Trapping a Duchess (7 page)

“We had an opportunity to speak in your study, Your Grace,” she said, sounding as hostile as a cornered animal.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “An opportunity of which I sorely regret not taking advantage, I assure you.” Grip unyielding, he opened the wooden door and yanked her through. Her fingers squeezed his—hard. She was strong for a woman, but no match for him. He dragged her over to his carriage, gaze sweeping the area to ensure their exit was not noticed. “Get in.”

“I am not going anywhere with you,” she said adamantly, trying again to dislodge her hand. When she couldn’t break free, she dug her heels in like a child.

She slowed his momentum, but quickened his ire. “I will not ask you again, Sophie. Either you get inside willingly or I will throw you in there bodily.”

Her nostrils flared with heavy, annoyed breaths that coincided with the rise and fall of her chest. “You did not ask me before, you self-righteous arse,” she countered, but entered the coach with a huff. Climbing in after her, he pulled the door shut. Two raps on the roof and the coach lurched into motion.

“People will wonder where I’ve gone,” she said, folding her arms over her heaving bosom. “My brother will be furious when I tell him you forced me to leave the ball with you. Alone.”

“Your brother knows exactly where you are,” he said, finding a perverse sense of joy in her outraged expression.

“You loathsome, conniving bastard.”

He shrugged. She caught him off guard the other day at Tolland Place, even if it was by mistake. Knowing he could do nothing in the middle of a crowded ballroom, she took the opportunity to push him to his limits during their waltz. From this point on, he would set the rules of play; she would not have the upper hand again.

Arms drawn against her body, she was closed up tighter than a newborn babe. Her posture screamed at him to leave her alone, but he couldn’t. The woman infuriated and aroused him, especially with her cheeks colored by the heat of anger, lips pressed together with aggravation and eyes sparking hot with resentment. The need to own her defiance rocked him. After being jilted at the altar, after seven long years of putting her out of his mind, he wanted her. Her hauteur inflamed him in spite of, or perhaps because of, their history together.

She sat insolently across from him, seemingly immune to the heat that all but engulfed him. Hiding his discomfort beneath a mask of aloofness, he brushed an invisible piece of lint from his coat sleeve. “I could not speak with you when you came to me,” he began in a calm tone, “because I was not prepared to do so.” Giving into the need for movement, he raked his hand through his hair, the motion betraying the demeanor he wished to present. Damn it, he felt tousled. Every blasted nerve in his body was standing on end. And that wasn’t the only reaction he was having to her, much to his pride’s dismay. His eyes wandered down her slender body, committing every slope and curve to memory, stopping at various intervals so his mind could deliberate the heated skin beneath the cool blue silk.
The softness between her thighs
.

“I had hoped to have time to settle in before meeting with you,” he continued, forcing his thoughts to the conversation at hand. “Running into you like that on my first day home was difficult for me.” That was the bloody understatement of the year. He ran his hands down his face and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. What a mistake to assume he would return to find her groveling; that his pride would be soothed by remorseful words. Her apology had done naught but rip a fresh gash in the barely healed wound. He felt raw and vulnerable, feelings he was not accustomed to and whose blame lay entirely at her door. Only she had the power to awaken such chaos in him.

She, who stared out the window with lips pursed in annoyance. At least that much hadn’t changed. There was no telling how long she would make him wait for a response; she was as stubborn as he and would not utter a word until ready, until her words were perfectly planned. After two solid minutes of silence, however, the tightly wound rope of his patience unraveled. He was eager to have matters between them settled, fast, before he did something he regretted.
Like taste her soft lips
. “Tell me something, Sophie,” he said in a low voice. “Did you ever consider that I might have let you out of our engagement had you mentioned that was what you wished?” He thought he saw her wince.

“I would have, you know,” he continued. “I never wanted your unhappiness. I wanted only. . .” He shrugged.
Why the devil are you bearing your soul while she half-listens
? Giving up, he turned his gaze out the window, staring at his angry reflection as he pondered the woman in question.

“I made a mistake.” The faint words drifted over him, a regretful whisper. Glancing back, he found her still staring out the window, but a tear was making its way down her cheek. “I was seventeen and I felt trapped. I saw no other way out.”

“I would have helped you,” he said, forcing a cool voice and resisting the urge to console her. Difficult when his body was aching to be closer to hers, obsessed with the thought of touching her skin, of how she would feel, how she would react. Again, he pushed the thoughts away. They needed closure, which neither consolation nor exploration encouraged.

Fluorescent blue eyes pierced his, dubious as her expression. “You say that now, Your Grace, but you were a prideful boy of five and twenty at the time. You would not have suffered such a blow without demanding a fight.”

Andrew let out an annoyed sigh. She was right, of course. He had not wanted to let her go even after she had jilted him. Ever intangible, the word
love
wafted about in his mind. Ignoring it, he pressed on, determined not to relive the past, but to establish the future. “Simon tells me he has requested that you choose a husband by the end of the season.”

“He doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘request,’ either,” she said bitterly.

“He is forcing you?”

“He claims it is past time.”

Yet not at all what she wants
, he noted, watching her gloved hands wring together. He braced his arms against the seat to stop his own from reaching out. “Perhaps he is right. We are grown men and women. It is time to decide what we want for our lives.”

She rolled her eyes. “I knew what I wanted years ago.”

“And still, you behaved like an impetuous child.”

“You are just like my brother, a bloody hypocrite. Tell me, at what age does a woman get to make choices of her own? How grown must I be before I can forgo deferring to the wisdom of men?”

Eyes narrowed, he leaned forward, daring her to look away. “As long as you refuse to behave with maturity, the answer will be the same. Never.”

She matched his pose. “So, I am a child for not bending to your will?”

If she were truly concerned about self-preservation, or if he repulsed her, would she be leaning into him in so provocative a manner? The thought had him rock hard and wanting her with a fervor nearly impossible to restrain. “Your actions affect those around you,” he snapped, irritated that he could not keep his wayward mind focused on their conversation.

Her condescending laugh echoed through the carriage. “Affect who? You, who have no feelings for me at all? What do you care of my choices? They have no effect on your life.”

“I see your choices in my sister’s actions. Your behavior reflects upon her directly, as you well know. Alexandra looks to you for guidance.”

With the haughtiness of a queen, she stared down her nose at him. “Alexandra is a woman in her own right. She neither heeds my advice nor seeks it, except when you behave in your typical autocratic manner.”

“She is impressionable,” he growled, exasperated that she was once again steering the conversation.

“She is no such thing, you fool,” she countered with equal intensity. “She allows you and the rest of the world to see only what she wishes. Exactly as you do.” Her words were as fierce as the disdain in her eyes. “If she has determined to break free of your tyranny, you have only yourself to blame.”

Moving to her seat in a flash of anger, he grabbed her by the arms, yanking her to him. Had she been anyone else, the twist of anger in his face would have silenced her, but she was Sophie, and she was foolish, and so met his gaze without intimidation.
Bloody minx
. “I suppose it was me who convinced her that she will find freedom in life as a spinster? Never to wed, never to bear the children we both know she wants!”

Her face flushed with a deep shade of anger. The only thought in his mind at that moment was,
she is absolutely glorious
. Refusing to take orders from his brain once they had her in their grip, his fingers drifted over her skin. “This has nothing to do with your sister,” she whispered, wiggling her arms in an attempt to break free. He didn’t let her, couldn’t have done even if the penalty was an eternity in hell. His lips were less than an inch away from hers, close enough to feel the warm, frustrated puffs of her breath across his mouth. She smelled of lemonade and strawberries, of champagne and flowers and soap and
woman
. Her breasts brushed against his coat. In the depths of her heated stare, there was a flicker of desire.

Shaken, he released her, moving to the other seat. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to wipe the image away. When he glanced up at last, she was staring out the window, a marble statue of annoyance. Her lips, pressed thin, barely moved as she spoke.

“Is that why you brought me here? To lecture me on the perceived follies of your sister?”

He realized he needed to end this, whatever it was,
now
, before it spiraled out of control. “No, it is not. I intend to marry,” he said, watching to gauge her reaction. “This season,” he added when her response wasn’t immediate.

“Of course you do.”

“I do not wish for matters to be awkward between us,” he added, unable to stop his gaze from searching her face, though had no idea what he expected to find.

“More awkward, you mean.” Her breathy sigh drifted over him, tingling his skin. “I understand, Your Grace, really I do. And I accept that our lives must move forward. I concede that your path and mine lay in opposite directions. The only part I have difficulty accepting is that when all is said and done, I risked everything and accomplished nothing. Simon and mother are determined to see me wed, as is everyone else in the ton, and so I shall have no say in the matter.” She let out a small, defeated laugh. “After seven years and surviving a scandal, I have not moved an inch.”

Andrew leaned forward and, against his better judgment, took her hand in his. “Perhaps you are further along than you think,” he said, his lids sliding closed against his will. Her scent teased his senses. “I know you worried about my return. Are you not encouraged that we have convinced the gossips all is forgiven?”

“I don’t give one fig what the gossips think.”

He shook his head, thinking about how damned stubborn she could be. “So, their scrutiny means nothing to you? I find that difficult to believe. I know you care for your reputation, or you wouldn't have worked so hard to rebuild it.” She shrugged, but did not deny it. A soft chuckle escaped him. “We have nothing left to prove. The next time we meet, this tension between us will be gone. ” If only he could convince himself it were true.

“But things will never be the same,” she whispered as her eyes met his. He nodded and she removed her hand, placing it underneath her free one. His point, he could see, was taken. The camaraderie they had shared in their youth would never return. At best, they would be passing acquaintances. “Am I to leave the room whenever you enter, then?” she asked, a bare hint of a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. Not quite teasing, not quite serious, it was utterly arousing.

Taking the olive branch she presented, he offered a conciliatory smile of his own. “That will not be necessary, I am certain. I have complete confidence we can remain friendly while pursuing our individual goals.”

She chuckled. “All right then, Your Grace.”

Andrew
, he thought, looking away.

“Let us let bygones be bygones.” He nodded in grim approval, attributing the tightness in his chest to the tension of the conversation. They rode silence for a few minutes more before the coach slowed to a halt. “Where are we?” she asked, peering through the window.

“A block away from the Alfred’s. Simon had your coach meet us so that you could return without suspicion. Unless you would prefer I drop you at the front steps?”

She laughed and the light sound caused every muscle in his body to clench tight. “I appreciate the gesture,” she said with a grateful smile.

The door opened and she bolted down the steps, making haste to her brother's conveyance. She entered without a backwards glance. As his carriage set into motion, Andrew leaned his head against the squabs, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to relax.

His driver’s instructions were clear. Follow to ensure Sophie arrived back to Lord and Lady Alfred’s, then head to White’s. There, Andrew would meet up with Simon to disclose the details of the conversation. It was the price Simon demanded for allowing the unchaperoned ride.

Andrew would leave out the part when they were close enough to kiss. And he definitely wouldn't mention how much he desired her. From now on, he would think of her as a nun or a mean-spirited governess with missing teeth and a wide berth. Especially since not thinking about her was going to be impossible.