Chapter 24
Nicholas backed Sophie against the door and drank in her startled gasp. His pulse pounded in his temples and at the base of his throat.
He tasted her lips, reveling in the way she melted against the door as it clicked shut and surrendered her mouth for him to plunder.
He’d been going insane since she’d walked away with Sylvestor.
Logically, he’d known that nothing could happen between them with Betsy in tow and that, even if the maid hadn’t been there, Sophie’s heart belonged to him. But it had still been difficult to sit there and say nothing as his future wife went gallivanting off with another man.
He slipped his tongue between her lips. Honey and heat. Delicious.
He needed to remind himself that she was his.
His.
Fuck, this new possessiveness was going to be the death of him.
Her tongue met his, and the kiss dragged on until they were both out of breath.
“What’s wrong?” she panted against his mouth. “Not that I’m opposed to kissing, but something seems amiss.”
“I hated to see you leave with him,” he rasped, plastering his body against hers. They were both damp and sticky from the heat. Pressing against her only made it worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Who cared what his clothes were doing when he finally had her in his arms again?
“I wish I hadn’t had to go.”
“I almost got up and challenged him. But I couldn’t because no one can know about our betrothal yet, and you have no damn idea how much I wanted to let them all know that you’re mine.
” He buried his face in the crook of her neck.
“I’ve never been like this. I’ve never cared so much about claiming someone, but now that I have you, I want the world to know it. ”
She cupped the back of his head, silently encouraging him to kiss and nip at her collarbone. “How do you think I feel when Lady Somerset continually flirts with you? I want to ask Betsy to sneak into her room in the middle of the night and cut off her hair.”
He chuckled and ran his lips across her soft skin. “I’m not interested in Lady Somerset.”
“Not now,” she amended, reminding him that that wasn’t always the case. “Just like I’m no longer interested in the baron.”
He raised his head, and she gazed up at him, her well-kissed lips parted and her eyes shining like liquid sapphires.
“At least we don’t have to wait much longer. What did Baron Sylvestor want?”
She stretched onto her toes and kissed him, then pushed him back, allowing air to circulate between them, cooling them slightly. “He asked why I’ve been avoiding him. I told him that my affection lies elsewhere.”
Satisfaction curled in Nicholas’s gut. “You really told him that?”
“I did.” Her smile turned mischievous. “Don’t worry, Nicholas. The baron knows that I’m yours.”
“He’d better.”
In a way, Nicholas pitied Baron Sylvestor. He knew what it was like to want Sophie, and he’d won her over, while the baron would leave empty-handed. However, he also wanted the man as far from her as possible.
She tilted her head to the side. “He thinks you won’t marry me.”
Fury scorched through him and stole his air, making it difficult to breathe.
“He’s wrong.”
“Yes, he is.”
Thank God she knew that. If Sylvestor had made her doubt him, he’d have discovered that Nicholas wasn’t always the easygoing Blackwell brother.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
She deserved a reward for that. He glanced around the room, noting the large desk in the center of the space.
This was Lord Wembley’s office. It was empty, since the man in question was engaged in a game of whist outdoors, and, when Nicholas had last seen him, he hadn’t looked like he was prepared to move anytime soon.
Placing his hands on her hips, he spun her around and guided her back to the desk. She propped her bottom on the edge, and he grabbed handfuls of her skirt, prepared to lift it and show her how much he appreciated her faith in him.
The click of a latch ricocheted through the otherwise quiet room.
Nicholas froze.
Hell. Was that…?
He released Sophie’s skirt and pivoted toward the door just as it opened, and Lady Wembley glided through.
The countess’s eyes widened, and she stopped in her tracks. Her gaze flicked from Nicholas to Sophie, who’d scrambled off the edge of the desk and was trying to scoot away from him.
“What on earth is going on here?” she demanded, her voice even louder than usual.
Good God, didn’t the woman know that times like this called for discretion?
Lady Somerset sauntered in behind her, grinning evilly, obviously pleased with herself. “I should think that’s obvious.”
Nicholas stared at her, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place. She’d somehow known he was here, and she’d arranged to have Lady Wembley find them.
But why?
Purely out of spite?
She had to know that this would be forcing his hand and that even if he hadn’t already intended to, he’d now have no option but to marry Sophie.
Or perhaps she, like Baron Sylvestor, believed Nicholas would abandon her to the vultures and would no longer be allowed anywhere near her.
Fuck.
His mother was going to hear about this.
Theo would too.
They’d be furious with him.
But it was too late for regrets now. They’d simply have to make the best of the situation they’d found themselves in.
Nicholas reached for Sophie’s hand. She met his eyes, and he silently willed her to trust him. A moment later, she laid her hand in his, and he raised it to his lips and kissed the gloved back of it.
“Ladies, please offer my beautiful fiancée your congratulations. I have asked her to marry me, and she has graciously accepted.”
Lady Somerset scoffed, an absolutely vitriolic look crossing her face. “You’re betrothed? I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?” Sophie asked, apparently finding her voice. “Mr. Blackwell has been courting me for quite some time. I’m very fond of him, and I look forward to being his wife.”
“B-but….” Lady Somerset shook her head. “Mr. Blackwell always said he wouldn’t marry.”
He winced. Yes, he had told her that, but that had been when he’d believed her to be widowed. Considering she wasn’t, it wasn’t as if he could marry her anyway. She was already someone else’s wife.
But he supposed this would bruise her ego nonetheless.
“Things have changed.” He pulled Sophie closer. “Lady Sophie and I intend to wed soon after returning to London.”
That wasn’t quite true, but it would buy them a little time to figure out their next steps.
Lady Wembley sighed. “The baron will be quite disappointed, but I’m happy for the both of you. Have you informed Lady Carlisle?”
“Not yet,” he said. “We’ve only just come to an agreement between ourselves.”
“Then I suppose the most important thing is to rectify that.” Lady Wembley turned to Lady Somerset. “Please fetch Lady Carlisle.” She narrowed her eyes. “And be discreet. Don’t think I’m unaware of your machinations here today.”
When she left, Nicholas’s shoulders relaxed, and he sensed Sophie letting out a breath beside him.
“Thank you for being so reasonable,” Sophie said. “Some people would cause a scene simply for the fun of it.”
Lady Wembley swept a loose lock of hair off her face.
“There will be gossip regardless. I daresay we’ll have something of a scandal on our hands—Lady Somerset will make sure of it.
But Mary is a good friend, and she endured enough scorn at the hands of the ton when Violet jilted Lord Ashford.
Anything I can do to ease the situation now, I will. ”
Nicholas bowed to her awkwardly because he was still holding Sophie’s hand. “We appreciate that.”
“Yes, well.” She gestured dismissively. “As I said, there’s only so much I’m capable of. You may want to set yourself to rights, Sophie. Your dress is rumpled.”
Sophie’s cheeks flushed, and she smoothed her dress and touched her hair, checking that it was all in place.
There was a soft knock, and Lady Carlisle stepped into the office with Lady Somerset close behind her.
Lady Carlisle’s hands fluttered in front of her waist—the only sign of her anxiety—and she clasped them together before addressing them. “I’m told you have news. I’m eager to hear it, but let’s retreat to a private drawing room. Nancy, do you have somewhere we could go?”
“Of course. Follow me.” Lady Wembley whisked past Lady Carlisle and Lady Somerset and led the group down the corridor to a small drawing room on the darker side of the manor.
It clearly wasn’t used often but had been recently cleaned—perhaps anticipating that guests might have need of it.
“You may speak here. Lady Somerset, I believe we ought to leave them to discuss arrangements.”
Nicholas refrained from looking at Lady Somerset even though he could feel her glare burning into the side of his face. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her after she’d done her damndest to ruin Sophie.
Lady Somerset followed Lady Wembley away from the others and Nicholas held the door as Lady Carlisle and Sophie went to the matching chaises that faced each other across a tea table. He shut the door and checked for a lock.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t one, but if they spoke quietly, no one should be able to overhear them, even with their ear pressed against the door.
As Nicholas crossed the room, sat beside Sophie and took her hand, Lady Carlisle studied them silently.
“Before you explain what happened, I need to know whether I’m planning a wedding.” The sharpness in her eyes said that the answer had better be yes.
“We are betrothed,” Sophie replied, squeezing Nicholas’s hand.
He smiled. It was sweet of her to try to reassure him. “We had already discussed the prospect of marriage prior to today,” he confirmed. “We didn’t intend to make it public yet and, of course, we would have sought permission from your husband first.”
Another lie, but hopefully a harmless one.
“Good.” The lines around her mouth eased. “So, what happened and do I need to be concerned about it?”