Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(19)

Christopher paused and forced her to a stop. “The only thing to stop them?” he urged.

Sophie looked anywhere but at him. The last humiliation she needed was to admit Geoffrey and Mother’s grasping attempt at a ducal title. Especially when it required Sophie to secure said ducal title.

“Phi?” he pressed.

Perhaps it was the desperate urgency underlying his tone that made her set aside any attempt at self-preservation. “I told them I could bring a duke up to scratch.”

Christopher’s rocked back on the heels of his black Hessian boots. “A duke?”

She nodded.

He caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger and proceeded to study her. “Any specific duke?”

“I told them the Duke of Mallen,” she said on a rush. And because she knew Christopher’s closest relationship was with the duke, she felt her whole body flame with mortification.

“Mallen?” he repeated, as though she’d suggested God himself had plans to court her.

Sophie lifted her shoulder in a little shrug. “The only thing that would stop their tenacity was if I dangled his title in front of them.”

“And they believed this?”

At the incredulity in his tone, she slipped her arm back in his and gave him a sharp pinch.

He winced. “Ouch.”

“What would you have me do? Agree to their madcap scheme to wed me to you?” She tugged her arm free and resumed walking. His long strides closed the distance she’d put between them, and he fell into step beside her.

“That’s rather insulting,” he groused from under his breath.

“That’s something we’ve never been short of, my lord. Insults.”

Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Why give them Mallen’s name?” he asked suddenly, unexpectedly.

Sophie held her palms up. “My mother and brother are not unlike every other family that seeks the most advantageous match. Can you think of a match more suitable than one with the Duke of Mallen?”

“Hmm.”

If their families weren’t staring she would have pinched him again for the incredulity in that one syllable utterance. Why was it so very hard to believe that she, Sophie Winters, should garner the notice of the Duke of Mallen? She shoved aside the very obvious reminder that she’d not managed even one serious suitor in two full Seasons.

Except Odysseus. My mystery hero.

Christopher looked across the room. She followed his stare to where it lingered on their families, who now studied Sophie and the young earl as though they were an exotic genus of insect on display at the Royal Museum.

“Sophie, it’s time for you to play the pianoforte.” Geoffrey’s directive carried across the long parlor.

She winced. Much the way she had done as a small child, Sophie glanced around in desperate search of escape. “I’d rather…” She looked to Christopher.

He, however, was of no help. Instead, he guided her over to the instrument, as though he were a kind of executioner leading her to the steps of the guillotine.

Sophie didn’t know how to explain this swell of disappointment as he abandoned her for a seat alongside his father. Her gaze alternated between Christopher, who stared at her with a warm expectancy that she didn’t know how to make sense of…and the pianoforte.

“Sit, Sophie,” Mother snapped.

Sophie jumped, her legs knocked against the delicate bench. She dipped a curtsy. They treated her little better than Duke; expected to sit, stand, and come upon command. She tugged out the bench and sat, her gaze fixed on the ivory keys. They called to her. Beckoned. When she was at this instrument, all her doubts, all her insecurities lifted and she was simply a woman captivated by the power of music.

What her brother and mother expected of her, however, killed all such joy. They would transform her love into something intended to garner the notice of Lord Waxham and his father.

Her fingers poised over the keys, she took a deep breath and began to peck at them, one finger at a time.





With his eye on some coin, Lord McMartin

Behind a curtain, courted Lady Aberdeen

He asked for her hand

He promised her laughter

And happily ever afters

If only she'd kneel…





“Sophie!” Geoffrey barked.

Sophie’s fingers ground to a screeching halt. She fought back a wave of guilt when her mother buried her head in her hands and shook it back and forth.

A glitter of what she thought was amusement filled Christopher’s eyes. His father on the other hand, appeared as though he’d taken a bite out of a sizeable lemon.

Sophie stared down at the keys not feeling the sense of victory she imagined she should feel. Instead, she battled down the realization that she’d once again disappointed her family.

“That will be all, Sophie,” Geoffrey snapped. The black look he favored her with indicated that Sophie was in a good deal of trouble when their company left.

She scrambled to her feet, and dipped a hasty curtsy.

A ghost of a smile played on Christopher’s lips. Was it because her performance had only fueled his every negative perception of her? Suddenly, Sophie wished she’d handled the evening altogether differently.

Wished she’d not allowed her pride to interfere with her actions.