Never Courted, Suddenly Wed Read online

  She looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

  Christopher released her hand and reached for one of the branches. A thorn bit into the pads of his fingers, drawing blood. He dusted his fingers along the sides of his breeches and made one more grasp at the stubborn bud. He tugged it free and held it out to Sophie. “I should have brought flowers,” he said by way of apology.

  A sheen of tears smarted behind Sophie’s eyes. The flower slipped from his fingers, and fell in a fluttery dance to their feet. “What is it?”

  Sophie shook her head. She stooped down and rescued the flower, studying it overly long. “It’s utterly perfect.” He reached for the hand that held the pink rose. His fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze and she continued. “It’s perfect because it came from you.”

  Oh Christ, this viselike pressure squeezing his heart was too much. Most young ladies dreamed of sonnets and hothouse flowers and yet his meager offering had driven this proud woman to tears. It made him wish that he’d been a much better man to her before this, made him wish that he’d come to her with strictly honorable intentions. Christopher brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “You deserve so much more, Phi.” In the very least, she deserved more than him.

  “I don’t want more than this, Christopher.”

  Christopher lowered his lips and claimed hers in a gentle kiss. Her lips parted on a breathy whisper and he used that as all the encouragement needed to slip his tongue inside and re-familiarize himself with the hot, moist contours of her mouth.

  Sophie reached up, tugged free the queue at the base of his neck, and wrapped her fingers within the strands of his hair.

  He groaned at the sweet seductiveness of her innocent gesture and deepened the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers again and again until she moaned with desire.

  “Christopher,” she whispered against his lips.

  His hands moved an exploratory path along the graceful flesh of her shoulder, down her forearms, and settled at last upon the generous curve of her hips. He tugged her closer, his aching hardness settled with a familiarity against the softness of her belly.

  Her head arched back, and she cried out.

  The throaty wantonness of that cry broke through the haze of desire that clouded his better judgment. He placed a kiss at her temple.

  She blinked back the desire clouding her eyes. “Why did you stop?” she blurted, and then a becoming flush stained her cheeks.

  God, he should be sainted for resisting what she so clearly offered. “When we are married, I’ll take the time to show you all the ways a man can love a woman. But I’ll not disrespect you, not any more than I already have, Phi.”

  Sophie sighed. “What if I want…?”

  “No.”

  “But…”

  “No, Sophie,” he said, gruffly. It was taking every ounce of strength he didn’t know he possessed to resist her arousing entreaty.

  “Not even if I point out that I’m now a fallen woman?”

  He grimaced. “You are not a fallen woman.”

  “Very well.” She rested her cheek against the wall of his chest.

  Christopher dropped his chin atop her crown of golden curls. He inhaled the citrusy scent of lemon that clung to her and wondered not for the first time if she bathed in the sweet fragrance.

  “My brother suggested that there…was a reason for your interest in me, Christopher. Why is that?”

  The magic of the moment couldn’t have ended more quickly than if Sophie had lifted her knee and slammed it into his groin.

  “Christopher?” she asked, when he did not immediately respond.

  He shook his head, turning over possible answers in his brain. In the end, he settled for the truth. “I’m marrying you because I want to,” he said at long last.

  “Truly?”

  “Truly,” he said, willing her to hear the veracity of his somber response. He took a steadying breath. Sophie deserved the truth. All of it. Their marriage could not be built off the lies between them. Christopher opened his mouth to confess that which had originally prompted his courtship.

  “I knew he was wrong,” Sophie muttered.

  Christopher pulled back. The truth died a swift death on his lips. He ran a gaze over her heart-shaped face; the slight cleft, so very familiar in her chin, the pale white of her satiny smooth skin. Lies may have fueled his earlier motives where Sophie was concerned…but that had all changed.

  He dropped to a knee.

  “Christopher?”

  “You deserved to be courted, Phi. And you deserved a proper offer of marriage,” Not the scandal he’d brought upon her in front of the censuring eyes of Society members who delighted in her fall. “Will you marry me?”

  A tremulous smile formed on her bow-shaped lips. “You know I have too, though,” she said, gently.

  He squeezed her hands. “Marry me not because you have to. Marry me because you want to. Forget your brother and mother. My father. The scandal. All of it. Will you marry me?”

  Her eyes locked with his. She reached down and framed his face between her hands. “There is nothing in the world I want more, Christopher. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  As he took her in his arms yet again, Christopher couldn’t shake the mocking question that twirled around his mind; would Sophie still feel that way when she learned the truth of his deception?

  Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

  Quite a scene was caused in Hyde Park when Miss S.W’s ill-mannered pug attacked the carriage of Viscountess C, leading the distinguished hostess’s beloved bull mastiffs on a harrowing chase among the throngs of carriages.

  ~18~

  Amongst their families and the Duke of Mallen, Christopher and Sophie were wed in her brother’s office one week later.

  From where she now sat at Geoffrey’s dining table, Sophie studied the somber expression in her mother’s familiar blue eyes, the hard glint in Geoffrey’s eyes, the boredom in the Marquess of Milford’s stare. Even the Duke of Mallen, who stood beside Christopher at the ceremony and served as witness, wore a black frown on his lips.

  She tried to convince herself the awkward stiltedness to their family’s conversation existed solely in her mind, but knew she lied.

  Since she was being honest with herself, she could admit this wasn’t the dream she’d carried for her wedding day.

  Sophie had always imagined Mother would have been exasperating in her attention to every last detail of Sophie’s wedding; from the breakfast to the bridal trousseau. Her dearest friend Emmaline would have been there, smiling and supportive. She would have even allowed Sophie to ask all the scandalous questions Sophie had as an unwed woman, about her wedding night.

  As if he sensed the dismal direction Sophie’s thoughts had taken, Christopher reached under the table and found her hand. He gave her fingers a gentle, but firm squeeze. The raw vitality of his hold robbed her of breath.

  All the regrets she carried in her heart melted away. Christopher was now her husband.

  He leaned down. His warm breath fanned her cheek. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

  Sophie tugged her hand free and used the tip of her spoon to stir her bowl of oatmeal with sweet cream. “I’m not hungry.”

  Christopher tipped his chin in the direction of the raspberry tart on her plate. “Not even for pastries? Something must truly be wrong.”

  A giggle escaped her. She reached for the tart and nibbled at the corner. “Well, the pastries. But nothing else.”

  “Waxham?”

  He winked at her and then looked over at the Duke of Mallen, who’d asked him a question.

  Sophie studied her husband. Husband. She rolled the word around her mind, testing the feel of it. She, Sophie Winters had a husband. Not just any husband. She’d wed the much sought after Earl of Waxham. She, the incorrigible Sophie Winters, the source of gossip in Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet, had secured a match.

  A smile played about her lips. Since Sophie had been in the nursery, she and Chri
stopher had spent their lives tormenting one another.

  Odd, her destiny had been within her fingertips and she’d never even suspected.

  Not for the first time she considered the ugly possibility; what if he’d wed Emmaline? What if Lord Drake had not fought for her friend’s hand?

  A chill stole through her as she considered how their lives would have been forever altered.

  Christopher froze mid-conversation, seeming so very in tune with her body’s responses. He leaned down. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Truly,” she promised. And she was. For the first time in a very long time, she was more than fine. She was blissfully contented; her life complete when she’d never before realized it was incomplete.

  The remainder of the meal passed in a blur. Then, they were making their way to the carriage.

  She expected there would be laughter…or…something from her mother or brother. Alas, even though Christopher had wed her, Sophie’s family appeared unable to forgive her great transgression at Lady Brackenridge’s. Her throat worked up and down.

  Christopher made to hand her up into the conveyance.

  “Wait!”

  Sophie spun around. Her mother raced down the townhouse steps. The normally proper, leading Society matron’s chest heaved up and down from her exertions.

  “Mother?” Sophie had used to tease her mother and say that if their townhouse was ablaze, Mother would have walked out with slow, deliberate, ladylike steps. She glanced around at the passing ladies and gentlemen who eyed her mother with no small bit of curiosity. “Lady Ackerly…”

  “Oh hang, Lady Ackerly,” her mother cried. She wrapped her arms around Sophie. “I just want you to be happy,” she whispered into her ear.

  “I am happy,” Sophie hurried to assure her.

  Mother pulled back and looked at her through tear-filled eyes. “Do you love him?” her mother blurted.

  Sophie glanced over at her husband, who was in conversation with the Duke of Mallen. Did she love him? She knew even the thought of him filled her with a euphoric joy that she’d never before known. She knew when he wasn’t near, she ached at the loss of his presence.

  Sophie staggered back a step, feeling as though she were falling slowly.

  Her mother caught her by the arm, a smile on her normally stern lips. “I think I have my answer.” She pressed a kiss to Sophie’s forehead. “Know that everything I’ve done has always been to protect you.”

  “I know that, Mother.”

  “Everything,” her mother added. She looked over Sophie’s shoulder to Christopher. “Your husband is waiting for you.”

  Sophie battled through the sheen of tears that filled her eyes.

  Geoffrey stepped past the Duke of Mallen and the Marquess of Milford, a familiar bundle in his arms. “Are you forgetting something?”

  Duke all but leapt into her arms and lapped her face with his coarse, pink tongue. “I could never forget you,” she said against her dog’s fur.

  He gave a small yap.

  Christopher groaned, and eyed Duke like he were Cerberus, with its serpents tail and mane of snakes and not the too plump, precious bit of joy that he was.

  Geoffrey managed his first real smile of the day. He held a hand out to Christopher. “Take care of her,” he said.

  Her husband eyed Geoffrey a moment, and then accepted the unstated offer of a truce. “I give you my word.”

  The marquess made his way over. Before he spoke, Christopher all but heaved her up and tossed her inside the carriage. “We’re going,” he bit out. Without waiting for the servant, he pulled the door closed, wrapped on the ceiling of the carriage, and set the conveyance into motion.

  It lurched forward.

  Sophie pulled back the curtain and saw the faces of her loved ones fade into the distance. She hugged Duke close; the pug represented one, small reminder of home. Odd, she’d spent many years of her life with the dream of being free of Geoffrey and her mother’s irritation. She had imagined a life without their constant rebuke.

  Only, now with the carriage separating Sophie from her youth, a bittersweet wistfulness swept over her.

  ***

  Christopher sat back against the velvet squabs of the carriage. For the better part of a week, he’d held his breath anticipating that the carefully crafted lies he’d built his relationship with Sophie upon, would tumble to the ground and leave him exposed for the schemer he was. Instead, the days had passed with a surprising uneventfulness.

  Even his meeting with Mallen several days ago had gone unexpectedly well. He’d sought out his friend and made his apologies, asking him to stand up with Christopher when he wed Sophie. Mallen had been gracious and agreeable. Oh, the easy camaraderie that had always existed between him and Mallen was no more. Instead, their exchanges were stilted and cautious…but they’d taken steps to move forward from the scheme in which Christopher had involved the duke.

  Christopher studied his wife. A wistful gleam filled those eyes that normally sparkled with cheerfulness.

  The pit in his stomach, continued to grow. “Are you unhappy, Phi?”

  Her head jerked over in his direction. She winced as though it had caused her pain.

  “Not at all,” she said, a touch too hurriedly.

  Sophie used one hand to caress the nape of her neck, the other she used to hold onto that miserable little cur in her arms.

  Christopher sighed. Who would have imagined that he’d be jealous of a dog that didn’t even stand all of one foot in height?

  It also didn’t fail to escape his notice that Sophie didn’t say anything else on it. She redirected her attention out the window at the passing scenery.

  He used Sophie’s distractedness as an opportunity to study her. Resplendent in an ice blue, satin gown, she put him in mind of some kind of ice queen. A row of crystal had been embroidered along the trim of her bodice, drawing his attention to her splendid décolletage.

  Sophie looked over at him. Her brow wrinkled. “Where are we going?”

  He grinned. He’d wondered just when she’d ask that very question. “Kent.”

  Her eyes lit to rival the glimmer of the enormous tear-shaped diamond at her neck.

  Christopher continued. “I thought a small wedding trip would be beneficial. You always loved Milford House.”

  His family’s property in the country bordered her brother’s land, and was frequently inhabited by the marquess. As a result, Christopher had taken care to avoid visiting Kent. With the marquess in London, and Sophie’s love of the lush, green hills and crystalline lake, Christopher had thought it the ideal time to visit the country.

  “Oh, Christopher. I can’t think of a more perfect gift.”

  The pit in his belly became a boulder. He reached into the front of his jacket and pulled out a long, thin box. She looked from the box to him. “Go on,” he urged.

  Sophie set Duke down and the dog favored Christopher with a black look. She opened the lid and gasped. With tremulous fingers she removed the heart-shaped porcelain painted locket. “Christopher, it is lovely.”

  He wished he could give her more. But since his father had shared with Christopher the direness of their financial situation, Christopher had been loath to spend any money. “It belonged to my mother,” he said at last. “’I’m sorry it is not diamonds or emeralds.”

  She shook her head. “Do not be foolish. It is lovely. Truly,” she said, at last picking her gaze up from the pendant. “I don’t even like diamonds and emeralds.”

  It didn’t escape him that now he would be in a financial position to purchase her nothing but the finest jewels…but that realization felt empty, made his skin crawl at the truth that he’d in a sense stolen her fortune.

  “Every woman loves diamonds and emeralds.”

  She shook her head. “Not me. I hate them. So garish and attention-getting.”

  What a great tragedy; that a woman who so
loved her privacy and solitude had attracted the frequent notice of Lady Ackerly and the ton.

  She set the box down on her lap. “How long will we stay in the country?”

  “I’d thought a fortnight.”

  Sophie’s lips turned down in a small frown. He ventured that anything shy of ‘forever’ would have been too short for Sophie.

  Christopher reached over and tugged her onto the seat beside him. He draped his arm over her shoulder, holding her close.

  She snuggled against his side. “Sometimes I imagine how my life would be different if you’d married Emmaline.”

  A sound of protest worked its way up his throat. “Phi…”

  “No. It’s fine. Truly.” And when she said it like that, with her matter-of-factness, he rather believed her. She peeked up at him. “But I do. I think how I would have probably always resented you for things you’d done as a boy and would have never known the man you’d become.”

  Again, the tendrils of guilt unfurled and crept like a fast-growing vine throughout him. He wasn’t the man she believed him to be. Christopher cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had gone. “Why don’t you rest, Sophie? We’ve a long trip.”

  Her lips tipped up at the corners. “So it is to be Sophie? My, how very serious of you, husband.”

  He managed a smile and closed his eyes.

  “Are you trying to silence me? Humph.” She seemed to interpret his silence as a confirmation of her question. “Very well. But I’m only resting because I’m exhausted and not because you’ve ordered it.”

  “Of course,” he said with mock solemnity. “But it wasn’t an order, it was a suggestion.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said with a wave of her hand. Sophie nestled closer to his side, and with a yawn promptly fell asleep. When her breath had settled into a smooth, even rhythm, Christopher opened his eyes. He used Sophie’s stillness as an opportunity to consider his new wife.

  “Wife,” he said the word aloud, breathing it to reality. A few short months ago, he’d imagined there was nothing he wanted less in the world than a union with Sophie Winters.