To Marry The Duke (27 page)

His lips found hers and she drank in the exquisite taste of him, the feel of his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Orgasmic response came quickly, after two or three deep thrusts and withdrawals, and her climax shivered through her. He matched hers with his own, then whispered her name, “Sophia.”

She heard affection in his voice, and as her body returned to its normal rhythm, a quivering of guilt found its way into her blissful state of being.

She was keeping something from her husband, something dreadful, when she didn’t want to keep anything from him at all. She wanted his complete trust and love, and she wanted to trust and love him openly in return.

But she had promised Marion, and she felt she was close to bridging the gap between them. She couldn’t possibly betray her now.

Why had this happened, when she and James were finally moving forward?

Sophia hugged him close. She needed time. Time to comprehend what all this meant, and how she could best serve this family.

In the drawing room where the guests were gathered before dinner, Sophia mingled through the crowd toward Pierre. Marion hadn’t known why he was here, for he hadn’t revealed himself to her or made any demands, nor had he told anyone that he had any previous connection with this family. Pierre simply attended the luncheons and dinners, made light conversation with the other guests, and took long leisurely walks alone while the men were out with the guns.

“Monsieur Billaud, how are you enjoying England now that you’ve had a few days to explore it?” she asked when she reached him.

“Very well, Your Grace,” he replied in his thick French accent.

He was a handsome man, but there was little resemblance to James.

Except for his dark coloring, which was exactly the same.
But how many men have dark hair
? she wondered. Almost half the population, surely.

Lily approached and gave a dazzling smile. “Monsieur Billaud, you didn’t stay for the entertainments last evening. You must stay tonight. Musicians from London arrived this afternoon, and I do believe there will be dancing. Isn’t that right, Sophia?”

“Yes, we’ve opened the smaller ballroom in the east wing.”

Pierre raised his eyebrows. “Dancing, you say? Well, I suppose I shall have to attend, with the promise that you will do me the honor, Lady Lily?”

Lily’s eyes beamed. “I would be delighted. Will you excuse me?” She turned to go and greet some of the other guests.

Sophia caught a glimpse of Pierre watching Lily walk away.

No, not just watching her. He was devouring her with his eyes.

Sophia felt momentarily sick at the sight of his expression. Did he not realize that Lily was his half sister? Sophia supposed he didn’t think anyone else knew.

Then she wondered if he knew it himself. Could that be true? Could his mother have kept the truth from him and sent him here to threaten Marion without knowing that’s what he was doing?

Sophia pasted on a smile. “Tell me about your home, Monsieur Billaud? What part of France do you come from?”

For the next few minutes, she asked him other questions about his life, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He was a skilled liar, if that in fact was what he was, for he never mentioned a mother who operated a brothel. Nor did he mention a father who abandoned him before he was born. He said his parents were successful merchants.

Some other guests joined them, so Sophia was safe to move on. “If you will excuse me.”

Feeling no more confident about what was really going on, she turned away and spotted James just inside the door of the drawing room, staring at her. They met a few minutes later by the fireplace.

He took her gloved hand in his and kissed it. “Madam, your magnificence astounds me.”

“And your… hmmm… your virility astounds
me
, Your Grace, especially when it shows up on my bed unexpectedly before dinner.”

He smiled. “I’ll try to give you notice next time.”

“No notice necessary. I like surprises. I also like being… astounded.”

His eyes sparkled flirtatiously at her, then they began to circle the perimeter of the room. Sophia purposefully chose the direction opposite to where Pierre was standing.

They mixed and laughed with the guests until the dinner gong rang out, then with a strict adherence to the order of precedence, they all walked into the dining room for dinner.

The next day, James waited in Sophia’s bedchamber for her to return after the usual evening stroll with the guests, but even after most of the others had come in, she still did not arrive. When the hour grew too late to fit in any marital “activities” before dressing for dinner, he grew frustrated and went to the window.

There, outside on the lawn, returning from an apparent stroll through the secluded south garden, was his wife and the French fellow. Sophia’s arm was looped through his, and she was laughing at something he had said.

James felt an unwelcome pang of jealousy, even as he told himself it was irrational. He trusted his wife, truly he did. He did not for a moment think that she would be encouraging a flirtation with Monsieur Billaud. But still, he did not like to see her walking with another man, holding his arm in the pink twilight, when she must have known her husband would be waiting for her.

He swept the foolish notion aside and pulled on his shirt, deciding it would be best not to be here when she returned. He did not want her to know he had been watching her, nor did he wish to ask prying, accusing questions about where she was and why she had been gone so long. That was something his father would have done, knocking over a dresser concurrently, and James was not his father. He was not overly suspicious, he told himself, nor was he irrational, and any murderous temper he might have inherited from the man, he had crushed long ago when he’d crushed so many other things in his nature.

Then why did he feel the need to avoid seeing Sophia now?

He walked back to his own bedchamber, remembering a day in his childhood, when he had been five or six years old at best, and his mother had found him at the window in tears because some visiting children had gone out to play and had not invited him to join them. His mother had thrown him into the trunk and told him not to cry or his father would hear of it. He supposed that day, he had learned to conceal his feelings.

James pushed his own bedchamber door open, but stopped dead at the sight of a male visitor sitting in front of the fireplace.

“Martin, I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” Nor had James had sufficient time to decide how he was going to handle Martin’s awkward homecoming.

His younger brother stood quickly. His eyes wavered back and forth between confident rebelliousness and fear. “I’m here today, just as scheduled.”

James moved fully into the room and closed the door behind him. Thompson, his valet, was in the dressing room brushing lint off one of James’s suit jackets. “Thompson, that will be all for now.”

As soon as the man was gone, Martin flopped into a chair and slouched against the back.

James could see that his younger brother’s guard was up, even though he was trying to convey a carefree appearance. It reminded James of all the times he had faced his own father in situations like these, grasping for his dignity when he knew it was about to be crushed.

God, he’d never imagined himself on this end of the discussion.

“I suppose you want to exact some form of punishment now,” Martin said. “Well, go ahead. I’m waiting.”

James crossed the room and stood in front of the window. “I understand you have some debts to pay.”

“No more than any other man my age.”

He was
barely
a man, James thought, looking down at his lanky young brother, sprawling in the chair.

“What your friends are up to is no concern of mine,” James said flatly. “There is responsible behavior, and there is recklessness. I would prefer to see you in the first category.”

Martin swiped a hand across the chair arm and got up. “You would like to see me bored to death, here in the country with nothing to do but wander around or go fishing.” He turned a cautious, uncertain glance at James—no doubt to test the waters of James’s anger— then continued. “If I recall, you were no better at my age, you and Whitby. I know the kinds of trouble you used to get into. I know how often you were suspended from school.”

James breathed deeply, searching for calm. “Indeed I was suspended. That, unfortunately, was the least of my punishments.”

Martin dropped his gaze to the floor, knowing well enough what James was referring to. “Nevertheless, I am no worse than you,” he said. “Yet you look at me like I am a great disappointment, like I should know better, when you didn’t know better when you were my age.”

James paced the floor. “So what… am I supposed to simply let it go by? If we are comparing you to me, I assure you, no one let any of
my
misdemeanors go by.”

Martin raked a hand through his hair. “It’s bloody dull here, James.”

“In what way?”

“There’s no one my age.”

“Lily is less than two years older than you.”

“Lily talks about dresses and fairy tales.”

James closed the distance between himself and his brother. “Surely you know there must be consequences for your actions, Martin. You were caught a second time with brandy and a woman in your room at Eton, and your aunt has been completely unable to steer you back on track.” James turned away again. “You will have no increases in your allowance for the rest of the year, nor will you be permitted to leave Wentworth until I deem it appropriate.”

“You’re going to lock me up?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic as that. I will hire a private tutor so you can continue your studies, and when I am convinced you’ve turned a corner, I’ll consider your wishes. Until then, I suggest you take a liking to the country air.”

“This is dashed cruel of you, James.”

James whirled around to face him. “Cruel of me? Would you prefer I take a stick to you instead? Or hold your hand over a burning candle until you screamed an apology and promised never to do it again?”

Martin’s lips fell open with astonished realization. Quietly, he said, “No, James.” Then he straightened his shoulders. “May I go now?”

“Yes. You’re welcome to join the guests at dinner if you like.”

Martin paused at the door. “I’m rather tired after my journey. I’d prefer to have something sent up to my room.”

“Fine. The guests will be gone by tomorrow, so I would ask that you plan to join the family tomorrow evening. I’m sure Lily and Sophia will want to see you.”

Martin nodded and walked out.

James went to dress for dinner.

Chapter 22

He was still in control of his passions, James assured himself as he watched his wife converse with some of the guests on the other side of the ballroom. Why he was telling himself that now, he had no idea. Perhaps it was because he had been watching her all night long, and couldn’t get over how brightly she sparkled as a hostess. She had a way with people—a radiant glow that brought smiles to the faces of everyone in the room.

Everyone except his mother, who was sitting along the far wall with some of the other matrons, fanning herself. Not enjoying herself one bit. But that was nothing new.

He glanced at the door when an impressive young gentleman entered, and with some surprise realized it was Martin. Strange, how a black suit with tails could mature a young man so instantly. Martin stood tall and confident, his white gloved hands at his sides while he surveyed the room.

James went to greet him. “You decided to join us.” They began to walk together around the dance floor.

“I couldn’t help it. I was trying to fashion a water bomb to explode over Lord Needham’s door when he opened it later tonight, but the music and noise was dashedly distracting. I couldn’t concentrate.”

James halted on the polished wood floor. Martin halted, too, shaking his head cynically. “I’m joking, James. What do you take me for?”

Just then, Sophia approached. Her face illuminated with a smile; she held her gloved hands out to greet her brother-in-law. “Martin! How wonderful to see you! I haven’t seen you since the wedding. James told me you’d returned. I’m so glad you’ve joined us!”

Martin’s face lit up at the warm welcome as he leaned forward to kiss Sophia on the cheek. She looped her arm through his and walked beside him.

“How was your journey?” she asked him. “The train trip wasn’t too tedious, I hope.”

Martin described how tedious it was, in fact, and Sophia agreed with everything he said, nodding and telling her own little stories about similar experiences. Before long, Martin was smiling and laughing, and James wondered how it was possible he could have been so blessed to have found such a wife, who was not only obscenely rich but brilliantly charming as well. A woman who could effect miracles… like making his cynical younger brother smile.

They all walked together around the back of the room.

“There are a few single young women here,” Sophia said. “Would you like me to introduce you to any of them?”

“That would be splendid,” Martin replied.

They found a group of ladies at the far end of the room. They all smiled at Sophia, unable to take their eyes off her while she made some light pleasantries, and James realized that the whole world seemed to be entranced by his wife.

“Lady Beecham,” Sophia said, “may I present my brother-in-law, Lord Martin Langdon? Martin, this is Lady Beecham and her daughter, Lady Emma Crosby.”

Martin bowed cordially, then requested the next spot on Lady Emma’s card. When the music began, he escorted her onto the floor.

“You are a remarkable woman,” James said to Sophia, as they ventured off to steal a few minutes alone together, outside on the balcony.

They found an empty corner near a potted baby elm. It was a warm evening for October, without a hint of a breeze. An autumn fragrance of freshly fallen leaves floated in the air.

“How so?” she replied flirtatiously. “And spare none of the details.”

He grinned. “You make people feel appreciated and esteemed, as if you have been waiting all day just to talk to them. Everyone adores you.”

Sophia rested her graceful hands on the balustrade and smiled modestly. “Me? An American? Who would ever have thought?”

He covered her hand with his own. “That’s sadly true, my darling, but you have won everyone over. You have conquered England.”

She laughed. “Oh, James, I never meant to conquer anything, only to find happiness.”

“And have you?” He was ardently surprised at his desire to know her answer, for he had never intended to care one way or the other if she was happy. He hadn’t wanted to feel
anything
where she was concerned.

Yet, he had found joy with his wife these past few weeks. He would not wish to give it up.

Sophia laid her warm palm on his cheek. “Yes.. I have never been happier. I’m pleased that we have been able to find some… enjoyment with each other.”

Enjoyment
. He remembered using that word a month ago—the night before he’d left for London without saying good-bye to Sophia. He had told her there was nothing wrong with enjoying each other, but that he had never intended to love her.

She, in turn, had claimed that she loved him. He had not believed her that night. He had not thought it possible. Love could not be so easy to feel, nor could it advance so quickly. He had been certain she’d married him for his title.

Yet, this rapture he felt now as he gazed into her eyes… it had come upon him like a great tidal wave, the force of it compounding with every night spent in her arms and every morning he woke to the glorious warmth of her sweet company beside him.

Was this love?

If it was, when had it begun? The first time he’d seen her in London? Had it been growing and deepening all this time?

He remembered a night not long ago in his bedchamber, when she’d asked him questions about his childhood. He had made love to her afterward and a small door inside him had creaked open. Perhaps that had been the turning point. He had felt an unfamiliar tremor of tenderness that night, and because he had not banished it, it had grown into something more.

“You were very good with Martin, just now.” He raised her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for. I was truly glad to see him. I hope he will know how much we care about him, and that we truly want him to stay.”

James felt another tremor deep within himself. “I’ve never known anyone like you, Sophia. No one has ever been so willing and unafraid to express their affections.”

She gazed directly into his eyes. “Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

He basked in her warmth and beauty, then leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. It was the only way he could express how he felt at this moment, for he wasn’t sure he understood it enough to articulate it.

Later that night, he went to her room. She was sitting by a roaring fire, naked in her chair, waiting for him.

As he approached and she stood up to walk into his open arms, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, that the tidal wave had crashed upon his shore.

This, God help him, was love.

Late the next morning, Sophia looked out her window and saw Pierre Billaud heading toward the gardens with a large group of ladies and a few of the husbands.

If only she had been able to gain some information or a clue about his intentions when she had gone walking with him the day before. He had said nothing the least bit incriminating, which continued to bother Sophia, for what kind of blackmailer had no secret plots? Maybe he was not as dangerous as Marion believed. Or maybe he was more so.

She went out into the hall to deliver instructions to the butler about the guests’ departures, but stopped just outside of Pierre’s guest chamber door. The silence in the house curled around her. She stared curiously at his door, wishing there was some way she could learn something about him… anything. Anything that would help her convince Marion to cease keeping these secrets and go to James with her problem. If they were ever going to grow close as a family, they all needed to open up to each other and trust each other.

But that was Sophia’s problem. She wanted to tell James what was going on, but she had promised Marion that she would not, and her shaky relationship with the woman was barely beginning. She could not betray her now, or all hope for a deep, personal alliance would be lost.

She gazed at the doorknob to Pierre’s room.

Would there be a clue in there about what he knew or what his intentions were? A diary perhaps?

A diary. That was hoping for too much.

Nevertheless, if she was going to talk Marion into trusting James with the truth, Sophia needed to know what that truth was. She could not continue keeping this nebulous secret from him forever, especially when she was working so hard to bring
him
closer to her heart—to help
him
open up to her and learn how to trust her and love her.

Sophia listened for sounds in the corridor, knowing this was an opportunity that would not come again. Perhaps she could just take a quick peek.

She checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then quietly pushed open Pierre’s door.

The bed was made, the fireplace swept clean. His carpetbag sat open on the floor beneath the window; his razor and brushes were placed neatly upon the dresser.

Sophia tiptoed toward the carpetbag. She picked it up but there was nothing inside. She went to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors. A few expensive suit jackets and shirts were hanging there. With an unpleasant surge of guilt, she stuck her hands into the pockets, looking for God knew what…

All the pockets were empty.

She closed the doors and moved to the dressing table where she found a travel book about London. Her eyes perused the room, but there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary.

Not wanting to risk being caught, she decided it would be best to leave. She went to the door and opened it a crack to peer out into the hall and make sure no one was walking by. All seemed quiet, so she sneaked out.

She had barely made it halfway down the hall when she heard James’s voice. “Darling…”

Halting fast, she felt a stinging heat erupt on her cheeks. She forced a smile and turned around.

Her husband was walking toward her. “Do you have a moment?”

Had he seen where she was? she wondered frantically. “Of course.”

He caught up with her and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re overwhelmed with hostess duties I suppose.”

“Overwhelmed, yes. Everyone will be leaving after luncheon, and I’m still scrambling to get the carriages organized at the right times. Some of the guests will be catching the early train, while others are catching the late one… it is an organizational nightmare.”