My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(48)

Wouldn’t it?

He flexed his hands, thinking about it anyway. It would shock society if he began courting a woman like Sophie. Everyone would accuse her of being a modern Circe, scheming to ensnare a duke. Before long the parade of people who hounded him for something would turn to her, hoping to win her favor so she would use her influence with him. And then she would see him as the duke, a source of wealth and power, and not just Jack . . .

No. He scowled at the thought; she wasn’t like that. If he knew anything about her after these days together, he knew that much.

But for all her independent ways, she wanted to marry someone she loved. He wasn’t fooled when she said such matches were rare. Her parents had defied convention and been disowned to be together. Would she go to the same lengths for someone she cared for? He thought she would.

She wouldn’t risk anything for him, though. She didn’t want to be his lover. She was perfectly ready not to see him ever again, which could only mean she didn’t see any possibility of falling in love with him.

Ever.

He should have shrugged it off. Hadn’t he told her himself that the Dukes of Ware didn’t marry for love? They married for status, for wealth, or for connection—-all three, whenever possible—-and Sophie Campbell offered none of those. Even if she did, marriage was not something to consider after knowing a woman only four days.

But something inside him rose in denial at the thought of never seeing her again, bringing an instinctive growl of protest to his lips. “There’s no need to take a hasty decision.”

“Hasty!” She looked at him askance. “It’s not hasty if it’s the only possible choice! What will change once we return to London? You said yourself you are consumed by duty and obligation. I have my own life, and the circles I move in do not intersect those you move in. In London we have no respectable reason to meet, which means that if we do, it will attract notice.” Her voice dropped. “I cannot weather that sort of scandal. It will be bad enough after the wager.”

“Dashwood exacts a promise,” he began.

“And the most he can do to punish someone who breaks it is expel that person from Vega’s,” she finished. “The odds that no one will whisper about it . . .” One hand fluttered helplessly. “I don’t risk odds that poor.”

Jack’s hands were in fists. She was right, but . . . God. These last few days he had felt like a new man, a man he vastly preferred being.

When he said nothing, she sighed. “Promise me, Jack. Please.”

“If that is what you really wish.” Say it isn’t, he silently urged. Let her show one little sign of encouragement, and he would toss convention and expectation on its ear, and see her anytime he liked. He was a duke, damn it, and he could do whatever he pleased . . .

When she didn’t reply, he turned to look at her. “Is it?”

She lifted her chin and gazed right at him. “It doesn’t matter what I want. It’s the way the world is.”

There was his answer. The possibility of more flickered and died like a candle guttering out. “Then I give you my word not to breathe a word to anyone.”



The drive back to London took place in near total silence. She wore her crimson dress again, stained dark from the hem to her knees. Jack hoped she did send him a bill for it.

They sat on the rear seat together, close enough for him to hear her breathe. Under the folds of her cloak his hand clasped hers. Jack’s brain felt paralyzed. In four short days he had grown so attuned to this woman, her smiles, her frowns, her wry little glances that made him want to laugh out loud. He would have been content for the carriage to keep driving all the way to Scotland.

But there was no way to say any of it. In fact, he thought he might be going mad just for thinking it.

Even sooner than expected, she stirred. “I should get down.”

“What?” He tensed. “Why?”

“I can walk from here. Tell him to stop.”

Jack drew breath to argue, then leaned forward and rapped twice on the driver’s window. Of course he couldn’t drive her to her front door, after swearing a vow of secrecy. “Stop here,” he called. The carriage slowed, creaking from side to side as the driver maneuvered out of the flow of traffic.

“Will you be—-” he began, but Sophie cut him off. She put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. Jack pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and hauling her onto his lap.

She rested her forehead against his, her fingers sliding into his hair at the base of his neck. “I’ll have to put out a story to explain my absence from town. I think it would be best if no one even thinks I left.”

“Of course.” Saying the words aloud made him want to punch something, even though he had agreed to it. Before they left Chiswick, he had told the entire staff, under penalty of immediate sacking without a reference, not to mention her presence at the house to a soul.

But he knew. He could never forget that she’d been there, playing his out--of--tune pianoforte, laughing at his ineptitude at cards, making love to him on the sofa in the library. He kissed her again with the desperation of a man who feared he would be bereft once she stepped out of the coach. “If you ever need anything”—-if you ever need me—-“send for me. Write to me.”

She touched his lip and mustered a bittersweet smile. “Goodbye, Jack.”