Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(57)

“Sit down, Sophie.”

Sophie slammed her hand to her breast and spun around to face Geoffrey.

“Geoffrey…” Her words faded to silence and she promptly slid into the leather winged-back sofa across from his oak desk. It would be better to do as Geoffrey bid, if just this time.

Geoffrey walked over to the sideboard. He poured himself a brandy, downed the contents, and then filled the glass to the top. This time, he crossed over and propped his hip on the desk until Sophie had to crane her neck backwards to look at him.

“You insisted you wouldn’t wed Waxham.”

Sophie held her hands out, palms up to speak, but Geoffrey continued. “You even used Mallen’s title to deter my goal for you and Waxham.” He raised a brow. “Did you truly believe I didn’t see through your efforts? Imagine my surprise when Mallen actually began courting you.” The hot flood of shame burned her cheeks. Her brother never had really held her in high-regard. “You hated Waxham.”

She flinched. “I didn’t hate him.” She’d resented his treatment over the years, but hate? No, she’d never hated him.

He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “Then in a few short weeks you’ve become so enamored of the earl that you’d throw away everything; a possible match with the Duke of Mallen, your reputation, any pride you might have possessed.”

Sophie tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.

“Waxham, who’s ignored you for years, of a sudden is paying you court, luring you away from polite company.” Her gaze slid away from his. “Surely you must have wondered at Waxham’s sudden interest?”

A frisson of unease unfurled along her spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her mouth dry with fear.

Geoffrey gave his head a sad little shake. “I don’t think you can comprehend the error of your mistake, Sophie. You will in due time. And I only hope you are able to live with the decisions you made this evening.”

Ice dotted her flesh at those cryptic words.

Geoffrey tossed back the remainder of his brandy. “Now, why don’t you find your rooms? I expect I’ll have an early visit from Waxham.”

Sophie swallowed and fled like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Her brother’s dark pronouncement continued to twist and turn around her brain. Geoffrey had alluded to there being something dishonest, something more sinister behind Christopher’s interest in her these past weeks. At one point, she too had been skeptical of Christopher, but in a short time, she’d come to see him not as the removed figure revered by the ton, but as a real man who laughed and who made her laugh. She set her jaw stonily. Geoffrey was wrong.

The man she’d left behind at Lady Brackenridge had been one determined to protect her at all costs. She wondered how he’d fared in her absence. A little sigh escaped her. She suspected sleep would be a fickle friend this evening.

***

More than an hour later, Christopher stared out the double windows of his father’s office, his gaze trained out into the ink black, starless London night sky. He’d made his escape from Lady Brackenridge’s shortly after Redbrooke had dragged off Sophie.

Christopher raked a hand through his hair. He knew ruin had awaited Sophie on the other side of Brackenridge’s library door. He should have insisted she leave before Polite Society converged upon them like hawks devouring their prey. Now Sophie would pay the price with marriage to him.

A bitter laugh escaped him. His father would be bloody well pleased by the turn of events. In the end, even though inadvertently, Christopher would wed Sophie. She deserved so much more than a hurried wedding to salvage a ruined reputation. Guilt stabbed at him like so many blades pressed to his flesh.

She would become his wife. At the thought, a calming peace filled him.

Odd, how so much had changed in so little time. The insecurities he carried, his greatest fear that she knew his failings and delighted in them no longer mattered. Christopher allowed himself to imagine a passel of daughters with blonde ringlets like Sophie’s and her wide cornflower blue eyes.

His musings brought back remembrances of the young girl she’d been. Christopher’s lips twitched. Sophie had followed him around his father’s country estates with a dogged intensity that, as a young boy, had aggravated him.

A knock sounded at the door. He glanced over his shoulder.

The butler cleared his throat, his eyes downcast. “Lord Waxham, you have a visitor.”

Christopher’s gaze narrowed on the intricate English Bracket clock on the mantle. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning.

The Duke of Mallen stepped into the room.

“He said he needed to speak with you on a matter of some urgency,” the butler said, an apology in his tone.

Mallen eyed him with a stony set to his firm jaw. “Waxham.”

Christopher inclined his head.

The servant hurried from the room.

Mallen closed the door behind them. It would appear whatever his friend intended to say wasn’t for the ears of passing servants.

“Can I offer you a brandy?”

Mallen’s brows dipped. “I’m not here on a social visit.”

No, Christopher rather thought there was more to the duke’s early morning call. He gestured to the leather sofa.

“You and Miss Winters left quite the scandal in your wake.”