As Luck Would Have It (13 page)

She didn’t appear angry, nor was she pouting or crying or anything else one might expect under the circumstances. She was sitting straight-backed as usual, but her eyes were downcast and her hands were working knots into the front of her dress again.

Would he take back the kiss?
Hell no. He wanted to say just that,
hell no
. But he knew, somehow he knew with his whole being, right down to his toes, that her question was more important to her than everything else that had been said between
them. Somehow his answer had to reflect that, not just in what he said, but how he said it. He had one chance to make all of this right, one chance to gain back her trust. It amazed him just how much he wanted that.

Gently, Alex reached out and took her chin in his hand, turning her so she had to look him in the eyes. “I would not,” he said slowly and carefully, “trade that kiss for all the world and everything in it. It was perfect.”

Sophie’s eyes grew alarmingly wide. He took that as an encouraging sign. “I would,” he continued, “gladly give up all I have to take back what happened after. Truly, Sophie, I am sorry.” He paused a moment to let his words sink in. “Will you forgive me?”

She looked at him with such intensity and held herself so very still that for one terrifying moment Alex thought she might say no. But then she blinked, pursed those remarkably eloquent lips, and nodded as if she had just read through his thoughts and found them satisfactory.

“Yes,” she said quietly, but distinctly. “I forgive you.”

And then she smiled. It was really more of a wisp of a smile, but it was enough. Alex leaned forward, took her face in his hands, and kissed her with an intensity that surprised him.

He wanted to show her something. Tell her something. Convince her of something important. Only, he had no idea what that something was. That she wouldn’t regret having forgiven him? That he desired her more than any woman he had ever known? That—

And then all thought was lost in a heartbeat, because she was kissing him back. Still adorably unpolished, still stirringly eager. She let out a tiny feminine moan, and he was lost, uncaring that she was an innocent, that he had an assignment. He would have her. He
had
to have her. His arms went around her shoulders and waist, pressing her body tightly against his. He wanted to wrap himself around her. To feel every inch of her. To taste her. Devour her. His lips left her
mouth to trail down her neck. She moaned again. The carriage hit a rut.

The carriage. They were in a carriage. On the way to her town house. He would need more time. As a gentleman, he should have been disgusted with the idea of making love to a lady in a carriage. At the moment, however, his thoughts were focused not on where they were, but on where he wanted her to be—namely naked and under him.

More time. He needed more time. He needed to tell the driver to take the long way about. He let his lips trail down to the hollow of her collarbone, then took a deep breath to clear his head.

And gagged.

Sophie’s eyes flew open at the sound.

“…Alex?”

For a moment he neither spoke nor moved. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his head to look at her. Sophie had never seen that particular expression on anyone’s face before. He looked sheepish, a little green around the edges, and something else she just couldn’t identify.

“I am so sorry, Sophie,” he groaned in what Sophie thought might be the most fatalistic manner she had ever heard.

“Did you just…?”

“It’s the dress.”

“The dress? What’s wrong with—oh, no. I’d forgotten…how mortifying.”

Alex grunted. “You’re not the one who just gagged.”

“Yes, that’s true. Well, it could have been worse. You didn’t actually retch.” She glanced down at her dress. “Did you? I’m not certain I’d be able to tell….”

“No,” he stated emphatically. “I managed to spare us both the indignity of becoming sick on your dress.” He dragged a hand over his face and let out a frustrated groan.

Sophie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she just gave him an encouraging little half smile. The effort started some
sort of bizarre chain reaction. The corners of her mouth began to twitch uncomfortably, her chest tightened, her shoulders shook, and her breath kept escaping in erratic gasps. She kept her lips pressed firmly shut and tried breathing through her nose, but it didn’t help.

“Go ahead and laugh, Sophie,” Alex groused. “You’re likely to injure yourself otherwise.”

She took him at his word and laughed. Hard.

“I’m sorry. Really. It’s just…all so absurd…and
unbelievably
embarrassing…It was either laugh or cry and…And I….”

“You don’t need to make excuses. God knows I’d rather see you laughing, and if any situation warranted it….”

She heard him break into an easy laughter himself. When she finally managed to regain some control, she realized she felt much as if she had been crying. Her sides hurt, her eyes and nose felt puffy, and she was tired. But she was smiling, and thankfully, so was he.

“That felt good,” she murmured, suddenly feeling awkward.

“So it did.”

The carriage rolled to a halt. Sophie reached for the door, but was stopped by Alex’s grip on her wrist. She turned back to find him suddenly very serious. His other hand reached up to gently caress the side of her face.

“Someday, Sophie,” he said quietly, “I’m going to do this right with you.”

He let his hand fall from her face, but his other moved from her wrist to her hand. He brought it to his lips and pressed a tender kiss on her palm.

“Soon,” he whispered.

She wasn’t sure if he meant it as a promise or a threat. She wasn’t sure which one she wanted it to be. Checking first to make certain no one was about to see her exiting the Duke of Rockeforte’s carriage, she all but bolted the short distance to
the house. She had one foot inside the door when she heard Alex call out behind her.

“Sophie, about that other person who kissed you…” “Mrs. Summers,” she explained with a wide grin. “Just a peck on the cheek for luck.”

“She’s innocent.”

William Fletcher looked up from his work to scowl at Alex, who had just burst into his office unannounced. A moment later a rather harassed-looking young man stumbled through the door, breathing hard and flushing to the roots of his pale blond hair. “I’m sorry, sir, I tried to—”

“It’s all right, Sallings, no harm done.” William dismissed the boy with a wave of his hand.

Alex watched him go. “New secretary?”

“Yes. Don’t you knock these days?”

“Mostly. What happened to Kipp?”

“He was reassigned.”

Alex took a seat in front of the desk and stretched out his legs in complete ease, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t just bullied his way into the office without so much as a “good morning.” “Where to?” he inquired offhandedly.

William stuck his quill in the inkstand. This was going to take a while. “To the continent. Why?”

“He owes Whit money. An extended reassignment, I hope?”

William fought the urge to reach for his brandy. It wasn’t even noon yet. “Is there a particular reason you came barging in here, Rockeforte?”

Alex’s grin faded, and for the first time William noticed that the man’s right hand was closing and unclosing on the chair’s arm. He was agitated, and trying not to show it.

“I apologize for the rude entry, but I sent a note. You didn’t answer.”

“Perhaps I was busy.”

“This is important.”

William stifled a sigh. “Very well, you’re here now. I believe your greeting this morning was ‘she’s innocent’? I assume you were referring to Miss Everton.”

“Yes.” Alex punctuated the statement with a sharp nod. “If Loudor is up to something, she doesn’t know anything about it. She isn’t involved.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“I’ve been chasing her around for the last ten days. I’ve attended two balls, a dinner party, and escorted her to the opera. I’ve gotten drunk with Loudor twice, and you’ve had men trailing both of them, without, I understand from Whit, any success. Loudor might have something to hide, but Miss Everton does not.”

“Ten days is hardly—”

“We’ve assigned or cleared individuals of guilt in fewer than ten days before. I’ve spent a good deal of time with her, William, gotten to know her as you asked. Now I’m telling you, she’s innocent.”

William leveled a hard stare across his desk. “Your assignment was to use Miss Everton’s connection with Loudor regardless of her own role—”

“I’ve already worked my way on to Loudor’s guest list. We don’t need her.”

“Either you keep an eye on her or—”

“Leave her alone, William.”

“I really wish you would stop interrupting me. It’s irritating.”

“And I’d like for you to trust me on this.”

“I do. If you would let me finish—either you keep an eye on her, or I’ll see that someone else does.” William put his hand up to forestall any possibility of an argument. “I want her protected. I trust your assessment of the situation, but if Loudor is a traitor, she may be in danger by virtue of mere proximity.”

Alex nodded and leaned back in his chair, some of the fight seeming to drain out of him. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ll watch her, but I want your men called off.”

“You can’t watch her twenty-four hours a day, Rocke-forte.”

Alex swore under his breath. “They can watch the house when I’m not there, and trail her when she leaves, but that is all.”

“Agreed.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “I mean it, William. No rooting through her room, no—”

“You have my word,” William interrupted, more than a little pleased to have had the chance. “Miss Everton seems to have made quite an impression on you.”

“She’s an impressive young woman.”

“I’ve no doubt she is. It’s not like you to—”

“Don’t say it, William.”

Alex sent his carriage back without him. It was only a couple of miles to his town house, and he needed to think— something he had failed to do this morning. Bloody hell, he had all but barreled his way into William’s office. No, scratch that, he
had
barreled his way into William’s office.

It had seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do at the time, which, he thought, was a clear indicator of just how little thought he’d given the idea.

Except he had been thinking. Of her. And only her. Miss Sophie Everton. She had occupied his every thought since the moment he had picked her small unconscious form off the street almost two weeks ago. Usually, if he wasn’t reminiscing about some amusing little comment she had made, then he was daydreaming about what she would look like in his bed and how he might arrange matters to get her there. All that rich sable hair spread out across his pillow, all that soft skin flushed pink with desire. And those lips, those marvelous lips, parting— for him. The image had given him more than a couple of sleepless nights.

And every moment he wasn’t in her company, he found his mind repeating the same questions over and over again. Where was she right now? Was she safe? Happy? What was
she doing? And who was she with? This last part really irked him.

Finally, it occurred to him that for all his apparent fascination with the girl, not once in the last week had he wondered what she might be hiding. In fact, to Alex, the notion that she might be a spy for France seemed not only absurd but uncomfortably disloyal.

Hence the note he had sent to William (he hadn’t actually bothered waiting for a reply) and ensuing carriage ride. By the time he had gotten halfway there, Alex had started feeling rather guilty for agreeing to spy on Sophie.

By the time he was two-thirds of the way there, he had successfully manipulated matters in his mind to the extent that he was certain Sophie had been grossly insulted by the suspicions leveled against her. And it was all William’s fault. No mean feat in less than two miles, but then Alex had never been particularly fond of feeling guilty.

He was more than happy, however, to play knight-errant. And by the time he had actually arrived at the office he was feeling righteously indignant on his fair maiden’s behalf and determined to clear her name. In short, he had worked himself into an embarrassing lather.

Only once he’d actually gotten inside and settled himself firmly into as eat—the familiarity of which reminded him that he was the Duke of Rockeforte, damn it, not a green boy demanding satisfaction for some imagined slight—had he been able to calm down enough to, at the very least,
appear
sane.

The meeting had been a success, of sorts. Sophie’s good character had been assured. But the larger issue, namely his ridiculous fixation on the girl, still remained.

He needed to step back for a few days, regain some perspective, and more importantly, some of his common sense. He needed to remember who he was. A peer of the realm. A battle-hardened soldier. An agent of the Crown. He was a man, by God, not some lovesick swain who let every pretty thing in skirts tie his mind and body into knots. He needed to—

Alex paused at the corner of Sophie’s street. If he took the long way home, it would be simple enough to…He swore and turned away, quickening his steps as he made his retreat.

He needed to do
something
. This wasn’t healthy.

“Sophie dear, a note was delivered for you from Miss Browning.”

She’d had to change her clothes and run an important errand. Now Sophie handed her gloves and bonnet to a waiting maid and took the proffered note from Mrs. Summers. Her former governess had been sitting in the front parlor with the door open, obviously waiting for her return and wanting to have a few words with her charge. She’d nearly bounded out of her chair when Sophie had walked through the door.

Now it seemed she was unable to decide what, exactly, was more important to discuss; the note or that Sophie had been out without a proper escort.

Sophie sincerely hoped it would be the note. She had just been to the solicitor’s office, dropping off her own note detailing just how little she had discovered at the Pattons’ ball. It had been a depressing errand.