Trapping a Duchess (29 page)

Sophie, who did not rely on him financially or physically, was wholly connected to him on an emotional level. Her soul was tied to his in ways deeper than she could accept or even fathom. Andrew intended to strengthen the bond in that grain until she came to terms with her feelings, until she could not imagine a life other than the one he offered; then, and only then, would he revisit the subject. By the time that part of his plan had played out, he intended for her to be amenable to anything he wished so long as they were together. In his mind, one step led to another. God only knew what thoughts she had on the matter. Her distrust was only one of the obstacles he faced. If she caught on that he was courting her, albeit in a rather underhanded manner, she would end things with him.

He undid his cuff links and began unbuttoning his shirt, another heavy sigh breaking from his lips. With Sophie, timing was everything. He donned his nightclothes then wandered over to the window. The lawn below was bathed in moonlight, the windows dewy from a misty rain. He stared, unseeing, into the night until a shadow moved across the lawn. Recognition overruled alarm. This was no criminal searching for a house to rob, it was the indifferent and slow moving figure of a man with everything on his mind yet nothing to lose.
Gabriel
.

Andrew tugged on a robe and headed downstairs, reaching the bottom of the staircase just as his brother opened the front door. “Evening, brother.”

Gabriel looked up. His bruises had not faded completely, but were much lighter. He held out his hand, offering a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Andrew asked as he took the missive.

“The announcement of my arrival. You did not forget I was coming, did you?” Wry humor flickered in the black depths of his eyes.

Andrew chuckled as he shook his head. “Of course not. Do you have time for a drink?”

“Only if you have something other than brandy.”

“I’m sure I have something worthy of your palette.” He opened the door and stopped in his tracks. Alexandra was seated in his chair, feet on the desk as she sipped a glass of wine and gazed out the window.

She turned, snatching her feet to the ground. “Sorry, Drew,” she said quickly. “I was. . .” She stared past his shoulder in disbelief. “Gabriel?”

Andrew realized the volatility of the situation the instant Gabriel's name left her lips. In retrospect, he should have informed Alex the moment Gabe arrived on his doorstep, house party and injuries be damned. He suddenly felt like the largest arse for not telling her sooner. She was, after all, and adult and not a child. A woman grown, Sophie’s voice reminded, even as Alex set her glass down with a thump, sloshing a bit of wine onto his papers.

She darted into Gabriel's arms. “Oh, my goodness, it is you!” she said as she plastered herself to him. “Heavens, it’s been almost two years since you’ve been home! When did you arrive? How did you. . .what happened?” she whispered as her hands drifted over the fading yellowish-green marks on his face.

Gabriel took her hands and squeezed. “Took a tumble stepping out of the carriage. It was nothing, really. But look at you. You look splendid, Alexandra. I swear you’ve grown an inch since I saw you last.”

She did not smile. “You were injured on one of your missions.” Her intelligent gaze darted Andrew’s direction, as if seeking confirmation. “Oh, Gabriel!”

“Alexandra,” he said calmly, reaching out to take her hands.

She batted his away. “You simply must quit this ridiculous work,” she said, her voice low voice as she continued poking at his wounds. “If anything happened to you, I would be. . .” Her eyes welled up with tears.

Gabriel took both of her hands in his. “I promise to take better care of myself, Alexandra, but only if you promise to stop poking me.”

“Your promises aren’t worth a ha’ pence and you know it,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Gabriel gave Andrew a
how-do-I-put-an-end-to-this
look. “I believe you have a few things to take care of now that you’re no longer on house restrictions,” Andrew said, deciding for once to spare his brother. Gabriel mouthed a thank you.

“Must you leave so soon?” she asked, staring up at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said promisingly.

Alex scoffed, but her tone was playful. “Last time you said that was two years ago.”

“I know,” he said, then squeezed her hands one last time. “This time will be different.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead then, with a last nod to Andrew, exited the room.

Alex wandered back over to the chair behind his desk and resumed her seat. She swiveled around, grabbed her wine glass and shot him a saucy smile. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” he said as he took a seat in the armchair on the opposite side of the desk. He watched her profile for a long moment, wanting to apologize, but unsure how to begin.

“You don't have to say it. I know you were only trying to protect me.” Her entire body shuddered. “In truth, I appreciate your secrecy. I can't even imagine what he looked like when he got here.”

Andrew confirmed her suspicions with a nod. There was a soft rap on the study door a second before Charles’s voice rang through. The tension that pulled Alex’s posture straight did not pass Andrew’s notice.

“Oh. Apologies. Am I interrupting?” Charles said as he entered.

In the family reunion, Andrew had forgotten he had requested Charles join him. “Not at all,” he said, but Alex was already moving towards the door.

“Good night, Drew. Lord Winterley.” The curtsy she gave was stiff and overly formal.

“Lady Alexandra.”

She pulled the door closed behind her.

“I take it she’s aware of Gabriel’s return?” Charles asked as he poured himself a snifter of brandy then took the seat Alex had just vacated. “I ran into him on the way in.”

“Yes. Took it rather well, I think, considering what a fright he still looks. She mothered him just like Kate did.”

Charles chuckled and took a healthy swallow of his drink while Andrew’s thoughts drifted from Kate to Alex to Sophie. He wondered what Charles would make of his current situation. “Might I get your opinion?” Andrew asked, curious to hear his thoughts.

“Depends on what you're asking,” Charles said around the rim of his glass.

“What do you think of Lady Sophia?”

Wry humor danced in his eyes. “Aside from her outstanding speaking abilities?”

Andrew shot him a dark look. “I'm being serious.”

“She's beautiful, intelligent, well-bred and, if you want my honest opinion, more than a little bit spoiled. My guess is she could have her choice of husbands.”

“She doesn't want to marry.”

“Really?”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“The question isn't why do I, it's why don't you?”

Andrew shrugged, not ready to delve that far into details. “Let's move on to business, shall we?”

When it came to the women around them, some things were better left unsaid.

Chapter Seventeen

The beginning of the end of the season turned London into a whirlwind. The nights were packed with more parties than any one person could attend and hosts spent small fortunes to lure the highest ranking guests. The surest way to be elevated a notch above their peers was to throw a bash filled with so many of the ton’s elite that the party-goers were only able to breathe enough to comment about how much fun they were having. Lady Trumpley was no different. In addition to a ballroom capable of holding over a hundred guests, she offered the best assortment of miniature sandwiches and sweets, and a back garden private enough to tempt the racier set. Even those wholly immersed in the pursuit of pleasure were willing to make an appearance at the Trumpley ball, knowing they could fill their tummies before disappearing soon thereafter to enjoy the privacy of the garden.

As Sophie entered the ballroom, she glanced around in search of Andrew. She gave up being discreet long ago. Short of asking her hostess if she’d seen the man, she would locate him by any means necessary. She spotted him lounging against the wall, deep in conversation with his brother and Lord Winterley. Her journey over was interrupted by Alex and Lord Courtland. “Sophie!”

“What are the pair of you up to this evening?” she said, catching the look which passed between them. Alexandra laughed.

“Oh, go ahead, tell her,” Lord Courtland said, punctuating his sentence with an embarrassed look.

“Tell me what?” Sophie asked, surprised by Alexandra's happiness. It wasn't that Alex was a miserable person by nature, but ton functions tended to bring out her surly side. At the moment, however, she appeared genuinely amused.

“It's Abby,” Alex said before bursting into laughter.

“What about her?” she asked as Alex wiped away tears. Lord Courtland hung his head and mumbled something indiscernible. “I cannot hear you over the music,” Sophie said.

“I said, my sister and Lord Bottley have. . .well, they've—”

“They’ve run off to Gretna Green,” Alex finished, sounding absolutely tickled.

“Say it isn’t so!” Sophie gasped. “Why?”

“Oh, but that's the best part!” She gave Lord Courtland a nudge. “Go on, tell her.”

“Because Lord Pompous allowed his mother to convince him to press her to delay the wedding.”

“And I suppose you are the infamous Lord Pompous?” She pressed a gloved hand to her lips to hide her laughter.

“In the flesh,” he said drolly.

“How did your mother take it?”

“She's hied herself away to the country.”

“And what of you?”

“Me? I am not at all bothered. The wedding planning was killing me slowly. Now I can be spared the torture of knowing my last days would be spent fading away amongst lists of flowers and ruched lace.”

“Well, I think it's romantic,” Alex said, smiling. “And good on Abby for not giving in.”

“Agreed,” Sophie said, fanning herself. “Is it just me or is it stifling in here?”

“Like sardines in a can left to bake in the sun.”

“Foul man,” Alex teased.

“If we can't have fun with words, my dear, then I am certain the night is doomed,” he said, grinning.

“Here comes Eliza,” Sophie said, directing Alex's focus to the woman's approach.

“Good evening, ladies, my lord. Alexandra, I don't suppose you're ready to put those sewing skills to use, are you?” she asked, lifting her gown slightly up. “I've torn a hem.”

“Do you have a needle and thread handy?”

Eliza tapped her reticule and grinned. “I do.”

“Back in a bit,” Alex said, then followed Eliza to the ladies retiring room.

As soon as they were gone, Lord Courtland turned to Sophie. “I owe you an apology. I should not have stuck my nose where it did not belong.”

She waved off his apology. “Not at all, my lord. If anyone should be remorseful, it is I. All you were trying to do was help and I behaved like a boor.”

He smiled down at her. “I take it you were able to resolve the matter?”

She laughed, coloring a little. “Yes.”

“Then I am glad to hear it.” He lowered his voice. “I must be honest, I expected to find him by your side.”

“I had just arrived when I ran into you, my lord,” she admonished playfully.

“Ah,” he murmured. “I daresay that wouldn't stop me, were I in his shoes.”

“That is because you are constantly on the run from the parson’s tricksters,” she said with a teasing laugh. “Not to mention an insufferable mischief maker.”

His deep laugh joined hers. “Only with you, my lady,” he said before his gaze drifted to her right. Every nerve in Sophie's body registered Andrew’s presence seconds before she saw him.

“Good evening, Courtland. Lady Sophia,” he said, giving them both a courteous bow.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said, dipping low in an effort to hide her smile.

“Excuse me, if you will. I have the feeling my mother is beckoning.” He winked at Sophie, then walked away.

Sophie turned to Andrew, chuckling. “What he lacks in subtlety, he makes up for in kindness.”

“I will have to thank him for affording us a moment of privacy.”

“Indeed you shall,” she said, looking up at him from under her lashes. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, his words starting an ache between her thighs.

“You look in need of ravishing.”

“I was just thinking the same of you,” she said, sounding as breathless as she felt.

“You have a headache,” he said,
sotto voce
. “Perhaps you should head home.”

“I can't. I haven't been here long enough.”

“Then spend an hour socializing, but retire soon. And make sure you're alone.”

Forty-five minutes later, Sophie did just that, making her apologies to Alexandra before attempting the same with her mother. It took ten minutes to convince the woman it was merely a headache and not something which required an escort. As she climbed the staircase to her bedchamber, she considered the hour she spent without Andrew. The handful of minutes she spent by his side had felt so right that once he departed, she felt an acute sense of loss. The color drained from the evening and no matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t been able to revive it.