Trapping a Duchess (21 page)

“What is it?”

“I should have known, Andrew. Looking back, Miss Pope seemed overly flirtatious, even nervous. I was enjoying the banter too much at the time to consider how false the whole thing rang. Once I arrived and saw the state of the room. . .once I realized what had happened, I was completely thrown. It was like stumbling into another man's nightmare.”

“You couldn't have done anything to stop it, Charles.”

“Miss Pope did, and she was an innocent. I cannot fathom how she came to know your brother was in that hellhole or that delivering a message to me would be of any help.”

Andrew nodded. Charles was an upstanding member of society, a true gentleman to his core. He would never have accepted the attentions of an innocent, no matter how intriguing the conversation. He remembered when he’d first brought Charles home to meet his family, during a Christmas break from Oxford. Alexandra had been sixteen at the time and took an immediate liking to him. Though she was not prone to incessant flirting, her interest had been plain enough. Charles, once aware of the situation, had done his best to avoid her for the remainder of the holiday.

“You did not have contact with Miss Pope after that?” Andrew asked, a thousand thoughts raging through his mind.

“I wanted to stay and search for her. I even made a few discreet inquiries before we left, but my primary concern was getting Gabriel to safety.”

“Thank you for that,” Andrew said softly. “And for the discretion in your note. Had I known the details of his homecoming, I would have made mucked everything up by keeping Alexandra here.”

“She will be angry if she learns the truth.”

“Thankfully, she and my aunt are in Surrey attending Roxford’s house party until Monday next. I’ve asked Weston to have one of the guest rooms readied for you. I thought you might need a place to stay until you can procure lodgings.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, rising. “It’s been a long night. If we’re done here, I believe I’ll find my bed.”

“You should get some rest.”

Charles walked to the door then turned. “One more thing. We ran into my cousin Kate at an inn on the way home. She's on her way to London for a few weeks and was quite concerned, as you can imagine.”

“I'm sure she coddled him like a babe,” he said, smiling for the first time since Charles had arrived.

He laughed. “She dressed his wounds and made a healing poultice for our travels. I made her promise not to follow until the rain let up, but she insisted on checking up on him once she arrives. I imagine that will be within the next few days.”

“As long as she is aware that my sister is to have no knowledge of Gabriel's state.”

“Of course.” With that, Charles left the room.

Lady Katherine—Kate, to her friends—was a physician’s daughter who had married Charles’ cousin, the Duke of Bramley. The pair had enjoyed nine years of marriage before he suffered an apoplexy at the age of thirty-eight. Since then, Kate had lived a quiet life with her seven-year old daughter Celia, coming up for only a few weeks at the end of the Season, much to society’s dismay. Her bubbly personality made her a favorite of both men and women alike. Having her around would prove helpful in dealing with Gabriel, as she was one of the few women with whom he appeared to have a close bond.

He would rely on her to be Gabriel's confidant, in the hopes he might reveal something, anything about the villains responsible for his torture. Andrew would do everything in his power to run them to ground and make them pay.

* * * *

On the fourth day of the house party, Sophie found herself arranged on the chaise lounge in the sitting room, captive audience to a group of female guests who were spending the afternoon gossiping about the latest
on-dit
. Alex had chosen to spend the afternoon locked in her room with a book, claiming the need for rest before the evening’s festivities. Sophie had tried to do the same, but the solitude had proved too much. As long as her mind was occupied, she could forget about Andrew and her feelings.

The nights were difficult enough. Once in bed, her mind was plagued with memories of their moments together, the feel of his strong fingers as they drifted over her skin, the warmth of his mouth as his tongue mated with hers, the smell and taste of him, elemental and raw and oh-so-delicious. After four days of sleepless nights, her patience was sorely taxed. She noticed Lady Forrester entering the room and smiled. At least she wouldn't have to endure the ridiculous chatter alone.

“May I?” Lady Forrester asked, indicating the extra space on the lounge.

“Please do,” Sophie said, straightening to make room as trying her best to not stare. In a land of fair maidens, Lady Forrester was a dark beauty. Her straight, jet black hair was striking against her fair skin, and her piercing emerald eyes spoke of experience and wisdom. Beneath her polished exterior was a woman who had seen more of life's darkness than light, but who was clearly determined to not to succumb to the shadows. Sophie liked her immensely, not only because Lady Forrester could hand her brother a set down with a minimum of words, but because she was living life on her own terms.

“I’m afraid we have not had much of a chance to converse during our stay, Lady Sophia,” the viscountess said with a friendly smile.

“No,” she agreed. “Unfortunately. And, please, call me Sophie. All of my friends do.”

Lady Forrester smiled. “Then you may call me Eliza. And I am pleased to hear you consider me a friend, as I wish to speak with you about a personal matter.” She hesitated, an uncharacteristic blush staining her elegant cheekbones. Leaning in, she lowered her voice. “I wish to offer you some advice, but at the same time, I do not want to intrude.”

“Advice?” Sophie asked, her curiosity piqued.

She nodded. “You appear to be at a crossroads.”

“A crossroads?” she asked, brows pulling together.

“May I tell you a story?”

“Please,” Sophie said quickly, eager to learn what she meant by crossroads.

“My husband was a horrible man.”

Well, that was no secret
, Sophie thought. Society had showed neither discretion nor tact when discussing the travesty of Eliza's marriage.

“I can tell by your expression that I have no need to elaborate.”

Sophie shook her head, unable to deny it.

“Despite Lord Forrester's many flaws, I loved him deeply. It may come as a surprise, but he was not always a bastard.” At Sophie's surprised expression, she chuckled. “But when our marriage soured, I began to question myself and my choices. I thought it was I who had failed, you see. I thought, if I had been a better wife, a better lover or even a better friend, I might have been able to save him.”

“I don't believe there's anything you could have done.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps not, but it did not stop me wondering if I would ever trust love again.”

“You do not believe you will ever find happiness again?” Sophie asked, frowning.

She gave a decisive shake of her head. “Not happiness, my dear Sophie, but love. See, I believe that sometimes our past makes it seem impossible to trust the possibility of our future. You understand what that is like, do you not?”

Sophie gave a bemused shake of her head. “I have never been in love.”

“Really?” she asked, her green eyes sparkling with genuine surprise.

Sophie felt the weight of her regard, but only shrugged.

“Well, perhaps not,” she continued, “for you, my dear, are still young. But he is certainly feeling the emotion.”

Secure in the knowledge that only she and Andrew were aware of what was going on between them, Sophie could only assume that she spoke of Lord Courtland. At the memory of the smile which lit Lord Courtland’s face whenever they were together, she colored and hung her head to veil the heat in her cheeks. “I do not believe that is quite the emotion he is feeling. I mean, he likes me well enough, but I am fairly certain he does not love me.”

Eliza leaned forward and clasped Sophie's hands in hers. “Oh, but I know he does, my dear. And I am certain you will find the other half of your soul if you dare allow yourself to know him. He is a wonderful man, once you get past the controlled exterior.”

“Controlled exterior?” she asked, thinking she must not know Lord Courtland very well.

Eliza let out a knowing laugh. “I have been acquainted with him for many years. In fact, I count him as one of my closest friends. As you can imagine, his happiness is important to me. I would not wish for him to be hurt again.”

Again? Sophie looked up, confused. “Lord Courtland—”

“Not Lord Courtland,” Eliza interrupted softly. “The Duke.”

Sophie paled, a sharp inhale rushing out of her mouth in a sudden sputter. “Of Tolland?” she asked, swallowing convulsively.

“The very one. But fret not, my friend. I do not believe anyone but I have seen. Your brother certainly hasn’t. Of course, I have done my best to keep him distracted.” A smug grin tugged at her lips.

“I do not love him.” The protestation came to her lips by rote.

Eliza tilted her head. “And yet he loves you all the same.”

The revelation brought the sting of tears to Sophie's eyes. “He is playing a game.”

“Not where his heart is concerned,” Eliza said firmly.

As Sophie opened her mouth to refute her, Lady Araminda burst into the room. Excitement lent the woman’s already nasally voice a high-pitched screech. “He’s here. He’s come! See for yourself,” she squealed, jumping up and down like a child. Sophie's heart seemed to tumble in her stomach. She had hoped that Andrew's estate matter would keep him unavoidably detained for the remainder of the party. Four days hadn’t had been nearly enough time for her to reconnoiter.

And now he is here. She tried to maintain her composure, determined not to let his presence rattle her. Still, she sat up straight, crossed her legs at the ankles and smoothed out her gown. She heard the front door close, the click of boot heels against the wood floor as he moved towards the sitting room and then the butler’s muted voice. The door opened and, through the crowd of excited guests, Sophie could not see him as he entered. Then, he did and her uncertainty fled.

Lord Courtland, not Andrew's, form graced the doorway. Dressed in buff breeches and a blue jacket, his ivory shirt was opened at the throat. His Hessians were dusty from travel. Her relief was accompanied by a burst of laughter.

“Lord Courtland!” Lady Araminda exclaimed, moving to the man’s side in a frothy blur of rose colored lace. “How wonderful of you to join us.” Sophie watched the proceedings with amusement. The marquis caught her gaze and smiled. Knowing it was all he could offer while surrounded by the gaggle of tittering women, she lifted her brows and offered a teasing grin.

He let out a bark of laughter, which raised the titter and babble to a fever pitch. “Ladies, ladies, please. I was not expecting such a warm welcome,” he said, deftly removing Lady Araminda’s arm from his as he addressed the group at large. “Thank you, all of you, for your generous greeting. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to my belongings.” He bowed graciously but exited the room as if the parson himself were hot on his heels.

Sophie watched his departure with a genuine smile, resisting the urge to laugh outright at the dejected look Lady Araminda shot at his back. Instead, she turned to resume her conversation with Eliza, who had somehow managed to sneak out of the room during the commotion. Settling back into her seat, she considered what the viscountess had imparted. Harnessing her jumbled feelings proved impossible. The woman must be mad to think Andrew in love with her. Given the way he behaved, Sophie was hard-pressed to believe him even capable of the emotion. She stared out the window for a few minutes and then decided to find Alex and give her news of Lord Courtland’s arrival.

As she passed the alcove underneath the staircase, an arm shot out and yanked her deep into the shadows. “What?” she nearly screamed, then shut her mouth when the marquis shot her an amused grin.

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady. I just wanted a private moment and was not brave enough to venture back into that vulture’s nest to request it.”

Chuckling, she nudged him playfully. “They were rather fierce, were they not?”

“Scariest thing I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing,” he said, wrinkling his nose like a child whose ordered to finish a bowl of cold peas.

“What did you wish to tell me?” she asked, suddenly aware that they were standing too close in a darkened section of a well-hidden room.

“Only this,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips across hers in the lightest of caresses.

Sophie waited for an explosion of heat, of want, to consume her, but she did not go up in flames. He murmured something under his breath and pressed his mouth more firmly against hers. Still, she felt absolutely nothing. It wasn’t for lack of experience; his tongue slid over her lips and at their parting, swirled around and stroked in a manner she was certain could have buckled the knees of a courtesan. But not, apparently, her knees, which were not only unaffected, but still rigid. She was considering all of this when he stopped.

An arrested look marred his features as he planted his hands on his hips. “Did you feel that?” he asked, sounding vexed.