Chapter Twenty-One
Sophia paused outside of Roxboro’s chambers, her hand lingering over the doorknob, listening to her husband throw a temper tantrum of which any child would be envious.
She’d been in the library, searching through the books that had followed her from London.
She read to Roxboro every day, mostly to pass the time and ease his boredom though he had no great love of the novels Sophia favored.
“I want a bloody scotch.” A fist pounded on the mattress. “Right now, Barstow. You are in my employ, and you will do as I ask or I’ll,” Roxboro puffed. “Sack you.”
Barstow murmured something in a low tone, not the least intimidated.
“I don’t care what she says. I’m the duke.”
Sophia opened the door and stepped through, book tucked under one arm. “Thank you, Barstow, for your continued tolerance of the duke’s tantrums as he heals.”
“Your Grace.” The butler bowed to Sophia and hurried out.
“Brandy,” Roxboro yelled after him. “If there is no scotch. Everyone knows brandy has healing properties.” He turned to scowl at Sophia. “It is cruel to keep it from me.”
“I see you’re feeling better.” She shut the door. “But I believe brandy can wait until you are fully recovered.”
“Tyrant.” He glared back at her, freshly bathed, the hollows of his cheeks starting to fill out now that he was eating solid food once more.
Roxboro was still weak as a kitten, barely able to sit up without help despite his demands.
The wounds were almost completely healed, scabbing over with no pus or infection.
Dr. Reading was very pleased with the duke’s progress, calling his recovery extraordinary.
After the fever finally broke, he slept for the entirety of one full day before waking up once more. And once Roxboro opened the shimmering green orbs with their streaks of gray, he eyed her with nothing but irritation.
“I’m a duchess,” she answered. “The rules dictate that I may behave as such.”
Roxboro made a frustrated sound, but one side of his mouth tilted in a sensual smirk, one Sophia had dearly missed.
He had always been breathtaking in appearance, but now she’d grown to care for him.
Incredibly unwelcome under the circumstances, though it was likely only a result of having nursed him back to health.
Oh, it’s more than that.
Her heart, ever disobedient, thumped loudly in agreement.
“Completely unfair, Serafina. I demand a brandy.”
Sophia bit her lip, trying not to laugh at his determination to address her by any other name than her own. Roxboro had quite a list.
“Life, Roxboro, is not fair in general. Stop behaving like a child. It is unbecoming of a duke.”
“This is the problem with a termagant such as yourself, wife. You’ve gone mad with power.” A wave of hair fell over his forehead and Sophia’s fingers twitched with the need to brush it aside.
“What if I have?” She took a seat in the chair by the bed, while a wash of green trailed over her, intense and difficult to read. “Stop pouting.”
“I do not pout.”
Good lord, he did. Sensual lips slightly pursed. Hair mussed from days in bed. He was rather blinding at times.
“Are you going to read to me? Please, not that drivel from yesterday. I beg you, …Susan.”
“You’ve used that one twice in the last two days.”
“I’ve been ill.” He threw up his hands. “Tell me that is not the nun book. Nuns do not become countesses. It isn’t done.”
Sophia never gave Roxboro a choice in the books she read to him, which he liked to complain about endlessly.
Annoyance means he is better. That he is alive.
Now that he was going to live, according to Dr. Reading, Sophia could allow herself to feel the true terror at the thought of Roxboro dying. The fear she kept buried while ordering everyone about. She had nightmares about the blood, of Roxboro dead at her feet.
“Lady White’s Revenge.” She held up the slim tome. “You were enjoying the story yesterday and I think we should finish it.”
“I was not enjoying that bit of drivel.”
“I like nuns.” She shrugged. “I very nearly became one. But I wed you instead.”
“Aha. You chose me over a convent.” Roxboro grinned back at her.
Sophia’s breath halted in her lungs at the sight of that smile.
“May I please have a brandy?” he winked.
Her heart skipped. “No. Stop acting flirtatious.”
“I will only have one glass,” he pleaded. “It isn’t as if I can go downstairs and steal the decanter.” Roxboro’s eyes darted to the armoire across the room where Stone had fished out the bottle of brandy kept there for emergencies.
“Gone. You’ll find nothing there.”
His lips tightened. “You can even measure it out for me. I won’t object.”
“Still no.” She opened the book and cleared her throat. “Chapter Twelve.”
“Fine, you petty despot.” Roxboro reached behind the pillow.
“But if you are going to read to me, I’d prefer it be a book that is a favorite of mine.
I had Barstow bring this up from the library.
” He placed the tome covered in green leather on his lap.
“It would bring me great comfort if you read it to me.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you read, or even liked books, Your Grace.”
“I’m not a heathen, Serendipity. Only a bit of a deviant.” He nudged the book in his lap. “You’ll adore it.” A tiny smirk tugged at his lips. “I promise.”
Sophia picked up the slim tome. “The Lustful Turk? I’ve never heard of it.”
“A romantic novel. You’re sure to enjoy it,” he said, gaze dropping to her mouth.
Roxboro seemed unusually interested in her lips as of late.
Their conversations were still adversarial but each insult took on an intimate quality.
Or shared a jest. Not a debauched duke and his unwanted duchess but… friends, possibly.
He merely wants a brandy.
She snatched The Lustful Turk from his hand, but not before Roxboro slid his fingers along her own. This time, the tingling along her spine stretched all the way to the small of her back and around her thighs. “A romantic novel?”
“Indeed.” Roxboro laid back against the pillows, far too innocently.
Opening the book, Sophia scanned the first page. The story was written as a series of letters from a young lady to her friend in England. The young lady was sailing abroad for the first time. A travel journal of sorts. What an odd choice for Roxboro.
“Dear Sylvia,” she started. “We arrived here early this morning after a melancholy journey.”
Melancholy journey. Who uses such prose? This was bound to be some overblown bit of fluff. She glanced longingly at Lady White’s Revenge.
“Keep reading,” Roxboro instructed. “No nuns.”
Sophia read through the first two chapters, delighted. “The young lady is captured by pirates. I stand corrected, Roxboro. This does sound rather more exciting than the revenge of a former nun.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Damn it.
Sophia wished Roxboro would stop smiling at her.
Every time he did, her heart would tug hard in his direction.
The very last thing Sophia wanted was to…
become besotted by her husband. Her feelings would be unrequited, not to mention, she wasn’t even sure Roxboro had feelings.
Then there was the matter of fraud. She’d wed Roxboro knowing full well it hadn’t been he in the Perswick gardens.
And he’d nearly been killed, possibly by the man impersonating him, for which Sophia felt immense guilt.
How could I know?
Regardless, when Roxboro broke her heart, as he would if she allowed it, Sophia would once more be a fool. At best, given time, she hoped they would be friends. Partners. Or Roxboro would find a way to end their marriage, which they hadn’t consummated, when Sophia confessed.
The very idea made her ill.
Sophia returned her attention to The Lustful Turk because she didn’t want to think on any of it a moment longer.
Half an hour later, Sophia wished she had left Roxboro to his own devices.
Vile libertine.
Sophia had assumed the book to be a mildly scandalous tale of a young lady kidnapped by pirates, which was disabused the further she read. Especially as she came to the “letter” from the Dey of Algiers.
“I found a pure maid; her virginity I sacrificed on the Beiram feast of our Holy Prophet. To cull her sweet flower, I was obliged to infuse an opiate in her coffee.”
To Sophia’s credit, she barely stumbled over the cull of her sweet flower.
Nor did she hesitate when reading, “Whilst his lips were glued to mine, he forced his tongue into my mouth in a manner which created a sensation it is quite impossible to describe. It was the first liberty of the kind I ever sustained.”
But she did grow…overly heated.
Her eyes raised from the page to see Roxboro, lichen green gaze regarding her intently.
Wretch.
“Do you like the book, Your Grace?” he asked, with more of that false innocence.
Sophia should know better. She doubted Roxboro had been innocent of anything a day in his life.
“Delightful.” She bit her bottom lip, fascinated when he followed the movement with his eyes. A deep well of something rather…alarming was cresting at that look from Roxboro.
“I should open a window. The fresh air will do you good.” And hopefully cool this ache inside her caused by the book and Roxboro.
“Illness has affected my ears. I can’t hear you clearly from the chair.” An elegant hand patted the space next to him on the bed. “You’ll have to sit closer.”
*
Alexander was a terrible, awful human being. That was not up for debate.
He was also lusting after his unwanted bride. His desire was not the result of forced companionship. Nor his illness. Alexander hadn’t touched another woman since meeting Sophia and had no inclination to do so. He hadn’t even bedded Nell at The Sheepshead, a disappointment for both of them.
And as to the annulment?
I don’t want it any longer.