Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (28 page)

Now, he could admit that he’d merely made excuses. He’d been so bloody contented and hadn’t wanted to risk losing that happiness. As a result, he’d not given Sophie that which she deserved—the truth.

Well, no more. After he met with his father, he’d seek out his wife and tell her all. Every last, shameful bit.

His palms grew damp and he wiped them along the sides of his breeches. She’d understand. She had to. The alternative was not to be countenanced.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Enter,” Christopher called out.

“My lord, the Marquess of Milford has requested your presence in his office.”

Christopher gritted his teeth. Bloody, commanding bastard. He gave a curt nod. As much as he longed to defy his father’s orders, he was more inclined to meet with him and be done with their exchange. The sooner he met with his father, the sooner he’d be able to return to his wife’s side.

He imagined her smooth, naked body under the hot, fragrant waters of her bath. A heaviness settled in his loins. God, what he wouldn’t give to join her.

With a regretful look over in the direction of the door that separated their rooms, Christopher started for his meeting.

When he arrived at his father’s office, he didn’t knock, but instead shoved the door open.

His father sat behind the mahogany desk, his head bent over a ledger. “I’ve been waiting, Christopher.” A thick dose of annoyance underlined the marquess’ words.

“What do you want?” Christopher asked, his hands balled into tight fists at his side.

His father reached for his pen, dipped it into the ink, and scribbled something onto the page. He studied the words, and then set the pen down. Then, he sat back in his leather chair.

“Sit down, Christopher.”

“Get on with it, Father.”

The marquess’ frown deepened. He folded his arms across his chest. “I wanted to tell you I’m proud of you.”

Christopher blinked. If a choir of heavenly angels had come down and planted a halo upon the old bastard’s head, he wouldn’t have been more shocked. He eyed his sire with a leeriness befitting the old marquess.

“You didn’t want to but you wed the girl, anyway.” He tipped his head. “I know you and I have not gotten on over the years but you sacrificed your happiness for our estates.”

Bile worked its way up Christopher’s throat. “This is what you’ve come for?” he said, his voice coming out garbled. “To
thank me
for wedding Sophie?” He made to leave but his father held up a staying hand.

“Here me out, Christopher. And then you can leave.” He motioned yet again to the chair at the foot of his desk.

Christopher hesitated and then sat to hear what the old bastard had to say.

Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

While in attendance at the Cotswold Olimpik Games, Miss S.W. took umbrage with the cock-fighting and released the caged creatures. Her efforts went unappreciated by the fowl that chased her from the tent.

~22~

Sophie chewed at her lower lip, her gaze trained on the door. She’d bathed and changed into suitable attire. As much as she longed to remain closeted away in the safety of her chambers, Sophie was no coward. As an earl’s wife, she had an obligation to properly greet and welcome her father-in-law— even if he were an odious cur.

“My lady, you rang?” Lucy entered the room, interrupting her musings.

Duke hopped off the bed and ran over to the maid. He sniffed at her skirts. When he’d ascertained that she had no treats with which to share, he returned to the edge of the bed.

Sophie scooped him up, and placed him back on the coverlet. With his two front legs, he dug at the fabric, and then settled down into the little nest he’d made for himself.

“Do you know where my husband is?”

“I believe he is meeting in the Marquess of Milford’s office. Is there anything else you require?”

Sophie shook her head. “No, that will be all.”

Lucy curtsied and closed the door behind her.

With a sigh, Sophie stroked the black stripe down Duke’s back. He flipped over in response, presenting his belly for Sophie’s attention. “You do know I can’t stay here all afternoon?”

His tongue hung out the side of his mouth.

“I’d like to,” she went on.

Duke’s wide chocolate eyes grew heavy.

“It’s rude to fall asleep when someone is speaking to you.”

A loud, sputtering snore was her only response.

Sophie pat him on his head and abandoned her chambers. She wound her way through Milford House, toward the Marquess of Milford’s office. Her steps slowed to a halt outside the room. She bit the inside of her cheek.

Mayhap she shouldn’t interrupt. She could arrange for refreshments. Why, it didn’t seem proper to intrude on Christopher’s meeting with his father. Her reservations had nothing to do with the cowardice that filled her.

Sophie turned on her heel, and…

“I wanted to tell you, I’m proud of you.”

The marquess’ rumbling pronouncement brought her to a halt. Her heart warmed for Christopher. His childhood with the marquess had been a turbulent one. Sophie found she could even forgive the marquess his many sins, including interrupting her wedding trip to Milford House, for coming out to praise Christopher.

She smiled and again made to take her leave, not wanting to be an interloper on the father and son’s private exchange, when the marquess’ next words penetrated the thick wood panel of the door. “You didn’t want to, but you ruined the girl, anyway. You’ve done very well, Christopher. I know you and I have not gotten on over the years but you sacrificed your happiness for our estates.”

Sophie stared at the door, unblinking. Her heart froze, suspended in her chest. She reached out, her hands searching for purchase, and found it against the wall. A dull, humming filled her ears. She’d misheard the marquess. There was no other logical explanation.

“I know you fancied yourself in love with that woman but you put aside your desires for the girl’s dowry.”

Christopher’s response was lost to the thick plaster that separated them and her own shallow breathing.

She borrowed support from the wall. Christopher was in love with another…suddenly, his laconic response to her profession of love made sense. A bitter, pained laugh worked its way up from deep inside her and lodged in her throat. It threatened to choke her. What a fool she’d been. She’d looked to him adoringly, all but pleading for him to return her feelings, when all along there had been another.

Leave, Sophie. Run as far and as fast as your legs will carry you, so that you do not have to hear every other vile thing from your husband and father-in-law’s lips.

Instead, she remained rooted to the spot, flagellating herself with the agony of their next words.

“I know you had enlisted Mallen’s help to avoid marriage to the girl... I know the only reason he courted her was…” She pressed her ear to the Chinese wall-paper, and struggled to hear the remainder of that statement.

Tears popped up behind her lashes, but she blinked them back. What a bloody fool she’d been. Mallen’s sudden interest now made sense. He’d merely been courting her because Christopher had asked it of him. The humiliation of that realization was nothing compared to the shattering truth of the lengths Christopher had gone to avoid marriage to her.

In the end, he’d craved her dowry more than he craved his freedom. A single tear streaked a path down her cheek. She swiped it away, but it was met by another.

Every kind word from Christopher, every seductive smile had been a carefully crafted lie. She’d never mattered to him; not as a young girl and not as the woman he’d married.

The marquess continued speaking, his words slashed through the haze of despair that gripped her. “As I said, now that you ruined her, you can carry on with whomever you want. Society wouldn’t expect anything different.”

All the life seemed to drain out of her legs. Sophie slid in an empty heap outside the marquess’ office. Since she’d made her come out three years ago, Christopher hadn’t offered her anything more than a polite greeting—and only then, in passing. Not one dance had he requested.

Her brother’s words, spoken the night of Lady Brackenridge’s ball, filled her memory.

Waxham, who’s ignored you for years, of a sudden is paying you court, perhaps luring you away from Polite Society. Surely you must have wondered at his sudden interest?

She forced herself to confront the hideous reality of Christopher’s deception.

Her insides churned until she thought she might cast up the accounts of her stomach right there in the midst of the hall.

Geoffrey had known. As had Mother.

Then, there she was. Poor, pathetic Sophie, too blinded by her love of Christopher to see the ugly truth even as it had been staring right at her. She’d given up her good reputation, all that a young lady possessed, for him, and in the end, all that had mattered to Christopher was her dowry.

She rocked her head against the wall. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” she whispered the litany over and over.

“Do you intend to leave her here?” The marquess’ question jerked her out of her misery.

Gooseflesh dotted her skin. Her husband intended to abandon her. A hard, brittle smile formed on her lips. Oh, she could just imagine Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet.

Lord W, has quickly tired of the plump, incorrigible Lady W, and wisely abandoned the woman in the countryside…

A sob wrenched from deep inside and filled the quiet of the hall.

Christopher had stolen her reputation, her dowry, and worst of all, her heart.

She would be damned if she turned her pride over to his greedy, cruel hands.

Sophie spun on her heel and fled.

***

Christopher’s head whipped toward the door. “What was that?”

His father waved his hand. “Probably some nosy servant. Forget them.”

Christopher fisted his hands at his side. It was all he could do to keep from punching his father. He looked down his nose, hardly daring to believe that this man shared the same blood.

For thirty years, Christopher had braved his father’s shame, abuse, and mockery. It had fueled Christopher, driven him to try and be more and earn his sire’s approval.

Over the years, his father’s disapproval had stung. Christopher had craved some kind of affirmation that the marquess was proud of his son.

Only now, staring down at his cold, calculating sire, Christopher confronted the staggering reality—nothing he did would ever be enough. His father would always be ashamed of him…

…and Christopher no longer gave a damn about his father or his opinion.

What he did care about was Sophie. Sophie filled his life with more joy, more laughter than he’d ever imagined possible.

Christopher sucked in a breath. Christ. He loved her.

His father’s brows dipped. “What?”

He loved that she sang ribald ditties. He loved her propensity to find herself in scrape after scrape. Hell, he even loved that
she loved
her silly, troublesome pug. He loved her with a burning hunger that threatened to consume him. At some point, her happiness had come to mean more to him than even his own.

“Did you hear what I said, Christopher?”

His entire life, Christopher had only cared about his image for the
ton
, and earning his father’s approval. Well, they could all go hang.

Christopher reached over the desk and jerked his father up by the front of his jacket, until they were eye to eye. “If you ever, and I mean, ever breathe one more foul word about my wife, by God, I’ll take you apart with my hands.”

The color leeched from his father’s wizened cheeks. “P-put m-me down.”

Christopher gave him a slight shake. “Only after you swear not to go anywhere near my wife.”

“But this is my home.” Christopher shook him again. “Fine. F-fine,” his father cried out.

Christopher released him.

“Where are you going,” his father barked. “I wanted to discuss the use of your wife’s funds.”

Christopher sailed out of the room. He’d wasted enough time with the marquess. He wanted to see his wife. It was time she heard the words he’d kept from her for too long.

He made his way abovestairs, hoping to find Sophie naked in a hot, lemon-scented bath. He’d join her, make sweet love to her, and then tell her the words she deserved to hear.

Christopher grinned, his heart beating fast in anticipation of seeing Sophie. Nothing mattered but her. Not his father. Not his struggle to read. Not Society’s opinion. None of it. He turned the handle and entered her chambers.

He peered around. An ominous quiet blanketed the room. His smile dipped. “Phi?”

Silence met his question.

Christopher made to leave, when he spied her in the corner, over by the window. She’d pulled the curtain back and gazed down into the space below. “There you are, Phi.”

He crossed over to her and rested his hands upon her shoulders.

Sophie stiffened. She continued to stare outside.

Christopher dropped his hands to his side. The first stirrings of alarm flared in his brain. He cleared his throat. “Are you all right, Phi?”

Sophie released the curtain. The fabric fell back into place as she turned to face him. In spite of her diminutive frame, she somehow managed to peer down her nose at him. “Tell me something, Christopher. Has it been worth it?”

“Worth it?” he repeated blankly.

“Why, you sacrificed not only your good standing with the
ton
by marrying the Incorrigible Miss Winters but you also gave up the woman you love.”

He blinked. What in the blazes was she talking about? “The woman I love?”

Her eyes seemed to bleed agonized pain and outrage, all at the same time. “I heard you and your father.”

Oh god, she knew. The sound outside his father’s office hadn’t been a prying servant, but his wife. His eyes slid closed and his heart plummeted somewhere in the vicinity of his toes.
No
!

“Yes,” she hissed.

He was unaware he’d spoken aloud. “You don’t understand, Phi.” She couldn’t possibly understand because he’d never been wholly truthful with her and as a result, she believed all the worst about him and his intentions. Could he blame her? His mind raced and he tried to recall every vile, reprehensible word spoken by his father. “It is not how it sounded.”