Chapter Twenty-Three #3
“We—we cannot.” Sophia blurted, knowing that she must tell him. Especially now. Roxboro would want an annulment and she would…tend bees. Possibly.
“Yes we can.” He regarded her for a moment. “I would wager that your lovely quim is wet.”
Sophia’s mouth popped open. “Roxboro,” she protested.
“Alexander. Turn around.” He leaned closer, nose trailing along her neck. “Please. So that I may take off this dress. Or I can rip it off if you prefer. In either case, it is coming off.”
“You’ve been ill,” she said weakly.
Roxboro cocked his head, a curl falling across his brow. “Not entirely true. I’ve been pretending for the last few days, hoping you’d rush to my aid. Which you did not. I’m greatly disappointed, Sophie.”
“You—” she stammered as his hands ran up and down her body. “Did climb from the tub with a great deal of surprising agility.”
“Do you not desire me, Sophie?” His hands stopped their roaming, all his teasing tucked away.
Fingers twisted the buttons at her back, but went no further.
“Am I wrong?” There was an odd note in his tone.
“Because I have felt it for quite some time, though I didn’t wish it.
Nor expect it.” He pressed his forehead to her back.
“It consumes me.” His palm landed on her stomach.
“Do you not feel it? That we are meant to be together?” There was pleading in his tone.
“But you won’t be able to annul the marriage, Alexander,” she half-sobbed, blinking away a tear. “If we do this. Our marriage forced upon you.”
“Sophie.”
“I—knew,” she announced loudly.
A sigh came from him, his clever fingers moving once more to make short work of the buttons trailing down her back. “I see.”
The dress slipped over her shoulders.
“I realized it wasn’t you,” she said in a rush, desperate for him to understand.
“Not the night of the Perswick ball but…when you kissed me after dining with my parents. And again, when we stood before the vicar because there was no bloody freckle,” she wailed.
“I should have stopped the wedding. Recanted. Right there in front of the vicar and all of London.”
Fingers brushed along the edges of her corset. Tugging at the strings. He didn’t even struggle with the ties. “You aren’t listening to me.”
“I am,” he hummed against her neck.
“It would have been terrible for me, recanting at the altar and an enormous embarrassment for my family. I am Lord Canterbell’s daughter, after all.
But your uncle would have been overjoyed.
You would have been pleased. But I couldn’t—I’d been so sure and then I was not.
Because of the freckle. And it all seems rather impossible. The other guests saw you.”
“Shush, Sophie.” His arms went around her, nose in the crook of her neck.
“And I was afraid.” Sophia tried to push him away, knowing she would lose him now. How could she not? “To make such an insane declaration.”
Roxboro turned her to face him.
“I couldn’t imagine anyone had the audacity to go about London pretending to be you, Roxboro,” she pleaded. “Who would be brave enough to do such a thing, with no worry of being caught?”
“Alexander.”
“And how does this man look so much like you? Lady Brokeburst,” Sophia stepped over her corset which had fallen to the rug. “She curtseyed to him. Lord Lacton bowed and addressed him as Your Grace.”
“I agree it is a mystery.” Roxboro stood naked and stunning before her, watching as she stormed about in her chemise with a bemused look. “One we will need to look into further but not at present.”
“And of course, the freckle. I hadn’t really looked at your nose until we stood before the vicar. There was no freckle.” Sophia threw up her hands.
“I was wondering when we’d get back to the freckle. Come. Here.”
“You had one at the ball. A freckle.” A surprised gasp came from her as Roxboro grabbed Sophia around the waist. “Just on the end.” She pointed with her finger. “And now you do not.”
“Is that why you were staring at me all through the wedding breakfast like I was some bloody insect? I did wonder.”
“I convinced myself it was a drop of wine,” she tried to explain as his fingers plucked at her chemise. “But there is no wine at The Pillory.” She let out a small whimper. Not from distress but because Roxboro was tearing at the thin layer of cotton covering her.
“I hate wine,” he finished. “I would never drink it, not even were I dying of thirst. Because I did once—and it soured my stomach for all time.”
“It reminds you of the cold. And being…trapped.”
Roxboro grunted. “I should sack Barstow. Now, I suppose I can rip off your underthings. I’d rather enjoy that.”
“It isn’t entirely Barstow’s fault. When you were not…yourself, you spoke of many things. The wine cellar was one of them. I only asked him for clarification.”
A tearing sound met her ears. Roxboro was on his knees shredding her underthings.
“This marriage was made under false pretenses,” Sophia whispered. “Please forgive me. I will make things right, I promise. I’ll confess to my father that it was not you. I’ll write to him today.” Cool air struck her between the thighs, mixed with the warmth of his fingers.
“No, you won’t.” He straightened, a strip of cotton in one hand.
Water from the bath still dripped from the ends of his hair and down his chest. “And you will cease this nonsense. Because I also knew.” An open-mouthed kiss met her shoulder.
“Not about the freckle.” He frowned. “Though I’m now concerned you would think a drop of wine would resemble a freckle, which leads me to believe you may need spectacles. ”
“The lighting was rather poor at the Perswick ball,” she replied tartly while Roxboro tugged on her chemise. “Goodness,” she exclaimed when one breast was exposed. “Was that entirely necessary?”
“This seduction is taking far too long.”
“You’re taking this rather well considering I’ve trapped you in marriage, Roxboro. Which I’m trying to correct.”
“I am not inclined to rid myself of you, Lady Sacrifice.” He cupped her breast and pressed a kiss to the skin above her heart. “I want this. I want you.”
“But—” the last word came out in a breathless whisper as his thumb pinched the tip of her breast.
“No, Sophie.” Roxboro’s lips brushed along hers, making Sophia shiver with want. “You may have mistaken that imposter for me, but there is no mistaking this.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “I’ve kissed dozens of women—”
“Likely hundreds,” she said against his mouth.
“But I’ve never had—the only thing I could compare it to is the euphoria of several glasses of brandy, before one becomes unsteady.”
“I’m not sure what to make of the sentiment.”
“It is meant as a compliment. So yes, I knew. After I kissed you properly and not like a slobbering puppy.” He shrugged and pinched the nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger a bit more forcefully.
A lightning bolt shot straight from her breast to nestle at the apex of her thighs.
“And yes, Damon has political aspirations. Lord Canterbell can ruin them. So at first, our marriage was for my uncle.” He tossed what was left of her chemise over one shoulder.
“Now it is for me. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days stumbling about filled with scotch.
Incapable of little more than playing cards and bedding women.
” Regret hung in the air. “You’ve helped me realize I am—Alexander.
More than a sum of my brandy-soaked parts. ”
“You are not brandy-soaked.” She cupped his face.
“Not any longer, thanks to you. Unfortunately, sot or not, I’m still going to trip over things.
Bump into tables. That will never go away.
Society is so much more accepting of your limbs tangling up or slipping off a horse when they think you’re foxed.
Won’t everyone be surprised when I return to London. Especially Freeman.”
“Freeman?”
“My secretary. He and my uncle have been managing my entire existence for as long as I can remember. But that is now at an end. I don’t even care whether Oakhurst returns.
Probably best he doesn’t. And since we are being completely honest, Damon had already advised me to never bed you.
” His mouth lowered to hers, stealing the air from her lungs as he backed Sophia towards the bed.
“Lord Damon was going to sue for an annulment.” Sophia wasn’t shocked.
“Yes, on the grounds that my cock doesn’t work. But now you’ve gone and ruined that, Sophie.” He lowered her carefully to the bed, naked now, save for her stockings. “Because.” Hardness pushed along her thigh. “I’m keeping you.”