Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (8 page)

“And they believed this?”

At the incredulity in his tone, she slipped her arm back in his and gave him a sharp pinch.

He winced. “Ouch.”

“What would you have me do? Agree to their madcap scheme to wed me to you?” She tugged her arm free and resumed walking. His long strides closed the distance she’d put between them, and he fell into step beside her.

“That’s rather insulting,” he groused from under his breath.

“That’s something we’ve never been short of, my lord. Insults.”

Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Why give them Mallen’s name?” he asked suddenly, unexpectedly.

Sophie held her palms up. “My mother and brother are not unlike every other family that seeks the most advantageous match. Can you think of a match more suitable than one with the Duke of Mallen?”

“Hmm.”

If their families weren’t staring she would have pinched him again for the incredulity in that one syllable utterance. Why was it so very hard to believe that she, Sophie Winters, should garner the notice of the Duke of Mallen? She shoved aside the very obvious reminder that she’d not managed even one serious suitor in two full Seasons.

Except Odysseus. My mystery hero
.

Christopher looked across the room. She followed his stare to where it lingered on their families, who now studied Sophie and the young earl as though they were an exotic genus of insect on display at the Royal Museum.

“Sophie, it’s time for you to play the pianoforte.” Geoffrey’s directive carried across the long parlor.

She winced. Much the way she had done as a small child, Sophie glanced around in desperate search of escape. “I’d rather…” She looked to Christopher.

He, however, was of no help. Instead, he guided her over to the instrument, as though he were a kind of executioner leading her to the steps of the guillotine.

Sophie didn’t know how to explain this swell of disappointment as he abandoned her for a seat alongside his father. Her gaze alternated between Christopher, who stared at her with a warm expectancy that she didn’t know how to make sense of…and the pianoforte.

“Sit, Sophie,” Mother snapped.

Sophie jumped, her legs knocked against the delicate bench. She dipped a curtsy. They treated her little better than Duke; expected to sit, stand, and come upon command. She tugged out the bench and sat, her gaze fixed on the ivory keys. They called to her. Beckoned. When she was at this instrument, all her doubts, all her insecurities lifted and she was simply a woman captivated by the power of music.

What her brother and mother expected of her, however, killed all such joy. They would transform her love into something intended to garner the notice of Lord Waxham and his father.

Her fingers poised over the keys, she took a deep breath and began to peck at them, one finger at a time.

With his eye on some coin, Lord McMartin

Behind a curtain, courted Lady Aberdeen

He asked for her hand

He promised her laughter

And happily ever afters

If only she'd kneel…

“Sophie!” Geoffrey barked.

Sophie’s fingers ground to a screeching halt. She fought back a wave of guilt when her mother buried her head in her hands and shook it back and forth.

A glitter of what she thought was amusement filled Christopher’s eyes. His father on the other hand, appeared as though he’d taken a bite out of a sizeable lemon.

Sophie stared down at the keys not feeling the sense of victory she imagined she should feel. Instead, she battled down the realization that she’d once again disappointed her family.

“That will be all, Sophie,” Geoffrey snapped. The black look he favored her with indicated that Sophie was in a good deal of trouble when their company left.

She scrambled to her feet, and dipped a hasty curtsy.

A ghost of a smile played on Christopher’s lips. Was it because her performance had only fueled his every negative perception of her? Suddenly, Sophie wished she’d handled the evening altogether differently.

Wished she’d not allowed her pride to interfere with her actions.

“Uh-I…if you’ll excuse me.” She managed one more curtsy for Christopher and the marquess and hurried from the room.

Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

Miss S.W. was reminded why young ladies should not tilt back on the legs of their chairs after she upended herself at the Marchioness of K’s music recital.

~6~

“Do you know what hour it is?”

Seated in the Duke of Mallen’s leather winged-back chair, Christopher glanced across Mallen’s office to the ormolu clock. “Five o’clock.”

Mallen stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “Five o’clock in the morning. The morning,” he said as though speaking to a small child. “And, isn’t it a bit early for brandy?”

Christopher found his friend to be taking this conversation rather well, considering the favor he’d just put to him. He sipped from his glass of brandy. “I need your help, Mallen,” he pressed.

Following last evening’s dinner party at Redbrooke’s, he’d thought about his conversation with Sophie as they’d strolled around the Red Parlor. She’d spoken with a refreshing degree of candor that really shouldn’t surprise him considering her lively personality. Right before he’d fallen asleep, an idea had come to him—an idea that very well might help him thwart his father’s plans for him and Phi. Said plan, however, involved leniency on the part of his close friend, Mallen.

Mallen opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. Instead, he went and poured himself a brandy. He took a long swallow. “You would like me to court Sophie Winters?” He reclaimed the chair behind his desk. “Sophie. Emmaline’s dearest friend. The rather plump young lady…”

Christopher shifted in his seat. “Ohhh, would we call her plump?” For some reason, Mallen’s insult grated on his very last nerve. Of course he should be incensed. He’d known the young lady since she’d been in the nursery.

Mallen scratched his brow. “I didn’t intend it as an insult. I would call the lady more voluptuous than anything else. She has—”

“Will you help me?” Christopher bit out. He’d heard quite enough from Mallen on Sophie’s attributes. He liked Mallen’s detailed description of Phi even less than the earlier perceived insults. He told himself the odd churning in his gut was merely a brotherly sense of affection for the young woman.

Mallen tapped his fingertips along the rim of his glass. “I’d like to make sure I understand you clearly.”

Christopher’s hand slashed through the air. “A ride in Hyde Park, an ice at Gunter’s. Nothing more than that.” He imagined those gestures alone should deter Redbrooke’s interest in pairing Christopher and Sophie.

Mallen raised a brow. “If you were this romantic in your attempt to woo my sister, it is no wonder I ended up with Drake as a brother-in-law.”

“I’m not trying to woo Miss Winters,” Christopher pointed out. The Duke of Mallen represented a means to an end of any foolish attempt by Christopher’s father to see him married to the vixen.

A ducal frown formed on Mallen’s lips. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that the young lady will be gravely wounded should your plan be discovered.”

“Bah, she won’t discover anything, Mallen. Only you and I will know the truth.”

“Dare I even ask what has fueled such a mad scheme on your part?”

Christopher managed a half-grin. “Miss Winters herself said the only thing that would thwart her mother and brother’s efforts were if she secured the affection of a duke.”

Mallen sighed and took another swallow of his brandy. “Any duke will do, eh?”

“Ah, yes, that’s right.” That wasn’t altogether true. Sophie had specifically mentioned the Duke of Mallen. Christopher’s gaze wandered past Mallen’s shoulder, to the full-length window. Outside, the sun and moon warred for dominance in the morning sky. Burnt hues of orange and red painted the horizon.

Why didn’t he want to admit to Mallen that Sophie had in fact dangled his specific ducal title?

The actuality of it was that Christopher didn’t particularly care for Sophie’s mention of Mallen. He didn’t know why. Nor did he care to analyze such irrational sentiments overly long. He blamed it on fatigue. “Will you help me?” Christopher pressed.

Mallen dragged a hand across his eyes. “I do not want to risk endangering the young lady’s affections.”

“I’m sure she’ll just welcome your attention,” Christopher hurried to assure him. “She merely wants to avoid a match with me.”

Mallen’s lips twitched with what was surely amusement. “You’re a fool if you believe that. No young lady desires anything less than marriage.”

Christopher drummed his fingertips along the edge of his chair. Yes, Mallen had him there. The goal of all young ladies was a respectable match. “Sophie’s different,” he said. And she was. Unlike any other young lady of his acquaintance. She had a penchant for getting herself into scrapes that resulted in her name appearing in the scandal sheets. She spoke her mind with remarkable freeness.

Mallen’s next statement pulled him back to the moment. “Miss Winters might seem different to you but remember you have a remarkably poor record with young ladies. First my sister, now, Miss Winters.”

“Stuff it.” Christopher drained the remaining contents of his glass. He set it down upon the table next to him. “I need help. I no more want marriage to Miss Winters than she wants to marry me.” His jaw hardened. He’d be damned if he gave in to his father’s demands. The old marquess could go straight to the devil with his plans for Christopher and Phi.

“You do realize what you’re asking could create much difficulty between myself and my mother and sister?”

Christopher had considered that. “I’m not asking you to spend the entire Season courting her. Just several outings to deter her brother.”

“And deter your father.”

Christopher nodded. “Correct.”

Mallen arched a single brow. “How does he intend to force your hand?”

Christopher shifted in his seat. “He threatened to cut off my allowance if I don’t offer for the lady.” He couldn’t manage to humble himself with all the embarrassing details.

Mallen made a sound of disapproval. “Hardly the thing, trying to force a man’s hand.”

Christopher couldn’t agree more. He used Mallen’s sympathy to press for the other bachelor’s support. “My father, however, can’t lay blame at my feet if Miss Winters rejects my suit.”

Mallen sighed.

“Mallen…”

“I’m considering it, Waxham.”

The duke said nothing for a long while and the longer the stretch of silence grew, the more likely it became that Mallen would say no to Christopher’s outlandish request. It would mean Christopher had failed in his scheming. It would mean that he had to court Sophie who surely wouldn’t be able to rebuff his offer of marriage. It would mean his Athena in the library would be forever lost to him; before he’d even gathered the young lady’s identity. More than that, it would mean that his father had yet again won.

Mallen finally spoke. “Why do I feel there is more to your request, Waxham? That you’ve come to me out of more than your desire to preserve your allowance?”

Again, Athena’s teasing smile surfaced on the fringe of his memory, taunting him. “There isn’t. There isn’t,” he repeated at his friend’s incredulous expression.

“If I didn’t feel this great sense of guilt about Emmaline throwing you over for the Marquess of Drake, I wouldn’t even begin to contemplate this foolhardy scheme.” Mallen set his glass down on his desk. “I must be mad.”

Christopher scrambled forward in his chair. “You’ll do it?”

A frown twisted Mallen’s lips. “Only with the greatest reluctance.”

Relief surged in Christopher’s chest. “I’m indebted to you.”

“Oh, you most certainly are,” Mallen said. He jabbed a finger in Christopher’s direction. “If Miss Winters begins to express feelings where I’m concerned, then this foolishness is at an end. Is that clear?”

Christopher nodded. “Abundantly,” he added when Mallen looked ready to protest.

A beleaguered sigh escaped the duke. “Is there anything I should know about the lady?”

It was on the tip of Christopher’s tongue to say Sophie Winters was nothing less than a termagant who’d tortured him during his boyhood years but that no longer rang true. “She’s a lovely young lady. She’s…” He searched his mind. “Very sweet and docile.”

A snort escaped Mallen. “You forget we’ve been friends since Eton. I remember the time of it Miss Winters gave you over the years.”

“She was just a girl.” Christopher’s protest sounded half-hearted to his own ears. “And you probably know a good deal more about Sophie than I do. She’s been friends with your sister since they made their come out.”

Before Mallen reconsidered, Christopher shoved himself to his feet. “I owe you a good deal. I’ll send around a bottle of my finest brandy.”

“You certainly owe me more than a bottle of brandy,” Mallen muttered.

Christopher grinned. “I’ll return the favor should you ever require it.”

Mallen folded his arms across his chest, looking altogether very ducal in his unyielding posture and presence. “Rest assured, someday I do intend to collect more than a bottle of brandy.”

Christopher inclined his head. “I’m grateful, Mallen.”

Mallen tilted his chin toward the doorway. “Go now, before I change my mind.”

Christopher hurried out of the room, with a greater sense of optimism than he’d felt since his father had issued his decree on Christopher’s marital status.

He whistled his way out the front doors of Mallen’s townhouse. With a lighter heart, he took Intrepid’s reins from the waiting servant and climbed on his horse’s back. He gave a slight nudge to his black mare and they moved into a trot. At this ungodly hour, Hyde Park would be blessedly empty. He could allow Intrepid, to run freely.

Christopher reached Hyde Park. As he guided the mare down a quiet riding path, he considered his meeting with Mallen. Going over to the duke’s, Christopher had been so very confident in his plan. Sophie wanted to wed Christopher even less than he wanted to marry her. Why, a union between them would be a comedy of errors best reserved for the stage. Only now, the reservations voiced by his friend danced around his mind.