Chapter One #2
Sophia straightened her shoulders. A young lady couldn’t even watch a terrible wig slide off its owner’s head and laugh so hard that lemonade comes out her nose without constantly being reminded of it.
“I wasn’t the only one,” Sophia protested.
“Even so. Behave. Or Mr. Hemming shall be your future. Warts and all.”
Sophia strode towards the refreshment table in frustration, making sure she was far enough away from her mother and Mara that she wouldn’t be seen as she snatched a glass of champagne from one of the liveried servants circling the ballroom.
She turned her head slightly to discreetly take a sip of the pale pink liquid, grinning as the bubbles tickled her nose.
Quickening her steps, Sophia ducked into a nearby alcove whose only other occupant was a large fern.
Draining her glass, far too quickly, she toyed with returning to Mama now that she was somewhat fortified, but caught sight of Lady Stafford heading in Mama’s direction.
Which meant Hortensia couldn’t be far behind.
More champagne was in order. Sophia spun towards the refreshment table.
Hortensia’s pink skirts appeared in the crowd, as she took Mara’s hand in greeting. Her head tilted in the direction of the refreshment table and caught sight of Sophia. Her pretty features immediately soured.
“I probably shouldn’t have burst into giggles when she claimed a woman gave birth through her belly button,” Sophia muttered. “But I’d never heard anything so stupid.”
Defiantly grabbing another glass of champagne, she turned in the opposite direction, and the breath halted in her lungs, as if all the air had been sucked out of the Perswick ballroom.
Oh. Oh. My.
She’d never thought to see him at a ball.
He rarely attended such events, possibly because, according to the gossips, he wasn’t invited.
Duke or not. Libertines, especially those of such sordid reputation, were usually to be found at gambling hells or other seedy locales.
Sophia had only seen him once before, falling off his horse in the park—in an utterly ducal manner.
Because in addition to his devastating masculine beauty, the Duke of Roxboro was reputed to be a sot.
Devastating indeed. Absolutely no exaggeration.
There was no mistaking Roxboro. Not with that careless mess of coffee-colored hair, the chiseled jaw that could cut glass, and those startling eyes.
Unmistakable.
Orbs a shimmering green, shot through with threads of silver. The combination the same hue as the sky before a violent storm.
Sophia nearly dropped the champagne when Roxboro’s gaze caught and held hers.
She raised the glass, fingers clutching the stem, to her lips, the sapphire bracelet clanking softly against the glass.
Roxboro raised his own goblet of wine in a silent toast, never once looking away.
Good lord, he’s…magnificent.
Wealthy. A duke. Known for his exquisite and expensive manner of dressing.
One could live comfortably for years on what one of Roxboro’s coats cost. Reputed to have four mistresses.
Prone to misadventure, most likely caused by his love of drink and propensity to haunt brothels and gambling hells.
Binson’s was said to be his favorite. An unapologetic libertine.
And he was…looking at her.
Sophia’s heart fluttered about wildly. A butterfly attempting to land. She drained the flute of champagne.
Roxboro deftly slid between a small circle of guests, ignoring their bowing and scraping in a bid to gain his attention, uninterested in their efforts.
The brilliant green eyes, with their gleam of gray, stayed focused on Sophia.
Impossibly handsome up close, Roxboro resembled one of the statues of Apollo Mama liked to populate the Canterbell gardens with, one that had now come to life and meant to speak to Sophia.
All of which led to a lightheaded, dizzy sensation.
Or it may have been the champagne.
“Your Grace,” Sophia whispered when Roxboro finally stood before her. She dipped into a wobbly curtsey, nearly toppling over. Not the fault of the champagne. Mara likened Sophia’s attempts at a proper curtsey to a seizure.
“Allow me, little dove,” he plucked the now empty glass of champagne from Sophia’s fingers, took another from a servant, and handed it to Sophia. His fingers, large and warm, brushed along her own.
Sophia giggled, then slapped a palm over her mouth, horrified. His presence was just so overwhelming. Magnificent. Surely, the duke hadn’t meant to approach her. There must be someone else he cared to speak to, possibly behind her.
Me. The rather embarrassing Canterbell daughter.
But there was no one else in the immediate vicinity. Only Sophia.
I might swoon. She’d never done such a thing in her life but if there was ever a time, it was now.
“I’ve seen you walking in the park,” Roxboro said, voice low and raspy, prickling over her skin. “Admiring you from afar, my dove.” His shimmering gaze took her in from head to toe, “Tell me about yourself.”
Admiring her? My dove?
A tingle licked along Sophia’s spine, stroking along her back and ribs. She sipped at the champagne and stuttered some inadequate response.
Roxboro’s lips tilted as if finding her utterly charming.
Nervous laughter burst from Sophia’s lips. He’d reduced her to a giggling nitwit in mere seconds, which was terribly embarrassing, since she had long prided herself on not having anything in common with young ladies such as Hortensia.
But this was the Duke of Roxboro.
I’ll be horrified tomorrow.
As Mama had so uncharitably pointed out, Sophia did read quite a bit and not all of those tomes were of an educational nature, though some might disagree.
Lurid, romantic and overblown, with far too many inappropriate details.
Mama didn’t know about those. She thought Sophia was only immersed in the Romans.
But in every one of those delicious tales, the heroine of the story was always struck dumb by the hero, who was most often a duke. Or a pirate. Sometimes a highwayman.
Roxboro’s fingers trailed lightly over the bracelet on her wrist, tracing the sapphires before lingering over the top of her hand. So warm. And he wasn’t wearing gloves which struck her as odd and—
“A breath of fresh air?” Words so soft, Sophia could barely hear them.
“I—” she stuttered once more. Much to her continued embarrassment.
Roxboro leaned close, the scent of wine on his breath. There was a freckle on the very tip of his nose, a small one. And an oval-shaped purple stain on his coat. He must have spilled on himself.
Well, he was supposed to be a sot. Sots spill on themselves.
Still, the stain gave her pause. Not the shape or the color. It was only wine. But Sophia had always heard that Roxboro was obsessed with his appearance, as only a vain, overly splendid duke could be. Dribbling wine on his coat, especially at a ball, didn’t seem the sort of thing—
Lips brushed along the curve of her ear, startling Sophia from her thoughts of wine stains and producing the most profound effect on the tips of her breasts.
“I’m enamored, I confess.”
With me? He’s enamored with me?
She gulped her champagne. At this rate, Sophia would require another glass. Was this her second or her third?
“I intend to find your father this night and ask permission to call upon you,” he murmured. “Would you like that, little dove?”
“Yes,” she breathed, every fiber of her being focused on Roxboro. Not only would Papa be surprised, but Mara would be beside herself. Mama might faint and need to be carried out by the Perswick footmen.
“Let us take a stroll about the gardens so we might speak privately. I want to know everything about you, my dove.”
Sophia nodded so hard, a curl fell from her careful coiffure.
Never mind that this was all highly unusual.
Roxboro and the champagne left her giddy.
He was a duke. He wanted to court her. She ignored the whisper in the back of her mind, which sounded just like Mama, warning Sophia not to ever allow a gentleman liberties, especially in a dark garden. Duke or not.
Taking her arm, Roxboro led Sophia through the crowd and out the doors leading to the terrace, and beyond the gardens.
The area was not deserted. A handful of other guests roamed about taking in the cooler night air.
An older woman came forward who Sophia recognized instantly, Lady Brokeburst, who didn’t bother to hide her surprise.
Lady Brokeburst liked to call upon Mama and remind her that at least she possessed one daughter who would marry well.
Sophia lifted her chin.
The older woman immediately sank low, head bowed. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
Roxboro dismissed Lady Brokeburst with a flick of his wrist.
A great rush of satisfaction filled Sophia. A duke was guiding her about. Lord Canterbell’s less admired daughter. Mara would be furious that Sophia had garnered Roxboro’s attention.
He led her down the steps and onto the garden path, gravel crunching beneath their feet until they came upon a stone bench.
A drooping willow tree partially hid them from view, though Sophia could clearly make out the terrace and Lady Brokeburst. The elderly woman had her head cocked at an angle attempting to eavesdrop.
Let her hear a duke declare for me.
Roses perfumed the air. Moonlight dappled the garden, allowing Sophia to see Roxboro’s chiseled features so close to her own.
He’s going to kiss me. Her pulse beat like a drum.
“I—we—shouldn’t be out here, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense. We’ll be betrothed soon,” he whispered. “Unless you are opposed, my dove.”
Sophia shook her head, heart leaping into her throat, beating with such force, she begged it to still.
This could not be happening. Roxboro couldn’t truly want her, could he?
And yet, Sophia couldn’t seem to rush back to the safety of the terrace.
His lovely eyes kept her pinned in place, even as he took her champagne glass and set it on the bench beside his empty wine goblet.
“Little dove,” he said, one arm circling her waist.
Roxboro’s mouth descended, claiming Sophia’s. Gentle. Searching. His hand took hold of hers, thumb brushing along the sapphires of the bracelet on her wrist. Sandalwood mixed with the wine he’d been drinking caught in her nose.
This was it. A passionate kiss. One that will set me aflame.
Patiently, Sophia waited for…the fire to engulf her. Granted, Sophia had little to no experience with gentlemen or kissing in general, but in her novels, there was a roar of passion at the mere press of the hero’s lips.
But…nothing happened.
One big hand moved to glide along the slope of her breast, tracing the shape.
Still. Nothing.
Well, this is rather disappointing.
“Sophia!” The frantic call of Lord Canterbell reached Sophia beneath the willow tree. “Who is that with you?”
Roxboro immediately released her. He took a step back from Sophia.
Angry footsteps thundered down the path. “Unhand my daughter you—” A gasp filled the air as Papa caught sight of the man behind her.
“Tell him your intentions are honorable,” she whispered. “He won’t be angry. I promise.”
A branch snapped beneath Roxboro’s foot as his large form started to disappear into the darkened depths of the garden.
“Roxboro,” she hissed, the realization dawning slowly, given the amount of champagne she’d consumed. “You promised to speak to my father about courting me.”
There was no answer. Nothing but the slight breeze and the willow tree.
Not even so much as a bloody cricket to break the awkward, embarrassing silence.
The duke was… gone. If her lips weren’t still tingling from his kiss, Sophia might have thought him nothing more than a champagne induced hallucination.
Every word he’d spoken had been a lie. There would be no courting. There was no admiration of her person.
Sophia’s stomach pitched violently.
Oh, good lord, I’m foolish. Worse than Hortensia even if I do know who Lamb is.
“Roxboro?” Papa stomped forward, fists clenched at his sides, features contorted into absolute fury. “Flagrant rake. Debauched duke. Where is he?”
“No. I mean…yes. A gentleman was here, but not with me. Only…enjoying a cheroot.” Sophia stammered. “Definitely not Roxboro.” She cleared her throat. “I said I was relaxing. Here.” One shaky hand trembled as she pointed out the bench. “You misunderstood me.”
Oh. God. Sophia looked up to see the small cluster of guests lingering near the edge of the terrace.
“I saw the duke, though he hid in the shadows like a coward,” Papa thundered. “As did Lady Brokeburst.” Papa jerked his chin in the direction of the terrace. “Lying to me won’t change the circumstances.”
“No,” Sophia shook her head so hard she wobbled and had to grasp at the trunk of the willow tree for support. She’d been…taken in by one of the biggest rakes in London. A walking vice. That’s what the gossips called Roxboro. “You are wrong. Why on earth would I be here with a duke?”
Oh God. How could I have been so stupid?
Papa stared down at her with such disappointment. “You’ve been compromised, to my everlasting shame, by the Duke of Roxboro. What were you thinking coming out here with him?” He took her arm.
“I—” Everyone on the terrace was staring. More guests spilled through the doors. All coming to witness the ruination and abandonment of Lord Canterbell’s unappealing daughter by the Duke of Roxboro.
“Don’t worry,” Papa’s voice was gruff as he led her back towards the house. “He won’t get away with this.”
Sophia lowered her head. Papa was far too important for this incident to be brushed aside. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Lady Brokeburst.
“I’ll fix everything,” Papa said to her.
That’s what I’m worried about.