As Luck Would Have It (28 page)

“I fell down.”

“You fell down,” he parroted slowly. He didn’t believe her, which was rather ironic considering it was likely to be the only thing she told the truth about all night.

“Yes, I fell down. Honestly.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Alex looked her over, scanning the length of her with his eyes, and Sophie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and took his own seat. She squirmed again. The chairs were too close together and she had to maneuver her legs to the side to keep her knees from rubbing against his long legs.

“Where?” he asked.

“Where am I fine?” she asked a little incredulously.

“Where did you fall down?”

“Oh, here in London.”

Maybe she could manage to avoid lying outright all night.

Alex scowled at her.

Maybe not.

“In Mayfield,” she clarified.

Then again, maybe so.

“Sophie,” he growled warningly.

“I’m sorry, Alex, but I am not going to tell you what I was doing to night. It’s not my secret to give away.”

“Good Lord, why does everyone keep saying that to night? Does anyone keep their
own
counsel?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Alex felt his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “Since we are on the subject of your attire—”

“Are we?”

“We are now. What in God’s name are you wearing?”

“Er…a ball gown?”

Alex narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“I really don’t know what else to call it,” Sophie said honestly.

“It’s indecent,” Alex spat.

She gaped at him, insult warring with bewilderment. “It most certainly is not. I—”

“And you’ve been wearing gowns just like it for weeks now. Why is that, Sophie?”

“I like them,” she replied indignantly. And it was true, once she’d gotten accustomed to the contemporary, less conservative cuts, she’d found she rather enjoyed the new experience of being fashionable. “And I don’t see—”

“And,” he cut in, “you’ve been flirting shamelessly—”

“That is
quite
enough, more than enough, actually. I have not behaved in any way that could be construed as indecorous,
and my attire has not received so much as a disapproving glance,” she paused and remembered something. “Perhaps one disapproving glance from Mrs. Willcomb, but that was only because her husband was leering at me most rudely, but I can hardly take the blame for that. He leers at everyone.”

“Why are you doing it?” Sophie didn’t respond, so he tried a different approach. “Why are you encouraging the attentions of these men, Sophie? I want answers this time…. Are you looking for a husband?”

He wasn’t surprised that those last words should taste bad in his mouth, but he was surprised by the sheer violence of his reaction to the thought of Sophie in another man’s arms.

“Aren’t all women?” Sophie asked, interrupting his train of thought. And nicely sidestepping the issue as well, he noted grimly.

“Answer my question, Sophie. Yes or no. Are you looking for a husband?”

Sophie scrambled desperately for a suitable evasion, but she could think of no words, no excuse that wouldn’t be so farfetched as to not insult Alex’s intelligence.

If she had any sense at all, Sophie mused unhappily, she wouldn’t be concerning herself over the possibility of insulting Alex at the moment. God knew the man needed someone to take him down a peg or two. In fact, she ought to just toss him out. It was her house after all, and it would solve her current dilemma rather nicely.

She couldn’t do it. For one thing, she’d have to find someone physically capable of performing the task, and it was highly unlikely Alex would excuse her long enough to accomplish that. And then, of course, there was the undeniable scene it would create. She and Alex had left a house party in the countryside in the dead of night. If they were discovered at her home alone, she’d be ruined, and her chance of saving White-field right along with her.

But neither of those reasons seemed nearly as significant as the simple fact that she didn’t want him to go.

She had just spent the better part of two hours sneaking around in darkened London. She was quite terrified someone had been following her, and she was all alone in the house. She was frightened, confused, disheartened, and long past exhausted.

Alex, regardless of his present behavior, was a reassuring presence. She felt a little safer with him there. She felt a little less alone.

“Sophie?”

And, oh how she was tired of lying. Tired of avoiding and evading. Making up half truths because she was too afraid to tell him the whole. Tired of wondering what was to become of her, and of him. Of them.

Just tell him, she told herself. Just tell him and be done with it. He isn’t going to let this drop anyway. It’s only a few hours earlier than planned and—

“Sophie.”

“I have to get married.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded strange even to her, a little too hollow, like she was speaking through a tube. “I am looking for a husband. I have to get married.”

There was a silence while Alex digested what she had said. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and calm, almost placating. “I understand most young ladies desire a family of their own, but—”

“I don’t
want
to get married. I
have
to, and within a fortnight.”

“A fortnight?” Alex’s voice cracked a little on the word.

Sophie tried to stand up, but Alex caught her by the wrist in a gentle yet unyielding grasp.

“I’m only going to the desk. I have something I want you to see. It will help me to explain.”

He kept hold of her wrist.

“You do still want an explanation, don’t you?”

He seemed to think about that for a moment, scanning her
face. When he let go, she walked tiredly to the desk and retrieved the document responsible for all her troubles. Before she could think better of it, she grabbed her list of potential spouses as well. She returned to her seat and handed the former over to Alex.

He was on his feet before he had gotten halfway down the paper. By the time he finished reading, he was pacing and swearing.

Sophie let him fume. Her own reaction to her cousin’s treachery had been similar, although Alex employed several choice words she hadn’t thought of and a few she hadn’t even heard before. She had calmed down eventually, and he would as well.

Only Alex didn’t look ready to calm down. After several minutes his pacing showed no signs of slowing and his list of expletives was growing increasingly creative. He was angry. He was very, very angry.

Sophie couldn’t regret showing him the document. There was something rather flattering at the sight of Alex so outraged on her behalf, or at the very least, at the injustice done to her. And comforting as well, because if Alex were this angry—

“You’ve sought legal counsel, I presume.”

Sophie snapped to attention. He hadn’t ceased his pacing, but at least he had stopped swearing.

“Yes, I went to three different solicitors, none of them connected in any way to my cousin. They all said the same thing. The contract, if one may call it that, may not be entirely legal given the method in which it was obtained, but it’s close enough that it would take years in court to have it overturned. My father and I would be ruined by then. We don’t have the funds to pursue the matter now,” she stated bleakly.

Alex gave her a questioning look, and taking the hint and a deep breath, she told him the entire story—the stolen money, the forged letters, everything but her cousin’s connections to a suspected French conspiracy.

Alex listened without comment, and without visible reaction
beyond his grim expression. When she finished, he nodded once and said, “And so you must marry before this contract becomes valid.”

“Yes, before my twenty-fifth birthday. I have a little over a fortnight.”

“To whom?”

There was no point in trying to pretend she didn’t understand him. He’d get the information out of her eventually anyway. She handed him the list.

Twenty-two

A
lex couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It wasn’t inconceivable that Sophie might have a list of prospective husbands; under the circumstances it seemed practical, reasonable even. And while a few of the gentlemen listed were far too old for her, they were mostly men Alex knew to be decent catches.

It wasn’t that she had a list that bothered him, and it wasn’t
who
was on the list.

It was the fact that he
wasn’t
on the list that made his jaw clench and his stomach drop down to his toes.

He wasn’t on the list.

He’d never been on the list. His eyes scanned the paper a second time. Several names had been written in and then crossed out. His was not among them.

He was not, and never had been, an option.

And his mind emptied save for that one disturbing fact.

He wasn’t on the damnable, bloody, god-awful list.

“Why the devil am I not on this list?”

That question was immediately followed by a silent demand
to know where and when, exactly, he had misplaced his dignity.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sophie grumbled. “If I had known there was any chance anyone else might have seen that list, I would have been sure to include every unmarried gentleman in London and its surrounding counties. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to prick anyone’s vanity.”

Alex shot her an annoyed look. He didn’t care for her sarcasm, although it did provide a relatively dignified excuse for his otherwise embarrassing question. But he didn’t feel relieved. He regretted having asked why his name was absent from the list in quite so pathetic a manner, but he was still desperate to know the answer. So he said nothing at all. Just continued to glare.

“Alex,” Sophie said, attempting a more placating tone of voice. “The list is comprised of gentlemen I believe to be amiable to the idea of marriage, specifically with me.”

“And you believe they’re open to the notion of marriage to you because they….” He cocked his head a little in a prompting fashion.

“Because they’ve engaged in the time-honored tradition of courtship. I believe you’re familiar with the basics: flowers, compliments—”

“
I
compliment you.” Alex heard the defensiveness in his voice but decided not to worry over it. He had already succeeded in completely unmanning himself, why worry over a little more lost pride?

Sophie snorted. “No,” she stated emphatically, “you do not. At least, not in any manner that can’t be easily followed by a wink, a nudge, and the directions to a discreet little inn.”

Alex opened his mouth, pointed one finger at her and then…and then nothing. He just stood that way, frozen.

“Alex?”

His mouth opened a little wider. His finger came up a little higher.

“Alex?”

Finally, he dropped his finger, closed his mouth and—

Sophie groaned.

He was pacing again.

She couldn’t
begin
to fathom why he was pacing again.

And she didn’t really feel like trying. She was tired. Really, terribly tired. She wanted a hot bath, maybe a warm glass of milk, and a bed. She smiled at the thought. A big comfortable bed with a soft down mattress, lots and lots of fluffy pillows, and piles of thick blankets that had just come from the line. She could lay down, sink in, and—

“You’ll marry me.”

In the years that would follow, Sophie would blame her singularly unattractive reaction to that announcement on the fact that she was not fully awake when it was made.

Her jaw dropped. It didn’t open; it dropped. Until her chin was very nearly resting on her chest. Her eyes squeezed shut tight in what could only be described as a desperate maneuver to save them from popping out of her head completely.

And then there was the sound.

An unnatural choking noise that she could only presume originated in her throat, but really could have come from anywhere since she didn’t remember
making
the noise, just hearing it.

She tensed her whole body in an extraordinary effort to manipulate her mouth in such a way that a coherent sentence might be formed. Or a word even. Really, she’d settle for a word.

“You look positively ill,” Alex grumbled.

She couldn’t blame him. It certainly wasn’t a flattering response to his suit.

“Is the prospect of marriage to me so bad as all that?”

“But you don’t want to marry!” she blurted out, her eyes finally popping open and her whole body jolting then relaxing, as if she had been swimming under water too long and had finally broken the surface.

Alex eyed her curiously for a moment before asking, “And you do?”

No.
She almost said it, stopping herself at the last moment when she realized it wasn’t true.

She did want to marry. She just didn’t want to marry any of the men on that list.

She wanted to marry Alex. She wanted that more than she had ever wanted anything else in her life.

Sophie remembered how her hands and heart had just itched to put his name on that list. At the very top. In big bold letters. All capitalized and underlined—twice. But her head hadn’t allowed it for that very reason. He didn’t want marriage, she’d thought, and she wanted him too much. She cared for him too deeply. She could fall in love with him so easily.

Members of the nobility who married the people they loved were lucky. Very, very lucky. Outrageously lucky. Sophie couldn’t begin to imagine what luck like that would cost her.

“Sophie?”

“Right. Yes. Um…” Had he asked her a question?

“I asked you if you wanted to marry.”

“Right.” She paused, then said flatly, “No, I don’t.” She tried not to visibly cringe at the lie.

“Well then, that’s fair.”

“It is?” Sophie’s mind was whirling. She wasn’t at all clear on what Alex was talking about.

“Yes, it is,” Alex said with a businesslike tone and a nod. “I’ll procure the special license tomorrow.”