Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (2 page)

Christopher stiffened. He directed his response at the doorway as a show of disrespect. “You are making the assumption that the young lady will accept my suit.”

“Way I see it, the girl is on her third Season without any prospects. She won’t have much of a choice.”

He closed his eyes.

“So what is your answer, boy?”

Christopher tugged at the lapels of his coat. “Go to hell,” he said.

His father’s laughter followed him from the room. It resonated with the cocksure arrogance of a man who knew Christopher had no eventual choice but capitulation.

Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet

Miss S.W. demonstrated her less than impressive archery skills with a loose arrow that found its way into the Marquess of A’s thigh. Fortunately the gentleman was not gravely injured. Just mortally embarrassed. And quite livid
.

~2~

The spear and shield Miss Sophie Winters held clattered together noisily; the reverberations echoed off the walls of Lord and Lady Thomas long hallway. Sophie peered over her shoulder, breathless as she awaited discovery.

A sigh escaped her when no observers rushed forth with scandalized expressions, and she continued onward, her delicate, red muslin skirts swirling about her ankles.

Then, it was unlikely any lord or lady in attendance would be skulking in the shadows. Lord and Lady Thomas’s masquerade had become one of the most sought after invites of the Season.

After all, at a masquerade, a young lady could be anyone she wanted.

And magic could happen.

Of course, one would have to attend said festivities to even have a possible hint of magic.

Sophie paused beside a closed door. Her mother and brother’s disapproving voices echoed around her mind. She should return at once to the ballroom. Sophie hesitated, and then turned the handle, slipping inside.

Just a moment. She would steal just one moment for herself.

Blessed silence filled Lord Thomas’s library.

Sophie set down her shield and spear, and walked the perimeter of the enormous space. Her gaze climbed the shelving lined with leather volumes that reached from floor to ceiling. She craned her neck and studied the mural at the peak of the room. Plump, pink-cheeked cherubs fluttered about a garden. Sophie shook her head. What an odd bit of artwork. Cherubs belonged in the clouds and the heavens, not in a garden that looked remarkably like…she squinted up at the ceiling— Kensington Gardens. She hoped Lord and Lady Thomas’s literary collection was a deal better than their preference in artwork. Sophie returned her attention to the nearby shelving. She tugged a random book free all the while, considering her circumstances.

At almost two and twenty, and very nearly on the shelf, Sophie had become rather practical.

It appeared unlikely she would ever make a match. A match of her choosing, that is. Instead, she’d have to rely on her familial connections to other peers.

Such a revelation had bothered her immensely when she was eighteen. Stung when she was nineteen. By twenty, she’d thought of her marriage prospects less and less.

Now, she found she could do without her brother’s constant parade of eligible bachelors. Especially when those gentlemen had grander aspirations for a wife than Sophie, who even in her own estimation, was a short, plump, rather clumsy, almost spinster.

Unfortunately, her brother and mother had grown impatient with her wallflower status. If her brother, Geoffrey had his way, she’d find herself wed to a man of his choosing. Of late, he’d spoken quite freely about that old, lecherous widow, Lord Carmichael. Sophie suspected it was a mere threat, but an unwed lady could never be too certain. She shuddered at the thought of marriage to the corpulent lord with his garlic-scented breath.

With a sigh, she fanned the pages of the book in her hands. Based on its firm spine and immaculate gold leaf pages, she’d venture Lord and Lady Thomas were far from avid readers.

She skimmed the pages of Homer’s
Odyssey
. Wouldn’t it be nice to go away, to leave home, and travel the far reaches of the world as Odysseus had? She continued staring down at the title.

A quiet click drew her attention to the doorway and she silently cursed.

The book slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft thump upon Lord Thomas’s Aubusson carpet.

Sophie crawled behind the nearest sofa and pressed herself against the gold brocade piece of furniture.

The door closed.

She pressed a hand tight to her chest, certain the loud, thumping organ would alert her sudden company to her presence.

Silence reigned. Perhaps, the person had merely peeked in the library and then left. Perhaps…

The soft shuffle of feet as the interloper crossed over to Lord Thomas’ drink cart quashed any such hope. A soft tinkling of crystal touching crystal, and then the steady stream of liquid being poured into a glass echoed in the stillness.

Sophie peeked out from behind the sofa to see who’d shattered her stolen interlude, but the dark cast of the room, illuminated by only a handful of candles, cloaked the stranger in shadows.

She could make out a towering figure. Sophie squinted, trying to bring him into greater focus. The gentleman wore white robes that stood in stark contrast to the midnight black that shrouded Lord Thomas’s library. She edged a bit closer to the edge of the sofa, pressing her back against the velvet fabric. Bits of dust floated off the material and danced about the air.

Sophie wrinkled her nose. Yes, it would appear she’d been correct and the library was
not
Lord Thomas’s favorite…“Achoo!” She clamped a hand over her mouth.

She held her breath.

“Please don’t feel you must stay there all evening on my account.” She jumped when the stranger’s deep, mellifluous baritone shattered the quiet.

Sophie squeezed herself behind the sofa in search of refuge. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, contemplating her next move.

If she were wise, she’d run as though Hades himself were after her.

Except, she
was
attired in costume. Liberties not normally afforded young, unmarried ladies could be indulged by the luxury of a mask.

A shriek escaped her when a pair of leather sandals came to a stop in front of her. White robes swirled about the gentleman’s feet.

Her eyes slowly climbed up, up, up his long, powerful legs, a broad, muscular chest, and shoulders to rival Atlas. She tilted her head back to examine the masked stranger, and swallowed.

“Hello.” His voice, gruff and low, washed over her like a hot, summer sun.

She gulped. “Hullo.”

He set a full glass of brandy down on the dark mahogany table beside the sofa, and fell to a knee beside her.

Before she knew what he’d intended, the gentleman edged up her skirts to inspect her ankles. He captured first one foot in his hand, rolling it delicately, as though he were holding the finest Spanish lace, and then moved to the next.

His fingertip trailed along the heart-shaped birthmark at the inset of her ankle. He lingered a moment, as though transfixed, and then removed his hand. “Are you hurt?”

Sophie swallowed and managed a nod. Until she realized his attention was still directed down toward her ankle. “Just my pride,” she said on a husky whisper. Never before had she felt a man’s hands upon her bare skin. It was headier than the finest French champagne. Her gaze roved a path over his tall, commanding figure clad in long, white robes. She loathed the gold helmet that covered his head and the mask that concealed the better part of his face. Her fingers twitched with a sudden urge to tug his disguise free.

He dropped her skirts back into place and stood, holding a hand out to her. Sophie stared at his long fingers, then placed her hand in his. The mysterious gentleman guided her to her feet.

Shivers of awareness tingled along her spine as she studied him.

In his white robes and sandaled feet, he resembled a Greek god. She squinted into the dark of the room. She would wager her smallest finger that underneath his helmet, he possessed a thick crop of golden hair…silken strands to
rival
a Greek god.

“Odysseus,” he said, in answer to her unspoken question. He continued to speak in a gruff, husky tone so that she wondered whether it was in fact his speaking voice or an attempt at concealment.

Sophie’s spine stiffened. She looked over to the forgotten copy of
The Odyssey
and then back to this gentleman who’d burst into her solitude.

Fate.

The word breathed to life inside her; it slipped around her mind like the whisper of fog at the break of dawn.

Sophie gave her head a clearing shake.
Don’t be silly, Sophie.

The stranger seemed unaware of the foolish thoughts that swept through her. He rescued the fine brandy he’d pilfered from Lord Thomas’s drink cart. “And you are Aphrodite?”

Sophie shook her head.

He picked up his gaze to study her. “Dionysus?”

She fetched her sword and armor and held them up.

Even in the dark shadows of the room, she detected the dawning awareness in his eyes. He held up his glass in salute. “Ahh, Athena.”

“Yes.”

Sophie fiddled with her shield and spear. She glanced toward the door, then back at the stranger. “I should leave.” Instead, against all better judgment, she moved deeper into the library. She set her weaponry down upon a round, oak table. At the feel of his hot gaze upon her person, she shuffled back and forth on her feet. Unaccustomed to such frank masculine appreciation, she found herself grateful for her concealed identity.

From behind his golden mask, the stranger’s eyes sparkled. “Ahh, but you are Athena, a veritable warrior undaunted by any challenge.”

Sophie paused several steps away from the towering figure. What she wouldn’t give to gauge the color of his eyes. She peered at him. They appeared to be either blue or green. If he angled slightly toward the faint candlelight she might be able to make out…

He took a sip and then set his glass down. “Do I pass your inspection, Athena? Or will you need to see my teeth as well?”

Sophie’s skin heated with the sting of embarrassment. Giving a toss of her head, she said, “That’s a splendid idea. Why don’t you smile so I might inspect?”

A burst of laughter escaped the stranger and her lips twitched in response. In more than two Seasons, she’d not found enjoyment such as this. Where had this stranger been since she’d made her come out?

Odysseus smiled. “Well?”

Sophie folded her arms and caught her chin between her thumb and forefinger. She made a show of studying him. “Hmm. I suppose they will do.”

“Which is very good,” he said with solemnity, “because the alternative is no teeth or wooden teeth.”

Sophie giggled. “Really? Wood teeth? Is there such a thing?”

He nodded. “Oh, certainly.”

They exchanged a smile and Sophie’s breath froze, suspended in her chest. Goodness, she wasn’t a debutante in her first Season but she wanted this moment to go on forever. She’d met gentleman after gentleman for many Seasons and none had managed to make her laugh as this stranger did. None of them had
wanted
to make her laugh.

Odysseus stepped closer. “I would love to know what thoughts are swirling through your mind.”

Oddly, she believed him. Her own mother and brother could give a fig for what she thought about. The only one to truly care was her dear friend, Lady Emmaline. Emmaline, however, recently wed to the Marquess of Drake had retired to Kent awaiting the birth of their first child. A pang of envy tugged at Sophie’s heart, a longing for a loving husband and family of her own.

“What have I said to drive away your smile, sweet Athena?”

She gave her head a shake to drive off melancholy thoughts. “You asked to know what I was thinking.”

He inclined his head. “And?”

“No. I was saying that is what drove away my smile.”

Odysseus blinked several times, as though he’d spun around in dizzying circles.

Sophie sighed. “I’ve confused you. My brother says I have that effect on people. He says I’m rather difficult to understand.”

The gentleman frowned. “Your brother sounds like a pompous ass.”

A thrill coursed through her at his rapid defense. Goodness, she could grow very well accustomed to his sweet words and masculine possessiveness. She scrunched up her mouth and tried to make out the details of his face without much success. The likelihood was that she very well knew him, that their paths had crossed.

“Do you believe we’ve met?” she blurted.

The stranger captured her hands in his. He turned them over and studied her palms. “Surely we would know.”

Sophie managed a nod. Because she agreed with him. There was no way she would have ever met a man like him and not remembered that smile, that depth of emotion.

From atop the fireplace mantle, the steady tick-tock-tick-tock of the ormolu clock punctuated the silence. It reinforced the length of time Sophie had been gone from the ballroom. This man might not know her identity, but her mother and brother would most assuredly note her absence. As loathe as she was to leave their host’s library, propriety demanded she go. She could ill-afford to give Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet further gossip. “I should leave,” she said.

His response was instantaneous. “You should stay.”

She craned her neck to look up at him. At several inches past six feet, he would easily stand taller than the average gentleman. “And are you issuing a challenge, Odysseus?”

“I am. Stay.”

***

Christopher, Earl of Waxham, released the young lady’s hands and fetched himself another brandy from Lord Thomas’ collection of fine spirits. From over the rim of his glass, he studied the winsome creature with the first real interest he’d felt that evening.

The young lady was indeed correct. Propriety demanded she return to the evening’s festivities.

The irrational part of him so thoroughly bewitched, however, wanted to keep her at his side until Lady Thomas’s orchestra had strummed the last chords for the evening’s festivities.

He took a sip. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening, Athena?”