Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(27)

Then his gaze fell to her ankles. Her feet tapped to a lively little beat atop the marble floor, effectively ending the lady’s attempt at detachedness.

He told himself the desire to cross the room and secure the next set had nothing to do with the wistful expression he read in Phi’s eyes and yet…even though they had been childhood nemeses, he still did not care to see her forlorn and forgotten along the wall. “Join me, will you?” Christopher murmured to Mallen.

Christopher started out across the room, pausing when he reached Sophie’s side. “Hullo Miss Winters,” he said with a bow.

Sophie peered at him like he’d sprouted horns. She seemed to remember herself and scrambled to her feet. “My lord,” she said with a curtsy.

“Miss Winters,” Mallen said. Sophie’s gaze moved from Christopher to the duke who claimed her hand and placed a kiss along the top of her wrist.

“Your Grace,” she murmured. A rush of pink infused Sophie’s cheeks and damn if she didn’t look fetching with that delightful hue of pink on her skin.

Christopher frowned. And damn if he didn’t abhor that captivated way in which she studied Mallen. The bright-eyed gleam in her eyes as she studied the duke was not part of the plan Christopher had concocted. He told himself that the interest in her cornflower blue gaze could only complicate things for all of them.

He cleared his throat.

Sophie returned her attention to Christopher. The pale pink in her cheeks deepened to the red hue of a deep, summer sunset. For what reason? At being caught studying Mallen? Something hot and volatile stirred in Christopher’s chest.

“I trust you and Duke made it home from London Hospital without incident?” Mallen said, grinning at Sophie.

London Hospital? What is this about?

“We did, Your Grace. Thank you.” Her husky tone possessed a honeyed warmth that made Christopher grit his teeth.

What business did Sophie Winters have at London Hospital? And why had she seen to that business with Mallen? The burning sensation in his chest grew. A growl started deep inside his chest, it worked its way up his throat.

Sophie cocked her head at an endearing, little angle. “Are you all right, Christo…my lord?”

“Will you join me for a set?”

The fan tumbled from her fingers down to the marble floor. “I beg your pardon?”

Christopher retrieved the delicate accessory and gestured to the dance floor. “A set. You know, with a partner, one moves ones feet in time to the music.”

The corners of her lips tugged upwards. “I know what dancing is. In spite of my dearth of partners,” she mumbled under her breath. “I’m merely pointing out that you haven’t danced with me in two years.”

The duke cleared his throat and Sophie and Christopher jumped, both seeming to have forgotten his presence. Mallen nodded to the chintz fan in Christopher’s hand. “I suspect the lady would like her fan back, Waxham. Though you do handle it with remarkable ease.”

Christopher looked at the item and blinked several times. “Oh. Right. Yes. Here you are then,” he said, handing it over to her.

Sophie accepted the fan.

Mallen’s gaze flickered between Christopher and Sophie, and then he offered Sophie his elbow. “May I claim the next dance?”

Her smile deepened. She glanced down at the card that dangled from her wrist. “A waltz?”

Mallen’s lips twitched. “Is there a problem with that? Has some gentleman already claimed your waltz?”

Sophie laughed, the husky sound, rich and fulsome, earned the attention of those around them. She held up her card for his inspection. “As you can see, Your Grace, the gentlemen are hardly clamoring for my company.”

Mallen bowed his head. “More the fool are they, then.”

It was all Christopher could do to keep from dragging Mallen away from Sophie. Yes, he’d asked his friend to court her but damn, he hadn’t wanted Mallen to flirt with Sophie. She was young. Impressionable. She would be no match for Mallen’s full-ducal charm.

“I’ll take the next set,” Christopher snapped.

Sophie and Mallen’s gazes swiveled toward him.

Christopher dug his fingers into the palms of his hands to keep from tugging at his suddenly too-tight cravat.

Mallen inclined his head toward Sophie. “Very well. The next waltz, then, Miss Winters?”

Sophie frowned. “Lord Waxham is merely being polite. Aren’t you, Christopher. He doesn’t want to dance with me.” She shook her head. “You know you really needn’t partner with me.”

He frowned. “I don’t do anything because I don’t want to.” He reached for the pencil on her wrist and scribbled his name upon the card. There. It was settled.

He looked over at Mallen who studied him with no small trace of amusement. If Sophie and the other row of wallflowers weren’t present, Christopher would have explained to Mallen that his offer to dance with Sophie merely stemmed from a need to appease his father.

Christopher was saved from saying anything further by the smattering of applause as the strings for the quadrille came to a rest. The orchestra thrummed the opening strands of a waltz.

“Really, Christopher.” Sophie’s words ended on a squeak when he ushered her out to the dance floor.

He settled his hand upon her waist while he placed hers upon his shoulder.