Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (9 page)

He didn’t fear Sophie would lose her heart to him.

Mallen, was an altogether different story.

Any young lady would be hard-pressed not to fall for the distinguished peer—if for just his title alone.

Not that Sophie had ever struck him as a title-grasping young lady.

A small cry rent the stillness of the grounds. Intrepid danced nervously beneath him.

Christopher frowned and pulled on the reins. “Easy, girl,” he murmured, stroking her gently and rhythmically on her withers. He scoured the surrounding area and began to think he’d imagined the sound.

Another shriek filled the morning sky. Christopher kicked his horse forward, galloping toward the cry, just as a young woman stepped into his path.

His horse reared on its legs and came down amidst a shower of dust and pebbles. Christopher silently cursed and leapt to the ground.

“Have you been hurt, miss?” He froze, the remainder of what he’d been about to say, died on his lips. “Sophie? Whatever are you doing here at this ungodly…” His stomach tightened. Mud dotted the hem of her pale pink gown. “Christ.” The one word emerged more as a prayer. It tore from somewhere deep inside of him where fear lived.

A single trail of tears fell down her dirt-stained cheeks. “Christopher,” she cried and flung herself into his arms.

Instinctively he folded them around her, holding her close to his fast-beating heart. All the ugliest scenarios played out in his mind. By God, when he found the man responsible he would rip the bloody bastard’s entrails through his throat.

“What happened?” He strove to keep his voice calm.

She raised her head. “You must help me.”

“I will. Tell me what to do.” He would lay himself at her feet to drive back the panic bleeding through her cornflower blue irises.

Sophie stepped away and took him by the hand.

“Phi…?”

“Come,” she pleaded.

He allowed himself to be pulled along.

“It’s Duke.”

Those words penetrated all the horrific possibilities that had swelled in his brain. His steps slowed. “What?”

“My dog.”

His eyes slid closed on a whispered prayer. It was only her dog.

Sophie glanced up at him. “We came upon some geese. There was a mother and her babies. Duke chased the baby fowl and the mother charged after him. Will you help me?”

Christopher could only imagine what that entreaty cost Sophie. She was a proud woman…and he ventured, she’d sooner welcome help from the devil himself.

“Of course I’ll help,” he said, gentling his tone.

She dashed a hand across her eyes. “I’m crying.”

His lips twitched. “Ah, yes, I see that.”

“I never cry.”

He wiped away a lone tear from her cheek, and then froze. It was as though a bolt of lightning had jolted him right there amidst Hyde Park’s lush greenery. Emerald green and turquoise flecks dotted her irises, a shade of blue to rival the purest ocean waters. They were the kind of eyes a man could lose himself in.

He forced his gaze downward, and it landed on her mouth. Her teeth troubled the plump, lower flesh of bow-shaped lips and god help him, his mind wandered a path of all the wicked things those lips could do.

Christopher released Sophie with such alacrity, she nearly toppled over. His hands immediately came up to right her, settling on the silken flesh of her forearm. He dropped it as if singed.

“Christopher?”

He heard the question there.

“Fine,” he managed hoarsely. But he wasn’t. He’d bloody well lost his mind. There was no other explanation for why he’d be lusting after the hoydenish Sophie Winters on this riding path in Hyde Park. “Where did you last leave the miserable cur?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your dog,” he clarified, his tone harsh to his own ears.

Her gaze narrowed. “His name is Duke.”

Based on his recent dealings with the pup, Christopher would venture his was a more apt moniker for the creature.

Christopher allowed himself to be dragged along, much the way he had as a child when he’d visited with Sophie’s family. Then it had grated. After all, there was nothing more a young boy liked less than playing nursemaid to a troublesome child.

Now, the part of him that noted her sweetly rounded hips and plump buttocks was inclined to follow her to an out of the way path and worship her mouth with his lips.

They crossed the Serpentine Bridge that divided the two parks and approached the Long Water. Sure enough, the fawn colored pug, who’d clearly had too many treats at his mistress’ hand, danced in circles about a gray goose.

The angry bird flapped its wings and honked, dancing about on its pink feet in a way that Gentleman Jackson would have been proud of.

Christopher studied the tableau. He didn’t take Sophie as one who would be afraid of a bird. “You didn’t try to intercede?”

She made an impatient sound, and he looked back down at her. “Of course I did.” She held up her hand for his inspection. A thin trail of blood ran down the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger.

He cursed, and reached for the hand. “What happened?”

“I didn’t know geese had teeth,” she muttered.

He cocked his head. “Do they?”

Sophie gave a curt nod. “My sentiments exactly. I didn’t know any bird had teeth.”

Christopher reached within the front of his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped the thin streak of blood. “Who knew?” As he wrapped the cloth around her wound, he studied her long fingers, transfixed. God, if she didn’t possess the kind of fingers a man dreamed of; wrapped around…

He dropped her hand.

“Are you going to help me fetch him?” Sophie asked, chewing at her lower lip, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil raging through him.

The alternative was to stand there and dream up all manner of improper things about Sophie Winters. He rushed into the fray and bent down to scoop up Duke. The goose apparently took issue with his intervention and rushed at Christopher, pecking at his boots. The pug squirmed, eager to continue its battle.

Then, the miserable little cur sank its sharp teeth into Christopher’s hand.

He winced, and held the dog out to Sophie.

Her eyes lit like he’d bestowed upon her the finest jewels and not this yapping, snorting excuse of a dog.

She hugged him. Duke calmed, resting in his mistress’ arms.

Christopher’s gaze fell to the generous mounds of pale, white flesh that teased the décolletage of her pink, muslin gown. If he’d had his head resting upon her breasts, Christopher would find himself quite contented, as well.

A strangled sound worked its way up his throat.

Sophie looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

“Fine,” he said with a wave of his hand.

Then, Sophie Winters, the girl who’d tortured him for all his earlier years, who’d frowned, snapped, and tormented him, did the most unexpected thing…she smiled.

Christopher grinned back. “Well, I’d imagine Lady Ackerly will have something rather positive to write about this time,” he teased.

Sophie shook her head with mock solemnity. “Oh, no. She’d never do something so contrary as to write something positive. Mustn’t do something like that. It would ruin the lady’s reputation.”

“Is it a lady?”

She started. “Hmm. I just assumed that it was.”

He looked around at the empty park. “Do you always walk at this ungodly hour?”

Sophie’s shoulders moved up and down in a little shrug. “I find I like the privacy of my own company. There is less for Lady Ackerly to write about at this time,” she mumbled from under her breath.

At her words, it seemed to occur to the both of them that they were standing at the edge of the lake, in public for anyone to see, with no chaperone.

Sophie trailed the tip of her slipper in the gravel. “I should be going.”

Oddly, he had this desire for her to stay. Instead, he said, “Yes. You should.” He looked around. “Where is your maid?”

As if on cue the woman came hurtling from around the corner, her chest heaving up and down from her efforts.

“She couldn’t keep up,” Sophie whispered.

He bit back a grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled this much.

“Miss Winters!” the woman gasped. “There you are. You mustn’t…” her words died at the sight of Christopher. She clamped her lips shut and dropped her gaze to the ground.

Duke wriggled in Sophie’s arms until she was forced to set him down. The pug darted over to the pinch-mouthed maid, and barked wildly at the young woman. “Mother managed to find me the least fun maid in the entire kingdom,” Sophie said, out of the corner of her mouth.

Christopher laughed, and she joined him. They shared a look.

Sophie trailed her tongue along the seam of her lips. “Thank you for helping with Duke. I should be going.”

“Yes, you said that.”

Sophie curtsied, and walked several paces. Then, all of a sudden, she spun back around. “Christopher?”

He inclined his head. “Yes, Phi?”

“Last evening, you spoke of Whitmore. You said I didn’t know all the details surrounding the game of cards that resulted in your acquisition of his stables.”

“Is there a question there?” he asked, gently.

“You know there is. What happened between you and Whitmore?” She let out a little sigh. “Very well, then,” she said, when he didn’t reply. Sophie turned on her heel.

“Phi?” he called out.

Sophie turned around so quickly, she stumbled. She threw her arms wide to maintain her balance.

“I learned Whitmore was abusing his horses.” His mouth tightened when he thought about the undernourished, chestnut thoroughbred he’d acquired from Whitmore. The poor creature had been whipped so many times it bore the scars upon its sunken flanks. Christopher had named the horse Survivor, and had taken it upon himself to care for it. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to discuss the details.”

Her eyes filled with sadness. “The poor dears.” She scuffed the tip of her slipper along the ground. “Christopher, forgive me. I should not have passed judgment.”

They continued to stare at each other, neither speaking.

Duke pawed at Sophie’s skirts. She bent down and scooped him up, yet again. “Uh…I…thank you for your help with Duke.” She curtsied, and then rushed off.

Her maid fell into step alongside her.

He stared after Sophie until she’d disappeared from sight. His reservations with the plan he’d concocted stirred yet again.

When he’d sought out Mallen, he’d done so with thoughts of that fateful night Sophie had snuck up on him with a lantern in her hands. She’d set it down upon a mounting block and searched the stables until she’d found him attempting to read to his horse, Resilience; a pure-blooded Arabian who didn’t judge.

Sophie had giggled, mocking his efforts, and raced from the stables. Christopher still recalled the burning humiliation in his chest, as it licked at his insides. He’d thrown a nearby saddle against the stable wall, and stormed out, not having realized until too late that his rash actions had upended the forgotten lantern. The barn had been ravaged by fire, and though most of his father’s horses had been saved, a stunning Arabian and her foal had perished. The suffering Christopher endured at his father’s hand was no match for the despair and sense of responsibility Christopher carried for the loss of those loyal horses. Sophie Winters’ cruelty had become inextricably tied to the great loss suffered that night.

He shook his head, displacing the troubling memories.

Now, Sophie was more than that girl who’d wreaked havoc upon his life. She was a woman who battled wild geese to defend an undeserving mongrel of a dog.

As Christopher started home, he had the niggling thought that his scheme might prove more problematic than he’d originally considered.

Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

Miss S.W. was observed entering London Hospital. To what ends, still remains unclear.

~7~

Sophie stepped down from the carriage, and glanced up at the sign welcoming one to London Hospital, before returning her attention to the note she’d received from Emmaline. She scanned it once more.

Dearest Sophie,

Oh, I do miss your company and all the good fun we had. Since my dearest husband, Drake, learned I am enceinte, he’s been a stodgy boor. I take great delight in telling him this. Drake assures me that once I’ve come out of confinement I can return to dashing all over the countryside. In the meantime, I’ve a request to make, Sophie. My confinement put a temporary end to my visits with the wounded soldiers at London Hospital. Would you be willing to pay these brave men periodic visits?

You are a dear.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

Her maid cleared her throat. “The viscount will be most displeased. It isn’t seemly for you to enter a hospital, especially—”

“That will be all,” Sophie said. “Please take the remainder of the morning for yourself.” Not allowing Lucy an opportunity to protest, Sophie pressed ahead, climbing the stone steps. Since the moment she’d made her come out and been labeled a wallflower, she had made fast friends with Emmaline, the Duke of Mallen’s cherished sister. Emmaline had filled Sophie’s lonely, uncomfortable evenings at many balls and dinners with laughter and friendship. As a result she was wont to deny her friend anything.

Sophie’s dog, Duke, gave a happy yelp and bounded ahead of her. He stopped at the front door, barking excitedly.

“Do behave,” she tried for her most stern voice but Duke rubbed against her skirts with another little yelp, and knew she’d failed deplorably.

The door opened and an older, reed-thin woman clad in modest brown skirts greeted her with a smile. “I am Nurse Whiting. You must be…” Her gaze wandered downward. The woman’s kindly brown eyes went wide in her face. She cleared her throat. “Miss Winters,” she finished, recovering from the shock of Duke’s presence. She motioned Sophie forward.

Sophie smiled. “I hope it is no trouble that I’ve brought Duke.”

The nurse paused, head cocked at an angle.

“My dog,” Sophie said by way of explanation. “I thought it would do the men good to see him. He’s well-behaved.”