Trapping a Duchess (27 page)

“I know precisely what you mean. With the season soon to be over, it seems the days and nights and every hour in between are filled with constant movement. It's enough to make you dizzy.”

“But this year is no different from every other. The season always begins and ends with a mad rush,” Alex added, her gaze asking the question her words did not.

“I read about your engagement in the papers,” Sophie said, changing the subject.

Lord Bottley had finally focused his attentions where they were well received. By the way Lady Abigail's face lit up, theirs was clearly a love-match. By the way Alex’s lit up, she was grateful to be deprived of his attentions.

“We are to marry in three months. I am so excited!”

“Courtland said Bottley threatened to drag her off to Gretna Green if they were forced to wait any longer than that,” Alex laughed, offering Lady Abigail a teasing grin.

Lady Abigail laughed. “Sounds like something my brother would say. It will certainly be a sight to behold when love sinks its talons in him.”

“And how is your brother?” Sophie asked as she toyed with fringe of her pillowcase. He would have made the perfect husband, had but the tiniest spark of desire flown between them. But the lack wasn't nearly as infuriating as the fact that it made Andrew right. He is ill-suited to be your husband, a fact you would see quite plainly if you were looking through anyone’s eyes but your own. She frowned.

“Are you certain you’re okay?” Alex asked.

Sophie brushed the maudlin thoughts away. “Yes, I’m certain.”

“Okay, then, we shan’t overstay our welcome. We just wanted to stop by and ensure you were well.”

“And to fulfill your promise to my mother?” Sophie teased, surprised by a sudden lift in her spirits. No matter what happened in the future, she knew she could rely on these two to keep her company.

“Does this mean you will be venturing out tonight?” Alex asked. “You know I'll never be able to enjoy myself knowing you are alone at home.”

“Yes, I'll be out as usual. Goodness, it was never as bad as all that,” she lied.

Alex laughed. “Well, your mother made it sound as if you had contracted some form of social plague.”

Sophie chuckled. “Mother never does anything by halves. Thank you both for coming,” she said, rising. “I promise I will see you tonight. If it's fine by you, though, for now, I'll let you see yourselves out.” A look passed between the two ladies, but they merely nodded. Sophie waved them off from the safety of the staircase, then headed back to her room. Before she reached the door, however, Simon called up.

“You have a missive, Sophie.”

With an irritated sigh, she headed back down the stairs. Simon met her halfway, a note in his hand and a wary look on his face. She opened her palm and he handed the letter over without another word.
Well, almost without another word
.

“I am not going to say anything.”

“Good.” She returned to her bedchamber and locked the door, tossing the missive onto her bed. Her fingers drummed against her knee as she stared down at the envelope.

“I wonder who you are from?” she asked, running her fingers over the heavy handwriting. With a deep breath, she snatched the missive up and tore it open. And counted herself lucky that she had not been standing.

Meet me at the Ridgley ball. We can discuss the terms of our arrangement
.

Thirteen hastily scribbled words; no signature, no seal, and yet she needed neither to know their sender. Her heart thundered in her chest as excitement flushed her skin. Barely able to contain her joy, she leaped out of the bed, tossing a quick glance at the clock on her bedside table. “Gracie!”

Her maid appeared within moments. “Yes, my lady?”

“Please inform his lordship that I will be attending the ball tonight. And hurry back! I’ve only a few hours to dress!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Gracie said, bustling out of the room as fast as her short legs could carry her.

Sophie wandered over to her wardrobe and flipped through her gowns, searching for the new confection Madam Dumont had sent over a couple of days ago. Holding it against the front of her body, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror with childlike wonder. The pale yellow silk with the sprinkling of light blue droplets gave her hair a golden hue and made her eyes as blue as cornflowers. Nearly three hours later, she descended the staircase, the spring in her step a compliment to the glow of anticipation on her face.

“I was beginning to worry about you, my dear,” her mother said with a soft smile and gentle squeeze to Sophie’s gloved arm.

“I am feeling much better, mama,” she said with a jaunty grin. “I apologize for worrying you.”

“No need for apologies, dearest. I am just pleased you’ve decided to join us.”

“Are we ready?” Simon asked.

“As I'll ever be,” Sophie said and the three of them headed out to the waiting carriage. The sky was clear, moonlight coloring the shadows around them with a fairytale hue. Sophie beamed as she entered the carriage, drawing a questioning lift of the brow from Simon. As she couldn't explain what had sent her spirits soaring, she gave him a noncommittal shrug. Nothing would stop her from enjoying the evening and all her duke had to offer.

* * * *

Andrew knew the exact moment Sophie set foot in the ballroom. He could not pinpoint when it was that his senses had become wholly tuned to her, though when he considered the matter, he couldn’t think of a time when they hadn’t been. The hairs at the nape of his neck prickled and a tingling sensation constricted his lungs. He and Charles had spent the evening wandering in and out of conversations, Andrew enjoying watching as his friend worked to deflect the marriage-minded from setting their sights on him. Since Charles’ unexpected return from America, he had become a novelty ripe with possibilities in the minds of those seeking a titled husband for their simpering, whitewashed offspring.

“No, Miss Johns, I was unaware there was a difference between temperate and temperance,” Charles answered, jerking him out of his thoughts with a beleaguered look. Andrew grinned. After the torment exacted on him in his study, he felt little guilt in openly gloating at Charles’ discomfiture.

“Oh, but there is!” Miss Johns exclaimed, clapping her hands together with delight. “Perhaps you could accompany me to the refreshment table and I could explain the difference to you?” She offered a practiced smile that was as suggestive as it was coy.

“Actually, I believe my aunt is summoning us,” Andrew said smoothly. “Excuse us?”

“Of c-course, Your Grace,” Miss Johns stammered as she curtsied.

“I should think a thank-you is in order,” Andrew mused aloud.

“For what?” Charles asked, shooting him a sideways glance. “Attracting that babbling bluestocking and her rabid mother or introducing me as a man of some intelligence?” Despite his words, relief was evident in his voice.

“Well, you certainly weren’t going to remove yourself without my assistance.” Andrew chuckled, inclining his head to Lady Forrester as she passed.

“Remind me to keep you around as a friend,” Charles said, shaking his head in mock graveness. “I fear you would make a formidable foe.”

Andrew’s laughter faded when he spotted Sophie standing along the perimeter with Alexandra. Both looked less than enthused by whatever story Lord Roxford was relating.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Charles said, grabbing Andrew’s arm to stop him moving in their direction.

“Pardon?” he asked, staring down at the fingers still holding him.

Charles released him. “I am not about to wander into that madness,” he said, nodding towards the spot where the ladies stood.

“It is only my sister and Lady Sophia.”

“And the Ladies Araminda and Genevieve, not to mention the ever giggling Lady Abigail and a menagerie of men lacking in both wits and taste.”

A deep laugh rumbled from Andrew’s chest. “I cannot speak for the men and will happily concede the point regarding a few of the others. Lady Abigail, however, is not such a terrible sort. Besides, she is engaged to Bottley and therefore no threat to either of us.”

“A fact which does little to appease my sense of self-preservation,” Charles returned drolly. “And so I’ll excuse myself at this point to find more masculine entertainment.” Andrew watched his retreat with a wry grin. Charles had never been much for the social whirl. Despite his handsome looks and charming personality, he showed little interest in the females that flocked in his direction. To Andrew’s knowledge, he did not keep a mistress and the few women Andrew had ever seen him with were as empty in the head as they were easy on the eyes. His taste in women was contrary in every way with the nature of his mind. The dichotomy had fascinated Andrew for years.

He took his time making his way over, waiting for a lull in the conversation before making his presence known. Finally, Lord Bottley’s long-winded dissertation drew to a close. Andrew stepped up and offered a smooth bow. “Good evening.” He caught the subtle change in Sophie’s breathing and had to fight to stifle a wicked grin. Apparently, she’d gotten his note. “Ladies, gentlemen.” He let his gaze roam over the group before settling on Sophie’s fair form. It took a concerted effort to stop his gaze from drifting past her lips and down her delicious body. The pale yellow silk left little to the imagination, at least to his imagination. He knew the exact color of the skin beneath the soft material; the pink nipples and peachy stomach, the tiny freckle that lived just beside her belly button. He longed to peel the gown away and replace the fabric with his naked body. In an effort to redirect his thoughts, he aimed a smile at his sister. “Hello, Alexandra.”

“Hullo, Andrew,” she greeted with a lifted brow. “What brings you this side of the ballroom?” She tilted her head in a manner which managed to relay curiosity and insolence all at the same time.

“Just checking up on you,” he said, before aiming his wicked grin at Sophie. “Good evening, Lady Sophia.”

“A very good evening, Your Grace.” Her pink lips twitched as she curtsied. “You missed the last waltz again, though.” Andrew smiled. She could taunt him all she wished. He would have plenty of time to return the favor later.

He glanced towards the ballroom floor then returned his gaze to hers. “So I did,” he said, then waggled his brows. “I don’t suppose our hostess could be persuaded to have another?”

He was rewarded with Sophie's laugh. “A third waltz? What a curious idea.”

“I would enjoy another waltz m’self,” Lord Bottley said with a tender glance in his fiancee’s direction. Beside him, Lady Abigail beamed.

“I agree,” Sophie said, smiling at the newly affianced couple. “And if anyone can accomplish such a harrowing task, surely it is His Grace.”

“But shouldn't a harrowing task come with some reward?” Andrew asked innocently.

Sophie’s eyes met his; for once absolute enjoyment danced in the blue. “Isn't the dance itself a reward?”

“A dance is but a dance, my lady.”

“Not with the right partner, it isn't.”

“Ah,” he said, his lips tilting up at the ends. “Then I claim you as my partner.”

Again, she laughed. “You have not yet met with success, Your Grace.”

“And if I do?”

The rest of the group had gone silent, their heads bobbing back and forth between the two of them as if they were watching a tennis match.

“Then I am at your leisure.”

With a lifted brow, he accepted her challenge. “Alexandra. Join me for a turn about the room?”

Alex eyed him, but took the arm he offered without hesitation. “Of course.” Once they were out of earshot, he paused, taking two glasses from a passing footman. “Did you drag me over here for a drink?” she asked, reaching for a glass.

He swatted her hand away. “These are not for you. I need a favor.”

Her arms folded over her stomach. “I am not dancing with Lord Winterley, no matter how respectfully you demand it.”

Andrew cocked a curious brow, but let the comment pass. He lowered his voice as he set them moving. “I need to speak with Sophie.”

”Oh.” She heaved a frustrated sigh, but pitched her voice to match his. “We were just there, Drew. We would still be there if you hadn’t dragged me over here.”

“I need to speak with her privately.”

“Why?” she asked, catching him off guard. The look he gave her, a mixture of indignation and condescension, was meant to deter. “Your superior expression will not suffice as a reason.”

He tamped down his frustration. “I just need to speak with her, Alexandra. My reasons are my own.”

“Given your ill-fated history, I beg to differ.”

“Ill-fated or not, they had nothing to do with you back then, nor do they now.”

“You are asking for my help, Andrew,” she said, pinning him with an annoyed look. “Ergo, you have invited my involvement.”

“I am asking for simple favor.” He steered her around a cluster of guests.

“Fine. I will ask her, but on one condition.”

Given the next corner they took would lead them straight back to where Sophie stood, he wasted no time arguing. “Anything.”

“Escort me to Hyde Park tomorrow.”