Page 45 of To Woo and to Wed
“Our—what?” Sophie asked.
“Like something out of a fairy tale, don’t you think? Riding off into the sunset on a white horse—darling, do you own a white horse?” Alexandra asked; seeing her fiancé’s shake of the head, she added, “Well, if you could see to acquiring one in the next month—you, too, West—that would be most appreciated.”
“You intend for us to depart our wedding on horseback?” Sophie asked, growing more alarmed by the moment.
“Onwhitehorses,” Alexandra corrected. “So much more romantic! Like princesses being rescued by knights in shining armor.”
“How… charming,” Sophie managed, wondering if Alexandra had taken leave of her senses entirely.
“I’m glad you agree!” Alexandra said.
At this moment, the orchestra began tuning, which was a mercy in multiple ways: not only did it stop Alexandra from spouting more appalling details of her vision for their wedding, it also saved Sophie from having to attempt to keep her facial expression from slipping into outright horror. She’d never been so grateful to take a seat—strategically selecting one as far from both of her sisters as possible at the far end of the box, where she and West might manage a whispered exchange with some semblance of privacy.
As soon as the music commenced, giving her a bit of cover, she turned to West, whose eyes were fixed on the stage with an expression of such careful neutrality that she was certain that he was internally whimpering.
“What are we going to do?” she hissed, glancing past West to where Diana and Jeremy were—mercifully—more engaged in exchanging flirtatious glances than in paying the slightest bit of attention to what their companions might be discussing.
“Head to Tattersall’s, apparently. It would seem I need a new horse.”
“You are not buying a white horse, West! We’re notactually getting married!”
“Yes,” he said, a bit acerbically. “Thank you ever so much for thereminder—I was likely to forget otherwise.” There was the slightest edge to his voice.
She decided to ignore this. “How are we going to get out of this? We can’t let up the ruse until Alexandra and Blackford are safely wed—but how can we see them married without doing the same ourselves?”
“This wasyouridea, you know,” he said in an undertone. “Did you not consider such a complication, when hatching this scheme?”
“Did I consider that my previously rational sister might completely lose her senses and start insisting on some sort of double wedding straight from a fever dream? No, I did not.”
“Shall I take myself off in my phaeton?” he inquired politely. “Stage another accident? It did successfully prevent our wedding once before, after all.” Andthatwas a definite edge—he wasn’t even trying to conceal it. She bit her tongue against the first half-dozen irate replies she felt like offering him, and took a deep breath.
“Since it seems your memory is failing you a bit, at your advanced age,” she said evenly, “I will take it upon myself to remind you that seven years ago, we were not engaged. I did not jilt you, because you’d never asked me to be your wife in the first place. I was at perfect liberty to marry someone else, if he offered.”
“As you proved only too willing to do.”
“For reasons that I have now explained to you.” Her own voice was growing sharp now—enough so that Diana ceased running her hand in an alarming direction up Jeremy’s leg to cast a surprised glance in their direction. Sophie offered a syrupy smile in return—she might have overdone it, if Diana’s astonished blink was anything to judge by—and squeezed West’s arm until he, too, offered what he seemedto believe was a smile, but which was in actuality closer to a pained grimace.
“If you could attempt to look less like a hostage, that would be appreciated,” Sophie murmured, as soon as Diana turned back to Jeremy. They fell silent as the orchestra’s opening number came to a close and the actors below began speaking; several minutes later, however, when the lead actress had burst into a particularly energetic song-and-dance number and Sophie thought she could again speak without being overheard, she said, “I had the most charming conversation with your father the day before yesterday.”
This had the expected effect: West’s arm went rigid where it rested next to hers, and his jaw looked so tight that she wondered vaguely if she should be concerned about him breaking a tooth.
“Where did you have this conversation?” he asked in a low voice, turning at last to fully face her. The candlelight of the theater did nothing to soften the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Although it was late evening, his jaw was as cleanly shaven as it was in the morning, and the elaborate knot of his cravat kept his chin at just such an angle that one was left with the impression that he was looking down his nose at whomever he was conversing with. Nothing about this man spoke of softness, or affection; the simmering anger in his voice as he addressed her now made him seem very ducal—and very dangerous.
In an undertone, she quickly summarized her encounter with the duke at Hookham’s, watching his jaw clench tighter and tighter with each sentence.
“I’ll speak to him,” he said at once, the moment she’d fallen silent. “I apologize. He had no right to approach you like this. I’ll see that he doesn’t do it again.”
“I thought it was rather complimentary, actually,” Sophie said airily. “He sees me as a threat—evidently our ruse is working.”
“Not on everyone,” West said tersely; when she cast him a surprised glance, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked tired, she thought; the lines that bracketed his eyes, usually faint, looked a bit deeper than usual. She wondered if he’d been sleeping—and, if not, what the cause was.
But then, how he passed his nights was none of her concern.
“James and Violet were evidently a bit perplexed by our performance on Rotten Row the other day,” he admitted in an undertone.
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Yes, thank you, I’m aware that I’m rubbish at this—that point has been well made, my potato. But…” He trailed off, looking the slightest bit shifty. Sophie was instantly on alert; in the seven years she’d known this man, she had never once, for a single moment, seen him lookshifty. She hadn’t thought him constitutionally capable of it.
