Chapter Four #3
Where to start? There were so many things he had done for her and her family.
‘Firstly, for not revealing why we were both in the conservatory. My sister is not a bad person, my lord. She is excitable and falls in love dramatically quite frequently, and there have been numerous ideas over the years but nothing quite as heinous as last night.’
‘You think she was in love with my brother?’ He leaned against the wall.
‘Not real love, or even the sort of love poets write about.’
‘There’s a difference?’ One dark eyebrow raised.
‘Of course.’
‘Would you care to explain?’
Life was strange. If anyone had told her yesterday morning that she would be discussing different types of love with Lord Christopher today, she would have thought they had run mad.
And yet, here she was. ‘Real love is what sustains a long, happy marriage. It is formed out of mutual respect for your partner. It does not go up and down but is a steady constant. Poetic love is dramatic and painful and not at all realistic.’ She could see he was about to argue with her, but she hurried on.
‘Marrisa felt neither of those for your brother. How could she? They had never engaged in a conversation. All she saw was a man who looked handsome in his fine clothes but who had a reputation for not saying much and for always looking rather stern. From that she concocted a grand love affair, all of which was in her head. It was innocent enough and I thought little of it until I overheard her… well, you must have heard some of it too.’
‘What about his title?’ Christopher had straightened and folded his arms across his chest while she was speaking.
The gesture highlighted his muscles bunching beneath the sleeves of his jacket.
Robert did not have arms like that. A tiny traitorous voice in her head told her what a shame that was, but she ignored it.
Comparing one person to another was not pleasant and something she only did when thinking about herself and her sisters, and as that made her feel inadequate, she tried to avoid doing that too.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘It is the duke’s title that attracts most of the attention my oldest brother gets.’
She laughed before realising he was serious.
‘Um, perhaps his being a duke added to my sister’s sense of romantic adventure, but…
’ how to put it tactfully? ‘…I rather think it was the red jacket Glanmore wore to the Dalrymple soiree that first persuaded her he was the man of her dreams. It was very fancy; all the ladies were atwitter about it.’
‘They were?’ He rubbed his chin with his thumb, a small frown marring his forehead.
Sophia wasn’t sure why, but she was quite enjoying his mild consternation. ‘Oh, yes. The Duke of Glanmore is widely regarded as the most handsome bachelor on the marriage mart, regardless of the title.’
‘Handsome! Tobias!’ Lord Christopher snorted as if her statement were the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard, when it shouldn’t have been.
All the Dashworth brothers were pleasing to the eye.
Tall, broad-shouldered and with midnight-black hair, they were alike in many ways.
Not that she would admit it to him, he was quite arrogantly confident enough without any further compliments, but Lord Christopher probably had the edge over the four of them.
To her mind, anyway. It was the dimple that made an appearance when he half-smiled.
Or perhaps it was the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that drew women in.
Regardless, it was only a subjective approval on her part.
Her heart lay with Robert in Peddleton, the place in the country where her parents had their family estate.
Robert, who was steady and calm and whom she had not thought about since this morning and whom she would do well to keep in mind.
For a long time now, she had thought of him as her chosen partner and she had been steadfast in her behaviour, showing him that she would make a respectable wife.
It had been quite the effort when the rest of her family were determined to show their frivolous nature at every given opportunity, and she was not about to throw all that hard work away because she’d had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Lord Christopher was still muttering darkly, glaring at the door to the Blue Lounge as if it had somehow offended him. The devil in her, the one she managed to suppress most of the time, prompted her to add, ‘Do not worry. I am sure as you age, you will catch him up in looks.’
The look he shot her was priceless, making it impossible not to laugh. Even pressing her fingers to her lips didn’t stop the giggles from emerging.
‘Oh, I see. You thought that was amusing.’ His eyes were shining with humour now; whatever had irked him had passed.
‘You seemed put out that your oldest brother is considered universally handsome. I am afraid the teasing wrote itself.’
‘If we are allowed to tease one another—’ he leaned forward, dangerously close to invading her space ‘—I am allowed to discuss the library last night.’
His grin turned wicked and she felt the upper hand in this conversation slipping away from her. ‘If you want to talk about how the idea of getting married to you made me drink a glass of brandy, then please be my guest.’
‘One glass.’ That dark eyebrow quirked. For a line of hair, it was really quite expressive.
‘Maybe two.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘There was a third but most of it ended up on your trousers. For which, I believe, I have already apologised.’
‘So you have.’
‘I am sure you would have preferred it if I had aimed for your mouth.’
‘It is not a drink I am fond of. Even less now,’ he added with a wink.
A maid entered carrying a tray of delicious-looking cakes.
Normally, Sophia would be rushing over to partake in a sweet treat, but for some reason, she wanted to stay exactly where she was.
Obviously because she needed to resolve the issue of not getting married to this man.
‘May we never speak of last night ever again? Or at least the part where I humiliated myself.’
‘It was not that bad.’ He straightened, leaning back against the bookshelf and away from her. ‘You were quite sweet really.’
‘Sweet? I was a gibbering mess. When I think of it, my soul leaves my body, so embarrassed am I by my behaviour.’
His laugh was infectious, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even though she was cringing on the inside.
‘I liked it when you invented the word contusioned.’ He didn’t even attempt to hide his delighted smile.
‘I hate to ask, but what does that mean?’
‘I think you were trying to find the word concussed. You were talking about Newtonian physics at the time, I believe.’
If a hole opened up now, she would gladly jump in and disappear. ‘Why?’ was all she managed in response.
‘Because…’ His wide smile slowly faded. ‘Do you know, it does not matter. Shall we discuss our strategy?’
His shift in mood was strange, but as that’s what she wanted to talk about, she wasn’t about to argue.
‘You will have to be the one to end things,’ he said.
She’d have snorted, if the gesture wasn’t too unladylike. ‘While I know that men cannot end an engagement, I hardly think that is going to be believable.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Not a single person is going to believe that I ended things with you.’
‘I do not understand.’ He was frowning as if he truly didn’t comprehend what she was saying.
‘You are from a ducal family, you are wealthy, handsome and fun to be around.’ She ticked the points off on her fingers. ‘A woman would have to be dicked in the nob to walk away from that.’
‘Dicked in the nob,’ he repeated softly. The corners of his eyes crinkled, almost like he was laughing at her, but his lips were straight. Figuring out his mood was difficult; at least his eyebrow wasn’t on the move again.
When he didn’t say anything else, she said. ‘Ergo, we will need to find a reason why the betrothal has to be called off. I do not suppose we can discover we are closely related?’
‘That is certainly something we could research. Although, I think it is highly unlikely we will discover it is true.’
It would be rude to ask him if he could fake his own death. Perhaps she could fake hers. But no, both of those options were ridiculous.
‘Do I want to know what you are thinking?’ he asked softly.
‘It is best not.’
‘We will come up with something, do not worry. I understand that you wish to be married to another man.’
She groaned softly. She was never having another drink. She hadn’t told anyone other than Tabitha that she was hoping for a proposal from Robert. But she must have told him about it, otherwise, how would he know? ‘How do you…?’
‘You mentioned it last night. In the library.’
Staring at the rug, willing it to open up and swallow her whole, proved ineffective.
‘There is no need to look distraught,’ he continued when she didn’t say anything.
‘During our forced betrothal, you told me that your heart lay elsewhere.’ Oh, the wretched man, he was reminding her of all her bad behaviour, the horrifying memories of which had kept her awake all night and which she was desperately trying to forget.
‘I behaved badly. I am sorry. It was the shock of the moment.’
He used two fingers to rub the space between his dark eyebrows. ‘This conversation is not going how I planned. And before you say anything, yes, I did prepare some things to say. I may have a reputation as a gadabout, but I do have a brain, and I can think ahead.’
‘I never said you could not think.’
‘You implied as much.’ She didn’t believe she had, but then the brandy had wiped some of her memories away. ‘I think we have to pretend to be engaged for at least two months…’
‘Two months!’ That was utterly absurd. ‘Two days is too long.’
‘You do realise your horrified face is insulting.’ It was hard to tell if he was amused or angry; there was some emotion bubbling in his eyes, but she was too incensed to puzzle out which.
‘I do not mean to hurt your pride, but do you really want to spend two months pretending to be in love with me?’
‘When you put it like that…’
‘Two days?’ she suggested hopefully.
‘Six weeks.’
‘Six days.’
His long sigh seemed to deflate him. ‘Is having to spend time with me such a terrible prospect?’
Lord Christopher was larger than life, the centre of attention.
They did not run in the same circles, but she was aware of him.
It had never occurred to her that she was someone with the ability to hurt his feelings.
From the slight downturn at the edge of his lips, she realised she had.
What a nightmare this whole situation was proving to be.
She couldn’t abide unkindness in other people and here she was being horrid to a man who had proven himself to be a gentleman in all their dealings.
‘Of course not, but six weeks is a long time. My mother will want to begin planning the wedding, everyone in Society will believe it is going to happen, and I cannot sit through her and my sisters’ excitement over which dresses to purchase, knowing that it is all going to end.’
‘How about a month, and you tell them all we are trying to find a way out of it that does not destroy our reputations?’
‘The longest one of my sisters has kept a secret is thirty-nine seconds and that is only because she was alone when she discovered it and that is the length of time it took her to run down the stairs. Telling them the betrothal is a ruse will not work if we wish to keep it private. But… a month is reasonable.’ Was it?
There was no way of knowing until the whole thing began.
What if she discovered Lord Christopher was too much of a rakehell and that she could not stomach more than a few hours in his company?
More likely, he would find her too straight-laced to bother with.
Perhaps the whole thing would be over much more quickly.
‘Are you worried about Robert’s reaction?’
It was strange to hear this sophisticated man discuss Robert. ‘Robert is… Robert has…’ How to explain that although she believed they would marry, there had been no sign that he was coming up to scratch on the matter. ‘We have an understanding, but there is no formal engagement. I…’
‘Once he knows there is another man on the scene, he will come running. Think of this as another way to prompt him to offer for you.’
‘He is not the sort of man who would fight over me like some sort of trophy.’
‘Trust me. All men are like that. If he thinks you are pining for him, he will stay at home. If he believes he has lost you, he will come.’
‘His father is ailing and he has to stay in the country to take care of him.’
‘He will come.’
Sophia hoped not. She would rather the whole situation was over before she had to tell him about it. But before she could say anything else, her mother called her over to join Lord and Lady Blackmore and the moment was lost.