No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella (9 page)

He, of course, looked the same. Not as though he’d done anything but be solidly, mobile Jamie, although she’d been surprised he’d spent so long at Mr. Chandler’s house. He’d arrived halfway through the holiday party and then had left before it was entirely over, returning only when it was time for dinner. She’d caught him glancing at her a few times, a knowing look on his face.

Knowing because he knew what she was like during intimacy? Knowing because he knew the charade they were engaged in? Knowing because that’s just who he was?

“Of course, Mr. Archer,” Mrs. Green replied. “What do you have in mind?”

They were all in Mrs. Green’s capacious sitting room, now comfortable enough with one another after the past weeks that there was none—well, hardly any—of the overstated politeness of new acquaintances. The holiday party had been a success, with the children running around and shooting Christmas crackers at one another, all the food having been consumed, and more than a few bottles of wine, as well.

They’d sung a few carols toward the end, and Sophronia had felt her heart swell even more at hearing the various voices raised together in song.

And there were only a few more nights left. She felt her throat grow tight as she looked around at the company that had been her constant companions for the last few weeks. Soon it would only be her and Maria.

Sophronia and Mrs. Archer were seated together on one sofa, while Miss Green and the viscountess’s daughter were to the side in chairs, their heads close together as they whispered. Mr. Green was in the corner, a book on his lap, but his eyes suspiciously closed, while the vicar was standing looking at a bookshelf, his back to the group.

Mrs. Green was also standing, overseeing the disposition of tea.

And Jamie. He was the focus of the room, even for those people who hadn’t seen what he looked like without his nightshirt.

“Excellent, Mrs. Green.” It was so fast if she had blinked she would have missed it, but he did dart a glance at her. And then returned to looking at the group in general.

“Someone has remarked to me that I win almost all the games.” Another quick look in her direction. “And since we are nearly at the end of this delightful visit, I thought I would give others a chance to triumph.” He looked at each of them in turn; all of the group, with the exception of Mr. Green, were paying attention to him. “So tonight I would like us to play Dictionary, only I will be the only one supplying the definitions. I cannot vote on the correct one, since I will know it already, and that will give all of you,” and this time he definitely looked her way, and what’s more, she thought he winked, “a chance to excel.”

“That’s hardly fair to you, Mr. Archer,” Miss Green said in a hesitant voice.

He smiled at her, and Sophronia felt a stab of something—fine, it was jealousy—enter into her ricocheting gallery of emotions.

“On the contrary, it is unfair for me to keep winning all the games.” He shrugged. “This way, I get to give all of you a chance.”

“That’s settled, then,” Mrs. Green declared. She spoke to one of the servants who was still in the room, arranging the tea things. “Bring paper and pencils here, and please send Mr. Hotchkiss to the library and retrieve the dictionary.”

The servant made some sort of incomprehensible sound of agreement, then scurried out of the room.

Jamie’s expression was—sly, mischievous, and nearly delighted. She wondered just what they were in for, since she didn’t think this would be a simple game of Dictionary.

“Y
ou all know how to play, don’t you?” Mrs. Archer shook her head, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Of course you do, Mother, you and I used to play many years ago.”

“Many years ago, Jamie,” she said. “Keep in mind I am old, I forget things.”

“You’re not that old,” he said. A brief look of concern crossed his features, and she felt his conflict—to stay a bit longer to please his mother, or to follow his instinct to roam, leaving his mother behind?

She was glad she didn’t have to worry about anything like that.

“Since my mother asked, I will remind you all of the rules.” He was a born speaker, commanding the room with his handsome presence, his deep, compelling voice and his—well, she had already mentioned his handsomeness, but he was so handsome perhaps it was deserving of a second mention.

“I will choose a word none of you know—if you know, you have to confess it—and then you will all write a definition for the word. We’ll vote on which definition is the right one, and whoever gets the most votes for either submitting the best definition or who votes the most often on the correct definition will win.”

Miss Green smiled in delight, and Sophronia was struck again by what a pretty girl she was when she wasn’t glancing anxiously at her mother. The viscountess’s daughter looked bored, but that was probably because it wasn’t likely her beauty was going to be the focus of a word. Unless she wrote her own definition.

Sophronia had to stifle a snort at that thought, a brief moment of lightness that showed her that no matter what had happened, no matter what would happen, she was better off than she had been a few weeks ago, when her prospects were poultrylike in nature.

He had done all that for her. And he had done other things for her, too, but she shouldn’t be thinking of those things in public, or she knew her expressive face would give her away, and then she and Jamie would be even deeper into the deception.

“The first word is ‘agamist.’ ” Jamie’s mouth twisted up in a smirk as he followed with, “Something I no longer am.”

“That is not fair, giving hints. The people who know you the best, your mother and Lady Sophronia, will have an undue advantage.” Mrs. Green—of course it was Mrs. Green—raised her voice in protest, but nobody else seemed to mind the possible disadvantage.

“Nobody knows that word, correct?” Jamie continued. At everyone’s silence, he nodded. “Then you know what to do.”

All the people who were playing (Mr. Green had fallen asleep, and was tacitly being allowed to slumber) gathered their pencils and paper and began writing.

Agamist
. Sophronia tapped her pencil against her mouth and caught Jamie looking at her, much as he had looked at her the night before. She lowered her gaze to her paper, but not before she felt her face nearly burst into flame.

She thought of something, thankfully something other than an unclothed Jamie, and began to write, smiling as she recalled how zealously her father had attacked the game of Dictionary. As though it were crucially imperative that he devote all of his remarkable brain power to fictitious definitions.

She missed him.

“Is everyone ready?” Jamie didn’t wait for everyone to respond, he just began to walk around the room, putting each person’s slips of paper into a basket Mrs. Green had thought to provide.

He cleared his throat and began to read. “ ‘Agamist: a thick fog specific to bodies of fresh water.’ ” There were a few murmurs around the room as people thought about the word, and its possible definition. Sophronia knew, or at least she thought she knew, that wasn’t the correct one, since it was too obvious, the definer using “mist” as the inspiration for the definition.

He continued, reading a few she definitely knew were incorrect. Something about ribbons and books, so likely written by the viscountess’s daughter and Mr. Chandler, respectively.

He drew out another piece of paper and cleared his throat. “ ‘Agamist: A compound of iron and salt.’ ” That was hers, so that wasn’t the right one.

The next one must be it. She tensed, waiting for him to speak. Why it seemed so important she didn’t know, just perhaps that she had been wondering where he had gotten to all day, and what he thought about the night before, and if it were possible for them to engage in the activity again before this whole charade was over.

“ ‘Agamist: A person opposed to the institution of matrimony.’ ” And her heart stuttered in her chest, because then he met her gaze and raised an eyebrow as though in a challenge, but his mouth was smiling, so she didn’t know what to think.

Except that he’d found a word that might mean more than its definition, even though that sounded absolutely odd, and her father would be frowning right now.

But Jamie wasn’t frowning. Now he was regarding her with that dashing twinkle in his blue eyes, and now he was grinning at her as though daring her to read into his word.

“Who votes for the first definition?” He didn’t take his eyes off her as he spoke.

The viscountess’s daughter raised her hand.

Nobody voted for the ribbons and horses definition, and then it was time for hers to be up for voting. “The ore compound definition?”

The Green ladies and the viscountess raised their hands. He still kept his eyes locked on her face, and she felt as though she wanted to squirm in her seat.

“The last definition?”

She met his gaze and raised her chin as she raised her hand. Mr. Chandler and Mrs. Archer raised their hands, as well, and his eyes darted over to them before returning to Sophronia.

“Excellently done. The last definition—the person who is no longer afraid of marriage—is the correct one. Mother, you, Mr. Chandler, and Sophronia each win a point. Sophronia gets three extra points for submitting a definition three people voted on. Well done.”

She nodded, wondering if a simple game of Dictionary was meant to be so—so loaded with meaning. That is, it was a game about meaning, but she didn’t think it was meant—ha!—to be interpreted as a real life thing. Only what if she was reading more into it than was there? What if his choosing of that word was coincidental?

“Time for the next word,” he said, thankfully interrupting her ridiculous musings. They were ridiculous, weren’t they? It couldn’t be—it couldn’t be that—her mind couldn’t even go there, it felt so wonderful, and her chest hurt at the thought that it couldn’t be, it wasn’t, true.

“Gorgonize.”

All the players immediately bent to their definitions, the rustling of pencil on paper the only noise in the room. Sophronia tried to think of something, anything, that would be able to fool the room, and eventually settled on something she knew wouldn’t fool anybody—well, maybe it would fool the viscountess’s daughter, but that didn’t count—and waited as the rest of the room finished up, and Jamie collected the papers.

“Gorgonize.” He paused and glanced around the room. “ ‘To have a paralyzing or mesmerizing effect on someone.’ ”

Her breath caught.

“ ‘Gorgonize: To turn into stone.’ ” He grinned, and shot a quick look at the vicar. Of course that was his definition.

“ ‘Gorgonize. To organize all the things that begin with the letter
G
.’ ” He looked at Sophronia with a skeptical look on his face and she returned it with a shrug.

No, she couldn’t think of anything right now, not with her head in such a whirl.

He read out the rest of the definitions, and they voted; Sophronia’s definition didn’t even get the viscountess’s daughter’s vote, and she had to admit her brain had taken a break since her heart was currently the only organ she seemed to be listening to.

“The definition is to have a paralyzing or mesmerizing effect on someone.” Murmurs as everyone exclaimed, and he looked at her, speaking again. “Sophronia gorgonizes me, each and every day.”

Oh. She couldn’t speak, she could barely breathe. Thankfully, there was no need to since Mrs. Archer made cooing sounds, and even Mrs. Green seemed to smile a tiny bit.

“And now we have another word.” A pause as everyone in the room waited, pencils poised above papers. “Appentency.”

A silence ensued as everyone got to work on their definitions, their heads lowered to their paper. Sophronia didn’t look down immediately, still too caught up in the tumult of what he might be doing to concentrate.

Thank goodness, because then he winked at her, as if to confirm her suspicions, and her heart went from stuttering to fluttering, and she had to take a few deep breaths to keep from bursting out with a question, or several questions, in fact: Are you an agamist now? Does that mean you wish to make this falsehood into a reality? Did you feel the same way I did last night?

Do you love me?

She didn’t even bother trying to write a definition, she knew it would result in that “Thingy that does things” definition she’d thought of a previous time he’d managed to fluster and bewilder her.

“ ‘Appentency: a longing or desire.’ ” Again, he met her gaze, and there just was no mistaking the look in his eye now. She had just barely stopped herself from leaping up and rushing into his arms when Mrs. Archer spoke.

“Jamie, I feel as though this game is for more than just sport.” She nodded significantly to Sophronia. “You are so clever, to woo her like this.” She waved her hand in the air. “But don’t you know, son, you already have her?”

Jamie looked at her and her breath caught.

“Do I?” he asked softly.

She almost couldn’t speak, but she managed to eke out a soft “yes” and a nod of her head.

“Excellent,” he replied, his expression looking relieved. And still charming, of course. “And if I may, I would like to break from the game for a moment to osculate my betrothed.” A pause. “That means to salute a person on the lips.” His eyes met hers. “Namely, to kiss her.”

And then he strode toward her as she rose from her chair, guiding her to where the mistletoe hung and kissing her thoroughly on the mouth.

“I love you, Sophronia,” he murmured at last.

“I love you, as well, Jamiecakes,” she replied. “I am so glad I got my present,” she added, a sly, wicked smile on her face, which just made him have to kiss her senseless.

E
PILOGUE

“W
hen will you two be leaving?” Mrs. Archer, as Jamie frequently noted, had her questions reversed; she’d ask them when they were leaving when they’d just arrived, and ask when they’d be returning when they were about to leave.

But now his mother’s tone didn’t have the same plaintive note from before—now that she and Sophronia’s maid Maria had discovered a shared love of small villages and gossip, they’d settled happily into their cottage by the sea, which was close enough to the house he’d found for himself and Sophronia. They still traveled, but the house was an anchor, something he knew he’d be returning to eventually.

He’d found, anyway, that he didn’t have the same need to be constantly on the go, now that he had Sophronia. He still enjoyed it, and he liked showing his wife new things, but they were spending more time in England.

And soon, quite soon, in fact, they would be home permanently, since Sophronia was expecting, and neither one of them wanted to deprive Mrs. Archer of seeing her grandchild grow up.

He glanced over to where Sophy sat, his Sophy, the only one who’d been able to soothe him, the one who challenged him, as well, who made him both want to be and to become a better man.

And knew that his reckless taking on of a fake betrothed had been one of the best decisions of his life.