Chapter Ten
Yes, a pity his bride didn’t speak French.
But given Sophia’s extreme stubbornness, Alexander didn’t find that to be terribly unusual.
Tutors likely fled the Canterbell house as if the devil were at their heels rather than instruct her.
But the real pity was that Alexander hadn’t ruined the stunning, far more accomplished Lady Mara.
She would have made an adequate duchess. But a bland one.
She wasn’t nearly as entertaining as her terrible sister.
Who, Alexander was, unexpectedly and unfortunately… lusting after. Why, he had no idea. He still didn’t recall her at all. Nor the kiss Lady Brokeburst allegedly witnessed. A kiss Sophia had compared to the slobbering tongue of a puppy.
Alexander was skilled in the art of seduction. He enjoyed women a great deal. And he had never, not since bedding his first at the age of fifteen, bestowed an inadequate kiss. Or an insufficient anything.
Now, because of Sophia, he would endure the added humiliation of having to confess his cock didn’t work as a means to rid himself of her.
Damon’s argument was to blame Alexander’s use of opium, which admittedly, was a valid excuse.
If a gentleman smoked a great deal of opium, one couldn’t do much of anything, let alone bed a woman.
She’s nothing more than an inconvenience.
He peered at Sophia over the rim of his much-watered down scotch.
Every word Alexander spoke during the meal elicited a scowl, a grimace or some odd sound from her, very much like a feral squirrel.
An unending stream of disdain contorted her features, all directed at him, during the entirety of the meal.
Alexander sighed in frustration.
He hadn’t attended the Perswick ball, but had no explanation for why others claimed he’d been there.
Nor did he have any explanation for the comments on his mussed clothing.
Cravat improperly tied. No stickpin. A stain on his coat.
More than one acquaintance had expressed concern to Damon directly over Alexander’s general state of dishevelment at the ball.
I would never arrive at a ball in such a condition.
All of which left him greatly concerned for the state of his mind.
And while Alexander was sure he hadn’t compromised her…if Sophia didn’t confess she’d made a mistake, he’d be forced to admit…
He sipped at his barely scotch.
Not that any of it mattered at this late date. Nothing would stop this marriage. Canterbell would never allow it. Nor Damon. Which meant Alexander would wed a girl he didn’t even like, in two days.
I do like her hostility. Quite a bit.
The lower half of his body tightened like a knot.
Given the cut of his trousers, which was unforgiving, Alexander was endlessly grateful for the length of his coat.
He’d had the same reaction to her that day of the carriage ride through the park.
And if he were being truthful, the sensation struck Alexander the minute she declared him a sot in his own drawing room.
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and once more studied his unwanted—but oddly desirable as his cock assured him—bride.
Sophia wiggled about like a worm stabbed by a hook at his regard.
She cut her duck so viciously during the meal, Alexander was sure she imagined him beneath the knife.
But her blatant animosity would work in his favor to secure the annulment.
Alexander might be able to claim Sophia was so hostile to his attentions, he feared she might attack him.
Better than declaring impotence, though it would make him look like a milksop.
Lady Canterbell laughed uproariously at something his uncle said.
Good god. Hadn’t Damon charmed that woman enough for tonight?
Going on about Caster knowing full well that Lady Canterbell had set her sights on the marquess as a potential suitor for Lady Mara.
The truth was, Alexander hadn’t seen Caster in years, though Lady Caster was a close acquaintance of Lady Falmouth.
Damon would take full credit for the introduction to Caster and his mother and use it to gain Lady Canterbell’s support when the time came to secure the annulment.
Clever of his uncle.
But when Damon expressed what a splendid job Lady Canterbell had done in raising her two daughters, Alexander nearly spit out his drink. She’d only managed half the job. Just look at Sophia.
Sophia stopped chewing for a moment, eyes narrowing on Alexander as if reading his thoughts. Her fingers wrapped tighter around the fork she held as she lowered her eyes to his neck.
His trousers pulled tight between his thighs.
She wants to be sent to the country.
He understood his future bride’s desire to depart London.
Now that Oakhurst wasn’t here to amuse him and Alexander had taken to watering down his spirits, town was far less amusing.
Grayer. Contrary to what most would assume, Alexander liked the countryside.
There was something peaceful and calming about the smell of grass and wildflowers.
The scent of farm animals and dirt. His estate, The Pillory, was lovely and warm, more comfortable than the Duke of Roxboro’s ostentatious London residence.
The Pillory had the added benefit of seclusion.
No curious eyes to watch him fall off a horse, save Barstow, his butler.
A duke who couldn’t ride well was a disgrace, according to Damon.
Even Hayward, that shriveled up old toad, never so much as slid off his saddle.
Easier for the ton to think Alexander too full of drink to keep his seat. Less of an indignity.
At any rate, The Pillory was a wonderful, bucolic spot. If Sophia liked the country, she would adore his estate. Alexander could easily imagine her traipsing about with a basket on her arm, snarling at a patch of wildflowers that dared to offend her. Or terrifying the wildlife.
Her mouth pulled into a scowl at the sudden twitch between his thighs.
Damn it. Stand down.
“You are an utter delight,” he murmured softly, knowing Sophia could read his lips if not hear the sarcasm in his words.
“Sot,” she mouthed back.
Sophia was utterly terrible, yet something in his chest stirred as he took her in. Damon complained of her scathing tongue and unpleasant manner, declaring how unfit she was to be a duchess. Not that Sophia would be one for very long.
“Your Grace?” Damon stood behind his chair. “Shall we join Lord Canterbell for a brandy?”
Alexander looked up to see the entire table had come to their feet, the ladies ready to withdraw, all eyes turned in his direction. He barely recalled dessert he’d been so lost in his thoughts. It may have been toffee cake.
“Absolutely,” he took a final sip from his glass. “You know how I enjoy a brandy.”