Never Courted, Suddenly Wed Read online

  Mallen’s next statement pulled him back to the moment. “Miss Winters might seem different to you but remember you have a remarkably poor record with young ladies. First my sister, now, Miss Winters.”

  “Stuff it.” Christopher drained the remaining contents of his glass. He set it down upon the table next to him. “I need help. I no more want marriage to Miss Winters than she wants to marry me.” His jaw hardened. He’d be damned if he gave in to his father’s demands. The old marquess could go straight to the devil with his plans for Christopher and Phi.

  “You do realize what you’re asking could create much difficulty between myself and my mother and sister?”

  Christopher had considered that. “I’m not asking you to spend the entire Season courting her. Just several outings to deter her brother.”

  “And deter your father.”

  Christopher nodded. “Correct.”

  Mallen arched a single brow. “How does he intend to force your hand?”

  Christopher shifted in his seat. “He threatened to cut off my allowance if I don’t offer for the lady.” He couldn’t manage to humble himself with all the embarrassing details.

  Mallen made a sound of disapproval. “Hardly the thing, trying to force a man’s hand.”

  Christopher couldn’t agree more. He used Mallen’s sympathy to press for the other bachelor’s support. “My father, however, can’t lay blame at my feet if Miss Winters rejects my suit.”

  Mallen sighed.

  “Mallen…”

  “I’m considering it, Waxham.”

  The duke said nothing for a long while and the longer the stretch of silence grew, the more likely it became that Mallen would say no to Christopher’s outlandish request. It would mean Christopher had failed in his scheming. It would mean that he had to court Sophie who surely wouldn’t be able to rebuff his offer of marriage. It would mean his Athena in the library would be forever lost to him; before he’d even gathered the young lady’s identity. More than that, it would mean that his father had yet again won.

  Mallen finally spoke. “Why do I feel there is more to your request, Waxham? That you’ve come to me out of more than your desire to preserve your allowance?”

  Again, Athena’s teasing smile surfaced on the fringe of his memory, taunting him. “There isn’t. There isn’t,” he repeated at his friend’s incredulous expression.

  “If I didn’t feel this great sense of guilt about Emmaline throwing you over for the Marquess of Drake, I wouldn’t even begin to contemplate this foolhardy scheme.” Mallen set his glass down on his desk. “I must be mad.”

  Christopher scrambled forward in his chair. “You’ll do it?”

  A frown twisted Mallen’s lips. “Only with the greatest reluctance.”

  Relief surged in Christopher’s chest. “I’m indebted to you.”

  “Oh, you most certainly are,” Mallen said. He jabbed a finger in Christopher’s direction. “If Miss Winters begins to express feelings where I’m concerned, then this foolishness is at an end. Is that clear?”

  Christopher nodded. “Abundantly,” he added when Mallen looked ready to protest.

  A beleaguered sigh escaped the duke. “Is there anything I should know about the lady?”

  It was on the tip of Christopher’s tongue to say Sophie Winters was nothing less than a termagant who’d tortured him during his boyhood years but that no longer rang true. “She’s a lovely young lady. She’s…” He searched his mind. “Very sweet and docile.”

  A snort escaped Mallen. “You forget we’ve been friends since Eton. I remember the time of it Miss Winters gave you over the years.”

  “She was just a girl.” Christopher’s protest sounded half-hearted to his own ears. “And you probably know a good deal more about Sophie than I do. She’s been friends with your sister since they made their come out.”

  Before Mallen reconsidered, Christopher shoved himself to his feet. “I owe you a good deal. I’ll send around a bottle of my finest brandy.”

  “You certainly owe me more than a bottle of brandy,” Mallen muttered.

  Christopher grinned. “I’ll return the favor should you ever require it.”

  Mallen folded his arms across his chest, looking altogether very ducal in his unyielding posture and presence. “Rest assured, someday I do intend to collect more than a bottle of brandy.”

  Christopher inclined his head. “I’m grateful, Mallen.”

  Mallen tilted his chin toward the doorway. “Go now, before I change my mind.”

  Christopher hurried out of the room, with a greater sense of optimism than he’d felt since his father had issued his decree on Christopher’s marital status.

  He whistled his way out the front doors of Mallen’s townhouse. With a lighter heart, he took Intrepid’s reins from the waiting servant and climbed on his horse’s back. He gave a slight nudge to his black mare and they moved into a trot. At this ungodly hour, Hyde Park would be blessedly empty. He could allow Intrepid, to run freely.

  Christopher reached Hyde Park. As he guided the mare down a quiet riding path, he considered his meeting with Mallen. Going over to the duke’s, Christopher had been so very confident in his plan. Sophie wanted to wed Christopher even less than he wanted to marry her. Why, a union between them would be a comedy of errors best reserved for the stage. Only now, the reservations voiced by his friend danced around his mind.

  He didn’t fear Sophie would lose her heart to him.

  Mallen, was an altogether different story.

  Any young lady would be hard-pressed not to fall for the distinguished peer—if for just his title alone.

  Not that Sophie had ever struck him as a title-grasping young lady.

  A small cry rent the stillness of the grounds. Intrepid danced nervously beneath him.

  Christopher frowned and pulled on the reins. “Easy, girl,” he murmured, stroking her gently and rhythmically on her withers. He scoured the surrounding area and began to think he’d imagined the sound.

  Another shriek filled the morning sky. Christopher kicked his horse forward, galloping toward the cry, just as a young woman stepped into his path.

  His horse reared on its legs and came down amidst a shower of dust and pebbles. Christopher silently cursed and leapt to the ground.

  “Have you been hurt, miss?” He froze, the remainder of what he’d been about to say, died on his lips. “Sophie? Whatever are you doing here at this ungodly…” His stomach tightened. Mud dotted the hem of her pale pink gown. “Christ.” The one word emerged more as a prayer. It tore from somewhere deep inside of him where fear lived.

  A single trail of tears fell down her dirt-stained cheeks. “Christopher,” she cried and flung herself into his arms.

  Instinctively he folded them around her, holding her close to his fast-beating heart. All the ugliest scenarios played out in his mind. By God, when he found the man responsible he would rip the bloody bastard’s entrails through his throat.

  “What happened?” He strove to keep his voice calm.

  She raised her head. “You must help me.”

  “I will. Tell me what to do.” He would lay himself at her feet to drive back the panic bleeding through her cornflower blue irises.

  Sophie stepped away and took him by the hand.

  “Phi…?”

  “Come,” she pleaded.

  He allowed himself to be pulled along.

  “It’s Duke.”

  Those words penetrated all the horrific possibilities that had swelled in his brain. His steps slowed. “What?”

  “My dog.”

  His eyes slid closed on a whispered prayer. It was only her dog.

  Sophie glanced up at him. “We came upon some geese. There was a mother and her babies. Duke chased the baby fowl and the mother charged after him. Will you help me?”

  Christopher could only imagine what that entreaty cost Sophie. She was a proud woman…and he ventured, she’d sooner welcome help from the devil himself.

  �
��Of course I’ll help,” he said, gentling his tone.

  She dashed a hand across her eyes. “I’m crying.”

  His lips twitched. “Ah, yes, I see that.”

  “I never cry.”

  He wiped away a lone tear from her cheek, and then froze. It was as though a bolt of lightning had jolted him right there amidst Hyde Park’s lush greenery. Emerald green and turquoise flecks dotted her irises, a shade of blue to rival the purest ocean waters. They were the kind of eyes a man could lose himself in.

  He forced his gaze downward, and it landed on her mouth. Her teeth troubled the plump, lower flesh of bow-shaped lips and god help him, his mind wandered a path of all the wicked things those lips could do.

  Christopher released Sophie with such alacrity, she nearly toppled over. His hands immediately came up to right her, settling on the silken flesh of her forearm. He dropped it as if singed.

  “Christopher?”

  He heard the question there.

  “Fine,” he managed hoarsely. But he wasn’t. He’d bloody well lost his mind. There was no other explanation for why he’d be lusting after the hoydenish Sophie Winters on this riding path in Hyde Park. “Where did you last leave the miserable cur?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your dog,” he clarified, his tone harsh to his own ears.

  Her gaze narrowed. “His name is Duke.”

  Based on his recent dealings with the pup, Christopher would venture his was a more apt moniker for the creature.

  Christopher allowed himself to be dragged along, much the way he had as a child when he’d visited with Sophie’s family. Then it had grated. After all, there was nothing more a young boy liked less than playing nursemaid to a troublesome child.

  Now, the part of him that noted her sweetly rounded hips and plump buttocks was inclined to follow her to an out of the way path and worship her mouth with his lips.

  They crossed the Serpentine Bridge that divided the two parks and approached the Long Water. Sure enough, the fawn colored pug, who’d clearly had too many treats at his mistress’ hand, danced in circles about a gray goose.

  The angry bird flapped its wings and honked, dancing about on its pink feet in a way that Gentleman Jackson would have been proud of.

  Christopher studied the tableau. He didn’t take Sophie as one who would be afraid of a bird. “You didn’t try to intercede?”

  She made an impatient sound, and he looked back down at her. “Of course I did.” She held up her hand for his inspection. A thin trail of blood ran down the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger.

  He cursed, and reached for the hand. “What happened?”

  “I didn’t know geese had teeth,” she muttered.

  He cocked his head. “Do they?”

  Sophie gave a curt nod. “My sentiments exactly. I didn’t know any bird had teeth.”

  Christopher reached within the front of his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped the thin streak of blood. “Who knew?” As he wrapped the cloth around her wound, he studied her long fingers, transfixed. God, if she didn’t possess the kind of fingers a man dreamed of; wrapped around…

  He dropped her hand.

  “Are you going to help me fetch him?” Sophie asked, chewing at her lower lip, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil raging through him.

  The alternative was to stand there and dream up all manner of improper things about Sophie Winters. He rushed into the fray and bent down to scoop up Duke. The goose apparently took issue with his intervention and rushed at Christopher, pecking at his boots. The pug squirmed, eager to continue its battle.

  Then, the miserable little cur sank its sharp teeth into Christopher’s hand.

  He winced, and held the dog out to Sophie.

  Her eyes lit like he’d bestowed upon her the finest jewels and not this yapping, snorting excuse of a dog.

  She hugged him. Duke calmed, resting in his mistress’ arms.

  Christopher’s gaze fell to the generous mounds of pale, white flesh that teased the décolletage of her pink, muslin gown. If he’d had his head resting upon her breasts, Christopher would find himself quite contented, as well.

  A strangled sound worked its way up his throat.

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

  “Fine,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  Then, Sophie Winters, the girl who’d tortured him for all his earlier years, who’d frowned, snapped, and tormented him, did the most unexpected thing…she smiled.

  Christopher grinned back. “Well, I’d imagine Lady Ackerly will have something rather positive to write about this time,” he teased.

  Sophie shook her head with mock solemnity. “Oh, no. She’d never do something so contrary as to write something positive. Mustn’t do something like that. It would ruin the lady’s reputation.”

  “Is it a lady?”

  She started. “Hmm. I just assumed that it was.”

  He looked around at the empty park. “Do you always walk at this ungodly hour?”

  Sophie’s shoulders moved up and down in a little shrug. “I find I like the privacy of my own company. There is less for Lady Ackerly to write about at this time,” she mumbled from under her breath.

  At her words, it seemed to occur to the both of them that they were standing at the edge of the lake, in public for anyone to see, with no chaperone.

  Sophie trailed the tip of her slipper in the gravel. “I should be going.”

  Oddly, he had this desire for her to stay. Instead, he said, “Yes. You should.” He looked around. “Where is your maid?”

  As if on cue the woman came hurtling from around the corner, her chest heaving up and down from her efforts.

  “She couldn’t keep up,” Sophie whispered.

  He bit back a grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled this much.

  “Miss Winters!” the woman gasped. “There you are. You mustn’t…” her words died at the sight of Christopher. She clamped her lips shut and dropped her gaze to the ground.

  Duke wriggled in Sophie’s arms until she was forced to set him down. The pug darted over to the pinch-mouthed maid, and barked wildly at the young woman. “Mother managed to find me the least fun maid in the entire kingdom,” Sophie said, out of the corner of her mouth.

  Christopher laughed, and she joined him. They shared a look.

  Sophie trailed her tongue along the seam of her lips. “Thank you for helping with Duke. I should be going.”

  “Yes, you said that.”

  Sophie curtsied, and walked several paces. Then, all of a sudden, she spun back around. “Christopher?”

  He inclined his head. “Yes, Phi?”

  “Last evening, you spoke of Whitmore. You said I didn’t know all the details surrounding the game of cards that resulted in your acquisition of his stables.”

  “Is there a question there?” he asked, gently.

  “You know there is. What happened between you and Whitmore?” She let out a little sigh. “Very well, then,” she said, when he didn’t reply. Sophie turned on her heel.

  “Phi?” he called out.

  Sophie turned around so quickly, she stumbled. She threw her arms wide to maintain her balance.

  “I learned Whitmore was abusing his horses.” His mouth tightened when he thought about the undernourished, chestnut thoroughbred he’d acquired from Whitmore. The poor creature had been whipped so many times it bore the scars upon its sunken flanks. Christopher had named the horse Survivor, and had taken it upon himself to care for it. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to discuss the details.”

  Her eyes filled with sadness. “The poor dears.” She scuffed the tip of her slipper along the ground. “Christopher, forgive me. I should not have passed judgment.”

  They continued to stare at each other, neither speaking.

  Duke pawed at Sophie’s skirts. She bent down and scooped him up, yet again. “Uh…I…thank you for your help with Duke.” She curtsied, and then
rushed off.

  Her maid fell into step alongside her.

  He stared after Sophie until she’d disappeared from sight. His reservations with the plan he’d concocted stirred yet again.

  When he’d sought out Mallen, he’d done so with thoughts of that fateful night Sophie had snuck up on him with a lantern in her hands. She’d set it down upon a mounting block and searched the stables until she’d found him attempting to read to his horse, Resilience; a pure-blooded Arabian who didn’t judge.

  Sophie had giggled, mocking his efforts, and raced from the stables. Christopher still recalled the burning humiliation in his chest, as it licked at his insides. He’d thrown a nearby saddle against the stable wall, and stormed out, not having realized until too late that his rash actions had upended the forgotten lantern. The barn had been ravaged by fire, and though most of his father’s horses had been saved, a stunning Arabian and her foal had perished. The suffering Christopher endured at his father’s hand was no match for the despair and sense of responsibility Christopher carried for the loss of those loyal horses. Sophie Winters’ cruelty had become inextricably tied to the great loss suffered that night.

  He shook his head, displacing the troubling memories.

  Now, Sophie was more than that girl who’d wreaked havoc upon his life. She was a woman who battled wild geese to defend an undeserving mongrel of a dog.

  As Christopher started home, he had the niggling thought that his scheme might prove more problematic than he’d originally considered.

  Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

  Miss S.W. was observed entering London Hospital. To what ends, still remains unclear.

  ~7~

  Sophie stepped down from the carriage, and glanced up at the sign welcoming one to London Hospital, before returning her attention to the note she’d received from Emmaline. She scanned it once more.