Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(53)

He schooled his features. “She is well,” the duke said, his voice as garbled as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of pebbles. Then, he bowed and took a handful of steps backwards. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Winters?” With a last, hasty bow, he left Sophie staring after him, and her empty dance card dangling from her wrist.

Sophie turned over in her mind what she might have done or said to have merited such a swift retreat by the duke. She stole a sideways peek from the corner of her eye. Based on the wistful expressions on the row of ladies alongside her, they wondered the very same thing.

Goodness, it was moments such as this when she missed her friend, Emmaline, all the more. Sophie would never begrudge Emmaline the much deserved happiness she’d found with Lord Drake. She’d after all had to go to great lengths to bring the marquess up to scratch. As happy as she was for Emmaline, it had been a very long, lonely Season without her.

Only, Sophie had discovered that joy could come in the most unexpected places…or in this case, from the most unexpected people.

Her gaze moved throughout the ballroom, and finally found Christopher as he made his entrance.

Sophie told herself to look away but it was as though a spell had been cast over her and she stared transfixed at Christopher as he moved easily through the crowd. It was hard not to admire the effortless charm he exuded. He wore an easy grin for those he passed; a crowd of people who all seemed eager for a word with the dashing young earl. Sophie sat back in her chair and studied him, marveling at his seeming ability to make whoever he passed feel like the most important person in the room. No one had ever craved her presence in that way.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Prior to her come out, Sophie had always thought she’d prefer to be one of Society’s Incomparables. Since she’d become the victim of Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet, however, Sophie found she preferred anonymity. How very different she and Christopher were in that regard.

His hazel stare wandered around the room, as though he were searching for someone.

Her heart kicked up a beat. Foolishness. He wouldn’t be seeking her out.

Then his gaze collided with hers. He grinned and discreetly tipped his head in the corner of the hall.

She cocked her head.

Christopher gave one last pointed look and then continued on.

This time her heart sped to triple time. His meaning, lost to everyone else, had been quite clear to her. He wished for her to follow him.

If she were to do so, she would be flirting with ruin. Her absence would surely be noted. As would his. Then, no one would ever assume they’d gone off together. Why, it was more likely that Sophie would be off in a retiring room than meeting with one of Society’s favorite young lords.

She looked over at her mother, who stood conversing with their hostess, Lady Brackenridge. Careful not to raise undue attention to herself, Sophie stood and skirted the edge of the ballroom, all the while casting glances about the room. Alas, after hours of waiting for something to happen, mayhap a scene between Christopher and the duke, the ton had apparently grown tired of studying her.

She wound her way through their host’s impressive home, wondering all the while if she’d imagined Christopher’s signal. After all, what could he possibly have to say to her that couldn’t be said in polite company? Or worse…what if it were another woman whose attention he’d intended to attract?

That insidious thought invaded her mind like a fast-spreading poison. Her fingers clenched into tight fists at her side as she imagined Christopher with some other, nameless woman. At one time she wouldn’t have cared if he’d gone to the devil let alone carried on with some scandalous widow. Now, thinking of him with another burned at her insides as Sophie confronted the staggering truth of her jealousy.

The soft tread of her silken slippers echoed along the empty marble halls. Sophie turned the corner just as Christopher entered one of the rooms. She hurried to the door, and pushed it open.

She peered in and then stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Christopher?”

“Were you expecting someone else, Phi?” he teased.

A little sigh slipped past her lips and she leaned against the door, embracing the blessed silence.

The rows of leather bound books caught her attention.

The library.

Her eyes slid closed as she remembered back to a different library. A masked gentleman. And wicked spirits. How much had changed in so little time. Her Odysseus had been a fantasy; a dream of a man. Christopher, however, was real.

“What are you thinking, Phi?”

Sophie opened her eyes and walked over to where he stood at their host’s sideboard. “I was thinking of someone.”

His eyes narrowed into thin, impenetrable slits and it occurred to her that he didn’t appear to like the idea of her ruminating over another any more than she liked thinking of him with another woman. It was a rather heady sensation this feeling of inspiring jealousy in him.

“Who is this someone?” The words came out smoother than the silken edge of a blade.

Sophie lifted her shoulder. “Emmaline,” she lied.

“That is hardly flattering to a man’s ego.”

She giggled.

He held his glass of brandy up.

Sophie pressed her fingers to her temples; the moment merged into that night not very long ago.

He angled his head. “What is it?”