Trapping a Duchess (5 page)

Pushing the thoughts away, he wandered back to his desk and tried, unsuccessfully, to concentrate on the last of the estate papers. Every time he flipped the page, her defeated gaze and trembling lips stared back at him. Giving up all pretense of working, he headed upstairs to dress for dinner. Still, thoughts of her crowded his brain.
Would she tell Simon of their meeting
?

Andrew knew her brother would comfort her, ease her spirits with a few pretty words. He also knew Simon took her betrayal seriously and would waste minimal breath pandering to her complaints before reminding her that the consequences were hers alone to bear.

Despite an hour's passing, the thought brought Andrew no satisfaction. It was time for dinner. The occasion promised to be relaxed, which he needed after his run-in. He intended to go down, enjoy the evening and put the confrontation out of his mind. The meeting was, after all, done and over, regardless of how he handled the situation.
Christ
. He hadn't just handled it poorly, he'd been a complete bastard.

Judging by the jerky way Sophie all but catapulted into her carriage, she was angry, extremely so. The feeling would blossom once her mind was unclouded by other emotions. If he could rely on anything about her to have stayed the same, it was her temper. He had seen flashes of it when they were younger. Nearly a decade later, he imagined it a force with which to be reckoned.

What a mess, he thought as he slipped into his jacket. He dismissed Kenneth, his valet, and headed downstairs. At some point, he was going to have to deal with her. Before he did, he would need to martial his control. It would be no easy feat, since seven years had not soothed his pride.

And now he had the added problem of physical attraction.

Chapter Three

A week later Sophie stood in front of her wardrobe, deep in thought as she rummaged for the perfect gown to wear to the Alfred Ball. As it would be the first time she and Andrew would meet in public, all eyes would be upon them.

She pulled out an ice-blue silk and held it against her slender frame as she walked over to the mirror. The gown had watercolor rouleaux flowers and sleeves covered with a smattering of knots and buttons. Along with it came a matching silk wrap.
This will do nicely
, she thought with a rueful smile. “The perfect gown for my execution.”

Though Alexandra had assured Andrew's pardon, Sophie still dreaded the walk up to the guillotine, judgmental eyes of the ton watching her every move, waiting, perhaps even wishing, for her to blunder. Trapped in the ennui of their own lives, the gossip mongers were always on the hunt for a new scandal. The more elevated the participant's rank, the better. After all, the higher up they were the harder they fell.

Andrew was not merely a duke; he was
The Duke
, a man whose esteem held significant social importance. At the first sign of dissension, society would flock by his side. None among the capricious lot would risk rejection by siding with a ruined woman.

Sophie had no intention of giving them a choice. She would be graceful and appreciative, despite the anger that had flourished since their disastrous reunion. Frustration had transformed to raw fury on the carriage ride home. By the time she reached her bedchamber she'd had to lock herself inside, force herself not to go back and tell him what she thought of his pompous attitude.

She ignored the part of her that reminded she had no right to be angry.
No right
. His behavior was, if not at all mature, then at least expected. Still, she was aggravated by his inability to forgive her for what happened. They were betrothed before they could even spell the silly word. He had not loved her back then, nor had she loved him. Really, this was no different from a fight with a friend.
Right
, her conscience whispered,
a friend whom you humiliated in front of everyone. A friend who
. . . “Oh, shut up.” The voice in her head was becoming more annoying than ever.

Lying on her bed, dress still in hand, she considered the upcoming evening. Andrew would play the role of pardoner with his usual grace and charm. He need only flash one of his famous half-smiles and the ton would forget a scandal ever existed. If only he were so inclined.

Sophie envied him the ability to mask his emotions. She wore her feelings on her sleeve, which was the main reason she had requested his forgiveness in private. Settling for a public declaration of false peace felt too bitter a restorative to swallow, but swallow she must.

Gracie entered the room in a flurry, tossing a pair of shoes down on the floor even as she whisked the gown from Sophie’s hands. “My apologies, my lady. The shoemaker was putting the finishing touches on your slippers when I arrived to pick them up. I had to wait over twenty minutes!” She began shaking out the blue silk.

“Nothing to be done for it,” Sophie said, taking a seat in front of her vanity. With rushed movements that set Sophie's teeth on edge, Gracie began working on her hair. “We have plenty of time, Gracie. Please. . .slow down. My nerves are rattled enough as it is.” She closed her eyes and tried, fruitlessly, for a calming breath. Her lungs filled about halfway, then locked. Stupid lungs.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I know how hard this must be for you.” Gracie took her time finishing Sophie’s coiffure then helped her into her gown.

Before long, she was standing in front of the mirror, transformed. The silk hung from her body like an early morning mist and gave her normally sky-blue eyes an almost ethereal blue-gray hue. The effect, Sophie noted in awe, was nothing short of amazing. Twirling around, she caught her reflection, stunned anew at what she saw. Gone was the seventeen-year old girl who had run away from what she feared. The woman in the mirror was a confident, radiant goddess who refused to be defeated.

Tonight, Andrew would be facing her. Doubtless, he would expect, if not the girl from years ago, then at least the docile woman he encountered in his study. She let out a satisfied humph, thinking how much easier he would be to deal with if she caught him off guard.

A secretive smile crept over her lips. The night would be a triumph, both in putting to rest the scandal which had haunted her for years and in burying the girl who caused it. A nervous chuckle bubbled out of her mouth as she slipped her dainty feet into matching slippers. She reached for her reticule, then headed towards the door.

“Wait, my lady. You’ll not want to forget this,” Gracie said, holding out a necklace with a round, sapphire stone in the middle. Sophie’s mother had offered it to her for luck—and perhaps, also, as a trinket of persuasion. The piece had been, after all, the one her mother had been wearing when her father had made his grand proposal. Whatever the purpose, Sophie would wear it, because no matter her personal decision to take matters into her own hands, a spot of luck couldn't hurt.

Gracie finished clasping the chain around her neck and patted her on the back. “All set, my lady. You look a vision.”

“Thank you, Gracie,” Sophie said, softening her regal nod with a brilliant smile.

She made her way downstairs, reaching the bottom of the staircase just as Simon entered the hall. “Bloody hell, Sophie,” he said with a sly grin. “You plan on wearing that tonight?”

With a small laugh, she slipped on her gloves. “Obviously.”

Simon had not mentioned marriage again since their last meeting. In typical brother-sister fashion, it took only a day for their normal banter to resume. Sophie did not think for a second, however, that her arguments changed his mind. Knowing Simon, he was just biding his time until his next attack.

“That color does wonders for your skin, Sophie,” her mother Louise said as she slipped into place beside her.

“Thank you, mama.”

“Shall we, then?” Simon asked, offering an arm to his mother and leading them out the door to the waiting carriage.

Sophie climbed in behind them, nerves beginning to fray all over again. She just wanted the evening over and done.
Breathe, breathe, breathe
, she coached herself as Simon climbed into the seat opposite her. Her gaze drifted out the window as the carriage lurched into motion.

“Do not worry, Sophie,” Louise said, cutting through Sophie’s litany.

“Everything will be fine,” Simon said in a reassuring voice.

Sophie’s gaze jerked to his; the encouraging words came as a surprise. After all, Andrew was one of his closest friends. “I am terrified, Simon. Absolutely terrified.” She was as afraid of losing her temper and creating a scene as she was of anything else, but she kept that part to herself.

He chuckled. “As well you should be little sister. A healthy dose of fear may go a long way in tamping down that will of yours.”

“Simon.” He answered Louise’s groan with a laugh.

Sophie kicked him. “That was not a nice thing to say.” She smiled as she said it, though, knowing that he had accomplished what he set out to do. She tried the rest of the ride to hold onto that feeling, but the closer they got to the Alfred’s, the more her confidence flew out the window. Finally, the carriage rolled to a halt. She had to sit inside for another few minutes to summon her flagging courage.

“Come,” said Simon as he offered his hand to help her out. “You have put this off long enough.”

She shot him an aggrieved look but took his hand, grateful for the support. At the announcement of their names, she swore the room grew quiet. Her steps slowed. She was about to stop altogether when Simon gave her arm a subtle pinch and offered a conspiratorial smile. “Breathe.”

She searched the ballroom for any sign of Andrew, but saw none. After Louise’s required fifteen minutes of rather boring conversation with the dowagers, Sophie spotted Alexandra, surrounded by their normal menagerie of friends. She excused herself.

“Sophie!” Alex said, catching Sophie off guard with a hug as she whispered into her ear. “Drew is not coming.”

Sophie gave her a squeeze of acknowledgment. “I'm not sure if that's good to know or bad.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, pulling back to stare at her.

“The thought is both disturbing and comforting, like a child’s bedtime story filled with goblins and monsters.”

Alex laughed. “I am sure you have nothing to fear.”

They spent the next hour conversing with an interchangeable flock of friends and suitors. To Sophie's dismay, Lord Jackson approached, his greasy hair slicked back and tied in a queue. “May I request a dance?” he asked, his chest puffing out.

Despite the urge to refuse, Sophie surrendered her dance card, hiding her disgust as he penciled in his name. Curious to know which dance he claimed, she glanced down at the card as soon as he returned it. Naturally, he requested her first waltz. Then something curious caught her eye.
When had Simon scribbled his name next to her last dance
?

She didn't have time to ask him before Lord Bottley claimed her for the cotillion. Thankfully, the set was short and he escorted her to the refreshment table after. Alexandra was not standing where Sophie had left her and for a moment, she wondered if something had happened. She glanced left, then right, all the while smiling and chatting with her companion. She didn't find her until Lord Jackson led her out for the waltz. By that point Alexandra was on the opposite side of the dance floor, partnered with Simon.

Once the music began, Sophie did her best to keep her focus on her brother and Alex. When they were out of her sight, she turned her gaze over the onlookers; anything to keep from having to smell her pudgy partner’s malodorous breath.

“You dance like a dream,” Lord Jackson said, guiding her through a turn with all the grace of a small child.

Sophie responded with a muttered “thank you” and continued watching Simon and Alex as they glided gracefully across the floor, laughing and bantering as they always were.

“Your brother tells me you have an interest in Greek art,” Lord Jackson said.

Holding her breath, she nodded. She wasn't giving him any reason to keep talking, but still, his ruddy jowls continued wiggling. In an effort to hide her rapid intake of breath, she'd missed his question. Figuring she couldn't go wrong with a nod, she gave him a quick one and looked away.
This has to be the longest waltz in the history of waltzes
. She started counting the candles in the chandelier. When the last note sounded, she hurried back to her group.

To her dismay, Lord Jackson followed. “Perhaps I could call on you tomorrow? We can make arrangements to visit the museum.”

Alexandra’s arrival superseded the set down Sophie wanted to give the presumptuous lord. She settled for a quick glare instead. With an unintelligible grumble, he wandered off. “I'm happy to see at least one of us enjoyed that dance,” Sophie said, aiming for teasing but falling decidedly short of the mark.

“You wished to waltz with your brother?” Alex countered, linking her arm through Sophie's.

“I think he only danced with you so he could watch my torment.”

“Which doesn't say much about my dancing skills. Besides, even if that were true, he would never admit it. We spent the time arguing about Miss Austin's book. Again,” she said with a laugh.

“It must at least be comforting to know you can turn to him for stimulating conversation.” Alexandra and Simon had always gotten along famously. She was one of the few women around who could match wits with him and come out winning, a fact Simon admitted he admired. Sophie often envied the closeness of their relationship. She might have had the same thing with Andrew.
More, even
. She pushed the thought away.