Trapping a Duchess (4 page)

Upon entering the study, he looked around, taking in the dark wood paneling and fading smell of tobacco and old books. He wondered if he would ever adjust to the fact that the room was now his. That, instead of sitting in the one of the intimidating armchairs lining the front of the desk, he would be comfortable seated in the extravagant leather chair on the opposite side, where his father had conducted his lectures and doled out his orders.

His visits home had been few since his father's passing, but with each new day and every 'Your Grace' he heard, he became more attuned to his position. He was the duke now. How well or ill it was perceived would impact his and his siblings' futures. After the debacle of his wedding, he had not returned home for close to a year. Once he did, he'd hidden his aggravation behind a mask of congeniality in an effort to satisfy the ton's curiosity. Once they saw the future duke had moved beyond the jilting, society did as well. Andrew counted on the fact that there was always another scandal waiting to happen and within a few weeks of his return, a new one emerged. The young Lady Hurley was caught kissing a stable boy. The gossip mongers, more vicious with young debutantes than they were with a peer, had transferred their rabid attention to her. From that point on, Andrew had been free.
Until now.

Returning to London to take his seat meant that talk would begin anew. The question in the back of everyone's mind, if not already forming on their lips, would be how he dealt with Sophie when they chanced to meet.

Over the years, Alexandra had laced her letters with snippets of information regarding Sophie's return. A sentence here, a thought there; how the Grandes Dames refused to let her relegate herself to spinster, how her re-emergence sent both society and her family on the marital warpath. The irony of the situation would have been comical had Andrew not been the one she jilted.

He blew out a frustrated breath. There was no time for maudlin reminiscing. On the desk sat a stack of estate matters an inch thick to go over. He would spend the time between now and supper putting a dent in them. A hefty bill from the modiste rested on the very top. As he perused the page, he poured himself a brandy. It seemed his younger sister had not outgrown her proclivity for the finest gowns while he was gone. And silk, of course, he noted in amusement as he dipped his quill and signed the document.

A soft knock sounded on the door. "Enter," he said, turning his attention to the doorway. Maddie toddled in bearing a tray laden with various meats and cheeses, sliced fruit and warm biscuits. "Ah, thank you, Maddie," he said as he shuffled the stack of papers around to make room.

She curtsied. "Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"

"I think this will do for the moment," he said, grinning around a mouth full of biscuit.

"Very good, sir."

Two hours and an empty tray later, the sound of feminine laughter caught Andrew's attention. He looked up, not daring a breath as he tried to make out the voices in the next room. His heart skipped a beat then took on the speed of a racing stallion.
It couldn't be her? Could it?
Surely, Simon or Alexandra would have informed Sophie of his return. He rose and concentrated but could not make out more than muffled giggling.
What if they hadn't told her?

His feet made the first move, dragging his body towards the door. With great hesitation, he pulled it open, peering down the hall before stepping out. As he headed to the right towards the green salon, his mind raced at what he might find there.
Did she look the same? Would she offer an explanation? An apology? Would he accept?

The laughter grew louder, his heartbeat faster. He reached for the knob, but did not turn it. He could have sworn he'd just heard his name. With a bracing breath, he gathered up his scattered wits and opened the door. His body registered Sophie's absence seconds before his mind did. He watched on in silence as Alexandra and her guest flipped through a fashion book.

Alexandra was the first to glance up, her laughter immediately smothered. "Andrew? Are you alright?" she asked, standing and moving towards him in a flash of yellow muslin.

He gave his mind an inward shake. "Yes," he said, pleased that his voice did not betray his unsettled nerves. "I thought I heard noises."

"Noises?" she asked, cocking her head.

Her brown haired companion stood and dipped a low curtsy. "Good afternoon, Your Grace."

"You are acquainted with Lady Abigail, aren't you?" Alexandra asked. "She is Lord Courtland's sister." At once, recognition dawned. Andrew had not seen her since she was a child, but was familiar the marquis. "Remember, I wrote that she would be spending time here during the season?"

His nerves easing, he moved forward to give her a proper greeting. "Of course. It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Abigail." He offered a dignified bow.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said, beaming. "Zachary sends his hellos as well."

"How is your brother?" Andrew asked, noting the stark difference between her timid stance and Alexandra's confident posture. She was unassuming, but pretty enough, and looked to be about eighteen.

"He is well. How very kind of you to ask."

"Abby and I were just looking over the newest fashion magazine," Alex said with a mischievous grin. "It seems Madame Dumont has once again found an acceptable way to lower the female bust line."

"Then I shall not ask the name of the modiste whose bill I just approved for payment."

Lady Abigail blushed, but Alex only laughed. "Scandalous! Excuse my brother, Lady Abigail. He is a man and therefore prone to lack of decorum." She gave him a scolding look. "You will be better behaved at dinner, won't you?"

"Indeed. For now, however, I shall leave you to your visit. Ladies," he said with a bow.

"Your Grace," Lady Abigail said, dipping once again.

Andrew pulled the door closed, sagging against it for a long moment as relief coursed through him. For now, at least, he was safe from Sophie and the emotional turmoil she stirred inside him. "Weston," he said, remembering that he had invited Simon to join him for supper.

"Yes, Your Grace," Weston said, emerging from the shadows as butlers were wont to do.

"Pray inform Maddie that Simon will be joining us for dinner. I assume Alexandra has already spoken for her guest."

"She has, Your Grace," Weston said. "I will inform Miss Maddie directly."

Andrew thanked him with a nod then started back down the hall. He was about to enter his study when the knocker thudded again. Knowing Weston was halfway to the kitchen, Andrew made the journey back down the hall and pulled open the heavy door.
And promptly forgot to breathe.

His body reacted in a rake's fashion, gaze sweeping down to drink in the curvy figure of a full-grown woman. Her hair was pinned up, wisps of honey-blonde framing her face. Widened blue eyes met his, crystal clear in spite of the surprise she'd just received.

The hell of his past was staring him in the face. And he wasn't the slightest bit ready to deal with her.

* * * *

Sophie was just about to bang on the door again when it opened. Frozen with surprise, she stood, hand suspended in midair, a perfectly formed '
o
' on her lips. At the flash of heat in his stare, every thought in her mind evaporated. Dropping her hand to her side, she dipped a small curtsy. "Your Grace," she said, the belated greeting faint and breathy and relaying none of the confidence she wished. "I wasn't expecting—"

"My sister is in the salon." Without another word, he turned his back on her and headed down the hall. As she entered and pulled the door closed behind her, the butler materialized to take her coat.

"Thank you, Weston," she said, unable to tear her eyes from Andrew's retreating form. He entered the study without a backwards glance, pulling the door closed behind him. Its firm click left no question as to his feelings. She was not welcome. Forgiveness was not an option. And she was in more trouble than she ever could have dreamed.

Her first instinct was to run out the door, into the next county or across the world even, but she knew it would do no good. She would have to face him, either now in his home or at some other time in some less convenient place. Assessing her options, she stood there for an uncomfortable minute, trying to decide whether to leave the house, go to Alexandra or follow him. With a few unconscious strides, she found herself standing in front of his study door, drawing a bracing breath as she rapped her knuckles against the heavy wood. No answer.
Perhaps he did not hear
? Determined, she rapped harder.

"One moment," his voice called out, the deep baritone shimmering over her like a warm caress.

Her stomach fluttered, her heart raced.
This is no time for nerves
, she scolded under her breath a second before the door opened. She'd reminded herself to breathe, but could barely remember how now that they were face to face. She could not reconcile the boy she left at the altar with the man who stood before her. His short brown hair was tousled, his lips were thinned. Long, manicured fingers wrapped around the door, revealing knuckles white from his tight grip.

"What do you want?" he asked as the muscle in his jaw worked.

His ill-mannered question raked her pride, but temper lent her the courage to find her voice. "May I have a moment?" she asked, forcing herself to hold his contemptuous gaze.
You can do this
, she coached herself.
He is, after all, only a man
.

"You may not, as a matter of fact. My solicitor is due to arrive at any minute." He looked ready to shut the door in her face.

She stepped closer, denying him the chance. "Please. I only need a moment."

His brown eyes glinted and he held her gaze for what felt like a hundred uncomfortable seconds. With great reluctance, he opened the door and waved her in. "Have a seat, then, and be quick about it." Though the invitation was grudging, she wasn't about to pass it up.

She wasn't certain which was more unsettling, the heat radiating off of him as she passed or the weight of his stare as it bore into her back. To hide her discomfort, she squared her shoulders. Taking a seat in the armchair in front of his desk, she waited for him to join her. Instead, he went to the liquor cabinet and poured a drink, then stared out the window. She stood, closing her eyes as she began. "I do not need to tell you why I am here." Her quiet voice sounded overly loud in the tense silence of the room. At his scoff, her brow furrowed, and her teeth dug into her lower lip. Steeling her spine, she continued. "I should first like to say that I am sorry."

"Your apology comes seven years too late," he said, gaze still focused outside.

She nodded her head in agreement, even though she knew he could not see. "Indeed it does. I apologize for that as well."

His sigh held the sound of surrender, but his rigid stance did not ease. "I do not wish for your apologies, Lady Sophia. They belong to a past I have no interest reliving."

She fought back her emotions. She was willing to swallow her pride and apologize, but refused to allow him to see her cry. "Why are you making this so difficult? We were friends of a sort before." Nearly a decade had passed, she thought. There were lesser penalties for the crimes of beggars.

"I am not the one making this difficult."

Her hands were wringing together. She forced them by her side. "I thought an apology or explanation would at least—"

"They are just words," he said, shrugging. "And serve no purpose save waste another breath."

His unfeeling tone and callous statement brought a rush of color to her cheeks. "I suppose I deserve that bit of cruelty." She swallowed hard against the anger constricting her throat.

Finally, he faced her, and his expression stole her breath. Anger, hatred, disgust; those were emotions she could deal with, but he was looking at her with the same apathy he would a stranger on the street. "It is not cruelty which drives me, Lady Sophia. Cruelty requires that I have feelings with regards to you. Let me assure you, I do not."

Pressing her lips together, she half shook, half nodded her head as her hands balled into fists at her side. "Of course you don't," she said, disgusted with herself for thinking otherwise.

"Goodbye, Lady Sophia."

The realization that he was dismissing her apology, dismissing her, clenched her heart tight as a knot of hopelessness settled in her stomach. If he treated her cruelly when they met in public, her hard-earned forgiveness would be useless. "Thank you for your time," she said, forcing her feet toward the door before her anger came tumbling out of her mouth. She could learn to endure his apathy, but she could not afford to have him as an enemy.

Her brisk pace carried her quickly to the barrier of the front door. She yanked it open before Weston could, not bothering to wait for her coat. Alexandra could bring it to her another time. At the moment, only one thought penetrated her wailing mind; leaving his home was as important to her as breathing.

* * * *

Andrew watched through the window as her carriage pulled away. Though he knew he could not avoid her forever, he had planned on seeking her out at a time of his choosing. Neither his mind, nor his pride, has been prepared for the ravaging beauty that showed up on his doorstep. Her voice alone, a sultry alto with the breathy tone of a courtesan, nearly brought him on his knees. Though he had given her his back, he watched her every move reflected in the window. The repentance in her sky-toned eyes, the worrying of her lower lip, the sheer earnest in her voice; all had the power to undo him, but he refused to allow them to.