doorway. “Let us move to the sitting room so His Grace can finish greeting his guests.” She tossed a knowing look over her shoulder as they departed. Andrew met it with a grimace, then glanced back at the staircase, watching the last of Sophie’s descent through shuttered lids.
He cleared his throat and her gaze jerked to his. “Lady Sophia,” he greeted with a bow. “I was unaware you had arrived.”
She said nothing until she reached the bottom of the staircase. A diffident smile accompanied her polite curtsy. “Your Grace,” she said, lifting her gaze to his. “You were busy in your study. I did not wish to disturb you.” Again . The word went unspoken but hung heavy in the air between them.
“Besides, she was not here to see you, she was here to see me,” Alex added with a cheeky look that transformed quickly into a haughty glare as she prodded Sophie along.
Andrew followed them into the room, trying to convince himself that the gathering would still work in his favor, even as his eyes wandered uncontrollably to Sophie’s silk-clad backside. His fingers itched to skim over the soft material, peel it off and see if the prize underneath was as soft as he imagined. Flexing his hands, he pushed the thought away, then forced his eyes up. The amount of effort it took annoyed him. He entered in their wake, gaze scanning the room. One look at the surprised smile Lady Abigail offered at their entrance told him everything he needed to know. He was in trouble. Big trouble .
* * * *
Alexandra wasted no time leading Sophie to Lord Courtland's side and then promptly, and without any real reason, excusing herself. “I'll be back in a moment.”
Sophie smiled. “Good evening, Lady Abigail.”
“How wonderful to see you again, Lady Sophia.” Her tone had a vaguely plaintive quality, as if she were disappointed, but was trying to hide it. “My brother did not mention you planned to attend.”
Lord Courtland stepped up and took Sophie's hands in his, hazel eyes twinkling with appreciation. “I had no idea fortune would smile so warmly upon me this evening, but I am thankful, nonetheless.” Lifting her fingers, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
“You are too kind, my lord,” she said, working to maintain a genuine smile. With Andrew only a few feet away, she was struggling to keep nervousness at bay.
Weston entered the room and, with the duke's permissive nod, announced that dinner was served. Andrew was at Lady Abigail's side in three long strides. “Shall we, my lady?” he asked, offering his arm without so much as a glance at Sophie or Lord Courtland.
“Of course,” Lady Abigail said, tossing an apologetic look in Sophie's direction. If a girl of her inexperience noticed the slight, then Lord Courtland must have, also.
Her nervousness gave way to irritation.
Lord Courtland offered his arm. “You and me, then?”
She nodded graciously, resting her hand on his coat as they waited for the duke to lead them out of the door. The tenor of his voice slid over her, and even though she could not make out what he was saying, she couldn't resist listening. Anger began to coil inside her and she wondered how she would ever make it through the evening without lashing out.
“Do you ever feel like bleating?” Lord Courtland asked suddenly.
“Pardon?” she asked, giving him a curious sideways glance.
“Bleating. You know, as sheep do.” He opened and closed his mouth, silently mimicking the baa of the animals.
“Er. . .no. Why would I?”
“The parade to dinner always reminds me of sheep being herded.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Or perhaps the latest fashion brings to mind a muster of peacocks. Either way, only the leader ends up with any respectable position, while the rest of us waddle along behind him.”
“Do peacocks waddle?” she asked, grateful for the distraction.
“Does it matter?” he countered through a wicked grin.
She pitched her voice low. “I suppose it
He cleared his throat and her gaze jerked to his. “Lady Sophia,” he greeted with a bow. “I was unaware you had arrived.”
She said nothing until she reached the bottom of the staircase. A diffident smile accompanied her polite curtsy. “Your Grace,” she said, lifting her gaze to his. “You were busy in your study. I did not wish to disturb you.” Again . The word went unspoken but hung heavy in the air between them.
“Besides, she was not here to see you, she was here to see me,” Alex added with a cheeky look that transformed quickly into a haughty glare as she prodded Sophie along.
Andrew followed them into the room, trying to convince himself that the gathering would still work in his favor, even as his eyes wandered uncontrollably to Sophie’s silk-clad backside. His fingers itched to skim over the soft material, peel it off and see if the prize underneath was as soft as he imagined. Flexing his hands, he pushed the thought away, then forced his eyes up. The amount of effort it took annoyed him. He entered in their wake, gaze scanning the room. One look at the surprised smile Lady Abigail offered at their entrance told him everything he needed to know. He was in trouble. Big trouble .
* * * *
Alexandra wasted no time leading Sophie to Lord Courtland's side and then promptly, and without any real reason, excusing herself. “I'll be back in a moment.”
Sophie smiled. “Good evening, Lady Abigail.”
“How wonderful to see you again, Lady Sophia.” Her tone had a vaguely plaintive quality, as if she were disappointed, but was trying to hide it. “My brother did not mention you planned to attend.”
Lord Courtland stepped up and took Sophie's hands in his, hazel eyes twinkling with appreciation. “I had no idea fortune would smile so warmly upon me this evening, but I am thankful, nonetheless.” Lifting her fingers, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
“You are too kind, my lord,” she said, working to maintain a genuine smile. With Andrew only a few feet away, she was struggling to keep nervousness at bay.
Weston entered the room and, with the duke's permissive nod, announced that dinner was served. Andrew was at Lady Abigail's side in three long strides. “Shall we, my lady?” he asked, offering his arm without so much as a glance at Sophie or Lord Courtland.
“Of course,” Lady Abigail said, tossing an apologetic look in Sophie's direction. If a girl of her inexperience noticed the slight, then Lord Courtland must have, also.
Her nervousness gave way to irritation.
Lord Courtland offered his arm. “You and me, then?”
She nodded graciously, resting her hand on his coat as they waited for the duke to lead them out of the door. The tenor of his voice slid over her, and even though she could not make out what he was saying, she couldn't resist listening. Anger began to coil inside her and she wondered how she would ever make it through the evening without lashing out.
“Do you ever feel like bleating?” Lord Courtland asked suddenly.
“Pardon?” she asked, giving him a curious sideways glance.
“Bleating. You know, as sheep do.” He opened and closed his mouth, silently mimicking the baa of the animals.
“Er. . .no. Why would I?”
“The parade to dinner always reminds me of sheep being herded.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Or perhaps the latest fashion brings to mind a muster of peacocks. Either way, only the leader ends up with any respectable position, while the rest of us waddle along behind him.”
“Do peacocks waddle?” she asked, grateful for the distraction.
“Does it matter?” he countered through a wicked grin.
She pitched her voice low. “I suppose it
Similar Books
