Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(74)

Sophie shook her head. “No, that will be all.”

Lucy curtsied and closed the door behind her.

With a sigh, Sophie stroked the black stripe down Duke’s back. He flipped over in response, presenting his belly for Sophie’s attention. “You do know I can’t stay here all afternoon?”

His tongue hung out the side of his mouth.

“I’d like to,” she went on.

Duke’s wide chocolate eyes grew heavy.

“It’s rude to fall asleep when someone is speaking to you.”

A loud, sputtering snore was her only response.

Sophie pat him on his head and abandoned her chambers. She wound her way through Milford House, toward the Marquess of Milford’s office. Her steps slowed to a halt outside the room. She bit the inside of her cheek.

Mayhap she shouldn’t interrupt. She could arrange for refreshments. Why, it didn’t seem proper to intrude on Christopher’s meeting with his father. Her reservations had nothing to do with the cowardice that filled her.

Sophie turned on her heel, and…

“I wanted to tell you, I’m proud of you.”

The marquess’ rumbling pronouncement brought her to a halt. Her heart warmed for Christopher. His childhood with the marquess had been a turbulent one. Sophie found she could even forgive the marquess his many sins, including interrupting her wedding trip to Milford House, for coming out to praise Christopher.

She smiled and again made to take her leave, not wanting to be an interloper on the father and son’s private exchange, when the marquess’ next words penetrated the thick wood panel of the door. “You didn’t want to, but you ruined the girl, anyway. You’ve done very well, Christopher. I know you and I have not gotten on over the years but you sacrificed your happiness for our estates.”

Sophie stared at the door, unblinking. Her heart froze, suspended in her chest. She reached out, her hands searching for purchase, and found it against the wall. A dull, humming filled her ears. She’d misheard the marquess. There was no other logical explanation.

“I know you fancied yourself in love with that woman but you put aside your desires for the girl’s dowry.”

Christopher’s response was lost to the thick plaster that separated them and her own shallow breathing.

She borrowed support from the wall. Christopher was in love with another…suddenly, his laconic response to her profession of love made sense. A bitter, pained laugh worked its way up from deep inside her and lodged in her throat. It threatened to choke her. What a fool she’d been. She’d looked to him adoringly, all but pleading for him to return her feelings, when all along there had been another.

Leave, Sophie. Run as far and as fast as your legs will carry you, so that you do not have to hear every other vile thing from your husband and father-in-law’s lips.

Instead, she remained rooted to the spot, flagellating herself with the agony of their next words.

“I know you had enlisted Mallen’s help to avoid marriage to the girl... I know the only reason he courted her was…” She pressed her ear to the Chinese wall-paper, and struggled to hear the remainder of that statement.

Tears popped up behind her lashes, but she blinked them back. What a bloody fool she’d been. Mallen’s sudden interest now made sense. He’d merely been courting her because Christopher had asked it of him. The humiliation of that realization was nothing compared to the shattering truth of the lengths Christopher had gone to avoid marriage to her.

In the end, he’d craved her dowry more than he craved his freedom. A single tear streaked a path down her cheek. She swiped it away, but it was met by another.

Every kind word from Christopher, every seductive smile had been a carefully crafted lie. She’d never mattered to him; not as a young girl and not as the woman he’d married.

The marquess continued speaking, his words slashed through the haze of despair that gripped her. “As I said, now that you ruined her, you can carry on with whomever you want. Society wouldn’t expect anything different.”

All the life seemed to drain out of her legs. Sophie slid in an empty heap outside the marquess’ office. Since she’d made her come out three years ago, Christopher hadn’t offered her anything more than a polite greeting—and only then, in passing. Not one dance had he requested.

Her brother’s words, spoken the night of Lady Brackenridge’s ball, filled her memory.

Waxham, who’s ignored you for years, of a sudden is paying you court, perhaps luring you away from Polite Society. Surely you must have wondered at his sudden interest?

She forced herself to confront the hideous reality of Christopher’s deception.

Her insides churned until she thought she might cast up the accounts of her stomach right there in the midst of the hall.

Geoffrey had known. As had Mother.

Then, there she was. Poor, pathetic Sophie, too blinded by her love of Christopher to see the ugly truth even as it had been staring right at her. She’d given up her good reputation, all that a young lady possessed, for him, and in the end, all that had mattered to Christopher was her dowry.

She rocked her head against the wall. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” she whispered the litany over and over.

“Do you intend to leave her here?” The marquess’ question jerked her out of her misery.

Gooseflesh dotted her skin. Her husband intended to abandon her. A hard, brittle smile formed on her lips. Oh, she could just imagine Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet.