The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (22 page)

"What would be so wrong? I'll be leaving in the next day or two."

Sophie approached the violet seller. She reached into her reticule for a coin. Victor glanced at the girl and blanched. He tugged Sophie's arm.

"I'm just going to buy a posy."

"No!" Victor backed up, leading Sophie away. "No, her flowers are all wilted."

The violet seller looked up at Victor. Her torn dress slipped down in front, and she slowly righted it.

"I don't care about the violets. She looks like she could use the money," whispered Sophie. "Look at her dress."

"A posy, sir?" The girl sauntered toward them, her gaze focused on Victor. "For your lady friend?" Her voice took on a low purr. "You could use it later this ev'ning, gov."

"No." Victor turned away.

Sophie pulled back, her fingers in her reticule. "I'll buy a bouquet."

Her pretty face crinkled in a puzzled frown, the violet seller at last turned to look at Sophie. As she took the sprig of wilted violets, Sophie realized the girl didn't have a basket of additional flowers. Sophie had bought the last of her wares. The violet seller cast one last inquiring gaze at Victor, which he steadfastly ignored, before she backed away.

"It was her last one." Sophie put the flowers to her nose and several small purple petals fluttered to the ground.

"It was her only one. Good Lord, Sophie, don't you realize she was not selling flowers?"

"She wasn't?"

"For heaven's sake, you are married. You do understand what she was hawking." Victor's ears grew red.

Sophie looked at the retreating girl and her scanty clothes. "What was she selling?"

"That is why you have no business at the theater alone. There are far too many of her kind there and men who lie in wait for them."

She
was a
prostitute?
Was that what Victor meant? Why would she demand payment for something that promised to be so pleasing? But she should know, would know, if her marriage had followed a normal path. "Well, you could escort me."

"I will not." Victor drew up stiff.

Sophie looked for signs of weakening. She suspected that Victor was fond of her in spite of himself. After all, she had not imposed on him to continue to escort her around town once she had her bearings and her account in the bank, but he had shown up regularly as if she was a duty he must discharge.

"You're not going, are you?"

"I can't very well go alone, now can I?" She walked toward Victor's carriage. She couldn't go alone, and she couldn't keep hiding from her husband.

* * *

Keene mounted the steps to his town home. He had looked high and low for Victor, searching clubs and inns. He'd even burst past Victor's valet and combed his rented rooms.

He'd decided to let Victor live long enough to tell him where Sophie was. Then, he would strangle him. Shooting was too good for him. The more Keene thought about it, the more he was convinced Victor was hiding Sophie in his room that day. Why else would Victor have been so nervous? If he had been concealing Amelia, he would have been more likely to face Keene with bravado and a disgusting disregard of the possible damage.

As he stepped through the front door, his butler announced, "You have a visitor, sir. I have put him in the library. He insisted he would wait for your return."

The last thing Keene wanted to deal with was one of his regular cronies. He moved toward the library with the thought of getting rid of his unexpected guest as soon as possible.

His butler moved to announce him. Keene waved him off.

"Very good, sir." Blythe bowed and moved off.

Keene opened the library door. "You!"

Victor swung around from where he was perusing the titles of books on the shelf.

"Where the hell have you been?" Keene demanded.

Victor backed into the bookcase and then looked startled when he had no further retreating space. "I could ask the same of you. I have been waiting hours."

"What have you done with my wife?"

Victor looked far too relieved. "Well, that is what I have come to discuss."

Keene wondered if he should summon Blythe to alert the cook to set a pot of oil over the fire; strangling was too good for Victor. "Tell me, now. Then I shall kill you."

"Yes, quite. Should I summon a second?"

"I won't wait that long."

"Yes, that would be the way of it." Victor moved to a chair with maddening deliberation. "But then you might need me to find her."

Keene's heart pounded in his chest. Until this very minute he hadn't quite accepted that Sophie could be in town, could be running around with his sometimes friend, and that he had absolutely no control over his wayward wife.

He crossed the room, leaned over Victor's chair, placing both hands on the armrests and demanded, "Where is she?"

"Well, I am not sure. She is not in her hotel room even though I told her to stay there."

Keene's anger leaked out of him. "Hotel room? What is she doing with a hotel room?" What was she doing in London?

"Obviously she doesn't listen to me any better than she did you. Sit down, man, you look done in."

Keene had always known that Sophie went her own way, regardless of the strictures placed on her. He backed away and found a chair.

"She wanted me to escort her to the theater at Covent Gardens. I refused. In spite of what you must think, I have tried to look after her. She wouldn't come to you, no matter how hard I urged her."

Keene felt the blood drain from his face. "You would have done better to dissuade her."

"Egad, I bet you are right."

Keene had a sickening suspicion. "Did she say she wouldn't go to the theater?"

Victor's eyes widened. "No. She said she couldn't very well go without an escort. I assumed—Oh, Lord."

"How much trouble would she have had finding someone to offer to escort her?"

"None. Bloody hell. Your wife is rather fetching." Victor leaned forward in his chair and looked nearly as distressed as Keene felt. "Would she?"

"Yes, she damn well would."

* * *

Sophie had the feeling she had erred in accepting the invitation to attend the theater. When she'd seen Sir Gresham in the lobby of the hotel she couldn't do anything but greet him. To pretend to not know him when he and his three children had spent a fortnight in her father's home just prior to Keene's arrival might be especially hurtful to a man whose proposal she'd recently spurned. She had no special animosity toward Sir Gresham. She just hadn't wanted to be his wife.

He'd introduced her to his companion, a Lord Algany, and one thing had led to another. The next thing she knew she had accepted Lord Algany's invitation to the theater and dinner afterward and did some fast maneuvering to be sure that Sir Gresham would be included in the party.

Now the play was in intermission and Sir Gresham and the woman he'd brought with him had left the box to fetch refreshments. There was a juggler on the stage, but no one was paying him much mind, and Sophie's rapt attention on the three circling balls wasn't justified by the mediocre skills exhibited.

Lord Algany had moved his chair so close that she could hear him breathe. His gloved hand brushed a strand of hair from her neck. "You have such lovely golden curls, puts me in mind of sunshine."

"I'm sure you flatter me too much," replied Sophie. "Oh, look"—she pointed with her fan—"he has dropped all his balls."

"Not the best of entertainment. Come, love, we should go to supper."

"Oh, no, I couldn't leave without knowing what happens to the"—Sophie couldn't for the life of her remember a single name of a character in the play they'd been watching—"the young woman with the soldier."

His hand at her elbow exerted pressure. Why was it that things that sounded like everything she'd ever wanted proved to be much less in reality? And how was she going to simply enjoy the play and the theater experience
and
extract herself from the blatant attentions of Lord Algany? Why hadn't she thought beyond the opportunity to wear one of her new gowns and get a glimpse of the stage?

"Surely, we need to wait for Sir Gresham and Mrs. Simms."

Lord Algany leaned so close, his alcohol-tinged breath stirred her hair. "We don't need them."

Sophie swallowed hard and turned to face her escort. He leaned closer, and she shied back. "You are too close, sir." She snapped her fan open between their faces.

"Your beauty is hard to resist."

Sophie rolled her eyes. Lord Algany's compliments were a shade oily and made her feel unclean. His fingers continued to toy with a strand of her hair. He grinned as if he realized his approach was making her uncomfortable, but he didn't mind her aversion as long as it was temporary.

Sophie wanted to yank away. The door to the box opened and Sir Gresham and his lady friend entered, just in time to stop Sophie from snapping Lord Algany's straying fingers with her fan.

Lord Algany stood as Mrs. Simms moved forward and handed Sophie a glass, "There you go, love. Thought you might want to wet your whistle."

Mrs. Simms took her seat and the two gentlemen sat back down. Sophie took a sip and nearly choked. The punch could have been to pugilist school, it packed such a wallop. She looked up to catch Mrs. Simms direct a wink at Lord Algany.

Lord Algany slid an arm around Sophie's waist. "The third act is about to begin. Are you sure you wouldn't rather leave? Sir Gresham and Mrs. Simms would forgive our departure."

Sophie whispered, "I am married."

"Yes, my dear, that was clear. It's also clear that you are not staying with your husband."

"Really, I'm
happily
married," insisted Sophie.

"No such thing, love, but I'll make you happy." His squeeze didn't do the trick.

"Lud, you certainly could make me happy by letting go of me."

"More one for caresses, are you?" Her companion slid his hand up her back.

Lord Algany's practiced touch sent a cold chill down her spine. His gaze dropped to the neckline of her gown. Sophie shivered.

Her evening gown exposed a powerful lot of skin. While she felt reasonably covered when wearing her wrap, Lord Algany had insisted on draping it over the back of her chair. And now one of her hands was tied holding the glass of punch she didn't want. She jerked to her feet and reached for her wrapper.

Lord Algany was too quick. He smoothed her wrap over her shoulders. His hands lingered much longer than necessary and pressed her toward the door. She had no idea how she would get out of this situation. But between Mrs. Simms, who didn't seem to be all that she should be, and Sir Gresham, who had met her father's standards for respectability a few months ago but must have been unduly influenced by the evils of London, and the cooing between them, help from that quarter wasn't likely.

"I should like for you to take me home, now."

"I would be most pleased to take you to my home," Lord Algany whispered in her ear as he whisked her out into the nearly empty hallway.

She supposed she should have listened to Victor's advice, but she had been in plenty of ticklish situations and made her way out of them before.

Her normal predicaments were usually bouts with getting stranded—such as parting company from her saddle in the woods, clinging to the side of a house or losing a dogcart wheel—but she had no doubt she would manage to untangle herself from this situation.

She almost stomped her foot in frustration. "Look, my husband shot his man in the last duel he fought."

"Makes it all the more exciting, does it not? Here, love, I assure you he shall not catch me." The man put both his arms around her and pulled her against him. "We could remove to your hotel room, should you prefer."

Sophie bent backward to escape his grasp. "I should not prefer. I can see I shall have to ask one of the footmen to fetch me a hackney, for you, sir, are no gentleman."

He let her go. "I should not force myself upon you. Let me take you to supper."

The few people in the hall were watching them. She didn't want to make a scene, but she did not trust Lord Algany. Although if worse came to worse, she wouldn't hesitate to toss the contents of her glass in his face and then kick him in the shin. She was fairly sure she could outrun him if he had to hobble along. "If I have your word that you shall behave as a gentleman for the duration of the evening, I should very much like to see the rest of the play."

Just when she thought she had regained control of the situation, he slammed her in the stomach with a smooth look of concern on his handsome face and a low disquiet radiating from his voice. "You must tell my why your husband neglects you so."

"He doesn't neglect me." Only by chomping down on her tongue was she able to refrain from saying he didn't even know she was in town—which went exactly to Lord Algany's point.

Without her being aware of it, he backed her against the wall. "If you were my wife, I shouldn't allow you to wander about London alone."

"I haven't been about London alone. He doesn't neglect me." Her protest sounded puny. Keene simply . . . forgot she was alive. She blinked.