Page 14 of Love Unraveled
Both her friends blushed becomingly. Sophia could not begrudge either of them their happiness. Each had earned it. She did an exaggerated shrug and smiled at them. “He is a duke. What more could a woman want?”
“And what are you beautiful ladies smiling about this evening?” Walford asked as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Catherine’s head.
“We will reveal nothing willingly,” Catherine said, her moss eyes shining brightly in the light of the candelabras. She leaned in to his ear. “I’ll tell you tonight,” she said, deliberately loud enough for Sophia to hear.
“Amici.” Sophia shook her head good-humoredly. “It is not my enemies I must fear; it is my friends.”
Walford made no comment. Instead, he excused himself and pulled Catherine toward the dancers. She wiggled her fingers in a goodbye and blew Sophia a kiss before they disappeared into the morass.
Elizabeth put a hand on Sophia’s arm and squeezed. “We tease because we don’t know what else to do about your interest in him. We only want the best for you, and we worry his temperament is not suited to yours. We’d hate to see you with someone who would dampen your spirit.”
“I know,” Sophia said, covering Elizabeth’s hand with her own. “I adore your honesty. Both of you. But here comes that delicious husband of yours and,” she groaned dramatically, wanting to lighten the evening, “His Mighty Grace, the duke.”
“Your lemonade.” Thornwood handed Elizabeth the glass. “Sorry it took so long. Bentley waylaid me and Walford, insisting we join him in Lord Ander’s study to taste a new cognac Ander’s managed to secure. Thought we might be interested in procuring some. Of course, we all know his true motive. So he can come over and drink it.”
Sophia laughed. Bentley did love being the contrast to both Thornwood’s and Walford’s soberness, literally and figuratively. The three men had gone to Eton together, but Bentley was starkly different to the other two. She always enjoyed Bentley’s buffoonery. It was harmless and playful.
“Countess, I’m told a waltz is next. If I may?”
With a curt nod to Thornwood, the duke confidently raised his arm. Sophia put her hand on it. His expectance of obedience was nothing new, but tonight she found it annoying. She knew how to put him in his place, had done so before, but here was neither the time nor the place. Besides, she’d come here for a little fun, and the duke was an exquisite dancer.
He strolled proprietorially, steering her around the room while they waited for the next set to begin. “I sense you have been avoiding me,” he finally said, clicking his tongue at the end as though correcting a child.
He was more astute than she’d given him credit for. “Not at all, Your Grace. My mind has been elsewhere lately, but I assure you it has returned to the here and now.”
“I am glad to hear it. It would not do—”
The duke was abruptly cut off by a gentleman Sophia did not recognize but with whom the duke seemed more than happy to converse with about horses. The Duke of Salinger was a handsome man despite his age and old-fashioned beard. He was not whiskery as Elizabeth had suggested. His beard was neatly groomed, much like her father’s had been the last time she’d seen him. Gray peppered the duke’s beard and hair, giving him a distinguished look suitable to his bearing and position. His high shoulders, his stiff back, and his agility on the dance floor proved his body was aging well. And he could be entertaining when he chose to be. She could do worse.
Gaston’s hair remained black as the day she’d met him as a child. He’d had a mustache for a while when he was fifteen and trying to look older. Still a child, she’d pet it and call it herpetite chenille. Her little caterpillar. She smiled remembering his laughter.
Her father. Gaston. And there she was back in the past again, as she had been every night this past week.
“Pardon me?” she said, registering the duke was speaking to her.
He eyed her quizzically. “It does not matter,” he said smoothly, although she could see the hint of censure in his eyes before he returned his attention to the gentleman. “If you’ll excuse us, the next set is about to commence.”
The duke led her to the front of the room even though there was no such protocol for the waltz. Was that what life would be like with him? Always doing things in the old ways? Was he truly so inflexible he could not change as the world shifted? She’d made so many adjustments throughout the years she could not fathom what it was like to stand still in time.
The first strands began. The duke raised his arm, and she mirrored it. As it was a private soiree, some couples stood much closer, but the duke kept a respectable distance. His hand guided her, and she felt light on her feet when dancing with him. Not that she was lead-footed, but the man did know his way around the dance floor. She knew all unoccupied eyes were upon them, so she kept hers on the duke, and his bored into her. The room would assume they were deeply attracted to each other. Illusions were so easily created.
The Walfords swirled by, but they took no notice of Sophia or the duke. They had eyes only for each other. A minute later, the Thornwoods whirled into view. Snugged close, they smiled at each other. They, too, were oblivious to other dancers. Sophia fought a sigh. No, she did not begrudge them their love, but she did envy it sometimes.
Sophia despised falling into melancholy, so she scanned the room to distract herself. There were some young women out for their first season and a few bachelors, but for the most part, this was a gathering of those settled into their lives. Even Catherine’s old auntie was here, sitting on the sidelines, clapping excitedly at something. She was endearing in her odd way, unlike Sophia’s Aunt Isabella, who had been formidable. The woman had never forgiven Sophia’s mom for running off to France and had often treated Sophia as though she was the one who had committed the offense. She mentally cursed, damning Gaston for dredging up all these memories.
She smiled at the duke, and he returned it slightly, his lips pressed together. Did the man ever show his teeth? Grin? Laugh aloud? Her mind raced back through the past few months, and she could not recall a moment where he had done any of those things. What did it matter? She was not considering him out of love, nor was he looking at her with any true affection. Although, he lusted. Which was more than she could say about her reaction to him. Perhaps he would grow desirable?
The duke twirled, and she closed her eyes, throwing her head back, hoping her thoughts would fall from it and she could get lost in the movement. The duke abruptly tugged her closer, and she opened her eyes. She’d narrowly missed colliding with another couple. She laughed merrily at the stern look on his face and surveyed the room again, stumbling, her breath stalling in her throat. Had it not been for the duke’s firm grip on her waist and hand, she might have tripped in earnest and tumbled to the ground.
“Are you quite all right, my dear?” he asked, his face a mixture of concern and irritation as dancers slowed around them and stared.
“I am fine,” she said, hoping her free hand went unnoticed, for she could not control its shaking. She smiled at him but lowered her lashes, looking at the floor, trying to pull herself together.
“You are trembling.”
“Perhaps I do need to sit for a moment.”
She allowed the duke to lead her to a chair, and she sunk gratefully onto it. The duke stared at her, attentive and solicitous, aware of watching eyes. She would normally take full advantage of the moment and give the papers something to write about, but right now, she needed him gone.
