The Devilish Duke, page 4
“Yes, yes,” Mabel allowed. “However, your brother employs a man of affairs to do such work. Honestly, sometimes I feel as if I have failed in my duties toward you. Your mother, my dear sister, must be turning in her grave at the very notion of you, aged four and twenty, still unmarried and going about calculating accounts in ledgers, rebuffing suitors, and spending a great portion of your time at that orphanage place. Oh dear,” she said as she placed her hand up to her forehead and collapsed back against the cushions. “I fear I may faint from the worry of it all.”
Sophie had become very accustomed to her aunt’s theatrics over the past ten years, ever since Mabel moved in with Sophie and her brother after their father had died. “Do stop fretting, Aunt. You know very well my mother would be proud of the work I do at the orphanage, following in her footsteps.” Grey Street Orphanage had been her mother’s passion, and Sophie intended to do all she could to ensure its continued success. “It is what Mother would have wanted and the least I can do to keep her memory alive.”
“Even she married and had a family,” Mabel replied.
“Yes and her marriage to Father was not something that you would call blissful, now was it?” Sophie could still see the tears coursing down her mother’s cheeks, time and time again—caused, of course, by her husband’s constant philandering.
“That is only because your mother had the ridiculous notion that marriage was about love. Such sentiment did not serve her at all well. Take me and my departed Winston for example. Ours was not a love match, and neither of us was under the mistaken apprehension that it was. Our marriage was one of obligation and duty. When you put love and nonsense into the mix, it just complicates things.”
“I could not agree with you more, Aunt. Which is why I have chosen not to marry. I am far too enamored of my independence to shackle myself with the complications of holy matrimony.” Besides, the running of the household and the orphanage kept Sophie too busy to ever consider having to be a good little wife and do a husband’s bidding—her previous infatuation with the Earl of Abelard aside.
“Yes, yes.” Mabel fanned herself with the note. “That is all very well and good for now, but what happens when your brother finally decides to marry? His wife will wish to be mistress of this home.”
Leaning back in her chair, Sophie sighed. Regardless of whatever they began discussing, the conversation always wound back around to her marital status or lack thereof. And while her brother’s future wife would likely want Sophie to find a home somewhere else, that wasn’t a crisis at the moment. She had plenty of those to deal with on a day-to-day basis with Grey Street. “Yes, Aunt, I do know. However, did you not have some wonderful gossip to impart?”
Mabel sat up instantly, her worry forgotten in light of the gossip needing to be retold. “Ladies do not gossip, Sophie; they share news.”
“What is this news then?”
Mabel edged forward eagerly. “You would never credit it. In fact, I feel my prayers have been answered.” She looked around the room surreptitiously, making sure that no servants were about. “Two of London’s most eligible bachelors have returned to England, and word is that they are both actively searching for a wife! Is that not the most exciting thing you have heard all year?”
Sophie had to make a determined effort not to roll her eyes. “You know perfectly well it is not. Nonetheless, if you are wanting to marry one of them, I wish you all the very best of success in the endeavor.” She eyed her ledger and inkpot, longing to be done with this conversation so she could get back to them.
“You are impertinent, Sophie Wolcott,” Mabel said. “You know very well I mean for one of them to marry you.”
Unfortunately, Sophie knew her aunt was in earnest. “And as I have told you countless times in the past, and obviously will continue doing so in the future, Aunt, I have no wish to marry.”
“Perhaps.” Mabel smiled knowingly. “Though you may feel differently when you hear the names of the two gentlemen involved.”
Sophie arched an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that. Now, Aunt, I really must finish this ledger and then get to the orphanage.” She picked up her quill, hoping the gesture would hurry Mabel along.
Her aunt waved her hand in dismissal. “The orphanage can wait. Do you not wish to know the two men’s names?”
She really did not want the orphanage to wait. It was the project of her heart, her mother’s legacy to her. However, she also knew of how obstinate Mabel could be, particularly regarding this specific topic. “No, but I am sure you shall enlighten me regardless.”
Mabel’s smile grew wider. “The Earl of Abelard is the first.”
“The Earl is back in England?” In the intervening year since watching him propose to another, then marry and be widowed, all in the space of a few months, Sophie had made a determined effort to not think about him. And she’d been rather successful, too. A shame, though, she couldn’t say the same thing of her thoughts relating to the Duke of Huntington. The rake had literally plagued them, ever since they’d met at his ball.
“Yes he is, and even better, he has apparently recovered from the tragic death of his first wife and is looking for a new countess.”
Sophie did not know how to respond. She had been infatuated with the earl since she was a girl, but she had given up any notion of a happily ever after with him. The man was most likely still in love with his wife, particularly given the woman’s tragic passing not long ago. And Sophie certainly had no intention of trying to replace her. Because truthfully, who wanted to be second best?
Her aunt continued on, obviously caught up in her visions of Sophie as an earl’s wife. “Of course he is a superb catch. He comes from a well-respected lineage, is very wealthy, has half a dozen estates and no apparent vices like gambling or the like that could squander away his fortune. Yes, he would do very nicely. However”—Mabel shook the note she was still holding in Sophie’s direction as she geared up to reveal the rest of her knowledge—“the news also implies that the Devil Duke is back in England and looking for a bride, too!”
That made her drop her quill. So much for not feeling a twinge. “The Duke of Huntington is looking for a wife?”
“Yes.” A satisfied glint radiated from her aunt’s hazel gaze. “Apparently, he is in a decided hurry.”
Sophie couldn’t help the laughter from bubbling out of her mouth. It couldn’t possibly be true. She had firsthand knowledge that Huntington liked his bachelorhood entirely too much. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have heard in years. The Devil Duke to marry? Not likely. Aunt Mabel, you must have been ill-informed.” There was no way, on God’s green Earth, that the notorious rake would ever settle down and marry. Sophie rather doubted that the word “marriage” was even in his vocabulary.
“I assure you that my source is of the highest standard and is above reproach. The Duke is looking for a wife.”
Sophie mentally blessed the poor woman who’d end up shackled to that man. “And now you wish me to marry him?”
Dropping her note, her aunt reached for a biscuit and nibbled on it. “I think he would be an excellent choice.”
Excellent if one placed no value on loyalty and fidelity, perhaps. “Have you not always declared he was ‘an absolute bounder no respectable lady would consort with, let alone be seen with?’ I seem to remember you lecturing me often enough in the past on the pitfalls that would befall me if I fraternized with such a man. He was your favorite example of what to avoid when hunting for a husband.” And that was why she had made certain not to tell her aunt of the incident where she’d literally fallen at Huntington’s feet.
Mabel shifted uncomfortably on the chaise and cleared her throat. “Irrefutably, he was consorting with the wrong type of ladies in the past.” She paused and pursed her lips, clearly wondering how to justify her previous advice when it came to the Duke. “However, all men do so before they decide to settle down. Now that he is wishing to marry, it shall be quite acceptable for you to be seen in his company.”
“It shall, shall it?” She highly doubted that the man would ever mend his ways. And she was not going to pay any attention to the flutter in her chest at the thought of her aunt throwing her in his path. Her meeting the Devil Duke once more could not amount to anything good.
Her own mother had married an almost equally notorious rake, convinced that she had inspired him to “mend his ways.” And look where that had gotten her. A lifetime of heartache and unhappiness. “The day the Devil Duke decides to marry will be the day Hell freezes over.”
“Might I suggest you wear a warm cloak to the ball this evening then, my dear?” Mabel hefted herself off the lounge and waltzed over to the door. “The Duke is set to make an appearance, and who knows? Tonight may be the night that Hell does indeed freeze over.”
Chapter Five
Sophie stood at the balustrade overlooking the Earl of Chiffley’s grand ballroom below and smiled. No matter how many times she saw the dancers waltzing around the room in harmony with the orchestra, it always reminded her of a beautiful shimmering rainbow. The women were all adorned in resplendent gowns of silk and taffeta, while the gentlemen looked dignified and gallant in their black evening regalia. There was a touch of magic about it all, and even though most at the assembly wore bored expressions on their faces, Sophie couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement over all of the possibilities abounding in the air.
The laughter of many rang out in between the strands of music, as countless were delighting in sampling the champagne on offer. Yes, plenty of delightful possibilities, indeed. In fact, it was the perfect night to obtain some generous promises to contribute to the orphanage, from those who were in a relaxed frame of mind and thus more inclined to give than under normal circumstances. And thankfully, it was particularly fashionable at the moment to donate to charities, which made her efforts a great deal easier.
Looking down upon the assembly, she glimpsed Lord Hemingsworth speaking with the elderly Earl of Paversley near the refreshment table. They would do nicely to begin the appeal, as Hemingsworth was always a good sport about giving funds, and Paversley was never one to let a companion best him at anything. Sophie lifted the hem of her cumbersome skirts but then stopped as she caught sight of a man in the distance.
She leaned closer to the railing and peered down toward the far balcony doors, unsure if she had seen Richard Jennings, the Earl of Abelard. Were the rumors true? Had he finally come home after spending the majority of the past year abroad? And was he really looking for another countess? Not that she continued to harbor feelings for the man, but he was an old family friend…
“Still the spy, I see,” a deep male voice spoke from behind.
Sophie whirled around and saw the Duke of Huntington leaning against the pillar to her right, watching her intently. A small jolt of excitement ran through her. Darn. She’d been hoping the sensation she felt when they first met last year had been a symptom of her fall, though clearly it was not.
“So you have returned from the States.” It was common knowledge that Huntington had numerous business concerns in America and often spent large portions of the year there.
The Duke looked oddly impressed. “I have.”
“Is this to be a whirlwind visit before you return?” The man was even more ridiculously handsome than her memories recalled.
“Actually, no,” he said, straightening off the pillar. He wore the same type of black evening regalia as the other men in attendance, and yet he still stood out, the color matching his glossy black hair and making his startling blue eyes stand out even more. “I am planning on a somewhat extended stay. I thought it finally time to look after my assets here in England.”
“Indeed?” was all she could think to say.
“Nice of you to sound enthused about it.”
She arched an eyebrow, determined to project an air of confidence and an immunity to his charms, even if her knees had chosen that very moment to feel unaccountably weak. Well, the man was lethally handsome… Surely there wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be aware of him, purely on a physical level, of course. “I’m certain a large portion of the female population of London has more than enough enthusiasm at your return to make up for any lack on my part.”
He reared back slightly in surprise before a seductive grin transformed his face, softening the sharp angles of it. “You wound my heart.” He placed his palm dramatically on the left-side lapel of his coat.
“Wound your heart? Highly improbable,” Sophie scoffed as she twisted to look over the balustrade and scan the crowd once more. “Rumor has it you don’t even have one.”
“So I hear.” She felt him move alongside her, until he stood a little too close to her, his arm nearly brushing hers. She feigned disinterest, but her whole body was attuned to his slightest movement. Blast the man. “I must confess,” he murmured into her ear, “I have on more than one occasion found my mind wandering toward thoughts of what mischief you were up to. It fairly aged me in thinking of the possibilities.”
She would not allow him to play her like one of the violas in the small orchestra below. “I am well beyond the age of getting into mischief,” she informed him rather pertly. Could she sound any more like the aging spinster her aunt made her out to be?
“I highly doubt that.” When she turned back to face him, he still had that too-wicked grin on his face. The pulse at her neck throbbed wildly in reply. “What are you now…four and twenty? Surely you have many tree-climbing years left?”
“A man never makes mention of a lady’s age, Your Grace. Nor does he mention any past faux pas.” She snapped her fan open with more force than she’d intended and began fluttering it in front of her face. The room was suddenly stifling.
“Yes, but I delight in being improper.” He winked at her, and she felt her belly do a somersault. She tried to distract herself with her fan, folding it back up and letting it dangle from her wrist. “Is your aunt still lamenting your lack of marital status?”
Having exhausted the fan’s possibilities, she focused on smoothing her skirt. Empirically speaking, she could understand just how women fell for the man’s charms, determined as she was not to be one of them. “She worries I am a hopelessly lost cause and has never fully recovered from my refusal of Lord Castlemaine’s suit last season.”
“A tragedy to be sure.” He gave her a crooked, rather predatory half-smile, like she’d just issued him a rather improper invitation. “Though I fear your aunt does not truly know the sort of man who would make you a good husband.”
“And you do?” Now that made her laugh aloud. “Do you even know what the word means?”
“I have a good deal more knowledge about women’s needs and wants than your aunt,” he murmured.
A mental image of him kissing Felicity darted into her mind, along with a memory of the low rumble of his deep voice as he’d spoken so seductively to that woman of her beauty, of his desire… She jolted herself back to the present, more disturbed than ever at the thoughts threatening to overcome her. “I shan’t quibble with that.” Thank goodness her voice wasn’t shaking. “Though I am curious as to what you think mine are? Particularly as we’ve only ever had one conversation, and I gather I am not at all like the…other ladies…you usually spend time with.”
He smiled at her jab, apparently not taking offense. She wished he had—it might have made him take his discomfiting presence to the other side of the room and away from her. “You are a strong and intelligent woman. I am sure your aunt has been trying to shackle you to men that you’d have twined around your little finger in a matter of minutes, yet at the same time, they would expect you to give up all of your independence and charity work at the orphanage. They would offer you no challenge whatsoever and only stifle your innate passion.”
His words wrapped around her like seductive smoke, and she mentally shook herself once more. She would not be caught under his spell. He knew well how to toy with women. She would not be just another of his empty-headed admirers. “Ah, so that is what I am in need of then…a challenge?” she asked. “What of romance and chivalry? Are not all women supposedly longing for such things?”
“You were foolishly romantic last year. I will grant you that. But surely you are over that nonsense now and have matured.” She was about to agree with him when he continued, “Besides, you are also a very passionate woman, Lady Sophie, and one who will need a man able to satisfy those longings.”
Her face felt like it had caught fire. All of this talk of marriage and passion with a known philanderer was…uncomfortable. “You go too far, Your Grace.” His eyes seemed to dance in mirth in response to her reprimand. He was enjoying her discomfort…the cad.
“Not far enough,” he murmured. “At least not yet anyhow.”
He stepped forward, stopping barely a foot away—so close, she could see the thick eyelashes framing his deep blue eyes. It wouldn’t take much to lift a hand, place her palm against the deep black silk of his waistcoat, and feel that broad chest under her fingertips… She inhaled deeply, hoping for some air to clear her clouded senses, yet all she accomplished was breathing in the woodsy masculine scent of his cologne.
“I think,” he continued, “that your aunt has the right idea yet is going about it all wrong.”
Sophie could only look away. He was like the male version of the sirens that led Greek sailors to their doom. “Well, so far her endeavors have come up empty-handed.” Feeling a sudden urge to discomfit him as much as she herself was, she cocked her head to the side and appraised him. “You would not credit it, but she has the most far-fetched notion that you are looking for a wife.”
“How interesting.” He lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise. “I wonder how she came upon that idea?”
Who on Earth knew when it came to Aunt Mabel? “It amazes me where she gets her information, though most of the time her sources have proved consistently accurate. However, in this instance, I fear, she has been led very far astray.”
