For All Eternity (8 page)

She released a shuddering sob and shook her head, suddenly too overwrought to reply.

He made a clucking noise, not unlike those Aunt Heloise favored. “Surely things cannot be so very dreadful as that? Indeed, I am certain that I shall be able to set them right if you’ll but tell me what they are.”

Desperate to confide her troubles to him, to let him lift the heavy burden from her shoulders and take it upon his own, infinitely broader ones, she tried to speak. Yet, despite her valiant efforts, the words strangled in her misery-clogged throat and all that came out was a smothered squawk.

“Come, come, now, my sweet. You know that I’d do anything for you,” he murmured, capturing her tearful gaze with his warm blue one. “Truly I would. But I shan’t be able to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

So lit with love were both his eyes and voice, that the throttling tension in her throat eased enough for her to blurt, “It’s … it’s that ugly … boring! … Lord Lyndhurst. My aunt and cousin insist that I wed him. We’re to be married in two weeks time. Two weeks!” she repeated, her voice raising with hysteria.

“Sh-h-h. There, now, love,” he crooned, patting her back as if she were an infant with stomach gas. “The situation is hardly as terrible as all that.”

“Not terrible? It’s worse than terrible! It’s… it’s…” She shook her head as she grappled for a phrase powerful enough to express her repugnance for the marriage. “It’s intolerable! More than flesh and blood can bear,” she finally wailed. “I’m to be wed to a man whose face

I can’t abide. Why, when I think of the torment of having to spend the rest of my life looking at that hideous scar …” she broke off, shuddering with revulsion.

There was a low chuckle from somewhere to her right, then, “I always thought that scar rather frightful myself, though I daresay you’re the first chit I’ve ever found discerning enough to agree.” Another chuckle. “Or could it be that you’re simply the only one bold enough to voice her honest opinion?”

Sophie gasped and sprang from Julian’s embrace, gaping in horror in the direction from which the voice had come.

There, a mere four feet away, lounging on a faded red sofa with a glass of what appeared to be brandy in his hand, was Lord Quentin Somerville. Lyndhurst’s brother.

She could have died on the spot. “Oh … oh!” she sputtered at a loss to do or say more.

He laughed and straightened up. Tossing the remainder of his drink down his throat, he drawled, “Never fear, Miss Barrington. I can assure you that your less than flattering assessment of my brother has given me no offense whatsoever. In case you haven’t heard, his lordship and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

Grinning the grin that had melted a hundred hearts that Season alone, he flung his empty glass onto the cluttered tea table before him and stretched with felinelike languor. “I must say, Oxley,” he groaned, running his fingers through his mussed mane of curls, “this sofa is a devilish uncomfortable place to spend the night.”

Julian returned his grin. “Frizell tried to tow you up to bed, but you would have nothing to do with the notion. Said something about needing to go to Harriet’s house.”

Quentin grimaced as if suddenly pained. “Harriet, yes. Come to think of it, I did promise to pay her a visit last night. She shall no doubt be cross as crabs that I failed to show.” He seemed to ponder his pickle with Harriet for a moment, then shrugged and rose rather stiffly to his feet. Even in his disheveled state, he somehow managed to look impossibly handsome and elegant.

“Ah, well,” he muttered, picking up the wadded coat that had served as his pillow. “A trinket from Rundel & Bridge’s should coax her out of her pet quickly enough.” He sketched a bow to Sophie. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Barrington. I shall leave you lovebirds to plot how to save you from marital hell with my brother.”

As the door closed behind him, Sophie transferred her dismayed gaze from his retreating back to Julian’s still smiling face. “I — I thought we were alone. I — ” she made a helpless hand motion, feeling sicker by the second — “I never imagined there would be anyone else here at this time of the morning.”

He looked rather surprised by her comment. “You didn’t know that Somerville lives here?”

Tongue-tied with humiliation, she shook her head. “Well, he does. As do Hucknell and Dumont.”

“Four of you live here?” she squeaked. Visiting the quarters of one bachelor was scandalous, visiting the quarters of four was social suicide. Why, if anyone so much as suspected that she’d been here, she’d be irredeemably ruined. Even marriage to Julian might not save her from being exiled from the ton.

Apparently her expression reflected her alarm, for Julian made another Heloise-like clucking noise and drew her back into his embrace. “Don’t fret, dearest,” he crooned, nuzzling his face close to her ear. “Somerville is a good sort of fellow and shan’t mention your visit here. Not if I swear him to silence.”

She hid her face in the folds of his dressing gown, wishing that the earth would open up and swallow her. “Oh! I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. What his lordship must think of me.”

Julian chuckled and kissed her ear. “Quent thinks you’re the most charming and beautiful girl in the world, as do I.”

“But the way I was carrying on … the awful things I said about his brother …”

“As he told you, there is no love lost between them. He thinks Lyndhurst an arrogant, pompous ass, an assessment with which I heartily agree. No doubt his respect for you has risen a notch or two for being sharp-witted enough to look beyond his brother’s wealth and title to see the man he is.”

Not at all reassured, she anxiously clutched at his dressing gown, wading the silken fabric in her clenching hands. “Oh, but this is dreadful,” she exclaimed. “What a peagoose I am. I should never have come here. I should have …”

“Of course you should have come here,” he interjected.

“But …”

“Look at me, Sophie.” His voice was gentle, yet firm in its command.

Reluctantly she did as he directed.

Cupping her chin in his palm, he drew her face close to his, murmuring, “I love you, Sophie, and I want you always to turn to me in times of trouble. You know I’ll do anything for you.” He dipped his head and dropped a light kiss on her lips. “Anything.”

She melted against him, moved by his words. For a long while she remained like that, content to pillow her face against his chest, comforted by the steady beat of his heart. When at last her distress was soothed, she propped her chin on his shoulder and stared adoringly at his handsome face. Loving him more than she’d ever dreamed possible, she whispered, “I knew I could trust you to help me. I knew it.”

He smiled gently. “Always, dearest. I shall always help you, no matter how dire your problem.”

“I can’t imagine any problem being more dire than this one.” She clutched at his robe again, though this time without her earlier desperation. “Oh, Julian! Whatever are we to do? Edgar says that I must marry Lyndhurst. He made me accept his proposal this very morning.”

Julian’s smile faded abruptly, and his expression grew solemn. Inching his face nearer to hers, he murmured, “Do you love me, Sophie? Truly and deeply?”

“You know I do,” she swore.

“Enough that you could spend the rest of your life with me?”

Joy, fierce and pure, exploded through her chest at the meaning behind his words. As she’d hoped, he was going to marry her to save her from Lyndhurst. Thrilled beyond rapture, she whispered, “Yes, Julian. Yes! I love you with all my heart. Haven’t I told you so a dozen times?”

“I just wanted to be certain of your feelings.”

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. “I have never loved another, and I never shall. You are the only man in the world for me.” She sealed the declaration with a passionate kiss.

He groaned and squeezed her close. “And you, my dearest, are the only woman for me.” He returned her kiss in kind. “Marry me, Sophie. Today. We shall flee to Gretna Green and save you from Lyndhurst.” He kissed her again. “Say yes. Say you’ll be mine.”

It was all she could do not to squeal in her delight. Her fondest dream was about to come true. She would be Viscountess Oxley. Wrapping her arms around his waist to give him an ecstatic hug, she cried, “Yes. Oh, yes! Let us go now! This very instant!”

He chuckled. “I can hardly go to Gretna Green in just my dressing gown, though — ” his grin grew wicked ” — my lack of attire might come in handy afterward.” Afterward. Sophie ducked her head, flushing at the thought of what followed the ceremony. Odd, but she’d never thought past the altar with Julian, where that was all she thought about when with Lyndhurst. Now that she did think about it, she wondered what sort of man he was.

Somehow she couldn’t imagine her beloved as a daisy or custard man. No. Or even a feather man for that matter. H-m-m. She hastened to recall Lydia’s brother’s marriage-bed accounts. Ah, yes. He was probably a bonbon and poetry man … the sort who fed a woman sweets while wooing her with romantic verses.

Tingling with excitement at that thought, she stole a glance at his face. He was smiling down at her, looking every inch the loving groom-to-be. Yes. He was definitely a bonbon and poetry man. Shyly, she returned his smile.

He growled in response and crushed her against him so completely that she felt every contour of his body through the thin fabric of his dressing gown. “Dear God, Sophie. You don’t know how I’ve dreamed of this moment,” he groaned. “You’re so beautiful, so very desirable. You could have any man in the ton — one far richer and with a much more important title than mine. I hardly feel worthy of you.”

“Of course you’re worthy. There’s not a worthier man in the entire ton,” she assured him, smoothing a lock of hair from his brow. She liked the feel of the wifely motion and repeated it, thrilling at the thought of doing it every morning for the rest of her life. “As for wealth and title, I would rather live a modest life as your viscountess than a lavish one as Lyndhurst’s marchioness. Your love is all the riches I desire.”

“Modest life?” He chuckled, a low, indulgent sound, as though she were a child who’d just said something particularly foolish. “My dearest Sophie. Though we shan’t live as opulently as you would with Lyndhurst, our existence shall hardly be modest. Between my ten thousand a year and your fortune, we shall rub along quite famously.”

Sophie froze for a beat, then looked away from his smiling face, her happiness dimmed at the mention of her fortune. Of course she had to tell him it was lost. And she fully intended to do so. It was just that she’d hoped to break the dismal news later, after she’d had an hour or so to bask in the euphoria of her upcoming nuptials.

“Dearest? Did I say something to distress you?”

“No. It’s just…” she trailed off, suddenly apprehensive. What if he refused to take a debt-ridden bride, despite their love? Men were ruled more by their heads than their hearts, she’d heard, though she’d personally seen no evidence to that fact.

“Sophie?” He grasped her chin and tipped her face back up to his. After scrutinizing it for a moment, he frowned and murmured, “I was right. You are troubled. You’re not having second thoughts about marrying me are you?”

“Oh, no! Never!” she exclaimed, aghast that he would even ask such a question.

“Then what? What plagues you? You know you can trust me.”

He looked so earnest, so genuinely sincere in his desire to help her, that her apprehension evaporated. Of course he wouldn’t put money before their love. He simply wasn’t that sort of a man. What a hen-wit she was to even imagine such a thing. Smiling with renewed confidence, she met his gaze and replied. “There’s something I must mention about my fortune.”

He returned her smile, clearly relieved. “If you’re worried that your cousin will deny us your dowry for defying him, I can assure you that he can’t. We shall drag him before a magistrate should he try.”

“No, it’s — it’s not that. It’s just that — well — ” she swallowed hard, then softly confessed ” — there is no dowry.” He recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “What?”

“There is no dowry,” she repeated, this time more loudly. At the sight of his slack-jawed astonishment, she hastened to add, “I did have one — all that my cousin claimed — but he lost it.”

Julian’s eyes widened to the point of bulging. “All of it?”

She nodded. “Worse yet, we have debts. The debts are why I’m to marry Lyndhurst.”

He couldn’t have looked more stunned had she confessed to being a highway robber. “Lyndhurst knows about your dowry?” he expelled, incredulously.

“No. Oh, no! He knows nothing about any of this. No one in the ton does. Even I was ignorant of it until last night.” She shook her head, still a bit dumbfounded by the news herself. “I’ve been the pawn in Edgar’s scheme to save us from debtors prison.”

“Scheme?” He pulled from her embrace, scowling. Certain he frowned at Edgar using her so, she briefly outlined the plan. When she was finished, Julian released a harsh snort of laughter and ground out, “In other words, you were going to dupe Lyndhurst. How very amusing that would have been, the high and mighty Earl of Lyndhurst played for a fool. That would have brought him down a notch or two, I daresay.”

Sophie stared at him, utterly taken aback. This wasn’t how he was supposed to respond. He was supposed to tell her that he’d pay her debts and that they would live happily ever after. Desperate to hold on to her dream, she wrapped her arms around his waist and murmured, “None of that is either here nor there now. All that matters is us being together.”