Trapping a Duchess (34 page)

* * * *

Andrew’s gaze roamed over the onlookers as his hand came to rest on Sophie’s waist. A shock of longing raced through him, as was always the case when he touched her. The momentary happiness on her face had been a gift of its own. He wanted to see that look on her face every day for the rest of his life; indeed would do anything to ensure that happened.

“My brother mentioned you traveled to Sussex recently.”

Andrew latched onto the topic as if it were a lifeline. “Yes. The heavy rains wrought havoc on the village around the Abbey.”

She gave a short nod of understanding. “Were you able to get everything situated?”

“Not quite everything, but my steward is there to oversee matters.”

“Will you need to return there soon?” she asked, seeming as if she already knew the answer.

“At some point, yes. But I thought we could do so after our honeymoon, if that is acceptable you?”

Her pretty mouth opened, then snapped shut, and a look of surprise flashed over her face. “Of course,” she said, her gaze darting away from him to focus on the others joining in the dance. She made no effort to renew the conversation, though her smile seemed less bemused. A few more turns of the room later and the waltz drew to a close.

The instant their feet hit the edge of the floor they were swallowed up by a horde of people. Sophie’s impatience with the barrage of questions was almost palpable and more than once, Andrew felt the need to step in and rescue her. What was the bloody use of being a duke if he were powerless to ease her burden? He spotted his sister by the door in conversation with Lord Roxford and waited patiently for Lady Braxton to finish her lengthy story.

Before the next person had a chance to chime in, he said, “If you will excuse us, my sister is summoning.” Sophie’s startled gaze snapped to his. “Just go with it,” he said in a low voice. As they wove through the crowd, he drew her close. The air, though full of merriment, was humid and stifling.
All that hot, congratulatory wind
, he supposed.

“Thank you,” she said as they reached a less crowded part of the room.

His hand found the small of her back, a simple touch which gave breath to desire. “Trust me, our departure was as much for my benefit as yours.” He only hoped she wouldn’t be angry once she realized where he was leading her. Before they reached the place where Alexandra stood, Andrew made a sharp right and pulled Sophie through the door to her mother’s private sitting room. As soon as they were inside, he tugged her deeper inside.

“How did you know about this place?” An unsurprising question as Andrew knew the countess to be quite insistent the room be off-limits to guests. He ventured in a few steps bumped into the sharp end of a piece of furniture. Pain shot through his knee and he let out a yelp.

“Would you like assistance?” She sounded as if she was holding back her laughter.

“Not at all,” he said, pulling a box of matches from his pocket and striking one. A flicker of light broke through the darkness, long enough for him to locate a candle on the table. “You have something you wish to discuss?” he asked as he gestured to the elegant chairs. At her hesitation, he gave her an encouraging smile. She crossed the room, her movements graceful yet calculated, and waited for her to begin.

“I cannot marry you,” she said, then swallowed hard. Her gaze moved to the floor as his heart tumbled into his stomach. Of all the things he had imagined her to say, that had never featured. His fingers wrapped around the arms of the chair, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of reining in his temper.

He was only partially successful. “Why not?”

Openly startled, her head jerked up. “Why what?”

“Why can't you marry me?” he asked, trying desperately not to growl out the question.

Her mouth formed a perfect little 'o' and she shook her head. “I wasn't finished. I cannot marry you without being honest about the way I feel.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand to stay him. “If I am to become your duchess, I will not tolerate being dictated to. I expect to be treated as your equal, not commanded as a child. In addition to fulfilling the duties required by my position, I insist on having a life of my own. I won't abide a bully of a husband who expects complete obedience, nor will I tolerate one who tries to break my spirit. I won't end up like my mother.”

Her mother? Andrew was pretty sure his mouth was gaping open like a fish. “Sophie—”

“I am not finished. You described my feelings as misbegotten notions. I assure you, they are not.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

She paused. “If you know, then why haven't you tried to behave differently?”

Realization slammed through him, stealing his breath. He had been an overbearing bully from the very start. Simon had, too, and from what Andrew was hearing, so had her father. Half of him wanted to jump up and shake her until her perceptions of him rattled from her skull. The other half wanted to take her in his arms and soothe away her unwarranted fears. She could be so maddening, this bride of his. “Because I thought you were being stubborn, like before.”

“I was not being stubborn before.”

“I know that now, but not when I first returned. Why didn't you tell me about your concerns?” Faced with a mistake of her own, she seemed to flounder. “Sophie, the only thing I want to do is make you happy. I have no intention of, or desire to, rule your life. I know it's not the way of things, but I don't want a docile bride who lives to do my bidding. I want someone to share my life with, someone who is willing to make me as blissful as I make them. I want a home filled with children and a wife who enjoys waking up next to me.”

A hopeful smile played over her lips. “Do you really want all of those things?”

He nodded his head enthusiastically as he closed the distance between them. “Absolutely.” He leaned down until he could feel her breath blowing in little puffs across his lips. “I want you, just as you are. I wouldn't have you any other way.” He hadn’t even had time to punctuate his declaration with a kiss when the door jerked open. They both jumped a step backwards as Simon entered, looking extremely put out.

Andrew was about to tell him to close the damned door when Sophie chimed in. “If you're looking to catch us in a compromising position, you're a ball too late.” He let out a bark of laughter, even as Simon crossed his arms over his chest and pinned them both with an annoyed look.

“Your guests are beginning to inquire as to your whereabouts. You cannot simply sneak off and do whatever it is you're doing in the middle of your engagement ball. The ton will be scandalized.”

Sophie put her hands on her hips and gave her brother an arch look. “Then let them be scandalized. Again. We’ll return when we're ready.”

“But—”

“Close the damn door, Simon.”

Simon scowled at her. “You have one minute. After that, I’m directing the guests in here so you can answer their ridiculous questions.” With that threat, he stormed out.

Andrew burst into laughter. “I absolutely adore your ferocity, my love, but we shouldn't keep them waiting.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

She sighed. “I suppose not.”

“We can continue this conversation later.” His fingers slid into hers. “Come. Let us venture back into the lion’s den.” The beatific smile she wore at that moment stayed with her the rest of the evening.

Hours later, Andrew bid his valet goodnight and entered his bedchamber, loosening his cravat and crossing the room before finally yanking off the offending article and tossing it over the back of a chair. He stripped off his coat and waistcoat and sank down on the bed. He’d given Kenneth the night off, the first the valet had taken since Andrew’s return. Tonight he wanted to be alone.

Though he spent the evening at Sinclair House, indeed had spent the whole of it at Sophie’s side, their time was spent in conversation with others. As Andrew stripped off his boots, he considered Sophie, her reaction to his explanation and what she might be feeling. Hopefully, she would take his words to heart. There was so much he wanted to tell her, including that he loved her, but there hadn't been a single private moment in which to do so.

Damn Simon
. If he hadn't walked in and interrupted, Andrew would have declared it the moment his lips met hers. Of course, he probably would have pressed her into one of the settees as well, so the timing of his friend's entrance was probably for the best. She said she did not want to marry a dictator. That was not an issue as he had no desire to be one. She was a woman of intelligence who needed to be loved, not ruled. And loving her was easy.

He stood and paced some more, and ended up pouring himself a brandy and staring out the window, his ritual of late. As he sipped his drink, his eyes fixed on the blackened clouds that smothered the moon in periodic intervals. He wondered where she was right then, could almost see her tucked in her bed, a dreamy smile on her face.

Before he knew it, he was sitting down in his chair, tugging his boots back on. The night was not yet over and before it ended, he wanted her in his arms as he declared his everlasting love.

* * * *

Sophie left her bedchamber and headed downstairs to the kitchen. She couldn’t recall one moment in all her four and twenty years when she’d felt more restless. Of all the turmoil she'd experienced in dealing with Andrew, this one was new. It wasn't born of her usual anger or fury or bitterness, but rather the last of those emotions being laid to rest by an absolute clarity of feeling. She loved him. Once the shock of being trapped by their kiss had worn off, once she had voiced her concerns and he had assuaged her fears, the emotion had swelled. Like a candle in the darkest part of her soul, it had brightened, warmed and comforted. She reached the kitchen and smiled. Clearly Janey, their cook, had taken notice of Sophie's midnight habit. A plate of biscuits sat next to a steaming tea service, laid out on the table as if she'd been given orders for it to be there.

Sophie poured a cup and sipped, the sweet warmth relaxing her taut muscles yet doing nothing to ease the exhilaration bursting through her. She reached for a biscuit then set it back down. Her feet had begun tapping restlessly, keeping pace with a mind running circles around one thought:
I love him
. She hadn’t told him, though, and for some reason, saying the words felt like the most important thing in the world.

She finished the remainder of her tea and headed back upstairs. Simon had left for White's immediately after the ball and wouldn’t be home for hours, and mother and Alexandra, who had decided to stay over due to the early hour needed for last minute preparations, were already fast asleep upstairs. She entered her bedchamber and set the candle down on the bedside table. Slipping out of the house and traversing a path to Tolland Place was simple enough. It was only a few blocks away, after all, a journey she had made countless times throughout the years. She refused to be daunted by how it was black as pitch outside.

Sophie chewed on her bottom lip and wandered to the window. An ambient white light peaked now and again from the clouds. Without another moment of hesitation, she headed to her drawer and found a pair of Simon’s old breeches. He had given them to her for their visits to the country. She slipped out of her night rail and into them in record time, then pulled on a shirt and hastily tucked it in. As she slipped her feet into her boots, she chuckled at the vision she presented. She doubted her attire would shock Andrew, as he seemed to appreciate her scandalous behavior. As she headed out of her bedchamber and into the darkened hallway, she realized she needed a cloak. Tiptoeing back into her room, she grabbed the first one she found and quickly exited.

Simon’s walking stick leaned against the wall near the end of the hall and she snatched it up, then headed towards the kitchen, her mind full of seeing Andrew. Her blood thrummed with an anticipation which brought a flush to her cheeks. A block into her journey the clouds swallowed the moon and the comforting white light was replaced by an eerie darkness that whispered to the unsavory. A chill swept over her even as she walked briskly down the street, her eyes darting to and fro as she tried to discern the shadows in her path.

Wrapped up in the struggle to not turn around, return to the warmth of her bed and profess her love for Andrew tomorrow, she was completely unaware of the dark shadow that had begun moving behind her. At the same moment heavy footsteps registered, a strong hand clamped down on her arm and yanked her unceremoniously against a wall of hard flesh. A scream caught in her throat as her attacker whipped her around to face him.

“Don’t you dare scream,” Andrew threatened in a low, furious voice. His gaze searched hers. Relief so profound it turned her legs to jelly coursed through Sophie’s body. She would have melted to the ground were it not for his strong thigh wedged between hers. Her body heated, despite the warning bells that begun clamoring as her gaze met his. Once again, trouble had found her, and this time there would be hell to pay.

* * * *

Andrew watched the play of emotions cross Sophie’s face and worked to keep his temper in check. He was aware of the exact moment the extent of his anger reached her. Her body, which had been limber and loose when he’d caught her unaware, was now strung tight as a bowstring, crimson patches staining her cheeks, neck and chest as heat radiated off of her in waves. “What the devil are you doing out here?” he asked through clenched teeth, the feel of her body tucked in snug breeches causing his free hand to lock around her waist. Her boldness in leaving the house in such attire sent his anger soaring to new heights. While he would tolerate many things from her, but risking her safety was not one of them. Even in the middle of Mayfair the streets could be deadly and at this time of night. . .