To Marry The Duke (9 page)

She continued to question him, sounding completely serious. “Because my parents convinced me when I was seven that ghosts weren’t real, and to find out now that yes, they are indeed alive and well in Yorkshire… well, I just don’t think I could live with that thought.”

James could not keep from laughing. “I assure you, my dear, your parents were quite right. I’ve never heard a ghost howl at night, though the cook sometimes sobs over his fallen cream cakes early in the mornings.”

They both laughed uproariously until there were tears coming out of their eyes.

“Good heavens,” James said, “I hadn’t heard that particular bit of gossip.”

Sophia smiled. “Well, now you’ve heard it all. And please let me apologize for prying into all your secrets, where it was really none of my business. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

He nodded. “Can we go back to what we were discussing before?”

She drew her pretty brows together. “I’m sorry, after all that, I can’t even remember what we were discussing.”

He let his expression go serious. “You told me that I charm you when I am not puzzling you. You charm me, too. Quite remarkably, in fact.” It was the damned inconvenient truth. He hungered to touch her. So much so, it ached.

She stopped on the path and gazed up at him. “Please, call me Sophia. It would make me happy if you did.”

“Sophia,” he said, taking her gloved hand and holding it between both of his. “It’s a beautiful name. I enjoy the sound of it.”

He could sense her sudden unease. He was long past uneasiness himself. This was insane. He would never have permitted this kind of thing a month ago. Not even twenty-four hours ago.

“I enjoy the sound of it, too, James—when
you
say it.” Her voice simmered with beguiling allure. “I would like it even more if you said it again.”

All at once, he felt as if he were falling from a very high place. Apprehensions pierced through him, for none of this was going as he had planned. “
Sophia
.”

He gazed down at her hand and turned it over. With his finger, he drew a little circle in her palm. He felt her body shudder, and her stimulation shivered through him as well.

Sophia gazed warily over her shoulder at their chaperones, who were slowly approaching.

“You’re worried they’ll see?” he said.

She nodded, so he eased her mind by taking a single step to the side. Now Sophia’s body blocked their chaperone’s view of her hand in his.

James unbuttoned her glove at her wrist and peeled it back. Sophia sucked in a little breath—a dainty gasp full of socially appropriate shock, as well as a less appropriate, spine-tingling delight, which roused him greatly.

He took a deep breath, pausing to glance up and ensure she was in agreement, then slowly traced a line from the center of her palm to her bare, luscious wrist, drawing tiny little circles over the delicate blue veins. He said nothing. He merely admired the softness of her skin, then lifted his gaze.

Her lips were mere inches from his own—deliciously full, precariously moist.

Her bosom was heaving.

His own heart was pounding.

God!

She spoke in a breathy little whisper. “That feels…”

“Yes?”

“Wonderful.”

He smiled again, though inside, he felt like he was spinning.

“It tickles, James. I have gooseflesh.”

James glanced over her shoulder at their chaperones, who were curiously slowing down, keeping their distance, then with a heavy dose of physical restraint, he pulled her glove back over her palm and labored to bring his mind around to focus on his objectives. He was not here to fall in love with Miss Wilson. He was here for the five hundred thousand pounds.

They faced forward and began to walk again. James took a moment to breathe while he fought to curb his vigorous and inopportune lust.

For a man of stringent control when it came to his passions, he was uncharacteristically flustered.

They came to the end of the path and emerged out into the sunny open air, where groups of ladies and gentlemen mingled on the green grass. Sophia opened her parasol again, and their conversation drifted into lighter matters.

Soon, Mrs. Wilson and Lady Lansdowne appeared, and it was time to go. James escorted them to his coach, and they returned to Lansdowne House.

He climbed out first to assist the ladies down, then walked with Sophia to the front door to say good-bye. Mrs. Wilson and the countess entered the house and James was left alone with Sophia on the massive front portico.

He took her gloved hand, raised it to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss upon it. “No words can describe how profoundly I enjoyed your companionship this afternoon, Sophia.”

He let go of her hand and she gracefully lowered it to her side. “I will never forget it, James. It was most… agreeable.”

“Agreeable?” He laughed. “Is that all?”

“No, of course that is not all,” she said in a low, sultry voice, then she gave him a flirtatious little grin and turned away. She walked through the open doors to where the other ladies were being greeted by the butler.

James stood motionless, astonished by Sophia’s skill and proficiency in this lovemaking game—a game he had expected to belong principally to him. Judging by the way his body was reacting to her now, however— with an uncomfortable degree of peppery strain—there was enough evidence to suggest she might be better at it than he was. The title-seeking American heiress had caught him and lured him in, and he hadn’t even realized—until this shaky, irrational moment as he watched her disappear into the house—that he was on such a huge, sharp hook.

Chapter 6

It was not James’s habit to share the luncheon table with his mother, and today, as always, he had a plate sent up to his study so he could eat without the intrusion of tension-filled silences.

Today, however, the silence that came naturally from one’s being completely alone was full of a different breed of tension—one that reeked of worry and regret for actions that he had perhaps not adequately thought out.

He had begun a courtship with a single lady openly seeking a husband—a single lady who was here in London to “hook” a peer. He had been seen walking with her in Hyde Park, and all of London must now be whispering his intentions. The English mothers were probably furious with him for allowing his gaze to wander away from English soil. He was a little bit furious with himself for becoming a thing he’d always despised—a fortune hunter. He was no better than she or Whitby was.

He supposed he should not be too hard on himself. Or Sophia. Aristocratic marriages were almost always based on matches that were in some form advantageous for both parties involved. Marriages were entered into responsibly rather than passionately, and he of all people should know that passion should not be sought after. It was not even an option. Not for him. It was far too dangerous. He had to look for other reasons to marry, and money was as good as any other. It was the utmost responsible choice, really, for he was doing this for his dukedom. He was doing it for Lily and Martin and the future heirs to the estate—whoever they might be.

So what was the problem then? Was it because she was American? Did he feel somehow disloyal?

Perhaps a little, but not enough to turn his head in another direction. He was determined now.

Then he realized it had nothing to do with what country she came from. His concerns were based solely on how she would not leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried to dislodge her from it. Nor would she give him a moment’s peace regarding matters less to do with the mind and more to do with the body. All he wanted to do now was drive over to see her and cement this marriage proposal, so that he could move past all this indecision and proceed swiftly and without delay to the carnal pleasures of the wedding night.

He thought then of his father’s nature—how the man lost his sense of reason when his passions took over. James did not want to become like him. Perhaps it was not possible to keep marriage inside the closed circle of a business arrangement…

A knock sounded at his door then, and James jumped. An unexpected banging or slamming always startled him.

His butler appeared. “The Earl of Manderlin is here to see you, Your Grace.”

A stiffness moved up James’s spine. Had the earl heard that James had gone walking with Sophia yesterday, and was he here to discuss a battle he intended to fight?

“Send him up, Weldon.”

James rose from his desk chair and went to the window. He moved the curtain aside with a finger to look down onto the street, where the earl’s carriage waited out front.

Footsteps tapped up the stairs and shortly thereafter, the earl walked into James’s study.

Weldon announced him: “The Earl of Manderlin.” Then he backed out of the room and closed the door.

“Thank you for seeing me, Wentworth,” the earl said. “I have a matter of particular importance I wish to speak to you about.”

“Please, sit down.”

The earl lowered his small, frail frame into a dark green upholstered chair. James wasn’t sure what he was going to say if the man mentioned an affection for Sophia. He knew she would never even consider marriage to a man like Manderlin. Not because of his looks, mind you, but because the man had not the slightest clue how to stimulate her mind or rouse her interest. Sophia needed a man who could—

“I’ve come to seek your permission to speak to your sister, Lady Lily, about a possible…” He stumbled on his words at that point, then coughed into his fist and quickly recovered. “About a proposal of marriage.”

* * *

Shortly after the earl left James’s study, there was another knock at his door. This one was quick and anxious, and he knew it was not his butler. “Enter,” James said from the chair at his desk.

The door swung open and his sister, Lily, swept in with an almost musical turn to close the door behind her. Sometimes she reminded him of a leaf floating in unpredictable directions on an invisible breeze.

“Oh, James, how can I ever thank you?” she blurted out, before he had a chance to even say good day to her. He rose from his chair, and she crossed the room and wrapped her slender arms around his waist.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

“You know what it’s about. You are the best brother in the whole entire world.”

“I honestly don’t know—”

“Lord Manderlin! You sent him away!”

James felt a slight tremor of unease. “Ah, the earl. You saw him arrive?”

“Yes, I was in the front parlor when he came to the door, then I hid in the servants’ corridor! Mother would have a fit if she knew!”

“You didn’t need to hide in any corridor, Lily. You are only eighteen, and I am not a proponent of child brides.”

“But Mother will pressure me. She can’t help it, and I don’t want to tell her that I don’t have to do what she says because you say so. That will only make her angry.”

“It doesn’t matter if she’s angry, Lily. If she has a problem with it, she can speak to me.”

“She never will.”

“Precisely,” he said. “Even if she did, I would tell her that you are too young.”

Lily rolled her eyes heavenward. “I am not too young, James. I simply don’t wish to marry a dull man like Lord Manderlin.”

“You have some growing up to do, Lily. One day, you’ll see that a dull man is often the better choice.”

There was shock in her eyes as she stared at him. “Not you, too, James. I never thought you would turn out like Mother.”

He moved to the window. “I’m not like Mother. I only want you to be safe. You of all people should understand that.”

Lily sighed. “I don’t want to be safe. I want to live. I want passion.”

He gave her a look of warning, to remind her that the world was not always a kind place for people who were carried away by their passions. “No, you don’t.”

“I do. And I will have it.”

Just then there was another knock at the door. “Come in,” James said.

The hinges creaked and his mother entered and stood there, hands clasped tightly in front of her. The cold, hard lines of her face were deeply drawn.

What more today? he wondered, feeling tired all of a sudden.

Lily backed away from him. “Hello, Mother.”

The duchess did not reply. She merely stood in the doorway, wringing her hands together, and James knew she could not hold in whatever was on her mind today.

He turned to his sister. “Lily, why don’t you go and tell Cook that I will not be dining at home this evening. I have an appointment with my solicitor.”

Lily, all smiles gone, nodded and walked slowly from the room.

James went to the window and looked out again. “What is it, Mother?”

The woman closed the door behind her and moved fully into the room. She gazed around her as if nothing were familiar, probably realizing, James thought, how long it had been since she’d been in this study.

“I came,” she replied, “because I wish to make it known to you that I am not in agreement with what happened just now.”

“Not in agreement?” he repeated, feeling almost amused by his mother’s way of telling him that she was furious, and wildly so, that he had sent the Earl of Manderlin away.

Still, he supposed it was quite something that she was here to voice her opinion at all when she despised open confrontation of any kind. She usually got what she wanted through her intimidating manner—which was never more intimidating than when she said nothing. It was like she possessed an invisible hand that could clutch one around the neck and squeeze out one’s resolve, without seeming to have been involved in the decision at all.

James faced her squarely. “You don’t know what happened just now.”

She shuffled her shoulders the way she always did when she felt she was being opposed. “I know that he came here to declare himself to Lily and you did not allow it.”

They glared at one another for a moment. “I did not forbid it. I simply did not recommend it.”

“The Earl of Manderlin would be an excellent match for Lily,” she said. “His property is most auspicious, and his family name is respected at court. He may not run in your ‘fast’ set, but the Queen has a high regard for him.”

James moved away from the window. “Lily is practically a child. She is not ready for marriage.”

“What a young girl is ready for, or wishes for, is not always what is best for her. It is up to you as head of this family to see that the best decisions are made for her.”

“Like they were made for you?”

His mother’s lips pursed. “May I remind you that I am the Duchess of Wentworth, and we are one of the greatest families in England.”

There was much he could have said to dispute that high opinion she’d always clung to, but he felt no need to repeat what he’d already said years ago, when he was young and full of fury and less able to control his impulses. His mother knew well enough what he thought of his family’s greatness.

“The Season has only just begun, Mother, and Lily is young. She has time to look around. That’s all I have to say on the matter.”

The dowager was quiet for a moment, and James wondered why she was not leaving. Then: “I understand you went walking with the American yesterday.”

“Ah, the American,” he replied. “Is that what’s really bothering you?” He strolled to his desk and picked up a letter at random. He glanced casually at the salutation.

The dowager took a few steps toward him, and he looked up to see a mixture of frustration and fear in her eyes. Fear of the unthinkable. “It’s not serious, is it? You wouldn’t actually consider…”

He did not reply to her inquiry. He merely watched her until she was forced to continue what she had begun.

“She’s American, James.”

“I’m quite aware of that.”

“From what I hear, her paternal grandfather was a bootmaker—a bootmaker!—and her maternal grandfather—oh, good gracious, I can barely even speak of it. He worked in a slaughterhouse. He butchered sows.” She waved her arm through the air. “This appearance Miss Wilson has—the Paris gowns and the jewels and the charming smile—it does not cover up what she truly is beneath it all. She is nothing more than the daughter of a pauper and she is here as a… oh, what is that vulgar phrase?… a gold digger.”