Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (17 page)

Sophie gasped. “That’s horrid.”

Mallen nodded. “His father’s derision only became worse after the stable fire. He blamed Waxham for the blaze.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Sophie recalled that night. She had come upon him reading in the stables, and had mocked him for reading to the horses. Shame filled every corner of her person.

“From that point on, Christopher seemed to care a great deal about the
tons
perception of him. He strove for complete amicability; always a grin and kind word.”

“The Christopher you describe is vastly different than the one I have known over the years,” she whispered.

“Why do you think Waxham is so very different with you, Miss Winters?”

She lifted one shoulder in a little shrug, suddenly very uncomfortable with this intimate conversation about Christopher. “I’m not altogether sure.” Mayhap he blamed her for the fire that had ravaged his beloved horses. Her heart ached.

“Perhaps you know Waxham better than most and he isn’t comfortable with that.”

“That’s preposterous,” she said.

He lifted a brow. “Is it? Waxham has attained a respectable position amidst Society. He is quite admired. That is, by everyone with the exception of you and his father.”

Sophie shifted, not altogether comfortable with being placed in the same category as the marquess, especially considering the duke’s latest revelation about the abhorrent father. “Might I speak freely, Your Grace?”

“Please.”

“As you know, I have a reputation vastly different than Lord Waxham. I somehow manage to say and do the wrong things. I always have. He took great delight in pointing that out over the years. It was, therefore, hard for me to develop the same impression of Christopher that you, and others have of him.” She glanced down at her hands. “I’m humbled to admit that some of my earlier actions merited his contempt.”

“You were a child, Miss Winters,” he said, gently.

“A horrid one,” she mumbled beneath her breath.

His lips twitched. “I’m trying to imagine you as a small child.”

“Oh, you mustn’t do that,” she said with an emphatic shake of her head. She dislodged a curl. “I was an utter disaster.”

“Were you?” The duke looked at her with a sparkle in his emerald eyes.

“My mother despaired of me ever becoming a proper lady.”

“You’ve proven her wrong.”

She smiled up at him. “You are just being polite. Thank you, Your Grace.”

The duke bent down and retrieved a pebble. He flicked it so that it skipped once, twice, and a third time upon the water’s surface.

“I wouldn’t imagine a duke skipping rocks.”

He winked. “I’m not really a proper duke.”

Sophie stooped down and searched for a suitable rock. Her fingers found a flat, smooth stone. She winked back up at him. “Then you are in good company,” she said and skipped her rock. It traveled four hops before it sank beneath the surface of the water.

Mallen clapped his hands together. “I’m very impressed, Miss Winters.”

“Oh, that is nothing. I can skip them a good deal farther.” She sought out another stone. Her eyes collided with a smooth, flat rock several feet away.

If the rock had just been a bit closer.

If she hadn’t been in such a blasted hurry.

If it hadn’t rained last evening.

Then Sophie would have been just fine.

As it was, her foot slipped on a patch of mud and she skidded forward, tumbling into the lake.

Her stomach lurched wildly as she slid unceremoniously into the mouth of the lake, soaking her skirts and slippers.

Sophie closed her eyes. She could only imagine tomorrow’s copy of
Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet.

Goodness. She was in trouble when she returned home.

Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

Miss S.W. asked Lady Jersey whether she’d read Lady Caro Lamb’s latest work; Glenarvon. Lady Jersey walked away from Miss S.W. without a single utterance
.

~13~

With his father’s recent revelation about their impending financial ruin, Christopher knew he really should be closeted away in the old marquess’ office, reviewing the ledgers so he might ascertain the full-extent of their financial woes. There had to be an alternative solution that did not entail Christopher resorting to the contemptible role of fortune hunter or a life in Bedlam.

A walk, however, often helped him focus on important business matters.

Yes, a trip through Hyde Park was just the thing he needed to develop a sensible strategy to his precarious state.

Said trip had nothing,
absolutely nothing
, to do with Sophie’s morning outing with Mallen.

“Waxham, so good to see you!”

Christopher bit back a curse and slowed his steps as Lord Dennington stepped directly into his path. Though he and Dennington’s acquaintance went back to their days at Oxford, they’d always moved in different social circles—in large part because Dennington had always been a worse gossip than the matrons at Almack’s.

He forced a grin for the foppish lord. “Good to see you, Dennington,” he lied. He had important matters to attend to. Christopher went to step around the podgy earl, which was no easy feat considering the other man’s girth.

Dennington held up a staying hand. “Did you hear?” he said in a whisper that carried a good distance away.

Christopher sighed. The one minute he’d spent in Dennington’s company was one minute more than he cared to. He made to step around him.

Dennington matched Christopher’s movement, effectively blocking his escape.

“Did I hear what?” Christopher didn’t bother to bite back the impatience in his question.

“About the Duke of Mallen.”

Christopher froze. His spine stiffened. Perhaps he did care about what Dennington had to say after all. “What about Mallen?”

The other man gave a pleased nod. “Glad I have your attention, now. All quite scandalous,” he said. “One never expects a scandal from the duke. From her perhaps. But never him.”

Christopher’s head spun as he tried to keep up with Dennington’s rambling. His stomach tightened. “From her?”

“The incorrigible Miss Winters,” Dennington supplied. He gesticulated wildly with his hands. “If that isn’t an unlikely pairing? The flawless Duke of Mallen and the hoydenish Miss Winters are walking in St. James’ Park. Can you imagine?”

Christopher’s hands balled into fists at his side. He’d rather not imagine. Christ, what was Mallen doing, taking her on a walk through St. James’ Park? With its location near the clubs on St. James’ Street, everyone knew it was not the place for an unmarried lady who wished to protect her reputation.

Encouraged by Christopher’s silence, Dennington continued prattling on. “I have to be honest. I’m not altogether certain why he’d go about courting
her
.”

That single condescending statement jerked Christopher’s attention back to the moment. It mattered not that the courtship had been fabricated by Christopher and Mallen. A haze of fury momentarily clouded his vision. He arched a single brow. “Oh?”

Dennington was either a dolt or too absorbed in his latest morsel of gossip for he didn’t appear to heed the lethal edge in Christopher’s utterance. “It is no wonder she remains unwed. Why she’s nothing more than a plump, unseemly bit of—”

Christopher punched Dennington in the nose, knocking the other man upon his arse.

Dennington’s eyes went wide in his fleshy, pallid cheeks that stood in stark contrast to the blood streaming down his bulbous nose. “Whatever did you do that for?” he cried.

A small crowd converged upon them. Christopher cursed at the unwanted attention. He leaned close to Dennington, who whimpered like a wounded pup. “If you ever, and I mean ever, utter Miss Winters’ name, I swear I’ll do more than blacken your eyes. Is that clear? You aren’t even to greet the lady in passing.”

The whimpering dandy nodded so emphatically, he dislodged his beaver hat.

Christopher stormed off. This time, with more purpose in his step as he made the long trek to St. James’s Park, wishing, not for the first time, that he’d taken his mount.

Fury fed his movements. When Christopher had enlisted Mallen’s support, he’d never imagined his friend would do something so callous as to jeopardize Sophie’s reputation. Why, a walk through St. James’s may as well be tantamount to an offer for an unwed lady’s hand. Anything else was incomprehensible.

Not for the first time since he’d concocted the blasted scheme to thwart his father, the guilt churning inside of him threatened to boil over.

Sophie was a young, unwed lady. Mallen had been correct in his reservations…they both risked endangering her heart.

His stomach tightened and he picked up his pace, until he reached St. James’s Park. He paused and scanned the open land. Less crowded than Hyde Park, it would still be nigh impossible to single-handedly locate a specific person…in this case, two specific someones.

With a curse, Christopher resumed his search, finally admitting to himself that his walk had everything to do with Sophie. And Mallen.

Christopher gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He flexed it and continued on his course until he reached the walking trail that led to the central lake.

Mayhap the fool Dennington had been wrong about Mallen and Sophie. Mayhap they were in fact in Hyde Park. Mayhap…

He froze.

At the edge of the lake, stood a tall gentleman alongside a lush, blonde woman. The sunlight glinted off her crown of golden curls. Just then, a faint breeze rustled her pale yellow skirts. For an infinitesimal moment, the fabric clung to the young lady’s gently flared hips, highlighting her rounded buttocks. She looked up at the man beside her.

And all the air left Christopher.

Sophie?!

Christ. He squinted.

No. It couldn’t be.

He took a step closer, and another until her familiar face pulled into greater focus.

Except, it was.

When had Sophie developed into this winsome goddess? He staggered back a step.

Mallen tossed his head back and even with the distance between them, his laughter carried over to Christopher’s ears, the sound grating on every last one of his already frayed nerves. He didn’t care to analyze why he wanted to plant a facer on Mallen’s affable face and toss him into the lake. Or why he wanted to place an appropriate amount of space between Sophie and the bloody duke. Propriety aside, Christopher all but sprinted toward Sophie and Mallen.

A cry rent the otherwise quiet park. Christopher’s heart froze suspended in his chest, and then resumed beating a frantic rhythm as Sophie stumbled and pitched forward into the lake. Christopher picked up his pace, tugging his jacket free as he ran. He reached the side of the shore just as Mallen waded in and fished Sophie’s damp figure from the shallow depths.

The moist material clung indecently to her voluptuous form, hugging every delectable curve of her body; a mocking reminder that gone was the girl who’d taunted him and in her place was this nymph who beckoned him.

“What in the blazes are you doing?” Christopher snapped, tossing the garment over her shoulders.

Sophie glanced up, her cornflower blue eyes went wide in her pale cheeks.

“Waxham,” Mallen greeted as casually as if they were meeting in a drawing room.

Christopher spared a single glance for Mallen, and then directed his attention back to Sophie. “Are you mad?” he hissed. “Do you know the scandal you’ve caused here?”

“Actually I do,” she said underneath her breath. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself.

Damn if she didn’t look fetching in his jacket.

“And you,” Christopher shot at Mallen, “a walk through St. James’s Park? Whatever were you thinking? No, you weren’t thinking,” Christopher said when Mallen opened his mouth to interject.

“I prefer St. James’s Park.” Mallen spoke with all the authority befitting his station as duke. In his world, he could go where he pleased without fear of censure.

Unlike Christopher, who’d spent the better part of his life living with the fear of being discovered as an idiot who couldn’t read a bloody sentence without giving himself a megrim. The reminder of his flaws only fueled his ire. “Are you trying to ruin the lady’s reputation?” he snapped.

Sophie covered a gasp with her fingers. “Christopher!”

Mallen’s brows dipped. “If you were anyone else, I’d call you out for such a charge.”

And if Christopher had been anyone else, he might have been intimidated by the other man’s frigid glare. Alas, this was Mallen. He’d known him back when he’d been putting toads in his sister’s teacups. It would take more than a glowering visage to unnerve Christopher.

Christopher returned his attention to Sophie. “Where is your maid?”

She lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “I sent her for a walk.”

His eyes slid momentarily closed. “No wonder you find yourself in
Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet
,” he muttered.

Sophie took one, two, three steps until less than a hairsbreadth separated them. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said…”

“I heard you,” she snapped.

“Then why did you say…”

“Because I’m trying to convey suitable outrage.” Sophie’s chest heaved up and down with the extent of her upset.

He stared transfixed, unable to remove his gaze from the sight of the plump white mounds of her décolletage.

Sophie tugged his jacket closed, a pink, becoming blush stained her heart-shaped cheeks. “Did you hear what I said, Chris…my lord?”

He yanked his gaze away. “No.”

Mallen folded his arms across his chest. “The young lady was wisely pointing out that you are in fact causing undue attention.”

Christopher looked around and for the first time noted the gentlemen who’d halted their mounts and now gawked like they’d come upon a riveting stage performance right there on St. James Street.

He took Sophie gently, but firmly by the arm. “Come along.”

“Christopher,” she hissed. “Whatever are you doing?” Sophie dug her heels in with the same contrary stubbornness she’d demonstrated as a baby sinking her teeth into the tender flesh of his palms.