To Marry The Duke (10 page)

James had to laugh at that. “You forget, Mother, she is the one with the gold.”

The Dowager Duchess shuffled her shoulders again.

“And her father is no pauper,” James continued. “He is an enterprising man who built something from nothing, and I admire him for that.”

“You’re scaring me, James.”

He laughed again. “You’re frightened, are you? Well, don’t expect me to make it all better.”

It was cruel, he knew it, and for a fleeting instant he wished he could take it back. Then he saw his mother’s eyes flare with that familiar cold fury—the disbelief that anyone could behave with such rebellion—and he did not regret what he had said.

Suddenly there was a ripple in his mind—like a stone had been tossed into his still waters. A vague memory of his mother walking into the schoolroom, finding him in tears on the floor at his governess’s feet, meeting his pleading gaze, and in response—quietly backing out and closing the door. So many of those memories were vague—seen through mist and fog.

He was glad. Glad that he had been able to distance himself from them.

His mother wanted the world and everyone in it to quietly obey and do their duty without questioning it, even when it came down on one’s hand with a painful, resounding crash.

She whirled around and left the room. When the door slammed shut behind her, James calmly lowered himself into his chair and returned to his correspondence.

Chapter 7

The London Season, Sophia was coming to realize, was for her just one big assembly, with balls thrown in to mix things up. It was night after night of formal gowns and jewels and music and conversation. Of champagne and late suppers and plumed fans. Of dance cards dangling from slender gloved wrists and hostesses in great gaudy tiaras. To Sophia, it was a magical fairy tale, complete with the handsome prince who was, at this very moment, capturing her heart.

She walked with her mother and Florence along the red carpet that led to the front door of Stanton House, where an assembly was already in full swing. Her heart did anxious little flips as she glanced over the crowd moving up the wide staircase just inside. She was looking for the face of the man she hoped would be here tonight. Her prince.

Heavens, when had her opinion of him changed so drastically, and what in particular had caused it? It was a little bit of everything she supposed, and the past few days away from him had only intensified it. She’d done nothing but dream of him and quiver at the intoxicating memory of his finger brushing like a feather over her bare wrist when they’d gone walking in Hyde Park. Every fiber of her being had reacted with hunger and blistering yearning, and she had wanted—more than she’d ever wanted anything—to reach out and touch James.

She’d never experienced the desire to touch a man before.

It was more than a desire. It was a screaming, urgent need to be close to him, close enough to brush her lips over his skin and breathe in his masculine scent. It had become all she could think of the past few days. She wanted to taste him, to cling to him. She wanted to lie down on a bed and feel the weight of him on her body, while he kissed her open mouth and she drank in the drenching flavor of him.

She glanced around self-consciously, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushing and giving away her shocking, indecent thoughts.

She entered the house and greeted the hosts, then marveled at how, against the odds, despite all the gossip, James had won her regard.

Yet, self-doubts continued to flood through her. She could not forget what people said about him, and she wasn’t sure if she should follow her instincts about him and ignore the gossip, or
not
trust her instincts—for they were certainly being influenced by her feelings of attraction.

But her father had always told her to trust her instincts.
Trust your gut
, he would say, in his deep, Southern drawl.

They reached the withdrawing room upstairs. Florence whispered quietly, “This is largely a political party, so do try not to look bored if the conversation turns to whatever went on in Parliament this morning.”

“I’ve been finding it all quite intriguing, actually,” Sophia replied. “I’ve been following the speeches in the papers.”

“That’s fine, Sophia, but don’t pretend to know too much about it.”

Sophia was about to say she would never
pretend
anything, but Florence and her mother became distracted by a gown that a certain Miss Weatherbee was wearing—quite unlike anything she’d ever worn before, Florence said, with a very daring
décolletage
for an English girl who rarely spoke a word at these things, let alone came to them. It looked like the one Sophia had worn to the Weldon House ball, where she’d first danced with James.

Florence winked at Sophia. “You’re setting trends, my dear. It was bound to happen. Soon, people will be looking for your picture in the shop windows with Lillie Langtry and the other English beauties.”

They moved into the massive hall, brightly lit and adorned with ferns and leafy palms. For an hour or so, Sophia met gentleman after gentleman, peer after peer. There were politicians from the House of Commons as well as the House of Lords. There were newspapermen, bankers, wives and sisters and mothers and aunts. It was the largest assembly she had attended so far. She guessed the number of guests at an easy five hundred.

Not so easy to find her prince, however, when all the gentlemen were dressed the same—in black tails and white shirts and white waistcoats. Would he even come?

Then her mother said, “Look, there’s the duke,” as if they were wandering in Central Park, and she’d just spotted a partridge.

Sophia spoke as casually as she could. “Oh, yes.”

Her mother’s eyes grew wide. “
Oh, yes
? That’s all you have to say?”

“That’s all for now, Mother,” she replied with a little grin as she snapped open her fan.

It was another half hour before Sophia found herself on the same side of the room as James. Every so often she glanced in his direction, admiring how his tall, dark figure towered over the other men, and how his facial features were both rugged and calmly somber. Even in a crowd, his presence was grand and imposing.

He was engaged in a conversation with someone, but as he took a sip of his champagne, he looked at Sophia over the rim of his glass. His green eyes flashed beneath the dark lashes.

She smiled daringly at him, and when he inclined his head in return with a sexy lift of his brow, she felt like her legs were going to give out beneath her. She longed to talk to him tonight. Just to be close enough to see the depths in his eyes and the smoothness of his lips. To hear the sound of his voice as he spoke her given name.

A few moments later he was there beside her, tall and suave, greeting her mother and the banker they’d been conversing with. After the appropriate light discourse, the duke said to Beatrice, “Would you permit me, madam, to steal your daughter away for a moment or two? I would like to introduce her to my younger sister, who is here this evening with my mother, the duchess. My sister wishes to make Sophia’s acquaintance.”

Beatrice’s face lit up like an exploding gas lamp.

“Not at all, Your Grace. I’m sure Sophia would be delighted to meet your family.”

He nodded and offered his arm, and Sophia slid hers around it. They began to cross the crowded room together.

“I’m glad you came,” he said quietly to her. “I was hoping you would.”

“I was hoping you would, too.”

She could have said so much more: that she’d been unable to think of anything but him since they’d parted beneath the portico, and that she wished he would pull her into his arms and kiss her right here, and end this painful, frustrating feeling of “apartness.”

They approached the young lady he had smiled at at the Weldon ball—the lovely dark-haired girl in the cream-colored dress. Tonight, she wore a becoming shade of blue. So she was his sister. A wave of relief moved through Sophia.

James touched his sister’s arm. “Lily, may I present to you Miss Sophia Wilson, of New York. Miss Wilson, this is Lady Lily Langdon.”

Sophia offered her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Langdon.”

James leaned in very close and whispered so no one else could hear. “The correct form of address is Lady Lily.”

The feel of his hot breath in her ear sent gooseflesh up her entire left side.

“Lady Lily,” she amended, noticing that she did not feel the least bit patronized, or that James had been condescending. On the contrary, she felt rather grateful, as if he were on her side and wished only to help her.

“Please, call me Lily,” the young woman said.

They both smiled, and Sophia suspected that if she had the good fortune of becoming better acquainted with the duke’s young sister, she would come to like her very much.

“I do love your gown,” Lily mentioned, and they talked about some of the new fashions while James stood by, listening.

“Shall we all go out to the buffet table and see what is there?” Lily suggested. “I’m feeling quite famished suddenly.”

“I’d like that,” Sophia replied. She followed Lily and was pleased that James was coming, too.

They made their way through the crowd to the long table clothed in white linen and topped with decorative dishes and an Epicurean delight of finger foods. Scalloped oysters, pastry puffs filled with lobster salad, and fresh, colorful sliced fruit and grapes were carefully arranged on silver platters and spilling over the rims of huge china bowls. There were cakes and candies and fancy biscuits iced with butter cream, and sugar sculptures towering in the middle as immaculate centerpieces. Sophia, James, and Lily moved around the table, sampling and talking and laughing, and Sophia wished this night would never end.

They moved into a smaller drawing room that was less crowded, and Lily and Sophia sat down on a sofa at the far end. James chose a chair opposite them. Beyond them was the conservatory—visible on the other side of yet another hall—all lit up and looking like a great jungle of leafy greens.

The three of them sat and talked, and Sophia sensed a mild tension between Lily and James, a few looks of annoyance from Lily, the odd contradictory opinion. She wondered if they might have argued over something recently.

Two young ladies walked into the room and Lily recognized them. “Oh, look, it’s Evelyn and Mary. I must go and say hello to them.” She stood, crossed the room, and went to meet her friends.

Sophia was now sitting alone with James in front of the huge marble fireplace. There was no fire; the grate was clean.

“Lily is lovely,” she said.

“She is indeed. Lovely and uncontrollably defiant.”

Glancing over at James’s sister, giggling with the two young ladies, Sophia was not surprised. “I sensed something was wrong. She seemed troubled.”

James gazed at Lily, too. Candlelight glimmered over his classically handsome profile. “We had a disagreement recently. Over her marriage.”

Sophia tried not to voice her shock. “Her marriage? But she’s so young.”

“Precisely what I said. Mother would marry her off tomorrow if she could, and when I told Lily that she didn’t have to worry about that because she was too young, she didn’t seem to realize that I was on her side. She accused me of underestimating her maturity as far as ‘passions’ were concerned.”

Sophia smiled sympathetically. “She’ll come around. I’m sure she’ll meet someone respectable who will suit her well.”

James leaned his temple on a finger and gazed at Sophia. The lines around his eyes softened, and he smiled lazily. “How is it possible that we found a way to be alone in this crush?”