The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (8 page)

* * *

Later, Sophie sat at her dressing table as Letty ran the brush through her hair.

"Forty-eight, forty-nine," counted Letty under her breath.

Sophie's head nodded with each stroke. Waiting out the hundred strokes Letty insisted was proper attention tried Sophie's patience. But if she stopped the brushing before it was done, Letty would burst into tears.

Sophie had escaped the drawing room as soon as she could. Not that she wanted to be away from Keene, except that the conversation had turned to politics again. It was likely the only thing her father could think of to talk about with Keene. Sophie listened for a time, but all the different names meant nothing to her, and she had ended up more confused than interested.

A tap sounded at her door, and Sophie leaped up, disregarding the way the brush snagged in her hair. She pulled it out and threw back the door. Sophie expected her mother and a secondhand lecture about her delay in making it into the dining room.

Keene leaned one palm against the door frame, his stance relaxed as a tiger watching prey before deciding to spring. He didn't say anything for a long time.

His lids lowered over his dark eyes. He gave her one of
those
looks, a hint of amusement hovering around his unsmiling mouth. His voice low and vibrant, he said, "Brushing your hair?"

Sophie nodded, clutching the brush to her chest.

"Oh, miss, shut the door. You mustn't speak with him. You're not decent."

Keene's expression changed, tightening and closing off. He stepped back from the doorway.

"It's okay, Letty." Disappointment surged through Sophie. Letty would no more be able to keep quiet about this late-night visit than a trapped pig could keep from squealing.

"Oh, no, miss, you mustn't."

"Go on and go to bed, Letty."

"Oh, no, miss. I can't leave you with him here. I knows my duty."

Keene assessed Sophie. His head tilted slightly in inquiry. Without moving his gaze from Sophie he said, "Letty, if you wish to stay with your mistress, you might remember that you shall be in my employ in a few weeks."

"Oh, Lord." Letty twisted her gown in her hands, her gaze darting between them. "I haven't finished your hair, miss."

"It's enough for tonight."

"You cannot do this, miss. You know you should not."

"Wish my future husband a good night? He does not mean to come in. Do you, Keene?"

"I am here because I leave tomorrow after your father and I conclude our business. I am not sure that I shall be allowed to bid you farewell without him standing between us."

He was leaving? Disappointment settled in her stomach like an unpleasant meal. She swallowed. "What business?"

"The marriage settlement."

"I hope you are pleased with it."

An odd expression flitted across his face. "I am well satisfied."

Letty crossed the floor and tried to pull Sophie from the doorway and shut the door.

Sophie knew she couldn't ignore her high-strung maid for long or she would have hysterics and that would bring the whole house down on them.

Keene brushed inside the room and shut the door. "Stay, then, but don't make a sound."

He might as well ask for the moon.

Letty released her. Her whisper was strained. "Miss Sophie, you are in your
nightgown."

"She needn't stay in it on my account." Keene's gaze flicked over the long flannel gown.

He reached for the sides of the gown and Sophie's heart pounded. She wasn't quite sure what he meant to do.

He fanned the folds of material out. "Quite a modest gown. You have enough material here to house half of Wellington's army."

"I shouldn't think you'd care to find any soldiers using my nightgown as a tent."

His eyes flicked to hers. "I daresay not. I should have to shoot any man I found under your nightgown."

The words were delivered with a mild, amused tone, but there was a hint of steel in his eyes.

Letty gave a choked sob.

"Not a sound." He didn't even bother to turn his head toward the maid.

Letty stuffed her fist in her mouth.

"You do not care for my nightclothes, sir?"

"Perhaps you have something a little less concealing in your trousseau?"

Sophie shook her head, mesmerized by his presence. The dim light from the single lamp on her dressing table caused his face to move in and out of shadow. "It's warm."

His grin caught at her heartstrings. Tingles danced over her skin. He dropped the sides of her gown and reached for her hand. "I should imagine it is." He lifted the lace-edged knuckle-length sleeve and raised her hand.

The warmth and pressure of his lips against her skin made her heart pound in an erratic tattoo.

"Must you leave tomorrow?"

"Yes, I must. Did your father tell you?"

Sophie shook her head.

Keene pressed his lips together and looked at her maid. "You can leave. I shall take no further advantage of your mistress."

"Miss, please, you'll be on bread and water again."

Keene rolled his eyes.

Knowing her papa, Sophie suspected the decision to leave wasn't entirely Keene's. "I want to hear why you're leaving. Did Papa say you must?"

"They don't tell you much, do they?"

No, they thought quite a bit should be kept from her. Unfortunately, they didn't reckon with her natural curiosity and inquisitiveness. Sophie was sure she knew much more than either of her parents suspected. She knew they thought Keene was a rake of the worst sort, and while her mother had discussed that with her, Sophie knew they would never in a million years discuss things like her marriage portion with her. Would Keene insist on keeping her in the dark, too?

"What disposition was made for me?"

"You will inherit your father's estate. For now, you have a dowry of three thousand pounds, or rather, I shall receive it."

"Thank you."

Keene blinked. "You didn't know that either?"

Sophie shook her head.

"I gave my assurances that your mother shall continue to live here as long as she wishes if your father predeceases her. I thought that is as you would want it. Of course, if you wish to stay here, you may."

Did he mean alone with her parents? After their marriage? She wanted to live in London with Keene. "I should wish to stay in your home."

Keene looked away.

"After we're married, of course."

What he was thinking? Did he wish Letty would go? Sophie wished he would kiss her. She thought she would die if he didn't kiss more than her hand. His thumb rubbed slowly across her knuckles where he held her.

"Your father tells me you do the accounts."

"Well, yes, the household and some of the rents."

"Ah, I see."

"So you have come to wish me good-bye?" She heard the breathiness in her voice.

Keene's attention returned to her, his dark eyes traveling over the voluminous gown, landing on her face and holding her eyes. He lifted a strand of her hair and let the curl wrap around his finger.

She was tired of waiting. "Would you kiss me farewell?"

"No."

Her heart landed at her knees and punched a hole in her stomach on the way down. She felt wobbly and sick. Had her boldness repulsed him? The silence in the room was deafening. And to make it worse, Letty witnessed Sophie's humiliation.

He tugged on her hand, pulling her closer. "I shall not kiss you, but you might kiss me."

A flash of anger threaded through her and entwined with desire, forming into a knotty tangle in her stomach.

He waited, a sensual half smile inviting her liquid response.

She sidled up to him like she had observed a prostitute do to a man in the nearby town of Shrewsbury. She slowly draped her arms over his shoulders, pressing her body against him. His dark eyes lit with an anticipation. She reached up with her mouth, and realized she had no idea what to do next. But then, she was a creature of impulses, and it came to her.

* * *

Keene waited to see if Victor would receive him. His manservant had taken his calling card with a skeptical look. A year ago they would have ignored the formality. Keene rubbed the sore spot on his lower lip and grinned. The little minx had nearly drawn blood when she bit him. One thing was sure, Sophie would never bore him.

"Lord Wedmont will see you."

Keene nodded and followed the valet back to the bedroom at the rear of Victor's rented London rooms.

Victor sat propped in his bed. The bandage over his right shoulder made a large lump under his open shirt. Keene paused at the foot of the bed.

"Well, sit down, man. You can write this damn letter for me as you inflicted the injury that makes my writing illegible.

"I aimed for your thigh."

"I know." Victor leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. His skin looked pasty and grooves bracketed his mouth.

Remorse trickled through Keene. "What do the doctors say?"

"They say I shall have limited use of my arm. God help me if I cannot write. I shall never manage my estate."

Victor's estate was a crumbling old, fortified house on a small patch of land in the north country. His father and grandfather had sold off all the adjoining farms and pasturelands to raise funds, leaving only a forest good for hunting.

Now, Victor had to make regular arrangements for food and livestock to be brought in. Even the toll road his family had once owned was now a regular drain on his pockets because of the frequent trips he made home to straighten out problems.

Keene was glad he'd avoid such a thankless situation, assuming his father did not change his will again.

"Here." Victor handed Keene a piece of paper and pointed to the ink and pen on the side table. Blotchy, smeared chicken scratches covered the top of paper. Victor handed over the book on his lap that doubled as a writing surface. "The worst part of using my left hand is that it drags through the wet ink. Look at this." He raised his blackened left hand. "It'll be a fortnight before these ink stains wear off."

Keene wrote the letter as Victor dictated it. He handed it to Victor, who read it and set it on the table beside his bed. "Good, now, if you mean to take offense at anything I say, you may leave."

Keene leaned forward in his chair and raked his hands through his hair. "I should not have challenged you. I am sorry."

Victor held his silence.

Keene didn't know if his explanation of what happened would help. Either way, he felt he had to account for his behavior. "I went to congratulate or console George on the early arrival of his child. The servants told me he was closeted in the library and no one will disturb him. Amelia was quite distraught. I thought maybe the baby was born too soon and was in trouble, but no. The baby is healthy and full size. I had no thought other then George had been a little before in his duties. I opened the library door and found him with his pistol in his mouth."

Nothing could explain the sheer terror that had iced his spine at that sight. George had put the gun down before Keene could approach him to wrestle it away. Put the gun down and told Keene to go away. Instead, Keene had taken the gun away and held George as he sobbed like a baby over Amelia's betrayal and learned it was with a friend they both considered as a brother.

"She never told me," said Victor.

Keene stared at Victor as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "I promised George to punish you. I would have slit my own wrists if I had thought it should stop him from killing himself."

"So you would kill one of us to save him."

"I was not thinking straight. Richard was not in his grave above two weeks."

Victor waved off his explanation. "Have you seen George?"

"This morning. He is drunk."

Victor reached behind him and grabbed the headboard. "So early? It is barely noon."

"They tell me this is normal. It is better than blowing his brains out, isn't it?"

"How is she?"

"Amelia is despondent. George will not speak to her."

"Not her."

Keene looked at Victor's pinched face and the dark brown locks that normally would be brushed into a disordered study of windswept waves. His hair was simply brushed back, although its natural tendency to curl meant his hair swooped down and brushed over his temples.

"My daughter."

Keene felt a wellspring of despair. Why did everyone persist in making this situation worse? "She's not your daughter; she's George's."

"Is she well?"

"The baby is healthy."

"Do they care for her? Or will she be an outcast in her family?"

"George will do what is right. He will raise her as he should." Keene would see to it.

"But will he love her?"

The question plagued Keene. George was one of the most honorable men he knew. Surely he would come around. "Give him time."