Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(61)

As he wound his way back through the viscount’s house, Christopher considered the other man’s words. For years, Christopher had gone to great pains to avoid Sophie. How could her brother therefore, believe there was anything honorable in Christopher’s intentions?

He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered if Sophie ever really needed to know the truth. He feared the enormity of his sins were ones she could never forgive.

When he reached the foyer, the butler handed his hat over to him.

“Are you leaving, Christopher?”

He spun around.

Sophie stood at the bottom step, head tipped to the side. Light radiated from the fathomless depths of her blue irises and put him in mind of a clear, summer sky in the country.

“Uh, I…” Another wall of guilt slammed into him. He’d arrived here without even a bouquet of flowers for the young lady. In all her imaginings, she’d probably had greater dreams for the man who would offer for her hand. “Forgive me.”

“For what?” She continued walking over, and stopped in front of him.

He held his palms up. “I didn’t bring you anything.” What a lout.

She waved her hand. “I don’t need anything.”

She might not need for anything, but it was a simple kindness he could have shown to the woman who would be his wife. Christopher took her fingers in his and raised them to his mouth. He brushed his lips over the tops of her knuckles. “I don’t deserve you.”

Sophie snorted, and pointed her eyes toward the ceiling. “You’ve never been dramatic before, Christopher.”

He managed his first real smile since his world had crumbled down upon him. “Most ladies would call it romantic.”

“I suppose they would. However, I’m not most ladies.”

No, no she wasn’t.

“Will you allow me to escort you on a walk?”

She grimaced and it dawned on Christopher that the last thing Sophie cared for was to be seen in public following their scandal at Lady Brackenridge’s. “Would you care to take a turn about my mother’s garden?”

He nodded and waved off the butler who came over with his cloak. Christopher returned his hat to the servant.

“Lord Waxham will not be leaving just yet,” Sophie said and then with little regard for propriety, took him by the hand and led him through house toward the gardens. She cast a glance back up at him. “As a fallen woman, I’m afforded certain luxuries now.”

“I’d hardly call you a fallen woman,” he drawled.

“Regardless, of what you call it, I am afforded certain luxuries.”

“Like holding your betrothed’s hand?”

She tripped and he stumbled against her back. His arms came up to right her.

“Sophie?”

“Is that what we are? Betrothed?”

Christopher nodded. “I spoke to your brother. The formal arrangements have been made.”

A small, wistful smile played on her lips. “Imagine that. I’ve gone from never courted to suddenly betrothed.” She seemed to remember he was there for she gave her head a clearing shake, and then continued tugging him along.

They entered the impressive gardens, moving past the rows of well-pruned English boxwoods, interspersed with pale pink roses. He froze alongside one of the bushes, which forced Sophie to a halt.

She looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

Christopher released her hand and reached for one of the branches. A thorn bit into the pads of his fingers, drawing blood. He dusted his fingers along the sides of his breeches and made one more grasp at the stubborn bud. He tugged it free and held it out to Sophie. “I should have brought flowers,” he said by way of apology.

A sheen of tears smarted behind Sophie’s eyes. The flower slipped from his fingers, and fell in a fluttery dance to their feet. “What is it?”

Sophie shook her head. She stooped down and rescued the flower, studying it overly long. “It’s utterly perfect.” He reached for the hand that held the pink rose. His fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze and she continued. “It’s perfect because it came from you.”

Oh Christ, this viselike pressure squeezing his heart was too much. Most young ladies dreamed of sonnets and hothouse flowers and yet his meager offering had driven this proud woman to tears. It made him wish that he’d been a much better man to her before this, made him wish that he’d come to her with strictly honorable intentions. Christopher brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “You deserve so much more, Phi.” In the very least, she deserved more than him.

“I don’t want more than this, Christopher.”

Christopher lowered his lips and claimed hers in a gentle kiss. Her lips parted on a breathy whisper and he used that as all the encouragement needed to slip his tongue inside and re-familiarize himself with the hot, moist contours of her mouth.

Sophie reached up, tugged free the queue at the base of his neck, and wrapped her fingers within the strands of his hair.

He groaned at the sweet seductiveness of her innocent gesture and deepened the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers again and again until she moaned with desire.

“Christopher,” she whispered against his lips.

His hands moved an exploratory path along the graceful flesh of her shoulder, down her forearms, and settled at last upon the generous curve of her hips. He tugged her closer, his aching hardness settled with a familiarity against the softness of her belly.