Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(42)

His smile deepened. “Your love for pastries, I understand. However, I referred to those unconventional attributes you spoke of.”

Unconventional attributes. That was certainly one way of putting it. Sophie snorted. “You should tell that to my mother and brother.”

“What of Waxham?”

He caught her when she stumbled. “Christopher?” she repeated and then heat suffused her cheeks at the use of the young earl’s Christian name. “I-ah, that is, Lord Waxham?” she corrected herself. “I merely used his given name because we’ve known each other since I was in the nursery and…”

“I didn’t say anything about your use of his name,” he interrupted with a trace of humor in his tone.

Sophie closed her mouth. Stop talking, Sophie. Stop talking, this instant.

“You’ve known him your entire life.”

She gave a curt nod. “I have,” she said, upon realizing that his gaze was trained forward. They came to stop at St. James’s Park Lake. He stared out at the waterfowl with a singular intensity, and then glanced back down at Sophie.

“You gave him a good deal of trouble as a child,” he said.

Sophie chewed at the inside of her lip. How was she supposed to respond to such a statement? If she were to protest, and list all the mean, horrible things Christopher had said and done to her as a young girl, then she would sound childish. Now, with a woman’s mind and maturity to her years, Sophie could acknowledge that she hadn’t been altogether kind to Christopher. In that, the duke was indeed correct.

“You’ve gone quiet,” the duke observed, calling her back to the moment.

“You are rather interested in my history with the earl,” she countered.

The duke grinned. “You are as bold and spirited as my sister.”

Sophie smiled back. “Thank you.” Most young ladies wouldn’t like being compared to the duke’s sister. After all, it hardly inspired romanticism to be likened to one’s sister. In Sophie’s case however, he’d paid her the ultimate compliment. Emmaline possessed strength, courage, and character not found in most men.

“How did you meet Chris…Lord Waxham?” she asked, turning the questioning back on the duke.

He captured his strong, squared jaw between his thumb and forefinger. His gaze seemed to turn inward. “We met as young boys at Eton. Waxham was a remarkably lonely, shy young boy.”

Those words gave Sophie pause. She thought of the boy she remembered and the man he’d grown into; a leading peer of Society, his company desired by the most respected lords and ladies. “Impossible.”

The duke looked to her. “Not impossible. Quite true.”

She shook her head. “I never knew him to be that boy,” she said, at last. No, he’d always seemed so full of confidence. He’d excelled at social graces, unlike the very inept Sophie.

The duke shook his head. “No, I imagine you didn’t. I imagine you saw an entirely different young man. We don’t always present our true selves for Society.”

Sophie caught her lower lip between her teeth. The duke couldn’t be more right on that score. After all, members of the ton failed to note any of her redeeming qualities. Then, what was the true Christopher? The arrogant lad who’d teased her mercilessly, or the shy, uncertain, friendless child spoken of by the duke?

Her heart cracked in a painful way at the image the duke had painted of Christopher as a lonely little boy. His life had not been a joyful one. His mother had died when he was a small boy. Sophie imagined it had been quite difficult growing up with the condescending Marquess of Milford as one’s father. She bit down on her lower lip as she considered the very unsettling possibility that she had, in attempt to shield herself from hurt at Christopher’s hands, inadvertently caused him greater sadness.

“You mustn’t feel guilty,” the duke said, correctly interpreting the reason for her quiet.

She followed the path of a Great White pelican as it glided into a graceful halt upon the lake. “We weren’t always adversarial toward one another,” she confided and then felt herself blush at the honest admission. Over the years, she’d considered her relationship with Christopher and tried to determine whether one event had turned him into a frowning, disapproving figure. Or had it been a series of moments over the years that had altered their relationship?

The duke continued to rub his jaw in that introspective manner. “You aren’t solely to blame for your turbulent relationship with Waxham.”

She said nothing.

Pause. Then…

“It says a good deal about your character that you’ll not speak ill of him and how he treated you as a girl.”

Sophie shifted, not at all comfortable with the duke’s high praise. She’d grown so accustomed to disappointing—her mother, her brother, Lady Ackerly—that she’d forgotten how to field compliments. Her father had really been the last person to compliment her.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Sebastian will suffice.”

She looked to him. “As in your name,” she blurted. “Oh, that wouldn’t be proper.” Sophie could just imagine Lady Ackerly’s article if it were discovered she’d gone and called the duke by his Christian name.

“I insist,” he said.

And because she imagined it would cause a greater scandal if she stood and argued with the distinguished Duke of Mallen, she said, “Very well.”