Chapter Sixteen
Sophia swallowed down what remained of the wine, lifting the bottle to her lips until not a drop was left.
Drat.
She’d done nothing since her discussion with Timmons but drink wine, scribble out a list of character flaws for Roxboro until she ran out of paper, and stew at yet another humiliation she was suffering at his hands. Sophia glanced down at her list, blinking away the blurriness from her vision.
Drinks far too much.
Excessive arrogance.
Compromises young ladies and doesn’t recall doing so.
Annoying wit.
Sophia thought for a moment.
Far too handsome.
“I need more wine.” Sophia came to her feet, nearly fell over but grabbed the arm of her chair. Ann said she hadn’t been able to find the wine cellar, but obviously, there must be one in this brick monstrosity of a house. Likely near the kitchens. A footman might help her if one was about.
Or, God forbid, Timmons.
She stumbled out of the room, whipping the lace and ribbons behind her, carefully to hold up the edges lest she trip.
Clinging to the banister, Sophia made her way carefully down the stairs.
“Can you imagine what the gossips would say?” she said out loud.
“The Duke and Duchess of Roxboro,” she snorted.
“Both taken far too young by drunken mishaps.” She snorted.
“Well, I must say, I can see why my husband enjoys an excess of spirits. It’s quite euphoric. ”
No Timmons lurking about. Nor a footman, which was unfortunate. There was a light flickering at the end of the hall, which meant the kitchen must be in that direction. She hoped.
Sophia started towards the light, trailing her fingers along the wall to keep her balance.
Goodness.
“Is that you, Timmons?” Came the low, scotch-soaked rumble from behind a partially open door. “Can you find me another bottle if you please. Scotch or brandy. I don’t care which.”
Roxboro.
Her fingers pressed into the wall, quite furious through the haze of the wine.
Sophia straightened. Fluffed the stupid silk rose on her shoulder.
She had much to say and Roxboro was going to hear all of it.
One does not…abandon their bride on the wedding night.
It’s impolite even if you have no intention of bedding her.
She glanced towards the stairs. She’d left her list of Roxboro’s faults in her room.
Drat.
Taking two steps forward, still clinging to the wall, Sophia entered Roxboro’s study. Her toes dug into the plush carpet at her feet.
Oh, I’ve forgotten my slippers.
A fire, flames dancing merrily in the hearth, cast a golden glow across the room, but gave off little light, not enough to make out the shadows along the walls.
“Oh, it’s you,” Roxboro’s rumbling, sardonic tone came from the darkness. A lump, which she’d mistaken for a chair, moved. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
She held up the bottle in her hand. “Where might I find more of this? Also, I’ve a list of your character deficits that I’d like to review, but I left them upstairs.”
The dark outline moved. Lit a lamp. Plopped back down on a leather sofa. “I have no idea. Timmons handles such matters. I don’t care for wine. Reminds me of rotten fruit.”
There was something in that statement that nagged at Sophia, but her head was too muddled at present. “Pity. I happen to enjoy it.”
“Well, there isn’t any in here. You made a list?”
“I did. There was little else to occupy my time other than this,” she held up the bottle again. “And writing out your flaws. I ran out of paper.”
“Good lord,” his voice softened to a warm rasp. “Why do you look like an enormous snowflake? Are there…roses on your shoulder?”
Sophia sat down on the sofa, mere inches from Roxboro, the leather cool beneath her thighs.
The wine made her annoyance towards Roxboro seem less important than it had earlier.
Not with all that bergamot scented heat wafting so near her, along with scotch and…
she sniffed the air, possibly a cheroot.
“Yes, these are roses, Roxboro.” She swatted at a silk petal. “But I did not order this hideous creation, the blame falls squarely on Lady Canterbell.”
“That makes much more sense. You resemble a bit of lace now that you are closer. Tatted by a blind, elderly matron.”
“You are too kind.” Sophia closed her eyes. “As usual.”
Roxboro made a sound. Leaned closer and nudged her shoulder. “You’re upset with me.”
Sophia didn’t open her eyes. “I am. This is our wedding night. Given your abandonment of me, I will assume you’ve no interest in….”
“The doily,” he let out a small laugh. “Was meant to entice me.”
“Again, Lady Canterbell is to blame. If you’ll merely hand me a bottle of…
something,” she waved her hand in the direction of the sideboard and opened her eyes.
Sophia’s head felt quite heavy and unsteady on her neck, which made it difficult to lift her chin and stare Roxboro down.
“My spray of silk roses and I will be on our way.”
“You don’t require the doily,” he said in a soft tone that sent a shiver along her arms. “Nor did you deserve…abandonment. What is my biggest flaw?”
“Drinking to excess and arrogance. But I realize both are required in a duke and a rake.”
“That’s two flaws, but I take your point.” Roxboro took a swallow from his glass and nudged her shoulder again before nuzzling along the edge of her neck with his nose. “You’ve some yourself, Lady Sausage.”
Sophia couldn’t help it. She giggled. “You barely know me, Your Grace.” Her nose wrinkled. “And you smell like the inside of a bottle of scotch.”
“You are terrible, Sophie. But I like terrible. Makes things interesting. That is the first thing I know about you.” Roxboro’s mouth lingered along the slope of her neck, lips skating over her skin until he found a sensitive spot beneath her ear.
A soft breath left her. Her entire body flared to life at the light touch. Rather marvelous.
“You smell of roses.” Teeth nipped at the lobe of her ear. “The scent is in your hair and skin, which I’ve always found odd.”
“Odd?” she shivered as he found another spot that had the skin prickling along her arms.
“In consideration of your caustic wit and personality.” His breath feathered her hair. “Which others mistake for mere rudeness and lack of decorum. That is the second thing I know. Your blunt manner is used to shock others so you will be…seen.”
Sophia tilted her head. Roxboro’s mouth was very near her own.
“Your hostility towards me is,” he whispered with only a fraction of air separating their lips. “Is because you think I don’t see you, Sophia, Duchess of Roxboro. But I do.” His mouth caressed hers. “I only pretend that I do not.”
“Oh,” she sighed. Warmth bloomed along her chest.
“I will not admit to it tomorrow.” Roxboro’s tongue flicked along her collarbone, nipping and skimming until she shivered and arched closer.
Their lips caught, mouths clinging together. This kiss was…lazy but so…blatantly carnal in nature that Sophia’s toes stretched in to the deep pile of the rug. His fingers carefully trailed over one breast, palm hovering over the nipple, barely brushing the hardened tip hidden beneath the lace.
Sophia whimpered. Pressed herself closer.
Threading her fingers through the silk of Roxboro’s hair, she kissed him back with every bit of longing inside her. Sophia hadn’t realized that she’d had any yearning for him at all, but—
Oh, I do.
Roxboro’s hands mapped every curve through the silk and lace while his tongue teased along the bottom of her mouth, coaxing Sophia to open for him, which she did without hesitation.
Sucking at her tongue, an altogether erotic sensation, two fingers trailed along the slope of her breast, before nipping at Sophia’s bottom lip.
She tugged at his hair. She wanted more. Would beg for him to—
A pained, annoyed sound came from Roxboro. He grabbed Sophia’s hands from his hair and placed them on her lap. “I can’t,” he said under his breath, pushing away from her. “I—cannot bed you.” He turned away and swallowed the remains of his glass. “No,” he said more firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“I see.” Roxboro’s heat fell away from her body, leaving Sophia cold inside and out. His rejection after such a passionate embrace left Sophia’s heart to beat shallowly in her chest. For a moment, she’d thought—
“That’s—perfectly fine.” It wasn’t. This was a mistake. A miscalculation on her part. “I prefer a more…convenient marriage. One that is not muddled with physical relations. I would prefer, Roxboro, that you not ever touch me again,” she said with more force.
“I won’t.”
“Don’t so much as offer your hand to help me into the bloody carriage. Or I will kick you in your well-lauded cock, Your Grace.” Sophia jerked to her feet.
“Jesus, don’t say that,” Roxboro murmured, shifting on the sofa.
“I’m pleased we understand each other.”
I am ever foolish about Roxboro. But I won’t be again.
When he didn’t reply, Sophia poked a finger in his arm. “Do you understand me, Roxboro?”
“I do.” His body slid down along the leather of the sofa until his backside hit the floor. “Now, go away, Lady Salmon.”
Sophia stumbled to the door, dropping the empty wine bottle on the rug. Timmons would clean it up. Or not. She didn’t care.
“You’ve used that one more than once, Your Grace.”