Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(38)

From atop his black mare, Christopher ignored the passing greetings, wholly focused on his morning meeting. Redbrooke’s familiar white townhouse came into focus, and a sense of purpose propelled Christopher forward. He leapt down and adjusted the brim of his hat. “Hullo, you there.”

A young boy with black grime coating his cheeks jabbed himself in the chest. “Ye mean me, yer lordship?”

Christopher nodded. Then, reaching into his jacket front, he pulled out a sovereign and tossed it to the lad. The young boy’s eyes went wide in his face, as though he’d received a king’s fortune. He handed the reins over to the lad. “Wait for me and there’ll be another.”

“Aye, yer lordship.” The child nodded with such enthusiasm he dislodged the cap atop his oily black hair.

With determined steps, Christopher approached the front of Viscount Redbrooke’s townhouse and wrapped on the front door. He was greeted by the stoic butler.

“The Earl Waxham to see Miss Winters.”

The older servant studied the card. He wrinkled his nose and for a long moment, Christopher thought the older man intended to turn him away, but then with a flick of his chin, he motioned him forward. “If you’ll follow me, my lord? I’ll see if Miss Winters is receiving guests.”

The other man moved with infinite slowness up the winding staircase, his path intercepted by Viscount Redbrooke. Redbrooke glanced down the stairs at Christopher. The lines of his face settled into a momentary frown before he masked it with a forced grin. “Waxham. Good to see you.” Though his tone said it was anything but a pleasure.

Christopher suspected the other man’s palpable disappointment stemmed from the fact that Christopher had come calling and not the more distinguished Duke of Mallen. Christopher frowned. He might disapprove of the manner of courtship Mallen had launched, but it would appear Mallen’s plan had worked brilliantly. He thought he should feel a greater sense of success and not this knot-like pressure deep in his gut. He bowed. “Hello, Redbrooke.”

The viscount waved off the butler. “Ralston, I’ll escort His Lordship to my sister.”

Ralston bowed. “Very well, my lord.”

Christopher doffed his hat and handed the article over to the butler.

Redbrooke clapped Christopher on the back. “I’m sure Sophie will be delighted to see you.”

The viscount clearly didn’t know his sister at all. It was more likely that Phi would send Christopher to the devil with a wave and a smile.

He fell into step alongside Redbrooke, who prattled on about the latest addition to his stables; a Spanish mustang he’d purchased from Lord Robertson.

“He’s a stubborn creature,” Redbrooke groused. “Not the docile, obedient horse Robertson promised.”

If Redbrooke had only delved a little deeper before making his purchase he would have learned if not properly trained, the Spanish mustang was in fact quite hard-headed. “With the right trainer, he can be a splendid horse,” Christopher assured him. “It’s one of the more intelligent breeds.”

“Is it?” Redbrooke asked, his tone hopeful.

At any other time, Christopher would eagerly embrace a discussion on horseflesh. It was a topic he was comfortable with and an interest he’d found great success in over the years. He’d turned his and Father’s stables into the most well-stocked, distinguished ones in all of England.

Instead, as they walked, Christopher could only focus on how neatly his plan had fallen into place. If he had his way, and with Mallen’s help, Christopher would be free of Sophie and thwart his father’s loathsome efforts.

He froze as the haunting strains of an unfamiliar melody drifted from behind the open door. The melody, achingly poignant and sad, reached deep within Christopher and wrenched around his heart.

Redbrooke paused at the doorway to the room, seeming to just realize that Christopher did not follow. He looked over his shoulder. “Sophie is quite accomplished on the pianoforte.”

Quite accomplished?

Redbrooke waved his hand. “You’re thinking about that whole business of her performance following dinner. Sophie has always had something of a wild spirit.”

Truer words were never spoken. It would appear, however, that Sophie Winters also possessed a musical ability to rival the heavenly symphonies. Christopher closed his eyes a moment and allowed Sophie’s playing to carry him off to a far distant place where reality merged with fantasy.

The pianoforte reached a passionate crescendo and then the melody ended on a discordant note. It forced Christopher’s eyes open. He tugged at his cravat, a flush heated his neck at having reacted so to Sophie’s performance, in front of her brother no less.

There was a pause.

Then, jaunty, light notes of the pianoforte drifted out of the parlor.

Redbrooke motioned him forward, and they entered the room.

***

“You have a visitor, Sophie.”

Sophie’s fingers froze above the keys.

She scrambled to her feet so quickly, the backs of her legs bumped the piano bench. The delicate piece of furniture scraped the floor.

Christopher stood in the doorway, alongside her brother. A victorious grin tipped Geoffrey’s lips and she didn’t know if it stemmed from the fact that Christopher had paid her a visit or whether he felt victorious over having violated her wishes from the dinner party with the Marquess of Milford and his son. In the end, her brother had managed to have his way.