Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(17)

Her musings were interrupted by the appearance of a servant who cleared her soup bowl, replacing it with a plate of venison.

She stole a peek from the corner of her eye.

Christopher sat back; his expertly folded white cravat a stark contrast to the midnight black fabric of his coat. His broad shoulders filled the sabre leg dining chair and he studied her with an inscrutable expression. From the relaxed line of his square jaw, to the almost bored expression in his eyes, he maintained a remarkable composure. Drat the man! How she wished she could remain as cool and unaffected by the insufferable bounder.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare, my lord?” she said for his ears alone.

He drummed his fingertips along the arms of his chair. “Christopher will suffice.”

“Very well, don’t you know it’s rude to stare, Christopher?”

His brows dipped. “You’ve not changed at all.”

She touched her palm to her breast. “Why, thank you.”

Christopher’s jaw hardened. “That was not a compliment.”

She smiled up at him. “Oh, I knew that.”

“It’s no wonder…” His gaze fell to her décolletage and the words died on his lips.

…you are still unwed.

She glared at him, having little doubt as to what he’d been about to utter. “What was that, Christopher?”

He blinked several times. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

But it had been there and Sophie hated that it stung as it did. It never ceased to stun her with the fact that no matter who uttered those words—her mother, brother, strangers, or even this man she’d grown alongside as a child—they always managed to hurt.

“Waxham, do tell us. The scandal sheets have mentioned you’re in the market for a wife.”

Sophie winced at her mother’s blunt statement. “There’s no question there, Mother.”

Her mother blinked in apparent confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said, Waxham, do tell us. You followed it with a statement. There was no question there.”

Mother’s mouth formed a small moue of displeasure. “Very well. Are you in the market for a wife, Waxham?”

Sophie picked up her fork and knife and speared a piece of the heavily seasoned meat. She popped it into her mouth and chewed, all the while wishing she could slip under the tablecloth and hide from the disgusted twitch of Christopher’s lips. Sophie very well knew her mother to be a salacious gossip and was cause for much shame.

A loud guffaw burst from the Marquess of Milford’s chest. “I keep telling the boy it’s about time he settles down. Hopefully he intends to heed my advice.” The pointed look he shot toward his son did not go unmarked by Sophie.

For one long moment she felt a remarkable connection to Christopher. They were each victims of their family’s machinations.

As a bachelor, Geoffrey must have commiserated with Christopher’s awkward situation for he neatly steered the conversation in another direction. “Waxham, I understand you are to be congratulated on fleecing Lord Whitmore of his stables.”

Christopher shifted in his seat, seeming equally uncomfortable with the new topic for discussion.

Sophie’s ears perked up. Lord Whitmore was a reprehensible dandy. Yet, it was inexcusable to relieve the gentleman of his entire stables.

Mother gave Geoffrey a pointed look. “It is not the thing to discuss gaming with ladies present.”

“Oh, come. I think Waxham is to be commended,” Geoffrey said to Mother. He directed his attention at Christopher once again. “If there is truth to the rumors, you are now in possession of two Friesian and three thoroughbreds?”

“It is actually three Friesian,” the marquess interjected for his son. “Then there is the white Arabian. Isn’t that right, Christopher?”

Christopher picked up his wine and took a long sip. “That’s correct.” His voice sounded curiously flat.

Sophie frowned at his detachment.

He must have felt her harsh stare for he looked at her. “I gather by the creases at the corners of your eyes and the frown upon your lips that you disapprove.”

“I do not have creases at my eyes,” she said automatically. “And I don’t approve of anyone who uses their skillset at cards to exploit another’s weakness.”

His eyes narrowed. He leaned close and she immediately sank from him. Her heart hammered wildly at the muscle that throbbed at the corner of his hard, firm lips. “First, Whitmore chose to partake in cards. He was free to leave the table at any time. Second,” he dropped his voice to a low whisper. “Unless you know all the details, Miss Winters, I suggest you avoid speaking in absolutes.” Christopher refocused his attention on his meal, promptly dismissing Sophie.

He didn’t speak another word to her. Sophie didn’t know why his disregard should fill her with this keen disappointment and breathed a sigh of relief when the meal neared its conclusion.

At last, Mother clapped her hands. “Shall we retire to the parlor? Sophie will regale us with a song upon the pianoforte.”

Sophie’s relief died a swift death. “No!” The refusal burst from her with such vehemence that four pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. She cleared her throat. “That is, I’d rather not play this evening.” She glared over at her mother, whose lips pursed with a clear desire to protest.