Chapter Six #2
But his being at the ball didn’t mean he’d touched Canterbell’s daughter.
Had she mistaken someone else for him? That seemed the most likely.
Or possibly Lord Canterbell wanted a duke in his pocket.
Hayward would have been a better target.
He had far more influence in political circles no matter how ancient.
In any case, mutual dislike didn’t bode well for their impending union, no matter how short he intended it to be.
Lady Sophia’s fingers curled away from his, trying to escape.
Alexander tightened his grip, refusing to release her. She was getting what she wanted. Marriage. To him. No matter how unpleasant she would find the experience to be.
Squeezing her fingers once more, he released her. She immediately drifted to the horrid green settee directly across from Alexander, looking for all the world as if she were floating in a bowl of pea soup.
Alexander detested pea soup.
Lady Canterbell’s lips curved into a polite smile as she regarded him through the steam rising from the pot of tea on the table. “Tea, Your Grace?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He didn’t like tea. Copious amounts of milk or sugar didn’t improve the taste.
Nor honey. Brandy was what he wanted. The thirst for it or scotch grew by leaps and bounds with every moment he spent in the Canterbell drawing room.
The cut crystal decanter on the sideboard mocked him.
But Alexander didn’t care to be called a feckless sot.
Especially not by this scheming little chit.
A cup was placed before him.
Alexander stared at his tea for a time but did not touch it. Nor the plate of biscuits he was handed.
“I am pleased we have this opportunity to become better acquainted, Your Grace,” Lady Canterbell said. “I realize the circumstances are somewhat…irregular, but I hope we can look forward to a splendid and fruitful union.”
Lady Sophia fairly cringed at the word “fruitful,” which even though Alexander had no desire to bed her, it was rather off-putting to realize she didn’t want to bed him either. He’d never in his life had a woman not wish for his attention. Usually, Alexander had to swat them away.
He sat back in the butterfly chair. If he repulsed Lady Sophia, it would make attaining an annulment that much easier. Alexander should be thrilled he disgusted her to such a degree.
Yet, he was not.
“That is my hope as well.” Alexander cleared his throat, unable to stop his eyes from drifting to the sideboard once more where the brandy glittered back at him like some jewel.
Lady Sophia, damn her, followed the direction of his gaze and…snickered.
His fingers curled along the arms of the chair.
Lady Canterbell poured two more steaming cups of tea, one for her and one for her awful daughter, still prattling away, filling the room with gossip about nearly everyone in London.
Tedious stuff. Who had been riding in the park.
Some lord’s new carriage drawn by four perfectly matched bays.
All the bits of life in society for which Alexander cared little.
Lady Canterbell was so consumed by the sound of her own voice, she never paused in her recitation, which gave Alexander no opportunity to reply or comment as she spoke.
Which was fine as he had nothing to contribute.
His unwanted bride said nary a word during the entirety of the soul-stifling hour, though she made her opinion of Alexander clear with a series of derisive snorts, dramatic eye-rolling, and a disgusted puff here and there whenever she chanced to look his way.
Lady Canterbell pointedly ignored her daughter.
Glancing at the clock, Alexander was satisfied he’d been tortured long enough and could finally take his leave.
Damon expected him to take Lady Sophia on a carriage ride next week through the park so that they could be seen in each other’s company, but stopped short of forcing Alexander to escort her to a ball.
He’d be expected to dance with her, which even Damon agreed was a poor idea. Alexander had two left feet.
Just as he was about to excuse himself, that troll of a butler appeared at the door.
“My lady,” Powell bowed. “I apologize for the intrusion, but there is a problem with the linens which require your immediate attention.”
A linen emergency. How subtle.
Lady Sophia’s face held the briefest flash of panic at having to be left alone in his company. She seemed to shrink back into the ghastly settee, which had the benefit of…making her bosom move and catch his eye.
If Alexander wasn’t mistaken, Lady Sophia’s breasts were spectacular. Pity he’d never see them.
“Please excuse me for a moment, Your Grace.” Lady Canterbell gave her daughter a warning look. “I’ll return momentarily.” She departed, making sure to leave the drawing room door open to avoid any impropriety. Which was rather ridiculous given the circumstances.
The room went silent except for the clock ticking away every interminable minute.
Abruptly, Lady Sophia reached out and snatched another biscuit off the tray. Those plush lips widened as she bit into the pink icing, crunching loudly and obnoxiously.
“Well,” Alexander started, stretching out his legs beneath the table and crossing them at the ankle. Close enough to Lady Sophia she made a point of pulling her skirts back.
“Well,” she snapped back, chewing on the biscuit like some cow in the field.
The desire for the brandy, sitting so innocently on the sideboard, increased.
“Your tea is getting cold,” she pointed out.
“I’m not in the mood for tea.”
She leaned in, giving him a better glimpse of her bosom. Or at least some of it. “I suppose you aren’t. It doesn’t contain any brandy.”
Alexander was rapidly regretting his decision to stay clear headed.
Surely, this girl was more tolerable when he was in his cups.
She made his temples ache. Once he left this hellish place, with his temples pounding, he planned to visit his club and spend the remainder of the day, and possibly most of the night, getting completely foxed.
The sound of her teeth grinding together had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Every crunch felt like a hammer against his skull. “Can you please stop?” Alexander flicked his wrist at her. “Chewing so loudly?”
“Why, Your Grace? Do you find it offensive?” She deliberately took up another biscuit and gnawed at the edges.
“You resemble a feral squirrel.” He tried not to glance in the direction of the brandy and failed.
Her response was to slurp her tea.
Good lord, I need…something. Even sherry would do.
“Let us speak plainly, Lady Sophia,” he croaked, forcing his gaze from the sideboard.
“I thought we were, Your Grace. Speaking plainly.” Another biscuit was pressed to her lips. Good god, she’d eat the entire tea tray.
Crunch. Crunch.
“You don’t wish to wed me,” Alexander stated plainly.
“No. I do not. I would say it isn’t personal, except that it is.” She licked a crumb from her entirely sinful top lip. “I would rather be sent to a convent than endure you for a lifetime. Though given your habits, I doubt it won’t take that long.”
I yearn for the annulment and I haven’t even wed her yet. Entirely worth confessing my cock doesn’t work.
“I may have…been at the Perswick ball.” Alexander could no longer make a compelling argument for denying his absence, though that didn’t mean he’d done anything else.
“But I did not lead you into the gardens. Nor did I compromise you. Given our mutual dislike, I find it to be an impossibility.” He tossed the word out, expecting her to immediately become defensive.
“I was likely only taking in the night air.”
“You are correct on the dislike, Your Grace. However, we conversed at the refreshment table.” There was a flicker of vulnerability in her features before it vanished.
“You kissed me, though it was little more than a peck.” The luscious mouth pursed into a rosette.
“Certainly not worthy of marriage. My father, and most of London, however, disagree.”
Alexander watched the movement of her lips, which was on the whole, rather enticing. He could…possibly imagine being drawn to such a mouth, were he intoxicated.
“I was foxed.”
“While that is your usual state, Your Grace, you did not appear to be in your cups at the Perswick ball.”
“Don’t you find that odd? If that is my natural state.”
Termagant.
“Exceedingly. I imagine if you were to cut yourself, brandy would pour from the wound instead of blood.”
Good lord, she was annoying.
And…somewhat arousing.
Alexander shifted in the chair, eyes roaming over the pale yellow of her dress, noting the way the silk seemed to cling to the curves of her generous form. The cut was incredibly modest, which was what made her all the more…enticing.
I could have kissed her. With that mouth and that bosom. That venom.
Her rounded features pinched at his perusal. Dark lashes swept over her cheeks. “And not a very good one.”
He hadn’t been listening, far too immersed in his perusal of this girl who claimed Alexander had ruined her. “What wasn’t very good?”
“The kiss. Don’t tell me that in addition to all your other faults, you are also hard of hearing. Will I need to string one of those horns around your neck?” She bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. “So that you may hold it up to your ear?”
Never in the entirety of his life had anyone spoken to him with such a lack of respect and he was starting to like her for it, against his better judgement.
“You haven’t an ounce of decorum. No tact. Obnoxious in your bluntness. Disrespectful.”
“Well, you’re a sot.” She shrugged. “I was speaking of the press of your lips at the Perswick ball. I say press because I refuse to keep calling it a kiss. There was little to recommend the action and the execution…sloppy.”
“Sloppy.” Alexander jerked back, so astonished he momentarily forgot his craving for the brandy.