“Oh, it’s lovely,” she said, looking up. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re quite welcome.” The woman stood there for a moment, looking at her expectantly.
With a sinking feeling, Sophia forced another smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have a gift to give you in return, my lady.”
Lady Stanley smiled again, the expression not reaching her eyes. “I didn’t expect one. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you, Lady Stanley.”
When she walked away, Sophia sat back. “That was … curious.”
“Has she ever even spoken to you before?” Cammy whispered, her expression quizzical.
“Mostly just to insult me.”
“A discussion for later,” Keating broke in, producing a small box from his pocket and handing it to Camille. “Happy Christmas, my love.”
With a glance at her husband that Sophia couldn’t even begin to decipher, Camille grinned and opened the box. From inside she drew out a stunning necklace of pearls and a matching pair of ear bobs. “Oh, Keating, it’s lovely,” she whispered, handing him the necklace and leaning forward so he could fasten it around her throat.
“As are you.”
Camille moved to the edge of her chair and kissed her husband. It was terribly scandalous to do such a thing in public, but Sophia didn’t mind. She looked down, studying her fan, until the two separated again. That was what she wanted. That moment when no one in the world existed but that single, vital person.
“Here you are, Sophia.” At Camille’s gesture, Keating reached behind his chair and produced a large hat box, which he handed over to Sophia.
She took it, pulling off the lid, and lifted a very pretty straw hat trimmed with a sprinkling of green and yellow straw flowers and matching ribbons. “It looks like springtime,” she said, and hugged her friends. “Thank you so much.”
“Happy Christmas, Miss White,” another voice came, and she looked up once more.
This time it was Eustace, Lady Wallace, and she tensed. “Happy Christmas, my lady,” she said cautiously.
“I purchased you a gift.”
What is it, a poisonous viper? Sophia wondered, but took the object wrapped in neat white paper. Because Lady Wallace seemed to want to watch, she swiftly opened it—and pulled out a beautiful pair of white kid gloves edged with pearl buttons.
“My lady, this is too much,” she protested, looking up again.
“Just a small token,” the marchioness returned, and was gone into the crowd again.
“Be certain they aren’t poisoned,” Keating advised in a low voice.
“That was my first thought, as well,” she returned, setting them atop the hat box.
Within the next ten minutes she’d received eight additional gifts, all from people she knew despised her: a pewter ring box, a necklace with a single faux emerald on a silver chain, another fan, a warm fur muff for her hands, a porcelain vase decorated in the Japanese style, a pair of diamond ear bobs, a silver calling card holder actually engraved with her initials, and a set of lovely blue teacups. Each one was more than she could afford to spend on herself, and each gift-giver waited to watch her open the present—and until she had to say that she had nothing to give in return.
Evidently Lady Wallace’s new plan was to kill her—or at least terribly embarrass her—with kindness. No one else had as many gifts as she did, and no one else received more attention. It was certainly a unique way to be cruel.
Adam finally made his way from the other side of the room to their group. Udgell and two footmen trailed behind him, the butler bearing unopened gifts, and the footmen with boxes and sacks of presents clearly meant for the duke. Very nice presents. Sophia glanced at the small paper package still by one foot. A gift not fit for a duke.
“Happy Christmas, Blackwells, Miss White,” he drawled, shaking Keating’s hand and kissing first Camille’s knuckles, and then hers. He squeezed her fingers for just a heartbeat, and then released her again. “I come bearing gifts. Or rather, I come with people bearing gifts.”
Udgell handed him a large bag, which he in turn gave over to Keating. From inside Keating removed a finely crafted leather bridle, the fastenings covered with highly polished silver. At the same time, Keating motioned at yet another footman, who approached with a silver-trimmed hunting saddle for Adam. “Evidently we had the same thought,” he said, grinning.
“Well done,” Adam returned, running his hand along the saddle. “Walsall made?”
“I wouldn’t have bothered bringing it if it wasn’t,” Keating said dryly. “We’re not even for everything you’ve done for me, but this makes us closer.”
“I’ll accept that.” Adam took another package and handed it to Camille. “And for you, my dear. I have faith in your good taste despite your choice of husband.”
“And now we’re even closer to being even,” Keating rumbled.
Laughing, Camille opened the small box, to reveal a very pretty pearl pin. “Pearls! It’s perfect.”
“Keating said something about you liking pearls, and anything but a necklace. I hope this suffices.”
“It does. Quite well.” She stood up and kissed him on the cheek.
Adam glanced at Sophia, then took another package from Udgell and handed it over to her. “And a little something for you, Miss White. Happy Christmas.”
“The same to you, Your Grace.” Before she lost her nerve, Sophia reached down for the last present and handed it to him. “And something for you.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieting as he took the gift.
She wondered if he was worried it would be something to show their connection, and if he would open it or not for that reason. But then he pulled off the bow and opened the paper. An intricate weave of blacks and grays and browns crisscrossed one another along the length of the scarf. It had nearly left her crippled and blind, but she’d finished it.
“You made this, didn’t you?”
Sophia nodded, waiting for the knowing snickers from somewhere behind her, saying that of course she’d made it. Why else would it look like that? But the timbre of conversation didn’t alter. Hm. That was at least as odd as the tremendous number of valuable gifts she’d received.
He draped it around his shoulders. “Thank you. I shall treasure it.”
Whether he meant something additional or not, she decided that attempting to decipher any of his comments now would be a very poor idea. And so, trying not to let her fingers shake with anticipation, she opened the box he’d given her. Moving the paper aside, she revealed a lovely green and yellow scarf that matched her new hat. A scarf.
“It’s a scarf,” he said helpfully. “Camille showed me the hat, and I thought something to match would be nice.”
A scarf. In terms of value, it was likely the least expensive of the gifts she’d received today. In terms of importance, she couldn’t remember ever mentioning scarves in his presence, or him in hers. In other words, it meant nothing to either one of them. Of course she’d also given him a scarf, but at least she’d made it herself.
“It’s lovely,” she heard herself say. After all, he’d already given her dresses and saved her life. What the devil had she expected? A wedding ring? Diamonds? Those were the things she would never receive from him, because firstly she was to be married to someone else, and secondly because she couldn’t be purchased.
With his toe, he nudged the stack of other gifts she’d received. “Where did these come from?”
“From Lady Wallace, and Lady Hayforth, and oh, everyone. They were very kind to me. I feel terrible that I didn’t purchase something for them in return.”
Something very dark crossed his face and then was gone again. He lifted an eyebrow. “Purchase something for them with what? Everything you brought with you washed down the river, as I recall,” he stated in a carrying voice. “The fact that you managed to find the materials and then knit a scarf”—he glanced at Keating who was making some sort of motion—“three sc
arves, is extremely impressive. As is the craftsmanship.”
Whether he was attempting to explain her circumstance or thank her too vehemently for a knit scarf, she didn’t know, but she didn’t particularly like either conclusion. “Thank you again, Your Grace,” she said, standing. “Udgell, would you mind helping me bring my new possessions up to my bedchamber?”
The butler immediately squatted down and picked up a stack of gifts. “Of course, Miss Sophia.”
Though Cammy sent her an uncertain look, Sophia smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Are you staying in for luncheon?”
“I believe so.”
“Then I’ll see you in a bit.”
She curtsied at the room in general and walked out. On the one hand she’d gotten some very nice, if impractical, gifts that she could sell to put a little more money in the bank. On the other hand, the man she adored, the man she couldn’t wait to see every night and hated to part from every morning, had given her a present that was only slightly more meaningful than a doorknob.
If he’d given Lady Caroline something as stupid as a scarf, she would eat it. No, she couldn’t have him, and no, they didn’t have anything close to a lasting relationship, but he might have found … something that meant something special. Just between the two of them. Happy Christmas, indeed.
* * *
“Really, Greaves? A scarf?”
Adam stiffened and turned around. Aubrey Burroughs stood close to the center of the room, where of course everyone couldn’t help noticing him. “Are you complaining that you received a pocket watch, Burroughs?” he asked. “I can more than likely find you a scarf, if you wish one.”
“Actually what I mean is you couldn’t have found a gift to more obviously show your disinterest in the chit if you wanted to. Trying a bit too hard, aren’t you?”
Aubrey Burroughs was a dead man. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have you been drinking again?”
“I’ll admit, she isn’t your usual sort, but for Christ’s sake, Greaves. She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t your mistress. We all know that. So why bother with the cheap and cheerful gifts?” He gestured at Eustace, who sat with a smile absolutely pasted on her otherwise still face. “Your sister and her friends know the truth, or they wouldn’t have showered her with so many pretty trinkets. Why haven’t you bothered to tell your own friends, so we’ll know to keep our hands off? I nearly went after her myself, you know.”
Damnation. Adam had evidently fallen into a hole made by his own cleverness. And now, there they were. But how much did Burroughs actually know, or was it all bluster and supposition? Grateful now that Sophia had left the room, he kept his relaxed stance, though he felt anything but easy on the inside. “I did invite you here, Burroughs, and we both know I had no ulterior motive for that. She’s a friend, as I’ve said before. Just as you are.” Or were, anyway.
“You see?” Burroughs returned, clearly playing to his rapt audience. “The more you dissemble, the more we want to know why. You never hid Lady Helena Brennan. In fact, you took her to Almack’s with you.”
Eustace shot to her feet. “Come, gentlemen. It’s Christmas. You—John—bring champagne for everyone.”
So there was a good side to his sister’s obsession with propriety. He hadn’t expected that she would ally herself with him, whatever her reasons for doing so. “And the fig pudding,” he added, as the footman hurried out of the room.
“I saw you, Greaves.” Burroughs seated himself, crossing one leg over the other and looking every inch a gentleman at leisure. “You met her at that dressmaker’s shop—where I presume you’ve been having all those pretty gowns made—and you kissed her. I hate to carry tales, but I fail to see an alternate explanation for your attention.”
“Hear, hear,” Lassiter seconded from across the room. “Is the chit your mistress, or isn’t she? We have wagers to settle, here.”
They all looked at him. What was the alternative? He’d been seen kissing her. In the eyes of Society, a duke and … whatever Sophia was, kissed for one reason: he’d arranged for her care and support in exchange for exclusive sexual favors. A duke didn’t lose his heart to an unredeemable by-blow got on a maid. On the other hand, the Duke of Greaves—both the ninth and the tenth—did favor redheads. If he admitted that he cared for her, he would look like a fool.
“If it looks like a duck,” he snapped, leaving his supposed friends to finish the proverb by themselves.
“Greaves,” Keating hissed in a very low voice behind him.
Ignoring Blackwood, Adam sketched a lazy bow. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to go soothe a wounded bird.”
Cursing under his breath, he stomped up the stairs and along the familiar path to Sophia’s room. She would be furious. But she wouldn’t be returning to London, anyway. And this little lie would serve to keep everyone and their opinions polite until she left Yorkshire. No other man would proposition her, and he could spend his time with her as he pleased.
He pushed open the closed door without knocking. “Sophia.”
She looked up from her seat by the window, the scarf he’d given her in her hands. “You shouldn’t have given me this,” she said.
Truer words were never spoken. “Yes, I know. It was just for show. I do have another gift for you, however.”
“I mean, you saved my life. And all these dresses you’ve bought for me. It’s too much.” She narrowed one eye. “And you don’t have to wear that scarf. I just wanted to give you … something. It was silly.”
“It was not silly. You made this.” He fingered the warm wrap still hanging about his neck. “With your time and your hands. It’s the nicest gift I received.”
Her expression softened a little, and finally she offered him a crooked smile. “I don’t quite believe you, but that was well said.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “And I had to hide it every time you came in here. For a time I thought I was going to have to crawl under the bed to finish it.”
Sending up a quick prayer that she would listen to reason despite the fact that he’d just done the one thing she’d asked him not to, he pulled the oblong box from an inner pocket. A gift first would hopefully soften her objections to what he needed to explain to her.
“Your actual Christmas gift,” he said, and handed it to her.
Dividing her attention between him and the box, she took it from him, brushing his fingers with hers as she did so. Her shoulders rising and falling with her breath, she opened the lid.
Firelight caught the strands of delicate gold chain, and sent wildly glinting reflections off the hundred tiny diamonds set around the length of the twisting, twining necklace. The thing was absurdly delicate looking, and the Hanlith jeweler might never recover from its creation, but the beautiful asymmetry of it reminded him of Sophia.
“Do you like it?” he asked after a moment, when she continued to sit there wordlessly.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered, lifting it and letting it drip through her fingers.
“I had it made for you.”
She looked up at him, a tear running down one cheek. “Thank you. Truly, Adam. But you know I can’t accept this. I could never wear it without everyone asking where it came from. Without … my husband asking why I would ever receive such a gift.”
Adam took a stiff breath. It was now or never, he knew. And nothing in his life had ever made him quite as nervous as this moment. “You can accept it, you know.”
“Of course I can’t. And it’s too dear to sell, as I’m going to do with all these baubles.” She gestured at the pile of gifts on her bed. The ones Eustace had undoubtedly orchestrated.
He took her hand. “Why do you want to make your life so difficult, when I could make it so easy for you? At least the next few weeks of it. This isn’t a fairy tale, Sophia. This is the world. I can make you so much more comfortable. You wanted a happy holiday. I can certainly give that to you, no matter who is here, or for what rea
son.”
Her face had paled, but at least she seemed to be listening. She needed to understand. He needed her to understand.
“I know you’ve fought for everything you have. I congratulate you for that. But you don’t need to keep fighting. Not here. If I could, I would give you an apartment and servants and jewels for every day of the week. You won’t take that from me, I know. But take this necklace, and take what I can offer you. For God’s sake, you could hide it away from your husband and have the blunt to run if you ever felt the need. And you could run to me. In fact, after a year or two, how would Hennessy be able to blame your flight on the club? Especially if he had no idea where you were.”
“But you would be married.”
“As would you be. I don’t care.”
Her tears had stopped. She turned to look out the window, at the slow, lazy drift of snow that had begun on the return drive from church. He’d already memorized her profile, but he didn’t think he would ever tire of looking at her.
Finally she looked up at him, her light green eyes deep and endless and very, very serious. “May I think about it?” she whispered.
Adam scowled. “What the devil is there to think about? I’m offering you the world.”
“A very large world, and a very different one, and I’d like to consider what you’ve said,” she countered, a touch of color returning to her cheeks. “Give me until luncheon at least, will you?”
If he gave her a minute, she might refuse him. If he pressed her, though, she definitely would refuse. Unclenching his jaw, he nodded. “Until one o’clock.” To underscore everything his offer entailed, he took the necklace and stood to fasten it around her throat. Then he moved around in front of her, catching her mouth with his in a deep, hot kiss.
She slipped her hands around his shoulders as she sank into his embrace. How could she do anything but accept his offer, when the alternative would be a life with a man who would never appreciate who she was? Who would keep her prisoner in a tiny village and heap guilt on her until she broke from the weight? And once she fled Cornwall for London, she would never leave him. He would never have to part from the serenity and the joy she gave him.
Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke Page 26
