Midnight Pleasures (14 page)

Funny behavior for a man who’d lost a mint of money to a thief, to Carroll’s mind. But what was it to him?

Chapter 10

P
atrick Foakes climbed the stairs of Brandenburg House the next morning a trifle wearily. He’d been up half the night. Braddon had taken the news of his confiscated bride very badly indeed. In fact, the vehemence of his reaction stunned Patrick, given Braddon’s easygoing attitude toward most things. He would never forget the moment when Braddon snatched up a port bottle and started smashing the plaster adhesive on his leg. For a second Patrick thought his friend had been driven mad by grief, but in truth Braddon was only royally peeved.

Braddon had always been fidgety when it came to his mother, Patrick thought as he waited to be announced. And Braddon’s marriage was essentially a matter of Braddon’s mother.

The Brandenburg butler returned, bowing magnificently. “The marquis will see you in the library,” he intoned.

Nothing had changed in the library since Patrick’s last visit, one month ago. Except, perhaps, the attitude of the Marquis of Brandenburg. Last time, Brandenburg had greeted him expansively, striding across the floor to meet him. Patrick remembered being faintly surprised that the marquis would be so happy to greet the man who had damaged his daughter’s reputation the night before. But now Sophie’s ruination lay between them, and George’s eyes were as icy cold as a northern glacier.

As Patrick walked into the room, George dismissed Carroll with a brief nod. Neither of them said a word until Carroll had closed the two heavy oak doors of the library, bowing on his way out of the room.

Patrick met the furious eyes of his future father-in-law steadily as he walked over to stand before him. “I’ve come to request the hand of your daughter in marriage,” he said mildly.

George simply raised one of his clenched fists and aimed it at Patrick’s face, striking him with all the rage of a sleepless night. There was a substantial
thunk
as his fist met Patrick’s hard jaw, bounced upward, and struck him again at the corner of the eye. Patrick lurched back, catching himself on the corner of George’s desk. Then he straightened and looked at the marquis again.

George was panting with exertion. “I didn’t think you’d let me do that,” he observed.

Patrick’s response was brief: “I deserved it.”

George was beginning to feel foolish. He was too old for boxing gymnastics in the library. He made his way to a group of chairs by the fireplace and dropped into one, not even glancing at his guest to see whether he would follow. Patrick walked over and sat down.

“I went up that ladder last night to help your daughter elope with the Earl of Slaslow,” Patrick said quietly.

He glanced at the marquis, whose face had grown even redder, if possible.

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“The elopement,” Patrick continued, leaning back and closing his eyes, “was Lady Sophie’s idea and carried out on her plan. However, Slaslow himself was dead set against the idea of an elopement, and when he injured his leg yesterday, he persuaded me to bring your daughter to his grandmother’s house. His plan was to convince Lady Sophie that an elopement was neither desirable nor possible, given his impairment.”

There was silence from the other side of the fireplace.

“When I arrived in your daughter’s room, she had already decided to break off her engagement to Slaslow.”

“I
assume
,” George said sardonically, “that she has now changed her mind about your proposal of marriage.”

“I believe so.”

“And what a scandal this is going to be.” The marquis’s voice sounded weary.

“Not as much of a scandal as if your daughter had eloped with the Earl of Slaslow,” Patrick retorted.

George stared into the dying embers of the fire, his heart heavy. Not only was Sophie going to break her engagement to an earl, but unless he was greatly mistaken, she was going to have to marry another man with indecent haste.

“It will be a nine-days’ wonder,” Patrick said calmly. “I shall take my bride on a lengthy wedding trip, and by the time we return a more potent scandal will be amusing the
ton
.”

“What am I to tell my wife? She’ll be a mite curious about why you two have to get married so quickly, after Sophie’s engagement to another man was just announced.”

“Why don’t you tell her the truth?”

“God, no.” George frowned into the fire. “Eloise looks pretty stiff, but she’s actually quite naive. It would be a terrible blow to her to learn that our daughter was seduced before her wedding.”

Patrick felt a sharp pang of guilt. In the cold morning’s light, he was shocked by his own behavior. What had got into him last night? What was it about Sophie that had driven him into such a frenzy of lust? He had broken every rule of civilized behavior that he’d been taught since a boy.

“Tell the marchioness that it’s a case of true love.”

“True love!”
George scoffed. “My wife has never been one for rosy fantasies.”

“Then why did you protect her from seeing me in Lady Sophie’s bed last night?”

“I told you. It would be a huge blow to her…. She’d think that Sophie takes after her papa. And she doesn’t,” George said with a fierce glare.

Patrick met the marquis’s eyes steadily, even given that his own eye was beginning to swell and appeared half closed. “I know,” he said with a crooked half-smile.

George turned a trifle redder at the reminder that his daughter had anticipated her wedding night.

“I’ll look after her,” Patrick said quietly.

“I know, I know,” George mumbled. “I always thought she’d be happy with you. Although I hoped she’d find a quieter sort of fellow. Braddon and you, you’re cats of the same color, aren’t you? Rakes, the both of you.” He cast an apologetic glance at the young man before him, heaving himself to his feet. “I haven’t always behaved as I should.”

Patrick’s lips twitched but he managed to stifle a grin. This, from the man whose name regularly adorned the gossip columns of every London rag published? Patrick could hardly hope to convince George that he had no plans to take a mistress after marrying Sophie. George’s tempestuous extramarital history meant that rakes, from his point of view, never reformed.

George started again. “My wife has a powerful temper, and sometimes Sophie was … saw more than she should have.”

Patrick stood up, his relaxed demeanor not letting slip a clue to his keen interest in George’s confession.

“She’s a good girl, my Sophie is.” George was walking toward the door now, going to ring the bell and summon his daughter to the library to entertain Foakes’s proposal yet again. “She’s a good girl. She’s gotten me out of a curst hobble more than once, helped me out when her mama was acting like a termagant.”

Patrick walked up behind him.

“How did Lady Sophie aid you with these entanglements?” His voice sounded mildly curious.

“Oh, she would smile, as sweet as new butter, and tell her mother that I’d taken her to the races, that sort of thing.” George’s round eyes were full of self-condemnation. “Do you think that Sophie came up with this infamous plan to elope because of my indiscretions? Did she let you stay in her bed last night because I’ve been such a—”

“I take full blame for what happened last night. Lady Sophie is a true innocent. She had no idea what might happen when I climbed the ladder to her room.”

“Really?” For a moment the marquis’s eyes widened with surprise. “She’s—” What in the devil was he doing, trying to convince his daughter’s future husband that she was some sort of female libertine? She wasn’t, of course. It was just that Sophie had lied so convincingly in the past, protecting him from her mother’s wrath. He’d somehow fallen into thinking of his own daughter as a sophisticated lady of the town, instead of an innocent maiden. For a moment George was swamped in self-reproach.

Then just as he opened his mouth, the doors opened and Carroll stood there.

“My lord?”

“Ask Lady Sophie to join us, Carroll.”

Carroll cast a quick, speculative glance at Patrick Foakes. Of course, the entire household knew of Foakes’s earlier proposal to Lady Sophie, the one she’d rejected. The whole household also knew that Lady Sophie’s engagement to the Earl of Slaslow had just been celebrated. So what was Foakes doing in the house?

Sophie came down the staircase slowly, trailing her hand on the railing. She was wearing a remarkably demure morning gown with a high neckline trimmed with two rows of fabric roses. In fact, she had worn the dress only once before and then discarded it as too dowdy for words. But this morning, visited by tidal waves of embarrassment, her aim was to show Patrick—and her father!—that she was
not
one of the muslin company, even though she had acted like one the night before.

For the fortieth time that morning, a wash of rosy color swirled in Sophie’s cheeks. Could she even enter the library? What must her father think of her? Her stomach roiled with nerves. But there was no stopping time, no matter how slowly she descended the stairs. Carroll again opened the library doors. There stood her father.

Reluctantly she met his eyes, and what she saw gave her some courage. George didn’t look as if he was about to throw her out of the house.

“Sophie,” he said gruffly. “It seems you are going to marry Patrick Foakes rather than the Earl of Slaslow.”

She lowered her eyes, her cheeks stained raspberry. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.

“We’ll have to figure out something to tell your mama.” George sighed. “I won’t have her know the truth, as I’ve just been telling Foakes. She’d vex herself to death over it.”

“Yes, Papa.” Sophie’s throat felt tight.

“Well, I’ll leave you,” George mumbled. “Not for long, mind!” His voice erupted into something of a roar as he met his future son-in-law’s amused eyes. Did nothing overset that fellow? Here he had one eye practically swollen shut, and a distinct bruise forming along his jaw as well, and still Patrick Foakes looked like a buck of the first cut. It was dashed annoying. George got himself out of the room, practically choking with irritation.

Sophie took a deep breath but was too embarrassed to raise her eyes. She heard Patrick walking toward her. When he stopped she could see his boots just before her.

“You look quite lovely this morning, Sophie. A new Sophie, in fact, a modest, bashful …” Patrick let the words trail off suggestively.

Sure enough, Sophie lifted her head and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t make fun of me!”

Patrick’s large hand cupped her chin. “Why not? We won’t be able to survive marriage without making fun of each other, love.”

Just then Sophie realized what she was looking at. “What happened, Patrick?” She reached out and delicately touched the dark swelling around his eye.

“My just desserts,” Patrick replied. “Nothing to worry about.” He reached up and captured her hand, bringing it to his mouth. Then he turned it over and brought her palm to his lips with exquisite gentleness.

“I have formally asked your father for your hand in marriage,” he remarked, his eyes twinkling at her.

“You have?” Sophie’s mind seemed to have become rather dizzy again.

Patrick didn’t want her to know the cold truth, which was that she had no choice in the matter of marriage since the moment she had succumbed to his kisses. He had been struggling with his conscience all morning—in fact, ever since he left Brandenburg House last night.

“Will you marry me, Lady Sophie?”

Sophie wasn’t paying much attention. Patrick’s lips were caressing the center of her palm, and for some reason that simple touch was making her knees weak. “Yes,” she said rather faintly.

Patrick frowned. “I am genuinely sorry that our actions last night curtailed your choice of marriage partners,” he said formally. “However, I feel sure that you and I will rub along just as comfortably as you might have with Braddon.”

Sophie’s eyes wandered over Patrick’s wanton black curls and deep-set eyes. What was he talking about? She would never be “just comfortable” living with him. In fact, the whole idea of sleeping in the same house with Patrick—in the same bed—sent a thrill of anticipation from the very top of her head to her toes.

What she really wanted was for him to wrap her in his arms again, the way he had last night. As if he read her mind, Patrick pulled her gently forward.

“Sophie.” His voice was insistent. “I truly want to apologize for preventing your marriage to Braddon. I know you were excited about being a countess.”

She looked up at Patrick in disbelief. Did he really think she was so shallow that it mattered what title her future husband had?

Before she could say anything, Patrick bent his head and captured her lips, drawing her up against his body. He’d been aroused ever since she’d walked into the room, even given that sacklike morning gown she was wearing.

As Patrick’s hands danced among her curls, pulling out the carefully arranged loops and ribbons that Simone had spent so much time on earlier in the morning, Sophie didn’t say a word. She melted against him, trembling as her breasts crushed against his chest and his mouth dipped languorously into hers again and again. Somehow her arms entwined themselves around his neck. When Sophie’s tongue timidly met his, Patrick let out an oath and pulled her arms from his neck, moving back a step.