Trapping a Duchess (25 page)

“I have no intention of marrying anyone else and you damned well know it,” he said through his teeth. “I took your innocence.”

“You didn’t force me to participate, therefore you took nothing.” Her composure was annoying.

“Your reputation will not survive another scandal,” he said, nearly ramming his fist through the roof. The carriage picked up speed.

“Unless you plan on marching in and announcing to the world what occurred here tonight, only the two of us will ever know.”

Teeth gnashing, he buttoned his trousers. “Are you so naive that you believe your status will not matter to your future husband?”

“Why? Because I am no longer pure?” she asked, spitting out the last as if it were a sip of soured milk. “If I choose to take a husband, it will be a man who does not require my innocence.”

Andrew forced himself to remain silent, literally bit his tongue to keep from flaying her with his words. With a roll of her eyes, she turned her gaze out the window. After several tense minutes, the carriage rolled to a halt.

“Don't forget these,” he said, tossing her knickers at her.

“There is no need to be boorish,” she said, crumpling them up and stuffing them into her reticule.

Ignoring her, he leaned over and opened the door. “Jonathan will ensure you return to the ball safely.”

“You aren't coming?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

“Get out, Sophie, before I do something we both regret.” Her eyes flashed but she exited the carriage without responding. He did not move, was unable to do anything other than wrap his fingers around the edge of the seat. The smell of her permeated the air; her moans seemed to echo in the darkness. He had no idea how long he sat there before Jonathan rapped on the window. “Where to, Your Grace?”

“Home,” he grumbled. “For God’s sake, Jonathan, take me home so I can escape this madness.”

* * * *

“Would you ring for tea, Gracie?” Sophie asked as she entered her bedchamber.

“Yes, my lady.”

Her body ached in a hundred different places, as much from keeping control of her emotions as their exertions in his carriage. She sighed as she struggled out of her gown. After returning to the ball, she had gone immediately to the ladies retiring room. It was there she’d noticed the crimson stain on her chemise and the reality of what she had done settled in. She had no idea how she’d managed through the rest of the evening. All her life, she had imagined losing her virginity to a man she adored in their shared bed. Never once had she envisioned losing it inside a conveyance to a man she could not stand. She headed into her bathroom and stripped off her stained underclothes, then slipped them beneath a towel. Once Gracie was dismissed for the night, she would burn them.

She wrapped a peach silk robe around her body with a grimace. If it weren’t so late, she would order a hot bath and soak her aching muscles. Staring out the window over the lawn, memories of their coupling haunted her—the primitive desire on his face; the taste of his sweat as she nibbled at his body; the feel of his lips as they claimed hers in a searing kiss; the ragged sound of his breathing as his seed filled her.

And lastly, his harsh tone as he forced her to leave. Get out, Sophie, before I do something we both regret. Never had her name sounded so horrible, so tormented. She considered the threat in his parting words as she flopped onto her bed. Gracie arrived with the tea service and set it on the bedside table.

“Will there be anything else, my lady?”

“No, thank you, Gracie. Pray, get some sleep. I will see you in the morning.” Gracie curtsied then exited the room, leaving Sophie alone with her thoughts.

How the devil was she going to get out of this mess?

Andrew could make her life a living hell just by hinting at the truth. If Alexandra found out what happened, and that Sophie had denied her brother a second time, she would never forgive her.
And Simon. Oh, heavens
. Simon would force her hand, as would her mother, Louise.

Thanks to Sophie's temper, she had alienated Lord Courtland, who had been nothing but kind to her from the start. She drummed her fingers against the counterpane, trying to think of a way to get herself out of the mess she had created. She would have to confront the lion in his lair and put an end to his foolish ideas once and for all; before he started talking.

But would he even listen
? She humphed. “Not to the reasons I've already given him.”

You could tell him the truth
, her inner voice whispered.

“And what is the truth?” she asked, yawning as she burrowed under the covers. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. A good night's rest would clear her mind, which she would need if she intended to confront him.
Well, rest and a miracle
, she thought, drifting off to sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

At seven o’clock the next morning, Andrew met Simon at Tattersall's to view the team he'd been itching to purchase. The two men watched from the edge of the arena as a few of the horses were exercised. “I think for once, your enthusiasm is completely justified. I don't think I've ever seen a team quite like them. Are either of the stallions gelded?”

“No. Hence my urgency in finalizing the transaction.” Simon made a disgusted sound. “The seller said he received an offer from Bottley at the same time he received mine. Apparently, the man planned to give the mare to Lady Abigail as a wedding gift.”

“Lady Abigail?”

“They are to be married. Haven't you heard?”

A profound sense of relief washed over him. “No, but I won't pretend to be disappointed.”

“Finally realized you would not suit, eh?” Simon asked with a smug grin.

“Something like that,” he said, changing the subject by pointing across the arena. “That one is going to need an experienced hand.”

Simon made a noise that was half-laugh, half-scoff. “If I can handle Sophie, I can handle a rowdy mare.”

“Speaking of,” he said, using Simon's mention of Sophie as a segue to relay his intentions. “I realize this isn't the proper way to ask for permission to court the sister of a friend, but. . .” He watched as Simon absorbed his words, bracing himself for the possibility of a tirade.

“You can't be serious,” he said, looking at Andrew as if he had sprouted a second head. He did not appear happy.

“I assure you, I am.”

“You want to court my sister?” At Andrew’s nod, Simon regarded him suspiciously for a long moment.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, eager to have the matter settled.

“Never mind. It doesn't matter.” A long pause and then, “I admit, I find myself curious to know how this possible courtship came to pass?”

Andrew shrugged. “It just happened.”

Simon's curious gaze turned scrutinizing. “Given the two of you do not share a friendly past, I'm afraid you'll have to do better than ‘it just happened.’” Andrew forced himself to maintain eye contact, but couldn't stop from shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The movement, imperceptible as he tried to make it, did not go unnoticed. “Is there something more you wish to tell me?”

Not wanting to risk accidentally blurting out the truth, Andrew simply shook his head.

“Do you love her?”

The question caught him off guard.
Did he love her
? He thought so, but if that were true, why did he feel as if the air was being sucked from his lungs? “I am—”

Simon held up a hand. “I retract the question. Is she ruined? Because if she is, it won't matter whether you love her, hate her or otherwise. You'll be married by week's end.”

Knowing Simon would consider even a second of hesitation an affirmation, Andrew wasted no time responding. “What sort of man do you think me?”

Simon considered him for a long moment before raising his hands in surrender. “Apologies. My mother's nagging will not stop until Sophie is married and gives her a grandchild. She's dismissed every gentleman I've suggested, refused to give over in the slightest. You don't strike me as the sort to risk rejection a second time, which means you must feel confident that your affections will be returned.”

He shrugged. “We have been able to put our differences aside.”

“Which doesn't change the fact that she does not, by her own words, wish to wed.”

“People can change, Simon.”

“Not Sophie. Never once has she wavered, regardless of what I have said or done, so you’ll have to forgive my curiosity. Her steadfast refusal to marry has flown out the window within a month of your return. Surely you can understand why my suspicions are roused.”

“Your low opinion of me is less than flattering.”

“My opinion of you is as high as ever. It's just,” he said, his jaw working between sentences, as if he was fighting against saying what he really wanted to say. “Sometimes I think this whole thing would be easier if she was ruined. At least then she couldn't object to me marching her down the aisle. ”

Andrew chuckled, knowing the words were born of desperation and not truth.

“I would do it, too.”

“I know you would, so let me assure you, there is no need.”

“Then you must have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“For persuading her to marry you?”

“Isn't a courtship enough?” he asked, loathe to discuss the matter further.

Simon shook his head. “You are talking about a woman who believes freedom will be found in spinsterhood. Don't underestimate her stubbornness.”

“I never have.”

“She will fight you every step of the way.”

“Do you ever say anything encouraging?”

Simon stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I'm not trying to discourage you. Just to ensure you are prepared.”

Andrew sighed. “After this conversation, I'm starting to wonder if I'm prepared at all.”

Simon chuckled. “Don't worry, you'll find a way. Just give me your word you won't seduce her. Or if, god forbid, that happens, you'll inform me directly so mother and I can set a date.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps a little.” Simon halted the approaching proprietor with a lift of his hand. “I recommend laying down the law immediately after you have taken your vows. Or better yet, ensure that those vows are laws in and of themselves.”

“Your sister answers to no law save her own, as you well know.”

“If you think it would help, I could forbid her from associating with you, or blacken your eyes, perhaps break an arm. Maybe then she’ll take pity and marry you just to spite me.”

Andrew offered a sardonic smile. “I believe I'll stick to a traditional courtship.”

“It’s your wedding,” Simon laughed, encouraging the waiting proprietor forward with a crooked finger. “Or funeral, rather.”

* * * *

Sophie barged into the duke's study and closed the door. He was sitting in his desk chair, facing the windows outside. In an effort to not fall prey to his seductive brown eyes, she kept her gaze trained on the floor. “I apologize for not knocking, Your Grace, but I have a matter of extreme importance to discuss. And please, allow me to finish before you say anything. In fact, stay right where you are.” She paced before the door, summoning her courage with deep breaths. “Firstly, I want to make clear to you that I do not regret what occurred in your carriage. The act itself was wonderful and I was—no am—happy to rid myself of the virtue for which a woman of my age has no use. Secondly, I believe matters would be easier for both of us if, for the time being at least, you refrained from approaching me when we are out. Constantly worrying over what people will see when we are together is part of what makes me so miserable.”

She continued pacing, her words rushed but forceful in their passion. “Thirdly, and lastly. . .and most importantly, I might add, I want to explain why I cannot marry you. I know you think I'm just being stubborn, but believe me, my reasons are far deeper than that.” She punctuated her sentence with a resolute huff, her fingers entwining together as she faced him.

“Funny, but I don’t recall offering for you,” Lord Winterley said from the seat behind Andrew’s desk, his perceptive gray eyes belying the bemused smile playing over his lips.

“Oh, my god,” Sophie said, her words dying off as she felt the blood rush from her face. The room started to spin as pinpricks of light floated in her vision. She reached out for something solid to steady her, and ended up in the viscount's arms.

“You’re going to faint?” he asked in a humored, though clearly panicked, voice. “After that spectacular speech, the amazing bravado, you are choosing now to faint?”

“No,” she said weakly, leaning against him and trying not to do just that as he guided her into a chair. The door opened and Andrew entered, yanking Sophie’s startled gaze to his. Confusion, then shock registered on his face, swiftly followed by anger. No, not anger. Rage.

His voice was menacingly soft in the still room. “What in bloody hell is going on here?”

Sophie sank further into the chair, but Lord Winterley merely folded his arms over his chest and shot the duke a delighted grin. “Lady Sophia was just setting me straight on a few things.”