As Luck Would Have It (18 page)

He pulled back from her, a little surprised at how wrong the movement felt. It took every ounce of his willpower not to snatch her back up again. He took a step back just to be safe.

She blinked up at him. “Why did you stop?”

“One of us had to,” he said in an equally strained voice.

“Oh,” she responded, a bit stupidly she imagined. It took a moment for her to grasp the meaning of his words.

“Oh,” she finally said with a great deal more feeling. “Oh, no. How long have we been out here?”

“Not nearly long enough,” Alex muttered under his breath.

“Mrs. Summers is sure to be looking for me.”

“She shouldn’t have let you come out here in the first place,” he pointed out. And without the slightest trace of rancor, she noticed.

“She could show up at any minute,” Sophie replied, mostly because she felt she owed it to Mrs. Summers.

He caressed the side of her face with one finger. “No doubt you are right. Back to the ball with you then.” He wanted to press her about Loudor, but he’d kept her out too long already.

“And you?”

“I shall wait an appropriate amount of time before returning in case someone noticed our absence.”

“And then?” Sophie rather hoped he would ask her to dance.

“And then I shall take my leave. A duke is never first to arrive nor last to leave,” he explained with a touch of self-mockery. He also needed to put some distance between them
before he did something they would both regret. Like tossing her over his shoulder in front of two hundred guests and hauling her into the nearest room with a door.

“I see,” she laughed. “Well then. Good-bye.”

And with that she leaned up on her tiptoes, gave him a parting peck, and took off for the house at a dead run.

Alex almost called out for her, but swallowed the shout lest they be discovered. He hadn’t expected to end things quite like that. He thought a few whispered compliments, maybe an endearment or two were in order. Apparently, Sophie was not the sort of woman who put much stock in sweet words. That was a good thing to know.

He hoped she was a fairly decent liar as well. She hadn’t given him time to recommend she straighten her appearance a bit.

She had run off looking thoroughly, adorably rumpled.

Sophie used the terrace doors leading into a small parlor rather than the ones leading to the ballroom, and made her way quickly to the ladies’ retiring room. Breathing a sigh of relief at finding the room empty, she sat down heavily on a cushioned stool facing a small mirror.

“Good Lord.” She was a mess. She’d avoided the crush in the ballroom because she felt disoriented, flushed, giddy. She thought she’d need only a moment or two to straighten out her thoughts. By the looks of her, she’d need a quarter hour to straighten out everything else.

A blush rose up her neck and spread out to her cheeks as she tidied her hair and thought, in detail, of how it had gotten so out of place.

Alex’s hands.

Everywhere. And still somehow not exactly where she needed them.

Alex’s strong arms around her, his broad chest against hers, his soft lips moving over her own, his tongue…

“No.” She glared at image in the mirror. Later. Later she could, and would, revisit that memory. But now she needed
to concentrate on finding proof of treason and returning to her chaperon before someone sent out a search party.

She took a fortifying breath and slipped out of the room.

Earlier that night, she’d discovered the study unlocked and slightly ajar, and she’d been sorely tempted to slip inside and be finished with that particular business for the night. But it hadn’t taken her long to change her mind. She had no desire to spend the whole of the evening hiding incriminating evidence on her person.

That she would find something incriminating, she was certain. Her last two endeavors had been alternately questionably successful and completely useless. She was due for a change of luck.

She was halfway to the door before realizing the study was occupied. Masculine laughter and the smell of cigars drifted down the hall.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

She’d missed her chance. Scowling, she continued on to the ladies’ retiring room for the sake of appearances. She’d just have to wait for another opportunity. And if that didn’t happen fast enough, she’d make her own.

Fourteen

T
he next morning, the front hall of Sophie’s house was filled with flowers from her admirers.

None of them came from Alex. Sophie told herself it was for the best and settled down to the task of writing thank-you notes, which seemed a pointless endeavor as most of them would be by in person in the next day or two. Even Sir
Frederick had sent along a delightful mixture of tulips and roses.

Sophie laughed softly to herself at the memory of the pained expression on Sir Frederick’s face when he’d been forced to play the ardent admirer to keep up appearances. Of all the men on the list, Sir Frederick was her first choice. He’d seemed as annoyed with her silly debutante imitation as she’d been. He’d even tried to engage her in intelligent conversation once or twice. She would have jumped at the chance, but the rest of the men, including Mr. Weaver she couldn’t help noticing, had looked at Sir Frederick as if he’d lost his mind. So she’d taken their cue and continued playing the adorable dimwit. She wasn’t quite ready to give up her chances with all of them just to impress one. If Sir Frederick didn’t come to call in the next few days, she’d simply have to seek him out. If they had an opportunity to form a better acquaintance, she reasoned, it was very possible they could become friends.

Determined to redeem herself in Sir Frederick’s eyes, she sent her thank-you note to him first, careful to fill it with what she hoped was some semblance of intelligence and humor. No doubt he viewed his task of courting young ladies in much the same way as did the gentlemen who danced with wallflowers. If it had to be done, best to do so in the least painful manner possible.

Sophie thought over the remainder of candidates on the list. Lord Verant hadn’t been in attendance last night, and Mr. Holcomb had danced with her once, then promptly ignored her in favor of an attractive woman closer to his own age. Sophie had briefly considered trying to entice him away, but found she couldn’t bring herself to do it. One look at the adoring glance the woman had sent Mr. Holcomb’s way, and Sophie had felt disgusted with herself for even contemplating coming between the two of them.

She had panicked a bit at the thought of further shortening her already meager list, but then she’d been introduced to one middle-aged man and one perfectly ancient man who had recently
returned from America and the continent respectively. The first had lost his wife several years ago at the birth of his only son. The second was a childless widower, but Sophie figured his age precluded any chance he might expect a wife to give him an heir.

She hadn’t any preference for any one of her remaining candidates, although she was disinclined to like Mr. Johnson on the basis that he had spent the majority of his time speaking to her chest. She had the sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t be amenable to the idea of her leaving for China. Not alone anyway.

Well she couldn’t afford not to give him another chance, she decided resolutely, but she sent his note out last.

England was a beautiful country, Alex decided as he headed on foot toward Sophie’s house in the rain. And London was a beautiful town, he thought, sidestepping a suspicious pile on the sidewalk. Mayfield in particular was very nice, he mused, passing the fourth red brick house on that block. In fact, the world in general was a rather fine place, and Alex felt rather fine in it.

All because he had finally kissed Sophie Everton properly.

No laughing this time around, no gagging, no humiliating either of them. It had been damn good.
He
had been damn good, he reflected with purely masculine pride. He’d had her moaning and purring. And sweeter sounds coming from sweeter lips he could not imagine. Of course if memory served, she’d had him gasping and groaning, which meant she’d been damn good too.

They were good together. And that knowledge put an extra spring in his soggy step and had him grinning like an idiot.

Until he saw the carriage.

A black shiny carriage parked outside Sophie’s house. A black shiny carriage he knew didn’t belong to Sophie.

“Damn.”

He took the front steps two at a time and wondered which
one of her admirers he was going to have to frighten off. Scowling, he pounded on the front door. It seemed to take forever to open and when it did he had to fist his hands to keep from shoving aside the elderly butler, charging into the sitting room, and forcefully dragging out whichever swain was in there with Sophie.

He could hear her laughing. Not the nauseating tittering she’d been doing last night, but that genuine soft melodic laughter that made his heart go warm. Or did, when she was laughing with him.

“The Duke of Rockeforte,” the butler announced grandly.

Behind him, Alex rolled his eyes. He hated being announced like that. He didn’t care for being announced at all, but it was particularly irritating to have one’s presence trumpeted to
two
people sitting in a drawing room in the middle of the afternoon.

Remembering there were indeed two people in said drawing room, instead of just the one there ought to be, Alex girded himself for battle, stepped around the butler…and stopped.

“Sir Frederick?”

“Rockeforte, good to see you.”

Sir Frederick?

Feeling a little disoriented, Alex shook the man’s proffered hand.

What the devil was Sir Frederick doing here?

Alex gave himself a sound mental shake. What the devil did he care? The man was no threat. He would even go so far as to say he liked Sir Frederick. He didn’t understand him necessarily, but that was beside the point.

He crossed the little parlor and took a seat, a little disappointed at a lost opportunity to thrash a potential rival. Although, in retrospect, that was probably for the best. He doubted that kind of behavior would go over well with Sophie. He glanced at her. She beamed at him.

Ah yes, the world was a fine place indeed.

“Sir Frederick was just telling me about Carleton House,”
Sophie explained, passing Alex a cup of tea. He wasn’t thirsty, but she had never served tea for him before, and he found the feminine act oddly pleasant. He took the cup and looked to Sir Frederick.

“I take it you’ve been?”

Sir Frederick nodded grimly. “Only once, but once was quite enough.”

“Is it as bad as all that?” Sophie inquired.

Alex shrugged. “It certainly is…elaborate.”

“And ever changing,” Sir Frederick added. “Prinny has commissioned more alterations than most men demand of their tailors.”

“Part of the reason the man is so in debt,” Alex said. “And his enormous parties can’t help matters.”

“Elaborate as well?” Sophie asked.

“The dinner party I attended featured a scantily clad young woman as the table centerpiece,” Sir Frederick said by way of answer.

Sophie’s eyes grew round. “Why ever would he do that?”

Alex chuckled. “There is little hope in grasping the complexities of Prinny’s mind. I suggest you not attempt it.”

“Oh.” Sophie stifled a nervous laugh. “It’s not funny, of course….”

“Of course,” Alex agreed, not bothering to hide his own amusement.

“And he is our Prince Regent,” Sophie continued.

“God help us,” Sir Frederick offered.

“But, and I hope you don’t think this terribly unpatriotic of me, but could he…that is…do you suppose he might take after his father?”

The men laughed outright at that.

She smiled and tried not to squirm in her chair. King George was as mad as a hatter. A sad fact in and of itself, but the idea that the man who promised to pay her a fortune for spying on prominent citizens of London might be unhinged as well was truly disturbing.

“Don’t look so frightened, Sophie,” Alex chuckled. “We promise not to denounce you for treason.”

Sophie shot him a quelling glance for using her given name in front of Sir Frederick. He smiled innocently.

“I don’t think Prinny’s mad,” Sir Frederick said, seemingly oblivious to the silent communication. “Just very, very eccentric and probably not overly bright.”

“Actually, he’s fairly clever,” Alex commented. “But he has an alarming propensity for drowning his best attributes with spirits and laudanum.”

Sir Frederick nodded and finished off his tea before standing. “It’s time I was going. Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Miss Everton. I hope I may call on you again? Excellent. Rockeforte, pleasure seeing you again.”

“Sir Frederick.”

Alex waited for him to leave before turning his attention to Sophie. “You look pleased with yourself.”

Sophie gave a small smile. She was pleased with herself. Things had gone very well with Sir Frederick.

“Care to tell me why?” Alex inquired casually.

“Not really.”

“I expected as much. Come for a walk with me.”

“A walk?” She looked out the windows as if confirming something. “It’s raining.”

“A light misting,” he countered.

“It could downpour at any minute.”

“Surely not. It’s been fairly consistent all day.”

“I don’t think that’s a reliable means of predicting the weather.”

“Have you never taken a walk in the rain, Sophie?”

“Yes, I have but….”

“But?”

“But not since I was a child. Not intentionally anyway. Mrs. Summers wouldn’t approve.”

“Ah, the elusive Mrs. Summers. Where is that extraordinarily lax guardian of your virtue anyway?”

“Out visiting old friends, and mind your tone when you speak of her. I won’t tolerate insults.”

“You misunderstand, sweetheart.”

She blushed at the term of endearment.

“I wouldn’t dream of speaking ill against the woman,” he continued, rising from his chair. “I adore her negligence. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

“What are you doing?”