as to whether there are any dances left on your card.”
“B-beg your pardon,” Lord Montrose said, seeming to have regained the power of speech. “But I was just about to…”
“Offer her to another partner? Well done, Lord Montrose,” the Duke said. His tone was jesting, but there was an undercurrent of threat in his tone.
Lord Montrose seemed to immediately pick up on this, and shut his mouth before stepping away. He held out his hand, welcoming Sophia and the Duke to take their spots on the dance floor.
“My Lady. I am sure I will see you again later in the evening, and of course tomorrow. We are going riding in the park, you know,” he said to the Duke in a boastful tone.
“Indeed. I hope it does not rain,” the Duke said with a simpering smile as he took the glass out of Sophia’s hands and put it back on the table. Then, ignoring Lord Montrose, he threaded her arm through his and led her out onto the dance floor.
“I was terribly rude back there, I fear,” he told her a quarter of an hour later when the first dance had ended.
“Well,” Sophia said, not wanting to lie, but not wishing to insult the Duke, either.
Luckily, he saved her from either.
“No, I was. I do not know what came over me. I saw him with you, and suddenly had the rather beastly idea to steal you away for myself,” he told her with a sheepish smile.
“Thank you. I was in need of stealing,” she said. She would not insult the Earl, not in front of the Duke, but she hoped he would glean her meaning from the few words she allowed herself.
Looking up at him, she saw understanding in his eyes, accompanied by a wry smile playing at those plump lips of his.
“Are you enjoying your books? Have you started any of the Greek translations yet?” the Duke asked her as they began to dance the next set.
“Oh yes. I love them. I don’t mind telling you I was rather unsure about them. I used to read histories and epic poems as a child, back when I didn’t know there was any other literature available to me. Since I discovered romances, however, I confess I have not picked up anything historical in nature. But these translations, they are so unlike any of the boring tomes in my father’s section of the library. They are so poetic. So dramatic. The language is so beautiful, I find myself marking half the lines on each page,” Sophia said.
She had spent the whole of the previous day tucked into a chair in the library devouring half of the Odyssey. She was so enthralled she had not even stopped for lunch, and had only come up for air, as it were, when the clock struck for dinner. She was late to the meal, and when her mother begged for her reason why, all she could say was, “I had to wait for Odysseus to come home.”
Her mother had looked at her like she was Medusa, with snakes coiling all over her head, and hadn’t spoken to her for the rest of the evening. Which had suited Sophia just fine, since she had her book to get back to.
“I’m glad you like them. I so rarely get to recommend books to anyone. The few friends I have made in Parliament this week seem to love gambling above all other things. Except your father, of course,” he amended quickly.
Sophia laughed. “My father would never touch the tables. He does not like anything that is in any way uncertain, spontaneous, or fun. Which is why he is trying to marry me off to someone so boring, I expect,” she said.
She slammed her mouth shut a moment later, for she had not meant those words to come out. She hadn’t meant to show the Duke her inner thoughts. It was untoward, improper. No one was supposed to know just how odious she found her future betrothed.
And yet when she looked into the Duke’s eyes, there was no judgement there, no censure. Rather, there was empathy.
“You deserve someone who appreciates your mind and body, er, I mean, your actions. Which you do with your body,” he said. His face reddened with each word, and by the end of his statement he was looking truly flustered.
A moment later, he mistook his footing, grabbing onto her hand and nearly sending them both tumbling to the floor.
Gasps rang out from the sides of the ball, and a shout from the master of ceremonies had the music stopping and a number of people rushing forward to help steady Sophia and the Duke.
“Your Grace, My Lady, are you all right?” Lord Stilton, the ball’s host asked, his hand hovering near Sophia’s elbow in case his assistance was needed.
“Er, yes. It was my fault. I took a wrong step,” Sophia said to save the Duke his pride.
He looked at her in gratitude as he shook off the helping hand of a nearby baron and stood up straight.
“Why don’t I find the lady a place to rest?” the Duke suggested.
“Of course. But of course. There is a drawing room just down the hall. The door should be open, and I do believe there is a fire lit within,” Lord Stilton told the Duke. “I will have the butler escort you both.”
Turning to Sophia, Lord Stilton said, “Please, My Lady, take as much time as you need to recover. I will send for a chaperone immediately.”
Sophia smiled at him kindly and allowed the Duke to once again take her arm in his, leading her toward the doors where a butler awaited them.
They were led down the corridor to the drawing room, which did indeed possess a roaring fire and, Sophia was delighted to see, many comfortable seating options. She might not have been quite so tired as she had made out to the master of ceremonies, but her feet did need a rest. Four sets in a row was far too much for her, it seemed.
“I am so sorry, Lady Sophia. Please forgive me for embarrassing you,” the Duke said, as he settled her into a chair by the hearth. He dragged a footstool toward her and, leaning down, picked up her feet and placed them atop the small cushion.
Sophia tried not to notice the slight tinkle of his fingers against the soft, sensitive skin inside her ankle. No one had ever touched her there before. No gentleman had ever even seen her ankles.
Thank God we are alone.
“You did not embarrass me, Your Grace,” she told him, fighting to keep her voice steady. His hands were still on her ankles, his thumbs rubbing soft circles over the small circular bone there.
“I was rather hoping for a respite from the dancing, so in fact, you saved me. And now we are alone in this lovely, cozy room, away from all the chatter and gossip. At least for now, until my chaperone makes their appearance,” she said, looking around.
She immediately regretted mentioning the chaperone. She did not want to ruin what short time they had together, alone, with mentions of decorum and societal dictations. She wanted, just for a little while, to forget about all that.
The room was done up with burgundy red walls which were decorated with pictures of long-dead ancestors of Lord Stilton’s, an Earl and the owner of the house. The ancestors all had pinched expressions on their faces, glaring down from the walls at Sophia like they were judging her. Like they knew precisely what she was up to, and they did not approve.
I will have you know I am being perfectly behaved and entirely proper, she told one particularly sour-looking maiden looking down at her from a portrait over the mantle.
But Sophia knew this was not true. Perfectly behaved, proper ladies did not willingly inhabit rooms with gentlemen and no chaperones. They certainly did not delight in the feel of a gentleman’s fingers on her leg. Proper ladies did not wish that gentleman would slide his fingers further up her leg, tickling the fine hairs of her inner thighs. Proper ladies did not want that gentleman to lean in and kiss them with the passion and love of a romantic hero.
Perhaps I am not so proper after all.
“Yes, we are alone, for now,” the Duke said, and in the low light of the room, his eyes appeared the deepest green, like the leaves of an oak tree in the height of summer. His pupils were so large they blended into this green, making it nearly impossible for Sophia to look away from him.
She was so focused on those eyes that she did not hear his words. She only felt his hands as they continued caressing the skin of her ankles, making her feel more alert and alive than ever before. It was only when he cleared his throat, suddenly breaking her trance, that she realized words had been spoken.
“I…I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I did not hear you,” she told him.
“I asked you if you are comfortable, being alone with me. Away from everything else. Because I fear I must tell you, Lady Sophia, I am too comfortable with the concept. I am afraid I could stay hidden with you in here for the rest of the evening without once missing the music and the mayhem going on just down the hall. Without once giving thought to either of our reputations, or the risk we are taking.”
Addicted to a Rascal Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 8
