Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter 5

"My," exclaimed Sophia with a large and rather false yawn. "It is getting late." She glanced at her aunt. "Are you not the least bit tired?"

Aunt Agatha raised her gaze from her embroidery and stared so hard at her niece that Sophia began to fidget. "No, Sophia," she said slowly. "I am not fatigued. In fact, I feel I am becoming more alert by the second."

Sophia felt herself flush from her aunt's suspicious gaze. She knew she was bungling this whole affair, but she found the thought of becoming thoroughly cup-shot in her aunt's presence a bit more than she could bear. Still, there was no help for it. She had to start imbibing soon. Before long, the major would finish his tasks and retire for the night. Cook and Mary had already sought their own beds.

With a final glance at the clock, Sophia sighed and gave in to circumstance. She would simply have to explain herself to her aunt later. Right now, her task was to get thoroughly and disgracefully foxed.

She wandered over to the array of bottles on the sideboard. She had no experience with anything other than wine and champagne, and very little with even those. But her father's drink of choice had been brandy, so she supposed that would do.

She selected the largest glass she could find and poured.

"Sophia!" exclaimed her aunt. "I had no idea you enjoyed brandy."

"Oh, I—"

"So that is why you have been trying to shoo me off to bed. But, my dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I often enjoy a glass. To be honest, I was refraining so as not to offend your delicate sensibilities." She winked at her niece. "But now that I know you enjoy the odd glass... well, pour me some, too."

Sophia gaped at her relative. "But—"

"Come, come," interrupted her aunt. "Enough of this false modesty. We shall toast to a wonderful summer together."

"Er, very well." Sophia had no choice but to do as she was bid. She poured a modest portion into a glass and carried it to Agatha, marveling all the way. In her experience, ladies did not drink brandy.

"I can see you are still somewhat young," said her aunt with a rueful glance at her half-filled glass. "No matter. Just bring the bottle over here, and we shall have a comfortable coze."

Sophia did not dare gape any more, especially since she herself was the one who had opened the bottle to begin with. So, she brought the brandy to the table between them and watched in amazement as her aunt poured another large dollop into her glass.

"Come, Sophia," Aunt Agatha said after taking a healthy swallow. "Tell me something about London."

"Er, yes." But Sophia could not think of anything to say. She could only stare at the unusual sight of her aunt quite easily draining her glass.

Then her aunt glanced at her, her cheeks already turning a blushing rose. "Is there something wrong with the taste?"

Sophia glanced down at her still-full glass. "Oh!" Suddenly recalled to her purpose, she lifted her glass and drained it. Or rather, she tried to. She managed only two gulps before she nearly choked to death.

It was like swallowing fire, and it burned her all the way down past her stomach to her toes. She was coughing and wheezing like a dying old man while her aunt pounded her on the back and chortled heartily.

"My goodness, Sophia. From the way you were acting, I thought you had been sneaking your Papa's brandy since you were five. And now I have corrupted you."

"Nonsense, Aunt," gasped Sophia loudly, mindful that her voice had to carry enough for the major to overhear. "I enjoy brandy whenever the occasion arises."

"Of course you do," laughed the older woman cheerfully. "So drink up. Unless, of course, you would rather retire." She cast a significant glance out the window at the fading sunset. "It is rather late."

Sophia bit her lip in consternation, then finally relaxed into a smile. "You are gammoning me, Aunt. You are getting even because I tried to send you to bed."

Agatha leaned forward. "You were a bit obvious, my dear." With a deft twist of her wrist, the dear lady topped off her niece's glass. "Now, drink up, then tell me what is bothering you."

Sophia shifted uneasily. "But, nothing is bothering me."

"Um-hmm," responded her aunt with a solemn nod. "Finish that glass; then we can discuss why you left London before the last Season was out. And perhaps we might mention the major a time or two?" She gave her niece a look that suggested a wealth of understanding without explaining a thing.

"But—"

"Tut tut." Her aunt pressed the glass back into Sophia's hand. "Finish your drink first. Then we shall talk."

* * *

Anthony was checking the front door before retiring when he heard uproarious female laughter emanating from the upstairs parlor. Gone were Sophia's familiar mellow tones. What he heard instead was loud giggling—high-pitched and delightfully mischievous. It was as if his intended truly laughed with unrestrained glee for the first time in her life.

That thought drew him upstairs, his steps silent and slow, though he was certain neither woman would hear an entire regiment if it were banging on their front door.

"Do allow me the honor of tramping on your toes and breathing foul liquor into your face." Sophia's words were low and thick, and the major did not need to hear her aunt's high-pitched squeal to know she was imitating some crusty beau. "What!" she continued. "Why do you not swoon at the honor I bestow upon you? I am a peer o' the realm, don't you know!"

Anthony reached the parlor and carefully eased the door open. Sophia stood with her back to him, but he could tell from the haughty angle of her head that she was peering down her nose at an empty bottle of brandy. The poor container was apparently supposed to be her dance partner.

Her skin was flushed and glowing from drink, but that did not hinder her from mimicking some stuffed London popinjay. She continued to pretend to dance, moving stiffly, posturing with every step. Her hair, which had grown a bit, was working its way out of several pins she had inserted to keep it neat, and as he watched the golden curls tumbled loose.

She was beautiful. How could anyone have called her an "Ice Queen"? She seemed now like a flame, literally burning with energy and life as she strutted about the room with her bottle-
cum
-partner in hand.

"Oh, you have Harrington to a
T!
" exclaimed her aunt, holding her sides to contain her laughter. "Goodness, he was an old goat when I made my curtsy." The older woman drank heartily from her glass before peering owlishly at her niece. "But what of the major? How does he dance?"

"I have never danced with the major," came Sophia's response. Then she stepped forward, lowering her voice to a drunken whisper that nevertheless could have been heard in the next county. "But I know exactly how it would be."

"You do?" Her aunt was on the edge of her seat with curiosity, and Anthony could not help but lean closer to the door to hear Sophia's response.

"Goodness, Aunt, have you ever seen the major do anything but at attention? I expect he even stands during his baths."

"Sophia!" her aunt exclaimed, but her shock was belied by a delighted giggle.

"It is true," Sophia continued. "Can you imagine the man on the dance floor?"

Lady Agatha pursed her lips and stared pensively at her drink. "I suppose with his bad leg—"

"His leg has nothing to do with it. Even were it whole, he would dance like a poker, marching one foot in front of the other." Then Sophia began to demonstrate, stomping her feet as she held the brandy bottle at rigid arm's-length before her. "And far be it for anyone to miss a step," Sophia continued. "Why, that would be grounds for a firing squad!"

"Oh, unfair!" cried her aunt. Insulted by Sophia's caricature, Anthony was pleased to hear someone defend him. Then he heard, "He would simply give her a dishonorable discharge!"

Sophia roared in appreciation even as Anthony stifled a curse.

"And can you not guess what sweet nothings he would pour into a poor girl's head?"

Lady Agatha leaned forward, her eyes glittering with amusement. "Military drills?"

"Naturally!" Sophia clapped her hands as she continued to strut about the room. "And he would tell her that she was doing her duty to England by partnering him."

Anthony felt his teeth grind together as the slow burn of embarrassment heated his face. He had said that to Sophia his first night in Staffordshire, and again when he asked her to marry him the next day. To have his own words tossed back at him like this... He shook his head. He could not really have sounded that stiff, that arrogant—could he?

Perhaps he had, he admitted ruefully. Clearly, Sophia thought him high in the instep. So high, in fact, she took great delight in her parody of him, marching like a bad puppet about the room.

Well, he thought with a tiny thrill of anticipation, it was time he disabused her of the notion. He was as passionate as any man. Moreso, in fact, when it came to her. Perhaps she needed to learn exactly what that meant.

With a firm shove, he pushed into the room.

Lady Agatha saw him first, her laughter fading into a mortified gasp. But Sophia was too busy strutting about the floor to immediately notice. It gave him the opportunity to slip in behind her, easily catching her and drawing her close. She was in his arms before she could do more than gasp in alarm.

He smiled down at her, allowing himself to revel in the sight of her full red lips parted in a perfect O of surprise. He was going to claim those lips, he decided. Tonight. Before Sophia mustered the wits to fight him. His smile spread into a grin. His body was already tightening in anticipation.

"I believe this is my dance," he said softly, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

"But—"

He gave her no time for anything else. Ignoring the twinge in his leg, he swung her about, using all the grace and style within him to sweep her off her feet in a waltz that he hoped would leave her breathless.

There was no music, but he did not need any. She was warm and fluid in his arms, and if he started out as a man on a mission, all too soon her heat softened his determination. Within moments, they were flowing about the room in a dance that had more to do with a man holding a beautiful woman than the scandalous German waltz he had thought to show her.

"You are stunning," he whispered, wishing he knew what sort of words she wanted to hear from him.

"I am drunk."

He smiled. "Yes, you are that too."

"You are suppo—" She gasped as he spun her around, and he grinned at her closed eyes. The poor woman was clearly torn between throwing her head back in abandon and keeping everything excruciatingly steady to avoid upsetting her brandy-soaked belly. Out of pity, he slowed the pace and let her compose herself.

"You..." she began again. "You are supposed to be disgusted."

"Disgusted?" he cried. "By what? You are beautiful, even when you drink. Your face glows, your eyes grow wide, and your lips are full and red and aching to be kissed." He let his gaze wander to her mouth, wondering how long he could resist the lure. Not long now, he knew.

He was already leaning forward, dipping his head forward as her breath skated across his cheek.

Then she pulled back, obviously swallowing before opening her mouth wide. She looked like a beached fish, and he straightened as he wondered at her strange actions. Then, to his shock, she repeated the process.

"What are you doing?"

She frowned and did it again. Then he felt her entire body slump as she released a heavy sigh. "I cannot do it!" she moaned.

"What?"

"Burp. My brother Geoffrey used to do it all the time. But, I cannot seem to manage it." She swallowed again, then opened her mouth. When no sound emerged, she released a load groan. "I found it most crude, and I am sure you would too. If only..." She tried again to no avail.

He could not resist. He began to smile. Laughter bubbled up within him, popping like champagne bubbles in his blood until he was grinning from ear to ear. "My dear, you are a delight."

"I am trying to be repulsive."

"You are adorable." Then, just to tease her some more, he spun her around again, ignoring the ache in his leg, aware only of the weight of her body pressed so intimately against him. He twirled them faster and faster, forcing her to join him in his happiness until she released the laughter that he rarely allowed in himself.