As Luck Would Have It (6 page)

Good Lord, had she just looked at his thighs?

Had he seen her look at his thighs?

Sophie felt her stomach do an agonizingly slow descent to her toes while all the blood in her body crept steadily toward her cheeks. How mortifying. To hide her embarrassment, she curtsied. To save her pride, she forced herself to meet his gaze when she straightened.

“I am very pleased to see you again, of course,” she managed with a credibly even voice. “I’ve been anxious to thank you properly for your assistance earlier this week, and Lord Thurston’s as well. I fear I made a mess of it the first time.”

“It was a pleasure,” Alex replied. Good Lord, she’d just looked him over. Miss Everton had just given him a visual appraisal with all the brashness of an
houri
, and all the finesse of a schoolroom chit. Fascinating.

“You’re very kind, I’m sure,” she mumbled.

Alex leaned against a nearby pillar and crossed his legs casually at the ankles. “Bored already, Miss Everton?” he asked, looking pointedly at her waist where her fingers were busily working at the folds of her skirt.

She looked down and winced before quickly fisting her hands behind her back. “Sorry, it’s a bad habit, I’m afraid. I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself,” he insisted. “And call me Alex.”

Sophie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I couldn’t. I can’t. We’ve only just met.”

“Nonsense, we’ve known each other for almost a week.”

Her stance relaxed notably at his teasing tone. “We’ve known
of
each other for a total of four days,” she said dryly. “That hardly qualifies as a long-term affiliation.”

Alex shrugged. “People have wed with less.”

“I don’t doubt the truth of that, just the advisability.”

“I don’t know,” Alex replied thoughtfully. “I rather like knowing I could haul you off to the altar should I so desire. There’s a certain power in having had you in a compromising position.”

She gaped at him for a moment before finding her voice. “There was nothing compromising about it!”

“You were in my arms,” he replied with a wicked grin.

“I was injured!” she hissed. “Rather seriously!”

He grinned broader and leaned closer. “You were also in my lap.”

“What? I…you…this conversation is absurd. I was
unconscious.
”

He was having far too much fun. Miss Everton was quite a sight when wound up, with flashing eyes and quickened breath that caused her bust to move up and down in a slightly indecent, and therefore
very
alluring manner. But it wouldn’t do to push things too far too quickly. Straightening, he gave her a playful wink.

“You are altogether too charming when in a temper, Miss Everton. I shall have to remember that.”

“So you can bait me?” she asked incredulously.

“So I’ll know what to expect when I do.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Have me figured out then?”

“I’m not so presumptuous as to assume I have grasped the whole of your character from a single conversation,” he returned, stubbornly ignoring the fact that he had done just that several days ago in William’s office—only without the benefit of actually conversing with her first. “Merely one small facet of which I am sure there are many. For example, I have no idea how well you dance. Would you do me the honor of enlightening me?”

It occurred to Sophie that she should probably decline. He was clearly a rake. When she took his proffered arm anyway, she
knew
she should have said no. She could feel the heat of his arm through his coat, it seeped up through her fingers, spread across her chest, and did the strangest thing to her legs—they suddenly felt heavy.

Fortunately, the dance was a country reel; it afforded little chance of conversing and even less for touching. Nonetheless, she was breathless and a little light-headed when he led her off the floor toward the lemonade table, and she knew it wasn’t from physical exertion. She accepted a glass from him gratefully and drank nearly half of it in just a few swallows. Alex took a glass for himself and led her away from the crowd around the table.

“You are a well-traveled woman of the world, Sophie, and unless I’m much mistaken, this is your first London ball.” He waved his glass in a sweeping motion. “What do you make of all this?”

Ever conscious of how sensitive people could be to a guest’s opinion, Sophie instinctively paused before answering. “It’s very different from what I am used to,” she finally replied. “And not quite what I had expected.”

The remark earned a smile from Alex. “That was a decidedly neutral statement.”

“I suppose it was,” she conceded. “It’s too bad women aren’t allowed to be diplomats.”

“It’s a pity women are denied a great many opportunities,” he stated in all honesty. Then, not even remotely in earnest, added, “But you’re right, I think, they would make excellent ambassadors. Most of them are exceedingly crafty by nature, forever arguing, sniping, meaning one thing and saying another, saying one thing and doing another, distracting their enemies with a pretty smile while they slip their dagger in the back.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You have a very low opinion of women, Your Grace.”

“I believed we agreed on ‘Alex,’ and I do hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Well, then your hopes are foolishly misplaced, aren’t they? You just insulted me.”

“I most certainly did not. If you will recall, I said ‘most’ women, not ‘all.’ Naturally, you were not included in my description of feminine artifices.” God, but she was fun to tease.

“Oh…well, I believe I retain the right to be offended on behalf of the women who are not here to defend themselves.”

Alex rocked back on his heels and looked down at her with exaggerated interest. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. Are you proclaiming yourself a representative of females the world over?”

“Don’t be silly. There is too much difference between cultures.” She took a delicate sip from her glass. “Just the British ones.”

“Ah, excellent. You won’t mind shedding some light on a few mysteries surrounding the fairer sex then, will you, Miss Ambassador?”

“I shall endeavor to answer your questions regarding
British
women, Your Grace,” she said pertly, then, after another sip added, “of a certain age.”

“Alex.”

“Oh, very well, Alex, but only while no one else is listening.”

Alex grinned at her stipulation. “Fair enough. I can scarce believe I have been handed this opportunity. Do you know that there are men who would commit murder to be in my shoes at this moment?”

“Ask your question, if you please,” Sophie replied, rolling her eyes, but smiling nonetheless.

“Very well. My first question is this: What ever do ladies, British ladies, discuss when they retire to the drawing room after dinner?”

Sophie had absolutely no idea. For the life of her, she couldn’t recall ever having taken part in that particular ritual. Representative of British women? What on earth had she been thinking? In the last twelve years, she had known exactly four British women—three officers’ wives and Mrs. Summers. Sophie had to be the least qualified ambassador in…in the history of ambassadors. Not that she was willing to admit to it, of course.

“Oh, well…this and that,” she began, badly. “We talk of the weather…and our families, of course, and er…major events like births, deaths, and weddings.” That sounded mind-numbingly dull. “And politics, naturally, and…literature.” It was the best she could do.

“Ah, I know a great many gentlemen who shall be relieved to hear it. Most are convinced the ladies spend the time verbally dissecting every male at the party.”

As his guess was likely closer to the truth than her own, “Hmm,” was really the most eloquent response she could come up with.

“Next question, do you see that young woman over there in the pink gown?”

Sophie narrowed her eyes in search. “There are a great many pink gowns in this room to night. You’ll need to be more specific.”

“The blonde standing next to the lemonade table with the pearl necklace and—”

“Ah, yes, what of her?”

“She is the younger sister of an old school chum, and I happen to know that she is a girl of uncommon good sense and generally a splendid conversationalist. Yet when I stopped by their town house today, she spent no less than three-quarters of an hour discussing the very gown she is wearing to night. No other topic could interest her but the event at which we are now present. And she is even now making the most syrupy smile I have seen outside of a lunatic asylum. So, my question is this: how is it that an otherwise perfectly sensible young woman can be transformed into a deranged simpleton by the mere mention of a ball?”

Sophie thought about that for a moment. “I think, Your Grace…er, Alex, that you might take the time to look about the room and take note of the cut of the gowns the young women are wearing.”

Alex grinned mischievously at her. “I have been looking, Sophie. I have most definitely been looking.”

“Then you must have noticed that ball gowns are cut considerably lower and slimmer than day gowns. The answer to your question is…inadequate air supply.”

Alex laughed outright. “I believe there is something to that theory, but I’ll admit I only noticed the lower and quite neglected the slimmer.”

“I’m sure you did. Have you any other questions?”

“Just one. Will you attend the opera with me this Saturday?”

“I…that’s a personal question.”

“So it is,” Alex remarked, “but it stands.”

She floundered for a moment, looking about the room as if help might be on the way. “Well, I…well, I suppose I might be agreeable, if…if you’ll answer a question for me.”

“Ask away,” he invited, intrigued.

She cleared her throat nervously. “The thing is…well
earlier, you said I…” She cleared her throat again. “Before, when we were…you mentioned…”

“Out with it.”

“Was I
really
in your lap?”

Alex was still laughing when he collected his coat to leave. He was to meet Whit at White’s in a half hour. All things considered, it was turning out to be a much more enjoyable evening than he had anticipated.

“Rockeforte!”

Alex felt his muscles tense unpleasantly at the sound of Loudor’s voice, but he hid his displeasure with a nod. “Loudor.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here. I wasn’t aware you were friends with the viscount.”

Alex began putting his arms through his coat. “I am not, but I’ve been hearing intriguing things about the man recently. I thought perhaps an association might be overdue.”

“Indeed! And what is your opinion now that you’ve had a chance to better your acquaintance?”

Alex would have bet that the viscount had broken all Ten Commandments at least once, and probably indulged in the seven deadly sins on a regular basis.

“I can understand why you count him as your friend.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Loudor declared, as if bestowing congratulations. “And you’re quite right, of course. He is a man of rare abilities.”

“Hmm,” was the best Alex could offer.

“Speaking of rarities, what do you make of my fair cousin?”

Alex followed Loudor’s gaze to rest on Sophie, standing at the far end of the room, and once more laughing with Mirabelle.

“She is a charming girl.” That, at least, was not a lie.

“She is, and not at all unpleasant to look at. Shame we’re so closely related, she’s the most refreshing views on marriage.”

“Is that so?” Alex heard the edge to his voice, but apparently Loudor did not because the man was still babbling like an idiot.

“Quite refreshing. Suppose it’s an effect of all those years in exotic countries, but she’s quite managed to escape becoming a prim and proper British miss. None of this silly marriage business for her, you know. Told me so herself. She wants only to
enjoy
herself while in London.”

Good Lord, the man was encouraging him to have a dalliance with his cousin. Alex wasn’t deluded enough to deny he’d like nothing better, but anyone could see Sophie Everton was an innocent. Certainly, she was considerably more plainspoken than most gently bred women of his acquaintance and perhaps a little more liberal in her politics, but
clearly
she wasn’t in the habit of “enjoying herself.” Any reasonably intelligent man who spent more than a few minutes in her company would know she was untouched, and Alex made a point to never dally with virgins. There were rules about that sort of thing.

Was Loudor going about telling every male in the room that Sophie was interested in a liaison? Alex felt an uncomfortable combination of jealousy, anger, and revulsion. There was nothing he would have liked better, in that moment, than to drag Loudor to an empty room and pummel him until he spilled the name of every rake, bounder, and libertine he had spoken with. Then pummel him again just on principle. Sadly, there were rules about that sort of thing too.

Alex took a moment to leash his anger before turning his best rakish grin on Loudor. “Freshness is all well and good, but what I require in a woman is fidelity. I don’t share.”

“Ah, I am in full agreement. Believe we understand each other, Rockeforte.”

Alex pictured his hands around Loudor’s neck. He smiled at the image, and nodded.

Loudor finished off his drink and looked back at Sophie. “I’m having a little dinner party tomorrow night. Sophie has a bizarre notion that her companion should dine with the family. Need another man to even out the numbers.” Without taking his eyes from Sophie, Loudor produced the most
sickening smirk Alex was sure he had ever seen. “Up to the task?”

Another throttling. Another smile. “I look forward to it.”

The second-to-last dance was a waltz. Fortunately, Sophie had yet to receive permission to waltz from the matrons of Almacks and was thus afforded the perfect excuse to decline the young gentlemen vying for her regard.

There seemed to be a great many of them, she realized with a mixture of pride and unease. They had appeared almost the moment Alex left her side. Apparently, the Duke of Rockeforte’s attention had immediately marked her as a person of consequence.