Defiant: 5 (Noble Passions) (2 page)

His handsome face wrinkled in chagrin. “I got myself into a
bit of a pickle.”

Oh dear. How utterly unfair. Men were always allowed to get
themselves into a pickle. Sophia was guarded as though she wore the crown
jewels. “I should love to get into a pickle,” she said, refilling their cups.

“I lost a bit too much at faro and, well, Edward was
furious.”

“Why should Edward be furious?”

Ned had the grace to flush. “Because he had to pay the debt.
As if that weren’t bad enough, there was the bit about the horse.”

“The horse?”

“I bought a horse.” His eyes lit up at that. He’d always
loved his cattle. “Ah, Soph, he’s a beauty. An Arabian stallion. Perfect for
stud. Races like a champ. Byzantium is his name.”

“Mmm. How regal.”

“He’s magnificent.”

“Whyever would Edward mind that?”

Ned’s enthusiasm crumpled. “I didn’t ask him first. There
wasn’t time, you understand. He was on auction. And damn Charles for bidding me
up. He knew I wanted him.”

“Still, why would Edward care?”

“He had to pay for that as well.

Sophia chuckled. “How much was it?”

Ned ran a finger around this collar. “That hardly signifies.
The point is, Edward has decided I need seasoning.”

“Seasoning?” She wrinkled her nose. What on earth was
seasoning?

“He’s sending me to Italy.”

Her heart stalled. Her breath caught in her throat. A
sudden, unaccountable panic rippled through her, dancing shivers over her skin.
“I-Italy?”

He stood and paced to the mantel, leaning against it in a
classic pose, so beautiful it made her chest hurt. “A
Grand Tour
.” He
blew out a breath. “I don’t want to go, Soph. I have a life here. Friends. All
right, Edward, and Ewan for that matter, don’t care for my friends, but they’re
my friends, don’t you know. I’m a grown man, for pity sake. I should be allowed
to choose my own friends, make my own decisions—”

“I so agree.” She clasped her hands and hid her smile at his
adorable snit. He’d called her
Soph
again.

“You do?” His expression lit up.

“I do. You should also be allowed to lose tremendous
amounts…of your own money.”

He frowned at her.

She was used to his frown. She did not allow it to affect
her. “How long will you be gone?” she asked, because somehow it was vital to
know.

He shrugged. “Two, three years.”

Three years?

Oh heavens.

In three years she would be married, probably to some
prancing prince. Ned would be lost to her forever—

Ruthlessly, she scuttled the thought. She was over him. She
was. He’d slayed all her feelings the day he’d broken her heart. “That’s—that’s
a very long time.”

“It is.” He fiddled with his cuffs. “I am hoping Ewan will
help Edward see some sense. He was rather angry.”

“I imagine so.” The bit about Edward being angry. Not the
bit about Ewan helping him see sense. That bit was ludicrous.

Ned dropped back onto the divan, this time sitting fully
rather than perched on the edge, but his demeanor was rather deflated. “I don’t
want to go, Soph.” He scrubbed his face with a palm. “I don’t want to leave.”

She didn’t want him to go.
Ah, no
, her heart cried
out, but her tongue stayed silent. Instead, she forced a smile. “It sounds like
a wonderful adventure.” She tried ignore the sudden boil of jealousy and
resentment. She’d have jumped at the chance to sail the world.

Ned barked a laugh. “You always did love adventure, Bugnut,”
he said with a fond smile, but then, as though he’d realized what he’d done, he
stiffened up like a poker.

His retreat annoyed her tremendously. So much, in fact, she
responded with, “I’ll be married when you return.”

It was gratifying, watching him pale. It meant nothing, but
it was gratifying all the same.

“Will you?”

She sipped her tea. It was cold. “Ewan has a prince in mind.”

Ned took another cake, then set it back on the plate. “Nothing
less would satisfy him.”

“Naturally.” Her response was tinged with bitterness but she
doubted Ned caught it. He was studying the plate of cakes again. “Heinrich von
Wichtigtuerisch from the Österreich.”

“Ah.” Ned nodded, but she caught his grimace. “I met him. A
fine man. Fine man.”

“Austria,” she said musingly. “I wonder what it is like.”

““It’s very far.”

“It is.”

Silence welled between them. He slapped his knees. “Well,
where the hell is your bother?”

“Such language, Ned.”

He met her eyes. His expression, or lack thereof, scored her
to the soul. “My apologies, Lady Sophia.”

“Ballocks, Ned.”

She loved that she could still make him grin.

Regret and a hint of heartbreak swept through her. “If you
go to Italy, this is likely the last time I shall ever see you.”

He stilled. Stared at her. She fancied she saw some inkling
of desperation in his eyes as well, but it was only a fancy. He blinked and his
expression was cool and remote once more. “I certainly wish you well, Lady
Sophia,” he said.

“And I you, Ned.”

Their gazes tangled again but only for the briefest moment.
He opened his mouth as though he would say more, but just then Ewan blew into
the room. There was no other way to describe it. Like a westerly gale, he swept
in. And glared.

First at her and then at Ned.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to—”

“And why are the two of you unchaperoned?”

Sophia bristled.
Unchaperoned?
This was Ned. There
was no such requirement. “We were having t—”

Ewan rounded on Ned again. “I thought I told you—” He
glanced at Sophia and stopped abruptly, leaving an opportunity for Ned to
respond.

“I need to talk to you, Ewan, if you please. I came to talk to
you. It’s urgent.”

Ewan crossed his beefy arms and eyed his brother-in-law
askance. “Urgent to you or urgent to me?”

Ned’s throat worked. “To me, of course.”

“Did you lose more money?”

Ned paled. “No, I—”

“Because Edward told me about that debacle. And the horse.
And the fight on Rotten Row—”

“He insulted my mother!” It was a well-known fact Ned’s
mother had had a scandalous liaison with her husband’s brother, the previous
Duke of Moncrieff. Several liaisons. Seven at least, if one were counting
Wyeths.

“Irrelevant.” Ewan glowered. “You have a responsibility to
the family name. A responsibility to behave with respectability.”

Ned gaped at him. “Seriously? This, from Ewan St. Andrews?
The
McCloud
?”

Oh dear. Not wise.

Ewan bristled.

For a certainty, he had been, at one point, a wild Scottish
brigand, but he had worked hard to earn and maintain a modicum of propriety, to
secure a reputation amongst society. Throwing his past in his face was hardly
the way to gain his support.

“Ned,” she said.

Ewan whirled on her. “Why are you still here?” he snapped.

She crossed her arms. “I live here.”

“Why are you in this
room
?”

Sophia tipped her head to the side and offered a charming
grin. “Because the two of you are entertaining.”

“
Out!
” He jabbed a finger at the door.

She pouted. “Really, Ewan. Can’t I watch?”

“Out.”

She picked up the plate of cakes and plodded to the door. “I
never get to have any fun,” she said in jest.

Though it wasn’t a jest. Not really.

Nothing seemed very funny right now.

She glanced over her shoulder at Ned as she closed the door.
He stood, strong and stalwart, bravely facing Ewan’s wrath. There were few men
in the world who could do that.

He was so handsome and so dear.

It broke her heart to know she might never see him again.
That he would be heading for Italy, possibly this very day if Ewan’s expression
was any measure of such things. And if she ever did see him again, she might
well be married to some toad of a man from the hinterlands of the Alps.

She glanced down at the plate of cakes, which she planned to
eat—one after the other.

It was not fair.

Not fair at all.

Ned pushed into his club and raised a finger to the waiter.
The man knew him and immediately brought a tumbler of whisky. Ned downed it and
ordered another. He needed it.

The interview with Ewan had not gone well. He blamed Sophia.

How could he be expected to remain calm, to argue sensibly,
with the scent of her swirling about him? With the vision of her eyes, her smile,
clouding his thoughts?

Damn. She was lovelier now than she’d been when they met.
How this was possible, he did not know. He’d been but a boy of twenty when his
sister married Ewan St. Andrews and Sophia came into his life.

He’d been young and brash, had fancied himself a jaded
Corinthian. Fancied he knew everything there was to know. And then he’d seen
her
,
and he’d realized he knew nothing at all.

He’d been bowled over by her at first glance.

Her face was a heart-shaped alabaster work of beauty with wide,
laughing blue eyes and an entrancing smile that set off a raft of dimples on
her cheek. Her hair was the color of moonlight, a tantalizing fall of ringlets
he longed to wrap around a finger; one of her most stunning features. And her
form—

Well, he couldn’t think about her form. It made his trousers
tighten.

But all of that paled in the face of her spirit. Full of joy
and mischief, she embraced life with open arms. She was exasperating, adorable
and utterly tempting.

And not for him.

Ewan—and Edward, for that matter—had made it more than
clear. Countless times. In fact, her brother nearly had apoplexy when Ned first
expressed his interest. In retrospect, he should not have expressed his
interest.

Ewan St. Andrews had a speckled past and he’d muddied his
reputation for one reason and one reason only. Sophia. To build a fortune, to
make a name for himself so she could marry well. Not just well, but
spectacularly.

And now she had a prince offering for her.

One could not get much more spectacular than that.

Ewan would be over the moon.

Ned downed his second glass and glared at the waiter, who
scuttled off to find more.

Damn and blast.

If it weren’t for that tiny voice in the back of his head
whispering the truth, he would have said to hell with them all and swept her
away long ago. But he knew. He knew, deep down, they were right. Ewan was
right.

He wasn’t good enough for her.

Damn it all to hell.

What did he have other than his brother’s fortune?

When they’d come to live with the Duke of Moncrieff,
thinking they were but cousins, before they discovered the truth of their
parentage, he and his siblings had been destitute. If one stripped away Edward’s
influence, they wouldn’t be far from that today. What could he offer a woman?

It was better that he sail away. Sail away to Italy, or
wherever, and never come back. There was no point of coming back if she wouldn’t
be here.

The whisky did its part and his head began to swim. A
delicious blanket of oblivion descended. The dangerous part of that oblivion
was the memory that slipped in past all his defenses. The memory of holding her
in his arms and pressing his lips to hers.

Ah. That kiss.

It had been magnificent.

Short and sweet but unforgettable.

They had been frolicking, enjoying a house party held by
Violet’s friend Lady Helena, Countess Darlington. Ned had been at the brandy,
which probably accounted for his boldness. He’d found Sophia in the secluded
library and, following every instinct a young buck had, he’d kissed her.

She’d kissed him back.

The recollection still had the power to make him shudder.

It had been a perfect kiss.

But then he’d looked up, over her shoulder, and frozen.
Impaled by the icy stare of her brother. Sophia hadn’t seen it, that speaking
look, but Ned had. Shortly thereafter, he’d been called before them both—Ewan
and Edward—and raked over the coals.

He was to keep his distance. He was not to speak to her
again. And they would never be private. Never. This, Ewan had bellowed, and
Edward had nodded, an expression of extreme displeasure on his face.

As intimidation went, those two had it down pat. Still, Ned
would have flouted them both, braved all manner of fury to have Sophia, if Ewan
hadn’t been right when he barked, “You’re nae good enough for her.”

They had flayed him, those words.

Because they were true.

“There you are.” Percy dropped into the chair beside him
with a huff. “How bad was it?” Of all of his wild friends, Percy was the
wildest. He was also the most fun.

Ned fingered the cut crystal of his empty glass. “Bad.”

“Really?” Percy lifted a brow. “It’s only money.”

“Yes, but it’s
his
money.”

“True.”

The waiter brought them both drinks. This one, Ned sipped.

“I’m being sent away.”

“There’s a pity.”

“Italy.”

“Ah. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

Ned shot him a frown.

“With any luck you’ll meet some accommodating girl there and
it won’t be so dismal.”

No. It wouldn’t be dismal. The thought of a Grand Tour, on
the face of it, was rather exciting, but Sophia wouldn’t be there. She would be
here. Marrying a prince. He sank lower into his chair.

“Perhaps I’ll come with you.”

Ned perked up at that. Percy was, if anything, diverting. “Would
you?”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Not much happening here lately.”

“Not much?” The season was in full swing. There were parties
every night.

Percy winked. “Nothing interesting.”

Well, that was true.

“You should come along,” Ned said. It would be fun, having
an adventure with a friend. And hopefully Percy would help him forget the woman
he’d left behind.

The woman he could never have.

Because he wasn’t good enough to have her.

* * * * *

The next week was a misery for Sophia, and not just because
she was tortured by the knowledge that Ned was, indeed, leaving. Each time she
saw him, she wanted to burst into tears. But she didn’t. Stalwartly, she saved
the tears for her pillow.

Or, occasionally, the library. Or the sitting room over tea.
Or while strolling in the gardens.

It was ludicrous to pine. Madness to think a man as handsome
as Ned could be interested in her to begin with. He’d made his feelings more
than clear but she couldn’t help thinking back to that one dazzling kiss they’d
shared so long ago. The kiss that had shifted her world on its axis.

She’d had kisses since. None of them had moved her in the
slightest. Certainly not like that.

It wasn’t only her dismal thoughts of Ned that plagued her
that week.

Her brother plagued her as well. Daily, he called her into
his study to proffer a new suitor. A duke. An earl. A nabob fresh from India.
She’d come to hate that study. And, though it ashamed her, she’d come to hate
the sight of her brother as well. She’d taken to hiding from him.

She couldn’t hide from him at dinner, though, especially not
when all the family was attending. She contemplated developing a megrim the
night of Ned’s farewell feast but she realized it might be her last chance to
see him, forever, so she went. She dressed carefully in a blue silk she adored
and had Nan do her hair in an elegant coif studded with pearls.

Doubtless, she could never have his heart but she could show
him what he was missing. What he would be missing as he hied off to distant
lands and had adventures without her.

The meal was a cacophony, as it often was. Edward and
Kaitlin, his duchess, attended, as well as all of Edward’s siblings. In
addition to Violet and Ned, there were five younger brothers. Hamish and Tay,
the twins, still lived at home, but Dennis, Sean and Malcolm had come down from
Eton to bid their brother adieu. Even Aunt Hortense was in attendance.

What should have been a somber occasion, as Ned was being sent
off in disgrace, was like a circus. Dennis and Sean began a game of battledore
and shuttlecock with the potatoes, tossing them across the table and whacking
them with spoons. Food flew hither and yon despite the duke’s admonishments.
And then Hamish—or was it Tay? Well, one of the twins—tripped a footman, who
promptly spilled bisque all over Aunt Hortense’s heaving bosom. Hortense,
though she was well used to the boys by now, was outraged, which caused her
bosom to heave even more.

It should not have been funny. Sophia should not have
chuckled. At Violet’s frown, she forced her features into a reproachful scowl.

But then the duke himself leaped to his feet to help her
wipe it off. The older woman’s subsequent horror at having
his Grace
ineffectually mop her considerable chest with a hastily grabbed serviette was
even funnier.

As hard as she tried, Sophia could not hold back. She was
hardly alone; inappropriate laughter bounced off the walls. Her eyes met Ned’s
and they shared a moment of warmth across the table.

Ah. Yes. This was how it used to be.

Before.

She’d missed it. Missed him so.

Ewan stood, capturing Ned’s attention. Ned paled and his
cheek twitched. He did not look back.

“Enough!” Ewan roared.

The boys all stilled. Their hilarity disappeared as though
sucked from the room. Ewan glared at them, each and every one. “Apologize.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” The hint of a smile teased Hortense’s lips.
Yes, she knew the boys well.

“It is nae fine.
Apologize.
”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“My apologies.”

One more glare. “Now. Sit down and behave yerselves.”

They did. Of course they did, sitting up poker straight and
even actually eating with their implements. Ewan was, when he wanted to be,
indomitable.

“Better.” He shot a glare around the table. “This is exactly
the kind of behavior that causes trouble. Maybe you would all like to be sent
to the Continent like your brother?”

He meant it as a threat. He should have known better.

Hamish’s eyes lit up. “Oh, could we?”

“Cor!” Taylor grinned. “On a ship? With sails and
everything?”

“I wouldn’t mind going,” Malcolm drawled, taking a sip of
his wine. At twenty, he thought himself terribly mature.

“
Shut up!
”

“Ewan.” Violet set a hand on his arm. “Don’t bellow.”

“Some situations call for bellowing.”

“Not at the table.”

Ewan didn’t bellow again. But then he didn’t need to. His
glower spoke for him.

As a result, the mood dimmed immensely.

And then it plummeted, because Sophia’s brother fixed his
attention on
her
. “I haven’t seen you for days,” he said. “What have you
been doing?”

“Nothing.” How could she say
hiding from you
?

He grunted. “You’ve had another offer.”

Sophia did not roll her eyes, but just barely.

“Ewan,” Violet said softly. “Not here.”

He frowned at his wife. “Then where? When? She’s been hiding
from me.”

Blast. He’d figured it out.

“Who was this offer from?” Kaitlin asked with a skeptical
expression on her face. Bless her. Between them, Kaitlin and Violet were her
only defenders.

“Dittenham.”

Violet blanched.

Sophia gaped. “Dittenham?” He was a good ten years her
senior.

“Seriously, Ewan? Dittenham?” Violet looked aghast. “He
courted
me
. Years ago.”

Ewan patted her hand. It did not relieve his wife’s horror. “He’s
a good man.”

Kaitlin grimaced. “He’s a dandy.”

“Does his mother approve?” Violet asked in a syrupy tone.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s handsome and young—”

“Hardly a young buck any longer.”

“And he has ten thousand a year. He will keep Sophia like a
princess.”

Violet nodded. “
If
his mother approves.”

“Violet, please. She’s said no to every offer. And Dittenham
is insistent.”

“Dittenham stinks.” Sophia hardly expected her pronouncement
to incite titters around the table but it did.

Ewan went red in the face. “Sophia Fiona St. Andrews!”

“Well, he does.”

Violet and Kaitlin nodded.

“He does.”

“Rather hideously.”

Ewan slammed his hand on the table. “His odor is not an
issue here—”

Violet shook her head. “I rather think it is. Heavens,
darling. A woman has to like the way a man smells to…” She flourished a hand.

Kaitlin nodded. “It’s a very basic thing.”

“Really?” Edward entered the conversation for the first
time; he’d been preoccupied wiping bisque from his inexpressibles. “Do you like
the way
I
smell?”

Kaitlin wrinkled her nose. “At the moment, you rather smell like
lobster, but generally speaking, yes. I do.”

This pleased the duke and he kissed his wife. With more
passion than was generally called for at the dining table.

Ewan frowned. “I hardly see this as an issue.”

“Because you’re a man, darling.” Violet patted his arm. “Sophia
isn’t interested in princes or dukes or ten thousand a year. She wants passion
and love—”

“Passion?” Ewan was clearly disturbed by the prospect of
Sophia
ever
having it.

That disappointed her more than the Dittenham falderal. Why
should she not have passion in her marriage as he did? Some great love? Or
adventure like Ned? Or
something
worth waking up for.

“She said no to a prince, for Christ sake. There is no
pleasing the girl. Dittenham is perfectly respectable. A fine match.” His gaze
gored her. His chin firmed. A shiver raked her. She knew that look. “Dittenham
it is.”

“No,” she croaked through the bitterness clogging her
throat.

“Ewan!”

He ignored his wife’s demur, his gaze intensifying. “Yes.”