Page 31 of To Woo and to Wed
“You wouldn’t,” Sophie said softly, but she knew he would—this was a clear indication that he would doanythingto prevent West from marrying her.
“I would,” the duke confirmed. “My son is young, Miss Wexham. He does not know his own mind. He does not know what—who—he truly wants. And if I have to make him unhappy to teach him this lesson, I will.” He walked toward her steadily. “Walk away now—find some other gentleman in search of a hefty dowry, a bit less concerned about your family’s history. But leave my son alone, or I shall make him—and you—regret it every day henceforth.”
“Have you let West know any of this?” she asked.
“No.” The duke’s voice was curt. “Because my son is stubborn, and he fancies himself in love, and I know perfectly well that he’d try to call my bluff, to tell me that these are sacrifices he’s willing to make. Forlove.” The duke’s voice positively dripped with scorn on this last word, and Sophie knew a moment of piercing sympathy for the late duchess.
“But ifyoulove my son, Miss Wexham… well, I ask you, how much do you wish him to suffer, for your sake?”
He walked past her to the door, opening it and standing back to allow her to pass. He offered her a short bow in the entryway, and then made his way back upstairs without another word, confident in the knowledge that he had already said enough.
Later that afternoon, word circulated around London that the young Marquess of Weston was out of immediate danger, though he remained bedridden—an impromptu toast to his good health was offered at a ball in progress that evening.
Sophie was not in attendance.
In the days that followed, she kept to herself; a letter to her, from West, written in the hand of his valet, went unopened and unanswered. She needed time—time tothink. Time to plan. Time to work out how she was going to extract herself from a near-engagement. How she would convince West that she didn’t love him, that it had all been an enormous mistake, when everything within her was crying out to the contrary.
In the end, the solution presented itself rather neatly. It was on a ride in the park a couple of days after her meeting with the duke that she stumbled across Lord Fitzwilliam Bridewell, looking positively despondent, regarding a lady departing on horseback with a look of lovesick anguish that Sophie knew well.
They struck up a conversation as they rode on a slow loop around the park that afternoon; she learned of his circumstances (thrown over for his lack of prospects by the earl’s daughter he fancied himself in love with; in rather desperate need of a dowry) and she told him of hers (in rather desperate need of a husband, if only to save West from himself; possessing a very handsome dowry of her own).
It was easy enough to come to an accord; he was initially hesitant, given that he was an old friend of West’s, but she was able to persuade him that a marriage between herself and West would lead to nothing but unhappiness for the latter, given the duke’s threats. Fitz, ultimately, was not difficult to convince; he was so heartbroken by the rejection of the lady he’d spent all Season chasing, and so alarmed by his father’srecent threat to cut his allowance, that he could see quite clearly the advantage of a cordial, entirely loveless union with Sophie.
The betrothal was announced within the week, to the great puzzlement of everyone except the couple themselves. Banns were called, and they were married within a month; by the time West at last was well enough to be seen in public again, Sophie was another man’s wife.
It was only on her wedding night, after her new husband had retreated to his own bedroom and Sophie lay alone in a large bed in the bedchamber adjoining his, staring into the darkness, that she at last allowed herself to weep.
Chapter Ten
By the time Sophie finishedspeaking, the carriage had stopped no fewer than three times; each time, West had knocked his cane on the roof, signaling to his coachman to keep circling, and finally had a quick word with the man. Other than that, however, he did not interrupt as Sophie told him the truth of what had occurred seven years earlier between herself and the duke.
At last, she fell silent; at almost the same time, the carriage came to a halt once more. She glanced out the window, then blinked in surprise—she had not been paying the slightest attention to where they were bound, so wrapped up had she been in her own tale, and only now realized that they were outside West’s home, rather than her own.
She looked at him inquiringly.
“Would you like to come inside?”
“I’m surprised your notions of propriety would allow such a thing.” She meant her tone to sound light, but it came out more charged than she had intended.
“You’ve already called on me at home once. My virtue is now hopelessly compromised.”
He handed her down from the carriage and ushered her into thehouse, hesitating for only the briefest second, apparently to consider the best room. Study? Drawing room? Sophie amused herself by imagining his mental calculations—the drawing room was more spacious, with more comfortable seating, but did the number of upholstered surfaces offering the opportunity to recline horizontally lend a certain illicit tawdriness to the proceedings? The study was more proper, more staid, but a desk chair was certainly not as comfortable as a settee, particularly after a long day of travel by carriage and boat; his leg must be paining him by now.
This being West, however, she knew without a doubt which consideration would win out.
“Briar, we’ll be in the study,” he told the butler, ushering her down the hallway with the faintest press of his hand at the small of her back.
“Ha,” she muttered. “I owe myself a shilling.”
“I beg your pardon?” He closed the door behind them.
“I knew you would choose the study, rather than the drawing room.”
He leaned back against the door, watching her as she made a slow circuit of the room. It was neat as a pin; his desk was clear of mess, featuring nothing more than a tidy stack of papers, a pen and inkwell, and a few books set to one side, their spines perfectly aligned.
His gaze on her felt heavy, and her neck prickled under his regard. She resolutely ignored this—she knew all too well that he was not interested in a liaison with her. Andhelikely understood better now why she considered marriage to be out of the question.
“How, precisely, did you know that?”
