Jilting the Duke (14 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Aidan left Sophia's library to pay a call to Madame Elise, the most fashionable and most exclusive of London modistes. Other peers might wait for months for an appointment, but Aidan was never kept waiting. Only Aidan knew Elise as Lizzie, the daughter of one of his father's cottagers, seduced by his eldest brother Aaron into being his mistress, then beaten half to death in one of Aaron's drunken rages. Only Aidan had known where she had gone when she ran away, for he'd given her the money to start a sewing business in a fashionable area of town. They'd chosen a French accent to hide her, but it—along with her exceptional craftsmanship—became the foundation of her success. Despite the war with France, French fashions—and refugee French modistes—were all the rage.

When Elise had heard his very specific instructions for Sophia's new wardrobe, she'd raised an eyebrow. Her unspoken question: was Sophia Aidan's new mistress? Just as with Walgrave, he could have easily allowed Elise to believe what she wished and to let her circles of gossip begin to link his name with Lady Wilmot's. But once more, he considered his obligation to protect Ian.

Any revenge would have to be private, known just to himself and Sophia. So, he'd told the truth, or most of it: that Sophia was the mother of his ward, recently out of mourning. Then he'd surprised himself by asking Elise for her discretion. But the conversation gave him other ideas, and he spent the rest of his time planning how to breach the defenses around Sophia's heart.

* * *

Aidan arrived promptly at two, his plans for charming Sophia progressing nicely. He found her in the hall, gloves in hand, waiting for him alone.

“Do you wish to wait for your maid?”

“I'm a widow. I can ride in a carriage with my son's guardian without a maid,” she offered stiffly, then softened. “Ian spent the morning reading Greek with his tutor, then he and Sally escaped to the park. I hadn't the heart to call them in.”

“Then we shall go as you wish.” He held his hand under her elbow as she descended the steps, then left his hand there until they reached the carriage. He opened the carriage door and started to offer his hand to help her up. But instead, he stepped behind her and, without warning, lifted her up and into the carriage. He couldn't see her face to gauge her reaction. She moved to sit on the far side of the carriage, giving him space to step in behind her and close the door. He took the backwards-facing seat, across from her.

“But,” he teased, “what will Phineas say?” It was an old game, established long ago to take the sting out of Phineas's petty cruelties. He wondered if she would play.

Caught off guard, she laughed. “I didn't expect that.”

“Which part? My gallant help or the reminder that your brother is a self-important prig?” Aidan welcomed the opportunity to be alone with her in close quarters. He stretched his legs across the space between them, resting them against the side of her right leg.

“I suppose both. I've been gone so long; I'd forgotten you know Phineas.” She shifted her body to create a space between their legs.

“Ah, to know him . . .” He let pass her off-handed suggestion that she had forgotten their shared past. He would remind her of it here in the carriage. He leaned forward, shifting his leg again to touch hers. “Was he a devoted correspondent when you were in Naples?”

“I heard from him precisely three times a year, on my birthday in a long letter in which he detailed the various costs of maintaining a household in a civilized country, and on his birthday in a longer letter in which he detailed . . .”

“The various costs of maintaining a household in a civilized country.”

“Yes, and in each one, a brief sermon on moral obligations, which always ended with my needing to donate my pin money to this or that endeavor Phineas wished to support.”

“Of course. And the third time . . .”

“His request to visit Tom's estate to collect a Christmas ham. Poor pigs.”

“I would have expected more.”

“In actuality, there
were
more.” Her voice shifted from amused to pensive. “I found them in a packet after Tom's death, Phineas's fat letters and copies of Tom's slender replies, all in a cover marked, ‘only read these if you must.'”

“Did you read them?” Aidan regretted the change in her voice, but—for Walgrave at least—he needed to know the extent of Phineas's correspondence, if not with Sophia, then with Tom.

“No. I trusted Tom's judgment. So, I determined that Phineas didn't wish for me to read them either.” She shifted again, once more creating distance between them.

“How did you determine that?” He kept his voice light, conspiratorial.

“Phineas never fails to remind me that a wife must obey her husband in all things.”

Aidan laughed aloud, pleased at each glimpse of the old mischievous Sophia. “I doubt Phineas would approve that particular application of Scripture.”

“I doubt it as well. But should I answer?”

“Answer?”

“What would Phineas say?”

“Yes, do.” He was pleased she had agreed to play.

“It is no
more
inappropriate to ride unchaperoned in a carriage than it is to accompany a man to his modiste to choose a new wardrobe.” She mimicked Phineas's intonation so well that Aidan—who had not seen her brother in years—could once more hear his voice.

“Ah, that's it exactly. Why do you put up with him?”

“Before my father died, he told us to take care of each other, and I suppose I feel that obligation. But I must say, it was easier when we were half a continent away and Tom was alive to bear the worst of it.”

“Have you ever done anything Phineas approved of?”

“Actually I have.” She shook her head, smiling. “I hired Cook. He visits, I believe, solely to eat her tea cakes.”

“Ah, Cook. I brought her pistachios some time ago, hoping for a taste of her famous lemon cake.”

“One must stake a claim early for a piece of Cook's cake. Between Ian and Dodsley, I barely get a crumb.”

“Ah, unfair, my lady.” Aidan pretended to be hurt.

Sophia laughed, relaxing against the seat. The conversation about servants gave him an opportunity to discover some of the information Walgrave needed.

“Counting Cook, how many servants do you employ?”

“Enough for the needs of our household,” Sophia answered obliquely.

“Let me try: there's Sally, a maid-of-all-work who serves as Ian's nurse and helps you dress; Cook, Dodsley, Perkins, and a footman. . . . Have I missed anyone?” Aidan leaned back, as if counting her servants, but, in fact, using his motion to bring his legs once more against her calf. This time, when his leg brushed against hers, she had no room left to move away. She had to allow the subtle pressure or ask him to move. He was certain she wouldn't openly acknowledge his touch, not when he pretended to be unaware of it.

“Ian's tutor, a Mr. Benedict Grange.”

“No secretary?”

“Not anymore.”

“I'll send you some servants in the morning.”

“I don't need more servants.”

“You will.”

He'd hoped that the constant pressure of his legs against hers would remind her of what they had been, of the passion they had shared in their youth. But by the time they arrived at Madame Elise's, he had only succeeded in reminding himself. The scent of her hair, newly washed, with hints of lemon and rosemary, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the soft pressure of her calf through the layers of her walking dress against his leg, each one captured his senses.

* * *

At Madame Elise's, Sophia's dreary clothes and her wary reserve gave proof to Aidan's words that she was not his new mistress—as did her insistence that the bill come to her. At first it had gratified her that Madame Elise had not assumed she was another of Forster's mistresses, then she realized that Madame Elise knew all of Aidan's mistresses and had identified Sophia as not one of them. At some level it disappointed her, creating a dull ache at the back of her chest, but she told herself, it was for the best.

Even so, Aidan had resisted her choices of colors, insisting that, after a year, she did not have to limit herself to lavender and gray. When she would not be moved from half-mourning, Madame Elise had smiled and patted Aidan's arm. “You will be
très contente
with my designs, your grace. I can do much with the materiel
seul
. She will still be
sensa-tionelle, non?
”

After choosing patterns for a small wardrobe—two morning dresses, two evening dresses, a riding habit, and three walking dresses—Sophia and Aidan took their leave of Madame Elise. Aidan opened the door to Madame Elise's shop and let Sophia pass before him into the street. It was just short of half past three. The streets were still lively with the sounds of vendors and children chasing one another up and down the sidewalks.

She heard a commotion to her right, and a rough voice crying “thief.”

A child of perhaps six ran past. Agile and small, the child ducked around her, and down the alley on the other side of Elise's shop. A large broad man burst through the crowd. Sophia had no time to think, no room to move out of his way.

Suddenly Aidan pulled her out of the way of the pursuit and against his chest. She could feel his breath against her neck. His arms held her tight, and she turned her face into his chest, listening to his heart beat fast. She knew she had to move, but now that she was in his embrace, she wanted only to remain in his arms.

“I'm not hurt.” She tapped his arm. “You can let me go.”

His arms released slowly. Stepping back, she followed his gaze. He was watching the crowd for the man who had almost run her down.

“Yes, but you could have been. There's no excuse.... It was obvious he couldn't get through without knocking others down.”

“That's the second time you've kept me from being hurt. I must thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. I would have a hard time explaining to Ian how I allowed his mother to be mauled in the street.” Though Aidan appeared placid and at ease once more, his eyes continued to search the crowd as he escorted her into his carriage. Sophia wondered how much Aidan hid behind that bland composure.

* * *

Aidan settled himself into the carriage, feeling uneasy. Were the child and his pursuer just that, or was someone trying to harm Sophia? Had he seen a knife flash in the instant before he pulled her back off the sidewalk? He could not be sure. But if she were in danger, he was obligated to Ian and the Home Office to protect her. Now, though, having pulled her body tight against his and held her in his arms for the first time in a decade, he wanted to touch her again, to draw her into the dark of the carriage and kiss her senseless. Acutely aware of her nearness, he fixed his legs far from her own.

The silence gave Sophia time to think. She'd been foolish not to bring a maid. She would have liked to believe that his legs brushing up against hers in the carriage had been an attempt to seduce her, but each time she looked at him, he was looking out of the window. Surely, if he had seduction in mind, he would at least look into her eyes. Or make a joke. But apparently he thought so little of her, he wasn't even aware of how his legs felt against hers.

And in the street, when he had swept her out of the way, he had not taken the opportunity to embrace her. No, his were only the natural reactions of a man brought up in polite society. He would behave in the same manner, she was sure, to any other woman of his class, and likely even to Madame Elise, with whom he seemed to have a long history. But Sophia found herself disappointed. She longed to feel his touch once more, and she wondered how he would respond if she were to move across the seat, and lift her lips to his. She waited some time before she spoke. “Madame Elise said one of the plainer dresses might be ready in time for the dinner party.”

“Dinner party?”

“I assumed you had seen the invitation. Wasn't that the reason you insisted on a modiste?”

Aidan laughed. “My lady, all invitations go into a pile for my secretary to refuse. I don't even read them.”

“I haven't received a refusal.”

“
Yet
. He sends them out seven days before the event. So what is this dinner party for?”

“Phineas is sitting for parliament in a rotten borough, and he wishes to begin forming political alliances.”

“And I'm invited?” Aidan sounded genuinely surprised. “Is he mad?”

“Phineas wishes for people to know Tom made you Ian's guardian, so that if they see us together, they won't think . . .” She trailed off, wishing she had not begun that sentence.

Aidan heard her hesitation. He needed little help to imagine what Phineas had said, but he couldn't resist forcing her to finish the sentence. “Think what?”

She looked down into her hands. “Phineas fears for my reputation.... Well, to be honest, he fears I will do something that will thwart his ambitions.”

“Ah. So that's how everyone at my club knows Ian is my ward.” There was nothing Sophia could say, nothing that wouldn't tread on dangerous ground. She turned her attention to the streets passing outside the carriage window, and the silence lengthened.

They had been driving long enough that they should be nearing her home, but none of the streets looked familiar. Instead, they drove through parts of London she had never seen: buildings farther and farther apart, interspersed with fields and crops. She shifted against the seat, beginning to feel ill at ease.