One Day for a Valet

Chapter 20

Depending upon which child you considered, the following day was thick with either anticipation or dread. Hundreds of stately torches surrounded the veranda, weaving through the garden paths in preparation for the crowds that would soon descend for the first ball at Northam Hall in five years. Despite the privacy that would be ensured for Zachariah, he had retreated from the company of his family and from every indication that anything unusual would take place eight hours hence. Nora, who was too young to attend the ball, was watching the activity and sighing dramatically with equal vigour.

Rather than trying and failing to maintain the children’s attention in their studies, Sofia had given them the day off.

On the veranda, Sofia and Nora sipped on their second cups of tea while Violet pushed away a plate of biscuits to tinker with a broken music box. Consumed by her task, she seemed to notice neither Nora’s sighs nor the servants’ scurrying as they adjusted flowers and hung long satin drapes. Sofia couldn’t repress the smile that tugged at her lips as she imagined Gabriel bent in concentration over that same music box as he broke it, likely only hours before.

“You’ll have plenty of years to dress in fine gowns, Nora,” Sofia reassured.

Nora made a face. “I don’t give a wit about fancy gowns, but I do love to dance!” Leaping from her chair, she did a little jig, then shrieked as she backed into the large smiling form of Oliver, who grasped her by the hand and spun her around.

“You’ve done it now, Mr Lioni. Nora doesn’t allow dance partners to escape once they’ve begun,” Violet mused without raising her eyes from her work.

“Quite all right. I think I remember a few steps.” He bowed to Nora, then tugged her into a lively waltz around the veranda. Nearby servants paused in their work, captivated by Nora’s beaming smile and the musical giggles echoing across the garden. Her plait whipped about her shoulders with every turn. “It’s been years since I’ve had such a charming partner. Not since your governess wore the tread off my dancing shoes.” Sofia smiled at his words.

“You’re much friendlier when you aren’t discussing politics,” Nora said.

Oliver threw his head back with a great booming laugh. “Si, I suppose I am. The way I behaved last night…” He shook his head. “It was poor manners to bait your papa. Aristocrats bring out the worst in me. Still, that is no excuse, and I do beg your pardon, my lady.”

Sofia struggled to keep the surprise from showing on her face. Not that concealing her reaction really mattered. Chickens could be launched from military cannons and the duchess would remain engrossed in her task… actually, she might take note of the situation long enough to rescue the chickens.

An ugly, unwelcome thought marred the carefree moment. As it had once before, the idea that Oliver was deploying his charm as part of a greater game, gaining the Ansons’s trust in order to access the old duke’s paperwork, had slithered into Sofia’s thoughts. She tried to push it away but could not.

She studied Nora and Oliver objectively as they swept about the veranda, Nora chattering animatedly while Oliver listened with rapt attention, as he had listened to Sofia when she was a girl. If his intentions with Nora were underhanded, Sofia was fooled as well. He laughed again at something Nora said and smile lines, long absent from his face, flexed into view.

Other changes had crept over Oliver during his weeks of sobriety. Soft, quiet changes that no one in the world would notice save herself. His eyes, once dull, gleamed with merriment and curiosity. Shoulders that had curled with the weight of his grief, relaxed. It was as if renewed purpose had sparked to life within him, burning away the gloom.

“It’s difficult for me to picture Miss Lioni dancing,” Nora said. Sofia chuckled to herself.

Distracted by her observations, Sofia didn’t notice Christopher’s approach until he was beside her, his palm extended.

“Would you do me the great honour, Miss Lioni?”

Christopher’s cheeks were flushed from whatever activity had preceded his arrival, and he awaited her response with a bashful smile. She placed her fingers in his and rose, allowing herself to be pulled closer than was strictly appropriate. He danced with her around the veranda to a much slower imaginary tune.

“I plan to claim a scandalous number of your dances this evening, Miss Lioni.”

“That would be difficult to do with me in the nursery with Nora and you in the ballroom.”

Violet’s head shot up. “Of course you must come, Sofia! We are near enough to the same size that one of my gowns can easily be altered. I should have thought of it myself.”

Sofia shook her head. “My place is upstairs with Nora.”

“My place is in Gabriel’s dressing room with his cravats, but I’m being made to attend.”

Sofia let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s different. You and the duke are friends. And I wouldn’t be comfortable crushed into a ballroom teeming with the aristocracy.”

“Neither would I,” said Violet with a wry smile. She laughed and set down the newly repaired music box. “I think you will find the guest list to be decidedly more tolerable than that.” She met Sofia’s gaze with an impish grin. “Say you’ll come, please.”

Christopher leaned close, his warm breath wafting across the curve of her neck. “Yes, Sofia, say you’ll come.” Heat crept up her throat at the double entendre, and she might have thought the phrase incidental had he not adjusted his grip, pulling her body fractionally closer. The hand he’d placed on her waist slid scandalously close to the swell of her backside.

“Oh, all right. I’ll come.”

Christopher made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat and tightened his grip. “Good. Do you have time for a walk?” His playfulness vanished. “I have something I would like to discuss.” Christopher’s eyes slid meaningfully in Oliver’s direction, where her brother was bowing over Nora’s hand at the close of their dance.

Sofia nodded, instantly alert.

“Oliver, I’m going to stretch my legs and walk with your sister. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I don’t want to risk straining something in a quadrille. Will you be all right here with the ladies?”

“If you’re asking if I plan to dash off to the sideboard the moment you turn the corner, the answer is no. But see that you don’t wander too far.”

Christopher fell into step beside Sofia, heading in the direction of the apple orchard. “Your brother and I spent the morning in town, paying off some old gambling debts he had accrued.”

“With what money?”

Christopher raised an eyebrow.

“I see.” Shame curdled in her stomach. “I haven’t spent any of my wages. I will pay back the balance once I have more.” A breeze that should have felt warm kicked through the errant strands of Sofia’s hair, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

Christopher shook his head. “Keep your money, Sofia. That’s not why I’m telling you. I didn’t like the look of the men or the way they spoke. One of them said that he knew Oliver was good for more money than the debts we repaid, and they know where he is, Sofia. I want you to be careful.”

She tried to shrug off his comment, but his eyes held fast to hers, unblinking. Brackets of worry appeared at the corners of his mouth. “I mean it, Sofi. Even if you think I’m overreacting. Humour me, please, and promise me you will be careful. Don’t wander off alone, even on the grounds.”

Sofia felt her skin prickle at his serious expression. “I will be careful,” she murmured.

Some of the gravity drained from his face and he slid his hand down to lace his fingers with hers. “Your brother swims every morning in the lake and works side by side with Davies all day. They’ve begun plans for a grove of olive trees, did you know? Davies wants to meet with Gabriel tomorrow afternoon to show him the sketches. I’ve been thinking that we could move Oliver into the guest quarters in another week or two, long enough to get the cabin up to scratch. He did a terrible job with demolition—scarcely broke a thing—but it needs a proper kitchen at the very least if he’s going to live there.”

Christopher glanced up to see Sofia watching him warily, and some of his boyish enthusiasm fell away. “Of course, if you think he should remain in the cabin with company a bit longer?—”

“No. I’m glad to hear that he is making plans… pleased to see him doing so well.”

Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I can tell from the way you’re punishing your lower lip between your teeth and clenching your fist in your skirts how very glad you are.”

She released the choking grip on her skirts but said nothing.

“I will look after your brother, Sofia, but he is a grown man and he cannot remain tethered to my apron strings forever. This is his accomplishment. His battle to fight and win… and Oliver knows that. We can begin work on the cabin after the ball. I spoke with Gabriel about it this morning.” He looked off to the horizon then back again. “Then again, I’m not sure he was listening to a single word that I was saying. Can you keep a secret?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The duchess is with child.”

Countless emotions were packed into the silence that followed, and when he resumed speaking, his wariness nearly matched her own. “Gabriel is nearly certain, and even in my limited experience, I am wont to agree with his assessment.” He cocked his head to the side, watching her. “And you know something.” The hint of a smile pulled at his mouth. “How long have you known?”

“Not long. And she’s tormented at the thought of telling him,” Sofia said.

“Understandably so. His fear stands between him and any enjoyment of it.” He tightened his clasp on her hand, beginning to walk again. “You rather remind me of Gabriel sometimes, resigned to the certainty that any joy you find will slip away. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me… feel it when you touch me.” He drew in a long breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it all at once. “I love you, you know, and that’s never going to change.”

He didn’t pause in his steps or meet her eyes, but his free hand came up to nervously smooth at his cowlick. “There. That wasn’t so difficult,” he added. “And the next ten thousand times I say the words should only get easier.” He chuckled in the direction of his boots. “Everyone else in this bloody house knows, so I’m certain it comes as no surprise.”

Sofia opened her mouth to respond, but no sound would emerge. Even as she knew it to be true, had experienced his devotion like the heat from a fire, she still struggled to imagine a world where that flame would not one day flicker away, leaving naught but cold ash and the distant memory of comfort within its charred remains. Life was too difficult to sustain love. Every gust of wind drained love’s fervour until a well-placed boot could easily extinguish the last halfhearted spark. Still, she could picture Christopher with his back to the wind, a living shield to protect the flame. If there was a man alive worthy of her faith, it was him. But even if her brother held his tongue, the lie that lived between them could not remain harmless for long.

Shewas the wind.

She hated the damage she would inflict upon this man, hated the clarity with which she could see the moment when his ardour would cool. And most of all, she hated the knowledge that despite all this, she was helpless not to love him anyway.

He stopped mid-step, a quizzical frown marring his perpetual optimism, and he reached to smooth the lines of her brow. “No. Not that, Sofia. Tell me you don’t love me or that I am ridiculous, but I cannot be the one to put that expression on your face. Is it so terrible to hear that you’re loved? This is not a transaction at the market. I ask for nothing in return. You keep your coin and receive a choice carving of Christopher in the deal.” He grinned at her wrinkled nose, and she relaxed into his familiar nonsense.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yes, well, I had to do something to combat that frown. The moment required extreme measures.”

She stepped closer and touched her lips to his. A soft kiss, precious in its brevity… much like their time together. She felt him settling deeper into her soul. Curling himself around her heart; like tree roots in the soil, he had blind faith that she would nourish him and that he would spread his branches and give her shade. Christopher saw a future that Sofia could only accept as a mirage.

Some men knew only how to take. Others baulked at receiving. Both came as easily as breath to Christopher. In and out in equal measure, as if there was no simpler concept to master. In and out, like the rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingertips. She felt its rhythm, memorised it as if she could make it her own.

“I should get you back to your brother. We’ve been away too long as it is.”

“You are worried he will find his way to the sideboard.”

“I’m worried his fist will find its way to my face if he suspects I’ve done more than kiss you.”

“Then after we’ve put in an appearance at the ball, while everyone is otherwise engaged…” She let the remainder of her sentence trail away and flicked her gaze to his.

“Sofia.” He groaned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I want you too much. Christ, how I want you.” His grip tightened where his hands rested upon her hips and she felt an answering rush of desire. “And if it were only about pleasure, it would be enough to carry on as we have. But hurried caresses and a stumble towards mutual orgasm are paltry substitutes for the intimacy I want from you.” His arms tightened around her. “I want to love you with my hands and body and heart until every part of my soul is intertwined with yours.”

Sofia’s pulse skittered through her veins as if her heart had grown tired of her cowardice and caution and would find its way to Christopher, with or without the rest of her. Stupid heart. Stupid, stupid, impossible life.

She slid one hand around his neck and played her fingertips through his thick hair. “You love me. You are determined to marry me. Have you so little faith in your eventual success that you are unwilling to anticipate those vows?”

He lurched backwards. “Yes! No! Christ, Sofi, sometimes I can’t decide if I want to shake you or kiss you senseless.” He let out a frustrated sigh as she eased back into the warmth of his body, his muscles tensing against her.

“Have you not been with a woman, Christopher?”

“Of course I have! I’m not Gabriel.” He grumbled the last. “But not the woman I wish to wed. It’s a matter of respect, Sofi. For Gabriel, for your brother, and, most importantly, for you.”

Sofia drew back, creating just enough space between them that she could ease a hand up to his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart clambered wildly. She knew it would take very little to change his mind, and she wanted this. Wanted him. But pushing Christopher to defy his conscience when she knew their relationship would be fleeting felt more deceitful than Oliver stealing the dukedom from beneath Gabriel’s feet. While she would look back at their lovemaking as precious, he would experience it as another lie. The thought brought a physical ache to her chest, immediately dousing her lust.

“Not my room then,” she said. “The billiards room. No bed, and I promise to guard my virtue like a good little English girl.” Despite the jest, she meant it. She would not strip his honour from him. If that was all she could leave him with, it would have to be enough.

“You are the furthest thing from a good little English girl.” She felt his laugh as a rumble against her palm.

“Si, that is true. But for you, I will be.” Sofia lowered her eyes, overcome with shyness even before she loosed the words. “To hell with my brother’s feelings and your duke’s, but your feelings I will honour.”

She could feel the tension leave his body, once again granting her his unshakeable faith. A gift that both mended and tore at her heart.

He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then lingered in the place behind her ear that never failed to send a zing of pleasure down her spine. “The billiards room then. Midnight? And I will coax as many consecutive orgasms from your body as it can tolerate.” He nibbled leisurely, and she squirmed against the delicious caress of his tongue.

“So long as you stay far away from my maidenhead, sir, as I am not that kind of girl.” His laugh flooded her with warmth.

“Miss Lioni!” Nora’s voice offered only a brief warning before she stepped from behind an apple tree, then quickly covered her eyes with her hands, very obviously peeking between the gaps of her fingers. “Oliver—he said I should call him that—said that if you two were close enough to waltz, I should cover my eyes because you would be kissing and I am too young to know about that… but telling me that did somewhat defeat the purpose of me not knowing. Also, I see Papa kiss Violet all the time.” The last few comments she said more to herself than Sofia and Christopher.

Her hands dropped then, and she met them with a buoyant smile. “You were kissing, weren’t you? Look at the way Christopher is blushing! My goodness, his cheeks are as red as apples. Oliver said that would happen too!” She squeaked and bounced on her toes while Christopher covered his admittedly very flushed face with his hands.

Sofia smiled. It was hard to reconcile this bashful, light-hearted man with the assertive, talkative lover he became at the slightest provocation. She felt her own blush rise and looked away to hide the effects of her thoughts.

“I knew it! I told Zachariah that Christopher liked you!” Nora crowed in delight.

“All right, you.” Christopher waved the chattering child off. “Consider us retrieved. We’ll be just behind you.”

“Oh no. Oliver said you would say that too, and that I was to escort you back.” Nora tried and failed to look solemn. “I take my job very seriously.”

Christopher gave Nora an indulgent smile and winged his arm to the child, settling her fingers in the crook of his elbow before offering the other to Sofia. “Come along, Miss Lioni. Our escort awaits us.”