The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (10 page)

The thought of Sophie with a man made him sick. But what could he do? The damage was done at that point.

But then she had refused Sir Gresham's offer. Daniel'd put her on bread and water for the rest of the week. He had been far too indulgent with his daughter.

When the squire had made his offer and haltingly suggested that although their stations were not equal he had reason to believe Sophie held some affection for him, it had seemed like a Godsend. Then, she refused the squire's offer, too.

In desperation Daniel had written to his wife's cousin, Lord Whitley. He'd always thought that as a second son, Richard might have made a good match for Sophie, but by the time his letter arrived Richard was dead, and Keene was sent instead.

That Keene, the eternal rake who rarely associated with any woman more than a fortnight was willing to marry Sophie surprised him. That Sophie accepted without a fight surprised him even more, but perhaps the two of them with their penchants for indulging in pleasures of the flesh were best suited for each other. Daniel only hoped that when Keene learned of his bride's wicked ways he should not turn her out on her ear.

His hand shaking, he led his horse away from where Sophie and the squire lay on the ground. Her skirts were tumbled around her waist and he'd seen Ponsby's hands on her limbs, cupping her face. Sophie had reached for the squire, pulled him down by his shirt when he moved away. He'd heard his own daughter speak of her fall from grace.

When Daniel was far enough away to not overhear or be overheard he dismounted and leaned his forehead against a tree. The bark bit into his skin, and he fought the sickness and tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

Although at the moment he wanted to shoot Ponsby, he couldn't fault him. He'd offered again to make an honest woman of her. And damn her wicked flesh, she must have set her ambitions on a title and a path to that den of iniquities. London.

If he could do anything to save her from herself, he should make sure she never set foot in that place. For a young woman who had no control over her morals that city would be the death of her.

* * *

Keene cradled the infant against his shoulder, feeling a tight bond with the unwelcome child.

"Ah, there you are."

Keene turned to the doorway of the third-floor nursery where Amelia stood.

"Yes."

"George is in the library."

"Has he seen his daughter?"

Amelia shook her head. Keene studied her. She had the soft lines of a woman who had recently given birth and a deep sadness that made Beowulf seem like a lighthearted romp. She carried it all with an inborn grace, her shoulders straight and her neck arched like a swan's.

Little Regina already showed hints of her mother's elegance in the delicate way she stretched out her hand and her little fingers curled around his lapel.

"Shall we go see your papa?"

Amelia gave a start and reached out a hand, which fell to her side. "Perhaps she should stay here in the nursery."

"Hiding her will not make his anger go away. If he sees she is just an innocent little child who needs his care and protection he may snap out of his depression."

Doubt tainted Amelia's porcelain features. "I wish for him to be happy. I have thought the baby and I should go to the country."

"You made him happy once."

"Before he learned of—" She broke off and bit her lip.

Keene hesitated to call it a betrayal. From what he knew, Amelia had been loyal once the ring was on her finger. "Your indiscretion."

Amelia dabbed at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief. "He will never forgive me."

Since they were speaking of it . . . "Why didn't you tell him sooner?"

She gave a smile that looked more like a grimace. A tear leaked out and dripped down her cheek. "I thought he was being so very noble and understanding by pretending to believe the baby was his. I thought he knew. It would have been obvious to you or any other man. I loved him all the more for that."

She turned away. Keene was torn. On one hand he thought she had brought her troubles on herself. On the other hand, last year they had all been so free and easy. Never in a month of Sundays would he have thought life would have spun them into such a uncomfortable weave.

"I hear you are to be married."

"Yes."

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She balled up her handkerchief. Huge signs of distress from a woman who was always perfectly demure and ladylike.

"I was given to understand that you would not marry."

"Things change. I wanted Richard as my heir."

"Oh, Keene, I am so very sorry." She glided toward him. "I hope your wife will not be a burden like me. I wanted so very much to make George happy, and all I have done is make him miserable. Please, Keene, you are his dearest friend." She touched his arm ever so lightly. "Tell me, if I should go away. If you could learn what I should do to ease his mind, I will do it. I hate that this has come to pass. I have told him how very sorry I am, that I would do anything to put things right. We were so very happy."

She patted the baby's back.

"I'll talk to him. I want you both to attend my wedding." Perhaps it would serve as a reminder of how much in love they had been on their own wedding day.

"He will not wish for me to go, but perhaps it shall be good for him to do something. Please do convince him."

Keene could smell her soft fragrance, hear the whisper of silk as she moved. At one time he would have wanted to touch her, to have her gentle smile turned in his direction. Now, he only wondered why she had chosen to stand so close to him. Shifting her baby into one arm he reached out and smoothed his hand down her back.

Amelia shuddered. The expression on her face turned from serenely distant to something between horror and fascination. She took a half step back. "Please, Keene, your betrayal should kill him," she whispered.

No point in mincing words. "And yours, madam?"

She stared off at a corner of the room. Her elbows were bent in the perfect pose of composure, her spine straight and her features once again in that bland expression that hid her passionate nature. "He expects no less of me."

Only George's drunken confessions of his pleasure in his wife's bed made him know that Amelia was not the cool goddess in every respect. That and her transgression with Victor.

Keene's blood ran cold. "Would you have married any one of us?"

"George is the only one who asked."

She turned to him, her gaze clear and direct.

He couldn't bring himself to ask if she would have slept with any of them. Obviously she had slept with Victor and hadn't told him that she conceived.

"I loved all of you, but I loved George best. I never thought he would . . ."

"Propose?"

"I never thought he would love me."

Why hadn't Victor proposed? Why hadn't she told Victor about the baby? Why hadn't she told any of them?

Amelia crossed the room and straightened the baby's bedclothes. He could see her shaking as she performed the domestic task. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort her. He hated the urge. Amelia was too complicated. She tucked her yearnings under like a dove, the momentary attraction discreetly hidden, until he wondered if he'd imagined it. Only, he didn't think so. He had good instincts around women, and they rarely proved wrong.

Thank God, Sophie was straightforward and honest as the day was long. Sophie wore her emotions like a peacock wore his feathers, bright, bold and baleful.

He stared at the woman across the room, wondering what he could do to set the situation to rights. George did love his wife. Otherwise he should not be so desperate now. "Tell him Victor attacked you."

She clutched the crib sheet she had just straightened, pulling it off the bed as she turned. "I cannot lie."

"George needs to believe in your honor. If you tell him Victor forced you he will . . ." be martyr enough to welcome her back into his heart, "feel you did him no dishonor."

"I already told him the truth," Amelia whispered as if the truth was too awful to be acknowledged in normal tones. "I would not ever speak of it to you if I did not think you could help George. But upon my word, Victor did not force himself upon me."

"Amelia, tell George you lied because you didn't wish to damage his friendship. Give him back his dignity."

"So he can shoot Victor, too? No, Keene, I will not lie. There would be no honor in that, and it should all be false." Her voice broke. "He is such a good and honorable man. I know that I aspire too high to expect his esteem, but I would not have it on false pretexts."

"Yes, he is so good and honorable as to be drunk insensible by noon each day." Keene moved restlessly across the floor. Regina whimpered. He bounced her, hoping to soothe both their agitations.

"I have wounded him beyond measure."

"And he would continue to plunge the knife in the breast of those who are innocent because he is in pain." Damn him, and damn her for showing dignity when he least expected it. "Either you will do anything or nothing at all."

Amelia stood with the sunlight filtering in on her hands clasped before her. "I will not lie. I should not have withheld the truth before."

"Well there is honor in that, I suppose."

* * *

Sophie passed the next few days in a fog. Sometimes she was fine, while other times her ability to concentrate on what was being said disappeared totally. She was pretty sure the odd sensation of fading in and out of reality and occasional dizzy spells were due to the fall and the hard knock on her head.

Her mother attributed Sophie's unusual behavior to prewedding excitement. Her father—well Sophie wasn't quite sure what to think of her father. He became grim and solemn, as if not at all happy with her. Sophie couldn't quite figure out why.

She didn't think her father knew she had taken the horse out for a ride. After Mr. Ponsby helped her to a side door of the house, he'd tracked down the riderless mare and led her back to the stables.

The big day approached rapidly. Other than a formal letter from Keene informing her parents that he meant to arrive the day before the ceremony, they hadn't heard from him. Her attempts at letters had ended up balled up or shredded. She couldn't find the right tone with which to address him.

Nerves and excitement kept her awake long into the nights. Fear propelled her out of bed in the mornings. Fatigue made her fall asleep in the sitting room after dinner, only to have her mother wake her with a gentle shake. Did Keene even give her a thought?

By God, what must he think of her? She had bit him like a rabid dog when she had last seen him. He had thrust her away and looked like he had every intention of throttling her, except for a wicked—amused?—gleam in his eye. But she wasn't sure the gleam wasn't a trick of the flickering lamplight. The slow deliberate look he'd given her meant something. He'd stepped toward Sophie, and her maid gave a squeak. His glance at Letty had prompted some change in his plan.

She'd pressed her fingers to his lower lip, regretting her impulsive action, all the while her heart threatening to leap out of her chest and dance on the floor in front of him. Heat had flooded her body, making her damp and weak. All he'd done was turn slightly and press his lips against her fingertips, and she was ready to swoon. He'd bowed and left.

Letty had given her a wide-eyed stare and said, "Oh, miss, he'll make you so happy."

Sophie thought it was a rather odd statement, given that he'd just made her quite cross by refusing to kiss her and suggesting she, who had rather limited knowledge of such things, take the lead. Rather like letting Grace have her head. It only led to trouble.

Although Sophie admired the sleek perfection of the horse, she was relieved to hear she was not to be hers, Daisy was. Her mother explained it was because she might soon need a more gentle horse if she became enceinte. Frankly, Sophie didn't think she wanted to be thrown again. She could hardly walk straight for two days following and had endured her father's fierce frown when she waddled through the hall.

"Her head's in the clouds again," said the seamstress, pinning and tucking the wedding gown around her.

"Are you very sure this gown is in the latest fashion? I shouldn't wish to embarrass Keene in front of his London friends."

"I am quite sure your father shall disapprove," answered her mother.

Sophie nodded and wiped a hand across her sweat-beaded forehead.

"Although in a way this style of gown is revealing, I think it should be quite handy for concealing one's condition. I do remember finding most of my clothes so very uncomfortable when I was expecting you." Her mother twitched the high-waisted skirt of the gown around.

"Do you think Keene is quite eager to get an heir?"

The seamstress and her mother exchanged glances. Sophie felt momentarily excluded from a private sisterhood of women.

"Most men are eager to do their part," said the seamstress.

Her mother hushed the woman. "He doesn't have Richard as a reserve heir any longer. He needs to think about the future."