Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(15)

Christopher bowed. “The pleasure will be all ours. Miss Winters, I wish you a speedy recovery.” With a long, undecipherable look for Sophie, he took his leave.

Sophie stared after him, frowning. Yes, there was more to Christopher’s actions this day…and she had every intention of getting to the heart of it.

“Sophie…”

Just as soon as she dealt with her mother and Geoffrey.





Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet





While attending the Countess of L’s dinner party, Miss S.W. knocked over a candelabra and effectively doused the dining table in flames. Although there were no injuries, the dinner event ended prematurely.


5

Christopher shifted on the bench of his father’s carriage. He glanced over at Father. With the hard, unyielding line of his mouth and stony expression, the old marquess might have been carved of marble. Christopher pulled back the black velvet curtain and peered out the window into the darkness.

Being closeted away in the carriage with the heartless bastard and the steady clip clop of the horses hooves upon the London streets whipped up memories of his youth—memories better buried and forgotten.

Except, he’d let them in, and they flooded through his consciousness. His hands balled into fists as he remembered back to the day the Head Master at Eton had summoned the Marquess of Milford. The two men had discussed Christopher’s dismal performance at the distinguished school.

Christopher’s poor academic report had been met with a backhanded slap to the cheek. Mallen had borne witness to that little humiliation. Christopher had figured that any boy who could observe something so shameful and remain tight-lipped was one he’d like to call friend. From then on, they’d been fast friends.

Father pulled out his gold, engraved watch fob and consulted the timepiece. He tucked it back into the front of his jacket just as the carriage rocked to a halt.

Christopher returned his attention to the window. The thin sliver of a moon hung in the sky. It bathed the Viscount Redbrooke’s white townhouse in nightly shadows. Self-loathing burned like acid in his throat. He would infringe upon the other man’s hospitality with the most dishonorable of intentions. Christopher let the curtain fall back into place and looked to his father. “I’ll have you know I’m doing this to appease you, Father.”

His father snorted. “If you were truly intent on appeasing me, you’d ruin the girl and be done with it.” A chuckle escaped the old marquess. “You’ll find yourself deep in the pockets with only me to thank.”

Christopher spoke through gritted teeth. “Rest assured I have no intention of thanking you.” How had it come to this? He, the Earl of Waxham had been turned into a loathsome fortune-hunter preying upon an unsuspecting young lady. Even if Sophie had been the bane of his childhood existence, she still deserved more than this cold, sinister attention.

The driver rapped on the door.

“Just a moment,” Father bellowed. He frowned at Christopher. “I don’t understand you, boy. Arranged matches are the way of Society. And it is not as though you have a more lucrative option.”

Christopher’s mysterious goddess flitted through his mind. God, he should have allowed her to remove her mask that magical exchange three days ago. He should have revealed his identity to her, should have insisted she do the same.

“There is another woman,” Christopher said, and reached for the door handle.

The marquess slammed the tip of his cane against the door of the carriage, halting Christopher’s exit. “What do you mean there is another woman?”

At one time, that silken hiss of a threat had made Christopher’s knees knock with terror. He was no longer a boy of ten. “There is another woman.”

“I heard that part,” his father bit out. “Who the hell is she? So you won’t tell me?” His father snapped when Christopher failed to supply him with a name. “I don’t care if it is Helen of Troy resurrected from the grave. By God, you’ll not ruin this for us. Not for some nameless whore.”

A growl worked its way up Christopher’s throat.

The driver knocked again. “I’ll tell you when I’m bloody ready,” Father shouted. He tugged at the lapels of his jacket. “I understand you want more than the plump bit of goods who hasn’t managed to make a match in all these Seasons. All you need to do is wed her, get an heir or two off the girl, and then you are free to carry on with a string of mistresses if you so desire.”

Christopher swiped the back of his hand over his eyes. With the exception of passing greetings, he’d taken great care to avoid Sophie. Following the incident in the stables, the girl who’d tormented him and the father who loathed him had become entwined, representing an amorphous figure that illuminated all Christopher’s failings.

Christopher took a deep breath and opened the carriage door. He climbed down, not pausing to see if his father followed.

The old bastard moved with a pace better suited to a man thirty years his junior. He fell into step alongside Christopher and spoke out the corner of his mouth. “It is time you start taking your responsibilities serious, Christopher. So wipe that dour expression from your face and smile. You might be lacking a brain in your head but you have a way of charming the ladies that will serve you well in this instance.”