As Luck Would Have It (37 page)

Alex hit him on the nose.

“You may have taken precautions against physical harm, William, but Sophie could have been ruined,” Alex snapped. Then, with a sigh, he reached down and offered William a hand up. “And you’re not a day over forty-five.” Alex blinked as if just realizing something. “My God, you must have been a mere boy when you began working with my father.”

William pulled out a handkerchief and used it to stop the flow of blood from one nostril. “I was fourteen years old on my first assignment, sixteen when I met your father. He used to call me old man,” he chuckled. “Thought it was funny, his being a solid decade my senior.”

“I’m sure he did,” Alex murmured distractedly. “William, was there anything else you haven’t told me about the night he died?”

“No.”

“The rest was true then? He died in France saving a compromised agent?”

“The agent wasn’t compromised, Alex. He wasn’t even in play. It was the last years of the Terror. A person only had to look at their neighbor askew to be denounced. But yes, he
was an agent, and yes, he was going to die, and your father died saving him. We made it all the way to the coast before running afoul of the local authorities. It was just rotten luck.”

Alex accepted that with a small nod.

Neither man spoke for awhile, Alex lost to his thoughts and William patiently dabbing at his nose as the blood flow slowed to a small trickle.

Finally, William said, “You’ll need a special license. I suspect you won’t run into much trouble there, being a duke.”

“It’s already been handled. I sent Whit for one the night we came to London.”

“Before Sophie was compromised,” William stated with obvious approval. “Excellent.”

Alex threw him a disgruntled scowl. “This was damn humiliating, you know.”

“But worth it, eh? Sophie will make you a very happy man.”

“She already does,” Alex admitted, before adding, “I agreed to let her return to her father after an heir is born or, in the event that proves impossible, after five years’ time. I hope to convince her father to return to England by then, or convince her to stay.”

“Won’t be necessary. He’s already on his way. Before leaving China, Mary accused the viscount of jeopardizing Sophie’s future happiness with their nomadic way of life. Lectured and chastised the poor man no end, I’m sure.”

“She
is
formidable,” Alex agreed. “Come on then, let’s get you back inside before the ladies begin wondering if we’ve run each other through.”

William gave his nose one more dab and eyed the ruined handkerchief. “I appreciate your not breaking my nose. Quite charitable of you, really.”

Alex just shrugged and held open the door. William was halfway through the threshold when Alex stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Who are they? The others you promised my father to help?”

“Can you not guess?”

A slow smile spread across Alex’s face.

“May I assume your silence on this matter?” William asked continuing on his way.

“Only if you allow me the pleasure of assisting in Whit’s downfall. Any candidates in mind?”

“Miss Mirabelle Browning.”

“Good Lord!” Alex cried, and then promptly shut his hand in the door.

Twenty-nine

T
hey were married the next day. Alex wanted to hunt down a vicar and have the ceremony performed that very afternoon, but Sophie insisted that they wait until Kate, Mirabelle, and Evie could arrive from Haldon Hall. She wished her father and Mr. Wang could be present as well, but Alex was already put out with just a day’s postponement. She didn’t think he’d be willing to wait the several weeks it would take for them both to arrive.

She received the news of her father’s move from China with mixed emotions. She was delighted at the prospect of seeing him after so long a separation, and truly overjoyed that she now had nothing to stop her from spending the rest of her life with Alex.

Except that she loved him.

She had no idea what the odds were that he might one day fall in love with her in return, but she thought they might be dramatically improved if she was actually around. It was a wonderful and terrifying thought. And one that she doggedly refused to dwell on. She was getting Whitefield and marriage
to a man she loved. Alex would have an heir, and marriage to a woman he cared for. That would have to be enough. Especially on her wedding day.

Mirabelle, Kate, and Evie were delighted to be a part of the celebration. And they were positively enthralled at Sophie’s accounting of her adventures. Per Alex’s request, she left out all mention of Mr. Fletcher’s involvement and focused instead on relating the full extent of her cousin’s treachery. She felt a little guilty not sharing all the details, but she wouldn’t risk spoiling Mr. Fletcher’s future plans.

She rather liked the idea of Mirabelle and Whit.

The wedding was a subdued affair. The only excitement occurred at the conclusion of the ceremony when Lady Thurston burst into tears, necessitating Alex’s and Whit’s immediate and adorably awkward attention. It had been rather sweet, watching two otherwise self-assured men hover helplessly over the woman.

“The last time Mother cried was at Papa’s Funeral,” Kate whispered in her ear. Sophie couldn’t help noticing that the younger woman’s voice was a bit tight as well.

“Is she that upset?” Sophie whispered back in horror.

Lady Thurston dispelled that notion before Kate had the chance to respond.

“…what I have always wanted for you, Alex…” Lady Thurston hiccuped, having gotten over the worst of her sobs. “…couldn’t have made a better match myself. Your mother would be so happy.”

Sophie beamed a smile at her. Alex leaned down and whispered something in Lady Thurston’s ear that brought a fresh round of tears before she finally managed in a tremulous, but joy-filled voice, “…and you have always been a second son to me.”

The newly married couple settled into Alex’s town house that afternoon, opting to postpone the honeymoon until after Sophie’s father arrived and preferring to stay in town to reinforce
their story. Lady Thurston had agreed to spread the word that the new Duke and Duchess of Rockeforte were madly in love, had been secretly engaged for weeks, and had decided to elope to Gretna Green before reconsidering and marrying by special license. It was still a scandal, but it was romantic, and provided a happy and, more importantly to some, respectable conclusion. Society was enchanted, and Lady Thurston, already popular, was thrilled to find herself one of the most sought-after guests in town.

Alex and Sophie were completely unaware of her bliss for two full days. Despite their intention to be seen as a united couple in public as soon as possible, they spent forty-eight solid hours ensconced in their bedroom instead. For her birthday, Alex took her sightseeing at all the places they’d avoided on their last outing. But most of the fortnight following the wedding they spent in idleness about the house. Taking breakfast on the terrace, reading to each other in the library, but still preferring to spend most of their time in the bedroom.

Alex took the opportunity to learn all the little habits and preferences of his new bride. He found that she liked lilies more than roses, that she always sneezed twice, never more and never less, that she liked her eggs scrambled dry, and that she never snored in her sleep, but did occasionally drool.

He was watching her do that very thing at the moment, marveling at the sweetness of it, at the wonder of her lying asleep beside him, when it finally hit him.

His wife was drooling all over her pillow, no make that
his
pillow, and he thought it enchanting. Nothing about this woman could ever bore him.

He loved her.

There could be no other explanation. And frankly, Alex didn’t need one. He liked being in love with Sophie. Liked the way he missed her a little when she was in another part of the house. Liked how just the thought of her made him smile
at odd times of the day. Mostly, he just liked being happy. And Sophie made him very, very happy.

He’d tell her tomorrow, he decided, carefully sliding a dry pillow beneath her head. He figured a man could never go wrong telling a woman he loved her. Leastwise, not if he were being truthful.

And he’d tell the staff to bring more pillows.

Sophie eyed Alex furtively over the top of her book.

He’d been acting strangely all day.

At breakfast, he’d poured cream into his juice without even noticing his error. Sophie had only barely managed to warn him in time. They’d gone riding in the park afterward where she made several attempts at conversation, but gave the effort up when he failed to answer her after the third try. Then, to her annoyance, she caught him mumbling to himself instead.

Now it was late afternoon, they were in the library, she was reading aloud, and he was clearly not paying the least bit of mind to what she was saying.

He was just staring at her.

Sophie closed the book with a decisive clap. “I do wish you would tell me what is wrong,” she said impatiently.

He blinked twice. “Wrong?”

“Yes, wrong. You’ve been behaving as if you’re…I don’t know…distracted.”

Alex rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers. “Likely because I am.”

“Care to tell me why?” she asked in a more sympathetic tone. Alex was more than distracted she realized, he was nervous.

“I’ve been meaning to…that is to say, I should like to tell you something, but it seems getting the deed done is somewhat more difficult than I anticipated.”

Now
she
was nervous. “What is it?”

He stood abruptly and hauled her to her feet.

“I love you,” he said clearly, albeit quickly.

Sophie heard herself make an audible gulping noise.

No. No.
No.

Alex must have been feeling rather optimistic because he seemed to take her response as a good sign and continued in a more confident voice.

“I could give you a million different reasons for why I love you, or how I love you. I could even tell you when I began loving you, and when I finally came to my senses long enough to realize I love you, but it all seems inconsequential next to the simple fact that…I just do. I am completely, madly, deliriously in love with you.”

Sophie opened her mouth, let out a small squeak, and ran.

Alex watched her go in stunned amazement.

Over the last twelve hours, he had mentally played out every scenario he thought might occur after professing his undying love to his wife. Sophie laughing with joy followed by passionate lovemaking. Sophie crying with joy followed by passionate lovemaking. Sophie being struck mute with joy followed by passionate lovemaking—although he rather thought this one to be the least likely. Not once, however, had it occurred to him that she might become upset and run away, completely forgoing the joy and lovemaking the situation warranted.

Eventually, he regained the use of his muscles and took the steps two at a time.

“Sophie!”

Damn it, why had she run?

He reached the door and tried the handle. It was locked. He pounded on the wood.

“Sophie! Open this door!”

“No,” came the answer from the other side. “Not yet. I need to think.”

He could hear her pacing the floorboards. “You can damn well think while I’m in the room, and after you explain to me what this is about.”

She didn’t answer. Alex raised his fist to pound some more, but stopped midswing, a horrible thought occurring to him.

“Sophie?” he called through the wood. His voice sounding a great deal less confident than it had a minute ago. “I…you don’t owe me anything, you know.”

She stopped pacing, so he forged ahead. “What I mean is, while I should like to think that you care for me, and perhaps might one day love me in return, I didn’t tell you of my own feelings with any expectation that you return them.” Hope, yes. Lots and lots of hope. And perhaps even a touch of suspicion, but not a definite expectation.

“That isn’t it,” she replied, and he could tell she was standing on just the other side of the wood.

“Well then, what the bloody hell is it?” Alex roared, losing patience.

She moved away from the door.

“Sophie, will you open this door, or I will have Mansten bring the key? Either way, I—”

“Who is Mansten?”

“The butler,” Alex ground out. “Either way, I am coming in, the choice is yours.”

He heard the lock slide on the door. “That’s no choice at all,” Sophie muttered as he shouldered his way past her to stand in the center of the room.

“Tell me what is going on here,” he demanded.

Sophie closed the door and turned to look at him. “I don’t know how to explain it, Alex.”

He leveled one long cold stare at her. “I just informed you that I love you, to which your reaction was to look horrified, run away, and lock yourself in our room. ‘I don’t know how to explain it, Alex’ is not an acceptable response.”

Sophie winced. That had been more than a little badly done. “I am so sorry,” she murmured guiltily. “I panicked.”

“Shall we go through your entire repertoire of lame excuses to night?”

“I said I was sorry and I meant it,” she said a little indignantly. “You have every right to be hurt and angry with me, but don’t throw my apology away as if it means nothing.”

“I accept your apology,” he said in a slightly more conciliatory voice. “It’s the reason for its necessity I find hard to swallow.”

“Well, I did panic,” she pointed out reasonably. A deaf and blind man would have been hard pressed to argue with that.

Alex ground his teeth together in frustration. “
Why
did you panic?”

Sophie grimaced in the manner of someone desperately trying to find the right words, and failing in the endeavor.

“Is the prospect of my love so disagreeable?” Alex asked.

“No!” she burst out. Suddenly all the words she was searching for seem to come to her at once, only she found it immensely difficult to get them out in the right order. “It isn’t
your
love or
my
love I fear, it’s the combination that scares me. If you just loved me, or I just loved you, everything would be fine. Well, not fine exactly, one of us would be fairly miserable,” she conceded. “But now, one or both of us will be so much worse than miserable. I’m not sure what that might be, but
dead
might be a reasonable assumption, or at least grievously wounded—”