Freed from the last of her coterie, Sophia breathed a sigh of relief and rose carefully from her chair to make her escape. Like her fellow heiresses, she’d been chosen to inherit Beauchamp House because of her renowned intellect and skill. In her case, it was her talent as a painter and her knowledge of art in general. Her work had been shown all over England, and she’d gained a reputation for art that both pushed the boundaries of what ladies were expected to depict on the canvas and called attention to those issues that might better, in some opinions, be hidden from view. Now, however, she wasn’t thinking about her work, or anything but getting out of the ballroom before she was besieged again by young men looking for flirtation and a bit of scandal.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a steady arm to help you get to wherever you’re going,” said a male voice from behind her.
A frisson of awareness ran through her as she recognized the voice of Lord Benedick, whom she’d spent far too much time thinking about since he’d rescued her from the shore.
Of course he’d be here at the most talked about social event to happen in Little Seaford in months. As the local vicar, he was practically required to attend. And as one of the town’s most eligible bachelors, his absence would likely have caused a revolt among the village’s unwed—and even some married—female population.
Sophia herself was not immune to Lord Benedick’s charms. Certainly not after he’d carried her against that broad chest as if she weighed no more than a feather. And she’d had more than one improper dream about the man since his arrival. And yet, she knew all too well that a woman like her had no business with a man like him. Not only was he, as a duke’s son, far above her reach socially, but he was also a man of God. And she and God weren’t precisely on good terms.
Still, a supporting arm, when her ankle was aching from having all the blood rush to it for the past hour, was something she couldn’t pass up. “I must confess, my lord, that I would accept the arm of the devil himself at this moment if he were kind enough to offer it.”
Taller than her by at least a head, Lord Benedick stepped closer and, with courteous expediency, slipped an arm around her back and let her rest against his solid form for a moment. It was no more intimate than the waltz that had already been performed once that evening, but it was closer than Sophia had ever been to him since he carried her, and she could feel the warmth of his body through the barrier of their clothing.
Even so, the throbbing of her foot overrode any feelings of euphoria or attraction she felt at the contact.
Unable to stop herself, she gave a sharp intake of breath when she accidentally put weight on it.
“Easy there,” he said, his blue eyes shadowed with concern. “I think perhaps you might better sit down again.”
But she shook her head. “I have to get out of this room before I’m trapped again.”
He didn’t bother to ask who would do the trapping, only said, “Where to?”
“Somewhere less crowded,” she said through clenched teeth, her painful foot threatening to make her cry out.
It had really been beyond foolish for her to attend tonight’s festivities.
“Your wish is my command, my lady.”
Giving up control of their destination to her companion, Sophia concentrated instead on maintaining her composure.
Fortunately, they were near a door leading into a side corridor, so they were able to slip away without being waylaid. And before she knew it, Sophia found herself seated on a long settee with her offending ankle propped on a fluffy cushion.
“We must stop meeting like this,” Benedick said as he took a seat in a low-slung chair near her. “One could almost accuse us of taking a tour of the settees of lower Sussex.”
“I imagine the Pavilion at Brighton has much better settees than this,” Sophia said, with a look of mock disdain for the piece of furniture upon which she currently lounged. She should be mortified at being forced to accept help from the vicar again, but instead she felt a sort giddy excitement at seeing him again.
Quite a dangerous thing, really, if she allowed herself to dwell on it.
Which she most certainly would not.
Lord Benedick didn’t seem to mind. “I can assure you, Miss Hastings, that the Pavilion also has far less gilt.” He accompanied the remark with a comical wide-eyed glance around the room, which did indeed look as if it had been decorated by King Midas himself.
After they shared a laugh, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I had thought you would forgo tonight’s entertainment given your injury this morning. Has no one ever told you to take better care of yourself?”
It was certainly what her sister and friends had said to her before they set out this evening, but Sophia was hardly going to admit that in the face of a gentle scold from the man who’d come to her rescue twice in the same day now. “What is the fun in staying home while everyone else is out dancing?” she said with a toss of her head. “Besides, I came at the request of a dear relation who needed me to be here for our host’s announcement tonight.”
His brows rose. “Someone who knew that Morgan would announce his political campaign?”
Deciding, given their shared experience that morning, that he was a safe person to share her aunt’s information with, Sophia nodded. “My aunt works with a group in Manchester where Morgan’s factories are located. She heard from her contacts there that he’d decided to run for the seat here, far from where his business dealings might sour the local people on him. She asked me to come tonight.”
“But surely she’d have understood if she knew you’d injured yourself,” he said not unkindly. “One must admit to human frailty from time to time, Miss Hastings.”
“Of course she would have done,” Sophia said with a frown. “But some things are more important than personal difficulties. And besides, I wanted to hear what he had to say for myself. There will be plenty of time to rest tomorrow.”
“One cannot help but admire your determination,” he said. His blue eyes were warm with what looked like appreciation, though Sophia suspected that was just her imagination. “What did you think of Morgan’s speech, then?”
Thankful to be off the subject of herself, Sophia leapt at the conversation thread. “It was remarkably short,” she said. “I suppose I’d expected something more elaborate, but he must be saving that for when he talks to the villagers. He will certainly need the support of those in attendance tonight, but it will be the smaller farmers who own their own lands in whom he’ll need to rouse enthusiasm.”
“Then I should think an assembly ball would have been more suited to his political needs,” Benedick said. With a nod of understanding, he added, “But that would not have allowed him to show off his magnificent palace.”
“Precisely,” Sophia said with approval. “He must reassure everyone of his wealth and power, so that they will put their lot in with him. Aunt Dahlia said that his speeches in Manchester before he made the decision to come south were very focused on shifting the balance of power back to the people. Unfortunately, his treatment of those same people in his factories—particularly the women and children who work in them—made it impossible for him to gain any sort of support in the North. Nearly everyone had a friend, or a neighbor, or a relation who had suffered thanks to cuts in wages, or injuries on the job, or worse.”
“You don’t suppose the conversation we heard this morning might have had some bearing on the announcement tonight?” Benedick asked, his face darkening.
It hadn’t occurred to Sophia, but thinking back to what the men had said, she nodded. “It’s possible. Political intrigue is certainly one interpretation to put on the matter.” In fact, the more she reflected on the one man’s vehemence about “eliminating a stumbling block,” the more this explanation made sense. She was already composing a letter to her aunt in her mind, when Benedick’s next words penetrated her fog of concentration.
“ . . . so you must agree with me now that this is not something a young l
ady should be involving herself in,” he said in a placating tone. “The men we heard were quite serious. I hope you will allow me to look into the matter. I have friends who work with the Home Office who may be able to—”
“Certainly not,” Sophia said, interrupting him. “I do appreciate your concern for me, Lord Benedick, but I’m hardly a frail young thing to be wrapped in cotton wool. If you intend on doing any sort of investigation into the conversation we overheard, I must insist upon being a part of it.”
“With all due respect, Miss Hastings,” said the vicar, looking as if he’d like to tug on his hair in frustration, “you are injured, and you must know that men are far more likely to divulge secrets to other men than they are to a beautiful young woman whom they are trying to impress.”
She tucked away the fact that he’d just called her beautiful to be examined at another time. “Are men so weak that they cannot manage to speak sense in the presence of a lady?” she demanded. “If that is the case, then I believe we should immediately cease spouting the fiction that women are the weaker sex. For I am quite certain any woman of sense can say what’s on her mind no matter how many men are looking on.”
“I was merely making a general observation, Miss Hastings,” said the vicar, his color rising a little at the retort. “In my experience, men, especially powerful men such as our host, have a tendency to put their best face forward in the presence of ladies. It is human nature. And you cannot deny that such things happen when ladies are in the presence of men they wish to impress, too.”
Thinking back to the antics of Mr. Walsh and Mr. Ellis earlier, Sophia relented. “I suppose there is some truth in what you say. But I do wish there was some way to remove the silliness of vanity from such important matters. Can we not simply talk sense without constantly being concerned about how we appear to the opposite sex?”
At that Benedick relaxed a little and grinned. “My dear Miss Hastings, what you are asking is the impossible.”
His smile was infectious, and in spite of her determination to “talk sense,” Sophia found herself smiling back.
He continued then, his blue eyes meeting hers in amusement. “I should certainly think you’ve become accustomed to having men make cakes of themselves in an effort to win your approbation.”
“No more than you have, Vicar,” she said with a raised brow. “Unless I’ve imagined the bevy of unmarried ladies who linger after church every Sunday in hopes of gaining a kind word from you.”
“Touché,” he said softly. “So, we are agreed that both gentlemen and ladies are prone to making fools of themselves when it comes to impressing one another. Where does that leave us?”
“It leaves us with the fact that I insist upon being a part of whatever you intend to do to find out what those two men were talking about this morning,” she said calmly. “And while I admit that I might need to give myself a few days to recover from my injury, I will not allow you to pat me on the head and send me on my oblivious way.”
The vicar shook his head at her vehemence, and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him. “Miss Hastings, has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?”
“I believe you did, not five minutes ago, my lord,” Sophia responded with a sweet smile.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Manda Collins is the author of the Lords of Anarchy series, the Ugly Duckling series, and the Wicked Widows series as well as several other Regency-set romances. She spent her teen years wishing she’d been born a couple of centuries earlier, preferably in the English countryside. Time travel being what it is, she resigned herself to life with electricity and indoor plumbing, and read lots of books. When she’s not writing, she’s helping other people use books, as an academic librarian.
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Also by Manda Collins
Duke with Benefits
Ready Set Rogue
Good Dukes Wear Black
Good Earl Gone Bad
A Good Rake Is Hard to Find
Why Lords Lose Their Hearts
Why Earls Fall in Love
Why Dukes Say I Do
How to Entice an Earl
How to Romance a Rake
How to Dance with a Duke
E-novellas
Once Upon a Christmas Kiss
The Perks of Being a Beauty
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Excerpt: WALLFLOWER MOST WANTED
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Also by Manda Collins
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
With This Christmas Ring © 2017 by Manda Collins.
Excerpt from Wallflower Most Wanted © 2017 by Manda Collins.
All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover Design and Illustration by Shutterstock
Author photo © One Six Photography
eISBN 9781250174598 (ebook)
First eBook Edition: October 2017
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