Sex and the Single Earl (15 page)

Sophie frowned. Why was Simon lying again? He had every intention of returning to London as soon as possible.

She opened her mouth to question him, but he smoothly cut her off.

“Aunt Eleanor, would you mind if I stole Sophie away for a few minutes? I have something most particular I wish to say to her.”

Sophie almost choked when the old woman winked at her nephew. Simon looked startled, but then sudden laughter eased the hard set of his features.

“By all means, my dear,” Lady Eleanor said affably. “I see Davinia Lethbridge sitting by the musicians. I haven’t spoken to her in an age. Take all the time you want.”

Before Sophie could object, Simon tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and began to lead her away.

“Simon, did you say something to your aunts about our engagement?” Sophie hissed from behind the false smile she plastered on her lips.

“Of course I haven’t, Goose. I gave you my word. But you know what the old gal is like—she has desired marriage between us ever since you put up your hair and let down your skirts. She’ll take any opportunity to throw us together.”

“Really, Simon. Don’t call Lady Eleanor an old gal—it’s very rude.”

He laughed and steered her to one of the inset windows on the opposite side of the room. Although still in full view of the crowd, the alcove provided some privacy. It was, Sophie realized, the perfect setting to deliver her sure-to-be-unwelcome message. All could see, but none could overhear. Simon wouldn’t dare lose his temper in front of half of Bath.

She ordered the butterflies in her stomach to cease their fluttering, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.

The speech she’d practiced so carefully withered under Simon’s hot gaze. The cheerful chaos of the Pump Room faded as she tumbled into the dark well of his eyes, returning to that place of magic and sensation that had ensnared them both last night.

His big hand brushed the fine velvet of the pelisse covering her back, sending a hard, wracking shudder down her spine. Dear Lord. How was she ever to say what she must say? Even a roomful of gossips—many of whom were eyeing them with great interest—couldn’t keep her from melting into a pool of honey under the warmth of his touch.

“How are you feeling today, my sweet?” His husky voice rumbled through every limb of her body. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and lean into the hand that lingered at the base of her spine. “I hope you have recovered from last night. You seemed a tad out of sorts when you so graciously bowed me out of the room.”

She snapped her head back and glared at him. Trust Simon to ruin the moment—again. The teasing light in his eyes stiffened her resolve.

“Whatever can you be talking about? I had a perfectly pleasant evening last night, and I feel most well today.”

He snorted. “Sophie, you had more than a pleasant evening last night, if you recall. It’s now time to pay the piper. Although there’s no doubt I took advantage of you in my aunt’s drawing room, of all places, I have no intention of apologizing. In fact, I would do it again. You belong to me now, sweetheart, and you may as well admit it. The sooner we announce our betrothal and set a date for our wedding, the better.”

She did her best to appear both innocent and bewildered—a challenging task, since his blunt words had set the butterflies pinwheeling in her stomach once again.

“Simon, I’ve already told you that I have no intention of announcing our betrothal. At least not yet. You promised you would give me time to adjust to the change in circumstances, and I intend to hold you to that promise.”

His brows arched up in exaggerated surprise. “Let me remind you, Puck, there’s been quite a substantial change in the circumstances, as you so delicately put it. You gave yourself to me last night—rather enthusiastically as I recall—and that changes everything. It’s now imperative we get married with no delay.”

Sophie took a deep breath and stepped off the cliff.

“Simon,” she gasped with feigned outrage. “Have you lost your mind? There has been nothing in my behavior that would modify our agreement one whit.”

For a harrowing moment he seemed slack-jawed with shock. But that didn’t last. The lines of his face set like stone with an alarming rapidity that made her question the sanity of her plan.

“Sophie,” he ground out, “what are you playing at? You slept with me last night. You came apart in my arms. I know you didn’t imbibe enough champagne to forget that very interesting event.”

She drew herself up to her full height. Just level with his chin, she forced herself to ignore the unmistakable warning signaled by the compression of his lips.

“After you brought me home last night, I went straight to bed,” she said primly. “I don’t know how you could say otherwise.”

He closed his eyes. Now he looked like a basilisk. A very angry basilisk. She let her gaze dart around the room, wanting to look anywhere but at Simon’s furious countenance.

Her eyes suddenly fell upon Lady Randolph. The countess was observing them, a canny smile playing around the edges of her crimson-tinted lips.

Sophie jerked her attention back to Simon. His eyes were open now. As hard as flint, they regarded her with suspicion.

“Why are you doing this, Sophie? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to respect our agreement, Simon. I have no desire to leave Bath at this time, nor am I ready to announce our betrothal to the world.”

His voice rumbled down to a low growl. “So you hope to gain my compliance by pretending that nothing happened in the drawing room last night? That your naked body didn’t shiver in climax beneath mine?”

She gasped, his rough language sending a quivering thrill straight to the still-tender flesh between her thighs. Sophie mentally grabbed for the slipping traces of her resolve, blurting out the first thing that came into her head.

“You must be thinking of someone else, my lord. Your former mistress, perhaps?”

His sudden stillness was so alarming that her stomach pitched to her knees with the awful conviction that not even a crowd of gossips in the Pump Room could prevent him from exploding with anger.

But Simon had formidable self-control. Even as unnerved as she was, Sophie couldn’t help but admire his restraint. God only knew she didn’t deserve it.

He blinked a few times, looked quickly around the room, then settled his features into a mask of polite boredom. Only the coal furnace smoldering in his dark eyes indicated the magnitude of his struggle within.

“My dear girl.” His quiet voice warned of impending doom. “I will not be manipulated. I suggest you learn that lesson immediately. Things will go poorly for you if you don’t.”

Her own temper, repressed until now by her agitation, flared at his threat.

“I’ve had enough of this insulting conversation, my lord. Please take me back to Lady Eleanor. I’m quite sure she’s ready to return home.”

The angled planes of his handsome face turned hard as quartz, but he nodded his head in acquiescence. She suspected he didn’t trust himself to keep his temper under control much longer. Thank God his abhorrence of scenes spared her the need to play out her ridiculous but necessary charade one second more.

As Simon escorted her back to his aunt, Sophie’s eyes were once more irresistibly drawn to Lady Randolph, standing only a short distance away with Mr. Watley. An exultant smile shaped the edges of the widow’s beautiful mouth, and her crystalline gaze glittered with a malignant triumph she made no effort to contain.

What the hell had just happened?

Simon stared at his fiancée’s slim figure, rigid with indignation, as she escorted Aunt Eleanor from the Pump Room. If he didn’t know better he could have sworn someone had just yanked his brains from his skull, shaken them about like a terrier shakes a rat, and then reinserted them upside down. His teeth were so tightly clenched it just might take a chisel to pry them apart.

He had been absolutely certain of her last night, assuming her anxious reaction to their lovemaking—and his insistence they set a date for their marriage—had been due to the unusual amount of champagne she had consumed earlier at the ball. She was an innocent, and their physical intimacies were bound to upset her, even though she had clearly enjoyed them in the moment. Hell, the spectacular sex had stunned
him
, and he had lost any pretensions to innocence long ago.

In fact, he had been so sure of her that after he met with his bankers this morning, he instructed Soames to draw up the contracts for the new mills in Yorkshire. Simon had planned on leaving Bath this afternoon to meet with Jedediah Russell at his offices in Bristol, and complete negotiations before the canny factory owner could be tempted by any other offers.

But, as usual, Sophie had thrown a spanner into the works. Russell would never agree to anything unless he knew his potential partner had unrestricted access to a sufficient coal supply. In his latest missive to Soames, Russell had made it clear that he wanted proof, not promises. The announcement in the
Bath Chronicle
of the betrothal of Miss Sophia Stanton to the Earl of Trask had been intended to provide that assurance.

Jerking to awareness of the sideways glances and curious stares of the other patrons in the Pump Room, Simon repressed a groan. More than a few scandalmongers had witnessed his argument with Sophie, but he had been so amazed by her lunatic attempts to manipulate him that he had been hard put to control his anger. Every ounce of his willpower had been press-ganged into fighting the urge to shake the little baggage. Well, if Sophie thought she could outmaneuver him, she would soon learn a surprising lesson.

He spun on his heel, barely avoiding a crash into a lush little package wrapped in burgundy silk. Simon bit back the foul curse that sprang to his lips.

“Good day, my lord.”

The scent of Bathsheba’s expensive French perfume wafted up his nostrils. He suppressed the impulse to sneeze.

Odd. That seductive scent, and Bathsheba’s practiced sexuality, had always made his cock twitch with lust. But for the first time it occurred to him that his former mistress seemed…unwholesome.

“Lady Randolph.”

“You seem in a great hurry, Simon.” Bathsheba’s voice dropped to a low, amused tone. “Are you charging off to play nursemaid to Sophie again? I understand how loyal you are to anyone you consider family, but that impertinent child is a scandal waiting to happen. She is apparently unable to go about in public without causing a scene.”

The back of his neck prickled. Bathsheba might sound amused, but his instincts—finely honed by years of fighting with ruthless men of trade—had suddenly run up a battle ensign.

“I wasn’t aware that Sophie had caused any scenes,” he said in a cool voice.

Bathsheba’s charming smile vanished, her impeccable self-control slipping as her expression turned petulant.

“Really, I wonder how you can be so tolerant of that dreary little bluestocking. You spend so much time with her, one would suppose you were courting the girl.”

He fixed her with a steady gaze until she flinched. Her cheeks paled as she stared at him with a look of growing horror.

“Simon…”

“Good day, my lady.” He gave her a short bow, but ignored her grasping hand as he turned and strode to the door of the Pump Room.

Damn.

As if things weren’t bad enough, now he had to contend with his former mistress making thinly veiled threats against his fiancée. What in God’s name had gotten into Bathsheba? Surely she couldn’t be hankering after their old liaison? Rumor had it she had already taken Watley as her current lover, so why the jealous display? It defied all sense, but his instincts clamored too loudly to ignore. Puck was now his to protect, and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

He strode out the door into the crisp fall air, heading past the imposing abbey toward the Avon River and Pulteney Bridge. It took but a few minutes at a quick pace to reach Robert and Annabel’s fashionable townhouse in Laura Place.

The footman who answered his knock informed him that both Mr. and Mrs. Stanton were at home. Intensely aware of the difficulties that lay before him, Simon bit back yet another curse as he followed the livery-clad servant up the stairs to the drawing room. Robert would be furious, of course, but the lad could be managed. Annabel was another matter entirely. She might be young, but she had a will of iron, and he had little doubt she would heartily disapprove of his plans for Sophie.

“The Earl of Trask,” announced the footman.

Simon cast a glance around the small but well-appointed drawing room. Annabel and Robert sat side by side on a sofa next to the window. The midday sun streamed through the glass, bathing the couple in a cheerful glow and picking out bright strands of honey-colored hair in Annabel’s locks. Robert had a book facedown in his lap, ignoring it in favor of assisting his pretty wife, who seemed to be struggling with a particularly recalcitrant piece of embroidery.

The air of contentment in the room was palpable and, given Simon’s current mood, annoying.

“Simon, old fellow,” Robert exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. “Never expected to have you come calling in the middle of the day. Didn’t you mention last night that you might be going out of town? Some urgent business to attend to, wasn’t it?”

Simon’s mood went from grey to black.

“Yes, but I’ve had to put off my plans until I wrap up a few loose threads here in Bath. I hope to leave town by the end of the day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord. We had hoped to see you tonight at dinner with your aunts,” said Annabel.

Simon froze. She gave him one of her sweetest smiles and stretched out her hand. Shaking off his paralysis, he moved over to the sofa to acknowledge her greeting.

“The misfortune is mine, Mrs. Stanton,” he replied, bowing over her slender fingers. “I, too, looked forward to seeing you.”

“I know your aunts will miss you very much. Lady Eleanor is so rarely well enough to entertain. How unfortunate you can’t delay your journey by a day.”

Simon inwardly winced at the delicate but well-placed jab. Annabel was almost as relentless as Sophie when it came to nagging him about his duty to his aunts.

“Now, Bella,” admonished Robert indulgently, “no need to scold. I’m sure Lady Eleanor has rung a massive peal over him already. It ain’t like any man would ever want to go looking to disappoint the old battle—”

Annabel’s eyes flashed a warning.

“Old girl,” Robert amended hastily. “Unless he had to. You’d never hear the end of it. Ain’t that right, Simon?”

Simon cleared his throat and gave a terse nod.
Hell.
He’d forgotten that his aunts would be hosting a small dinner party tonight. He resisted the urge to pull out his pocketbook and pencil, instead making a mental note to send formal regrets over to St. James’s Square this afternoon.

Along with a large arrangement of Aunt Eleanor’s favorite roses.

Annabel put away her embroidery. “Robert, shall we ring for tea? Or would you rather a port or a sherry, my lord?”

“Thank you, but no. I’ve come to see Robert on a matter of business. You’ll forgive me, Mrs. Stanton, if I ask you to excuse us for a few minutes.”

Robert’s brows shot up into his hairline—understandable given that Simon made it a point never to discuss business with family or friends, save one or two exceptions. Robert was not one of those exceptions.

Oddly enough, Annabel didn’t seem at all put out by his request. She gazed at him and then nodded, as if some particular question had just been answered.

“Of course, my lord. I look forward to seeing you again when you return to Bath.” She dropped him a quick curtsy, her eyes sparkling with something that looked suspiciously like laughter.

Simon waited until she had left the room before speaking. “Please sit, Robert. I’ve something very important to discuss with you.”

The boy looked puzzled, but resumed his seat. Simon lowered himself into a delicate and remarkably uncomfortable Sheraton chair.

“Robert, I’ve come to ask your permission for Sophie’s hand in marriage. I realize that approaching your mother and grandfather would be more appropriate, but I hope to expedite matters by speaking to you first.”

Joy transformed the young man’s wary features in an instant. He leapt to his feet.

“Capital, old fellow! Annabel was certain that’s why you’d come to Bath. I thought she was talking flummery, but she’ll be overjoyed to know she was right.”

“Unfortunately, your congratulations are premature,” Simon responded dryly. “While I appreciate your support, a few difficulties with your sister appear to have surfaced.”

Robert looked at him blankly for a moment, but then sighed and sat back down. “Why does it not surprise me to hear that? Have you already asked her to marry you?”

“Yes. She accepted my proposal, although in what might be considered a less than graceful fashion.”

Robert started to laugh, but hastily smothered his chuckles when Simon glared at him.

“I’m sorry to hear that, old man.”

“In addition, she asked that we keep our betrothal secret, at least for the time being. Sophie apparently thinks she needs time to adjust to the notion of becoming my wife.”

Robert frowned. “I don’t like the idea of a secret betrothal. She shouldn’t be keeping it from her family, and neither should you.”

Simon blinked. “Of course not. I tried to explain that very point to Sophie, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Robert eyed him. His guarded expression made him appear older than his years. “It ain’t like Sophie to be so skittish, and everyone knows she’s been mooning after you ever since…well, since forever. But she’s been on the shelf for years now. Practically an ape leader, in fact.”

Simon throttled back a sharp retort. Sophie had been out for several Seasons, but to think of her as an old maid was absurd.

“Perhaps she does need a little time to adjust to the idea,” Robert mused. “After all, as Countess of Trask she’ll be one of the most powerful leaders of the ton. That will be a change for her, especially since the old girl’s more used to being on the receiving end of the dragon’s breath, not being one of the dragons herself.”

“Robert, I would be grateful if you would stop referring to Sophie as an
old girl
.”

Robert ignored him. “I suppose that as long as Mamma and I know about the engagement, you can give her the time she needs to get used to the idea of marriage.” His frown disappeared, replaced by a smile that made him look remarkably like Sophie.

“Unfortunately, time has run out. It’s imperative that Sophie and I announce our betrothal immediately. I would like to post the banns this Sunday and marry in three weeks’ time.”

“Why the rush, Simon? Doesn’t seem very sporting of you if Sophie isn’t ready to do that.”

Simon repressed a stab of something that felt uncomfortably like chagrin. “Because Sophie and I have been intimate, Robert. I certainly hope I don’t have to explain to you what that means.”

“What?” Robert roared—actually roared—and bounded to his feet. Simon had never once heard the lad raise his voice, but he should have expected it. Anytime Sophie was involved, things were bound to go to hell in a handcart.

“Calm down, Robert. Let me explain. You can take me out into the garden later and pound me into a bloody pulp, but right now we have to solve this problem and get Sophie to agree to marry me.”

The boy glared at him, but subsided into his seat. He looked angrier than Simon had ever seen him. “Don’t think I wouldn’t, Simon, even though you outweigh me by two stone. That’s my sister we’re talking about, not some…well, you know exactly what I mean. She ain’t one of your light-o’-loves, after all.”

Simon felt a dull heat creep up from under his collar. “I know, Robert, and I sincerely apologize. The fault is entirely mine. You can believe I will do everything I must to make it right. Sophie is an innocent, and I ask you not to think less of her.”

Robert grumbled something unflattering, but finally relented. “Of course I don’t think any less of Sophie. But as for her being innocent of any wrongdoing, I saw how badly she was behaving last night, which is when I suppose, well…when
it
happened. Wanted to take her home myself, but Annabel wouldn’t let me. Why the blasted girl decided to kick over the traces now is beyond me. God only knows what Mamma will have to say about this.”

“I think it best we keep the details from your mother.”

Robert eyed him uncertainly. “Well, given what happened between the two of you, why is Sophie dragging her feet? I would think she’d have the sense to realize that time is of the essence. Good God, if anyone found out, her reputation would be in tatters.”

Simon hesitated. “I’m beginning to suspect she’s not quite sure of me. Or, rather, not quite sure why I asked her to marry me.”

“Why
did
you ask her to marry you?” Robert blurted out. “Until yesterday, I was afraid you were going to marry that…I mean, I thought you were considering asking Lady Randolph to be your wife.”

“Robert.” Simon leaned forward in his chair, which creaked ominously beneath his weight. “There is nothing between Lady Randolph and myself. Sophie need never worry about that, or anything like it. I give you my word.”

Robert gave a tiny nod, but his gaze remained wary. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you marrying her?”

Simon had been debating with himself for the last hour how much to reveal to Robert. It was bad enough keeping secrets from Sophie, even though he did it to spare her feelings. But it didn’t seem honorable to withhold the reasons from her older brother.