Trapping a Duchess (16 page)

Andrew decided to take possession of his study and control of the uncomfortable conversation. “Stalemate,” he said, setting his brandy glass on the desk with a loud thump.

“What?” Simon's unrefined question was shadowed by Alex’s more genteel “Pardon?”

“I said you are at a stalemate,” he repeated, rising. “As usual. And we are to meet Courtland at Vauxhall in precisely two hours, Alexandra. It is time to dress.”

She nodded her assent, but not before pinning him with an all-knowing glance. “We shall continue this discussion later,” she said to Simon before sauntering out the door.

“Are you shooing me off as well?” Simon asked.

“Most definitely.”

“Interesting. I shall see you tonight, then.”

“Indeed.” Andrew followed him out of the room and made his way upstairs to dress. His mind turned again to Sophie, to how she would answer his ultimatum. He felt a genuine smile curve his lips as he envisioned her standing there, looking adorably flustered as she capitulated.
I have seen the way you look at her
. Alex’s words popped unbidden into his head and he stilled.
I have seen it with my own eyes
.

His next thought stole his breath.
She had been referring to Lady Abigail, hadn’t she
?

* * * *

Sophie took Simon’s hand and stepped out of the carriage, her champagne colored satin gown and matching gloves in stark contrast to the formal black and burgundy her brother had worn. Only a man as devilish as he would dress in such wicked colors. “And we’re off,” Simon said as they walked towards the entrance to Vauxhall.

She barely slept the night before, had instead spent the time pacing and planning, weighing her options and playing out every scenario in her head. It was near to dawn when she finally dozed off, murmuring encouraging words she hoped would settle into her brain and spine. She awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed, took a long ride on Tulip, her favorite mare, and went shopping with Alex on Bond Street. She returned home around one o’clock, consumed a simple luncheon and then locked herself in her room, where she continued to consider and ponder, to deliberate and contemplate.

Her decision to call Andrew’s bluff brought a surprising mix of apprehension and anticipation. Despite his threat, she was not worried over how he would behave in public. If he acted scandalously in front of the ton, his risked damaging his reputation as well as her own. The danger lay in the meticulously planned clandestine meetings he was so skilled at arranging. How he managed them, she didn’t know, since society viewed these encounters with the same ferocious opposition they would a thief in their midst. Being alone with him, even a few steps away from a group of people, encouraged unwanted intimacy. In those moments, her baser urges would not be silenced, instead nagging like a frustrated child wanting to play instead of taking lessons. The only way to ensure her passion did not get away from her was to deny him the opportunity to provoke it.

Simon and she kept a leisurely pace as they melded with the people along the Grand Walk to the entrance of Vauxhall Garden. Along the main path were hundreds of lit lamps, leaving her with the feeling that, at any moment, something magical might occur. “I forgot how charming the groves are,” she said, tugging at his arm to get his attention.

“Yes,” he said, sounding distracted. She did not take offense, for he planned to meet Lady Forrester and was doubtless trying to locate her.

“Do you see Alexandra yet?”

“Yes. She and Courtland’s sister are just across the way, milling around the orchestra's pavilion. Forgive me for leaving you to find your way alone?”

“I will manage, but return to us as soon as you find Lady Forrester. And for heaven's sake, promise you will behave.”

At her admonishing look, he grinned and waggled his brows. “We will find you after a bit.”

Sophie made her way to the pavilion, increasing her pace when they caught her attention and waved. “There you are,” Alex said, sizing Sophie up as she closed the distance. “You look absolutely gorgeous, my friend.”

“Stunning is more the word,” Lady Abigail added in an awed voice. “Every time you move, your gown shimmers!”

Sophie laughed. She chose to wear the translucent gown because of the way light played over the material. “Thank you both. You look smashing yourselves.”

The three women linked arms and made their way to the box. “We've sent the gentlemen to scout for the best place to view the fireworks.” Alex sounded pleased with herself. “But until that time comes, we're over there, in the far right supper box.”

Sophie grinned. “I haven't eaten Vauxhall ham since I was a child.”

“My father always insisted you could read a newspaper through it,” Lady Abigail said, laughing as she shook her head.

“Well, you'll both enjoy some tonight. Lord Courtland has also procured tarts, cheese and a rather delicious vintage wine,” Alex said as they strolled along the paths of the main quadrangle towards the box.

Lord Courtland arrived shortly after they did. “Lady Sophia, you are an oasis to my thirsty eyes,” he said, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her gloved knuckles in a manner she was certain should have set her insides aflame. To her dismay, it did not.

“Such an exquisite greeting, my lord,” Sophie laughed as she discreetly looked for Andrew.

“And still it falls short of the mark.”

Sophie had no time to respond before Andrew approached dressed in his trademark black and white. His eyes met hers, catching her breath low in her throat. He was nothing short of gorgeous—all long limbs and leonine grace, his brown hair just windblown enough to give him a dangerous air.
Or to mark him the predator he is
.

He cocked an arrogant brow as he caught her admiring gaze. With a careless shrug, she turned to Lord Courtland, giving him her most winning smile. “I am so pleased you invited me, my lord, truly. I'm looking forward to an enjoyable evening.” Inwardly bracing, she waited for Andrew’s reaction, for the consequences he insisted would come. None did. Instead, he acted as if all was as it should be, as if she hadn’t openly declared war on his ridiculous ultimatum. After their meal came and went without repercussions, she found herself relaxing, but found it difficult to drop her guard completely. His insouciance scratched at her suspicions, picked at her nerves just enough to keep them on edge.

“Do you plan to attend Roxford's house party?” Lord Courtland asked they strolled along the banks of the Thames.

“Indeed I do. What about you?”

He nodded, giving her an abashed smile. “I agreed to accompany Abby if you were there also.”

To her right, she heard Lady Abigail's laughter. “No, Your Grace, I only read about it, but my mother mentioned something about Zachary running outside, sure he would catch sight as it passed.”

“Catch sight of what?” Lord Courtland asked, leaning around Sophie to get his sister's attention.

“Messier Garnerin's balloon journey in oh-two. Do you remember?”

“The only thing I remember is telling you about it when you were five, and how terrified you were that it might return.”

“I was not!” she said, coloring.

“She hid underneath her bed,” Lord Courtland announced with a laugh.

“As any sensible lady should,” Andrew said, giving Lady Abigail a conspiratorial wink.

Sophie turned her gaze over the water, fighting against a current of jealousy. In all the years she had known Andrew, they never shared the camaraderie he and Lady Abigail shared. If she intended to further her friendship with the girl, she would have to ignore Andrew's antagonistic behavior.

“Please, tell me you were at least born when Garnerin took flight,” Lord Courtland said, nudging her out of her thoughts.

She chuckled. “Born, but not yet of an age.”

He placed her arm through his. “Like unmarked wine, sultry and mysterious, but without the bite of an aged bitter.”

With a loud boom and a pop, the first of the evening's fireworks exploded into the sky. The luminescent circles called attention to the clouds, bringing their outlines into sharp focus. Lady Abigail made her way to Lord Courtland's side, absent Andrew's company. Sophie wondered where the duke had gone, but didn't want to appear rude by inquiring. And though keeping track of him was the key to averting another ambush, she couldn't risk an obvious glance around. If he caught her searching, then he would want to know why, and she didn't want to lose the advantage.

Lady Abigail grew suddenly animated. “Look, Zach. Just over there; it's Lord Bottley. Could we stop by and say hello?”

Sophie glanced to where Lady Abigail was pointing, taking an extra moment to look for Andrew. She noticed Alexandra chatting with Simon and Lady Forrester, but the duke was nowhere to be found.

“Would you like to join us?” Lord Courtland asked her.

“No, thank you.” She wasn't sure she could take another one of Lady Abigail and Lord Bottley's lengthy reminiscences. “But you go ahead. I’ll wait right here.”

Lord Courtland's brow furrowed, but in the end he merely smiled. “As you wish.”

Sophie watched them go, then turned her attention back to the firework display, which was beginning to reach its peak. As if materializing out of nowhere, Andrew was suddenly next to her and standing far too close. He offered no greeting, but simply watched the sky as if what was happening there was of great consequence. “Enjoying the evening?” he asked as a burst of white exploded, its trails billowing downward like an airborne weeping willow.

Sophie kept her gaze upward. “I am, Your Grace. The display is nothing short of breathtaking. Truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”

His agreement came as a murmur. She did not dare look at him, didn’t want to ruin even this single, perfect moment with what she might see in his expression. Glancing to where Lord Courtland was chatting, she chuckled. The three of them were nodding and laughing at a story Lord Bottley was telling, rather animatedly, if the jerky movement of his body was any indication.

“Walk with me,” Andrew said suddenly.

Sophie peered sideways at him, but could discern nothing from his profile. She frowned, wrapping her arms around her stomach to sooth away a frenzy of fluttering nerves, then squared her shoulders and faced him. “No.”

He looked at her then, though his expression gave nothing away. “No?” he repeated, his tone softer than a caress but still authoritative.

She lowered her voice. “I do not believe that would be wise. We cannot seem to talk without raising our voices. Matters are complicated enough without adding a public disagreement into the mix.”

For the space of several heartbeats he looked ready to argue with her right then and there. An unnamed emotion crossed his face before his lids grew shuttered. Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned his gaze to the sky once more. To anyone else, he would appear a gentleman enjoying an evening in the gardens. To Sophie, he was a man pushed to his limits, whose paper thin veneer was as telling as outward aggression. His complacence, present throughout the evening, was no more enduring than the flicker of lights in the sky.

“You cannot avoid me forever.”

“Perhaps not forever,” she said, waiting until she had his full attention before continuing. “But I can certainly do so for the rest of the evening.” She dipped into a shallow curtsy, her eyes flicking up to his. “Better luck next time, Your Grace.”

* * * *

Near two in the morning, Sophie entered her bedchamber, looking exhausted. She placed the single burning candle on the bedside table and let out a contented sigh as she slipped off her shoes. Reaching around to untie her laces, she groaned. “Maybe next time you've a mind to give your maid the evening off, you'll consider wearing a gown less difficult to remove.”

From his position in a darkened corner, Andrew grinned. He couldn't have planned for a better moment to announce his presence. “It does seem the sort of thing easier accomplished with assistance,” he said, stepping out of the shadows.

With a startled cry, she reached for a vase on the table, nearly knocking over the lit candle in the process. Before she could grab the vase, he was behind her, one warm hand clamped over her mouth, the other splayed across her midsection. “You could hurt someone with that.” He plucked the vase from her shaking hands and tossed it on the bed. When her lips moved against his palm, he loosened his grip. “No more screaming.” At her nod, he released her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, whipping around to face him.

“I require a private moment.”

She eyed him as if she expected to see devil’s horns on his head. “This is my bedchamber, Your Grace. You have no right to be here, for any moment, private or otherwise.”

At her outraged tone, he chuckled. “Yes, well, that does not seem to have hampered me any. Besides, we need to talk.”

“No,” she said, her hands moving to her hips. “We do not. You need to leave this room, no, this house, immediately.” He shook his head, letting the silence stretch. “How in blazes did you get in here, anyway?” she asked, moving to the opposite side of the bed.

He hid his amusement.
Did she really believe putting a bed between them would ensure her innocence
? He pushed away the errant thought. “Irrelevant.”