The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (4 page)

"I never thought you'd still be on the wall. It's a good thing I decided to check."

"Yes, it is, and I'm ever so grateful. I should return to my room. Even if you are my cousin, it's quite improper for me to be alone with you in a bedroom."

"I daresay it shouldn't matter." His dark eyes flicked around the room and returned to her with a wry assessing look that made her want to cringe. "Whose room is this?"

"It's just one of the guest rooms." Sophie backed toward the door. She wanted to run to her room, throw herself across her bed and indulge in tears for a half hour or two minutes. Pride kept her from indulging in front of Keene.

"Wait," said Keene.

She stopped backing away.

He closed the casement, then turned around. His dark eyes finished his assessment of her.

Sophie wanted to run, but displaying weakness to Keene was like inviting a bird of prey to swoop down and pluck out your eyeballs. He already thought so little of her she didn't want to add to that impression by opening her mouth in her own defense. Besides, what could she say? Crawling out on the ledge was one of her more stupid tricks. Even she knew that, now.

In the meantime, she knew he would find her dress hopelessly provincial. She wasn't allowed to wear the newer Grecian style dresses, because her father found them too revealing. Her hair was tangled, not to mention down. In general, she was a mess, but then that should fit with Keene's expectations.

He shifted.

For a second he looked uncertain.

Sophie blinked. The man she knew was always certain of himself, wry, self-contained, assured. "What's wrong?"

The uncertainty was gone. Perhaps she imagined it.

"Isn't it time you gave up climbing trees and such?"

"I haven't climbed a tree in"—she started to say years, but a recent rescue of a stranded kitten made that a gross exaggeration—"ages."

"You could have fallen, Sophie."

"I know. It was foolish. Please, Keene, do not lecture me. I was quite cold and scared. I should never climb out a window like that again. I just . . ."

She didn't know how to explain she just didn't want to deal with another proposal from Mr. Ponsby. Of course, it was rather presumptuous of her to say that he would propose again. And she quite feared she would have to sever all relationship with him if he kept pursuing her, and she should never find another riding companion who didn't mind indulging in a wild gallop. That is, if he ever got over this notion that they should marry.

She liked the squire well enough, although he was such a big man. But she knew his wife should never be allowed to indulge in a book or a party. Unlike her father he didn't think of them as bad for her character, but simply a waste of time.

Keene stood tall and slender, although his shoulders were broad enough to leave no doubt that he was manly enough to satisfy a woman. From what she knew, he satisfied a good number of women. Her mother and father whispered about his awful reputation as a rake.

Her father, of course, blamed it on his residence in London, that den of iniquities. Her mother said it was more that he was devilishly good-looking. After all, Richard had lived with him the last few years and did not share his reputation, although they were known to follow the same pursuits.

Sophie agreed with her mother. In their mostly blonde, blue-eyed family, Keene was an anomaly. His dark, almost black, hair, his deep brown eyes and his startling, pale aristocratic skin contrasted with the fair hair and the ruddy complexions that his brother and his father had shared. She'd often wondered if there was a swarthy pirate in their shared ancestry. Her mother had disabused her of that notion.

"Are you to spend Candlemas with us?"

An odd look passed over his face. "No. I won't be staying that long."

How had the holiday season passed for him with Richard's loss so recent? In addition, Keene and his father never seemed to get along. Had he spent any time with family? "Where did you spend Christmas?"

"I've been in London," he said quickly.

She sat on the bed. "You could stay with us. I am sure Mama and Papa should be glad to have you join us. Not that we do a lot, because Papa finds excessive celebration, well, excessive."

His eyes moved over her in a way that had her stockinged toes curling. Her mother was wrong. It was the looks he cast, not the way he looked. Not that she would be lucky enough to be the focus of his attention when she didn't need rescuing from hanging on the side of a house. Already his gaze had moved away.

"I thought you said it was improper for you to stay here talking to me."

That was when she wanted to run away and cry. She was quite past that as long as she didn't think about the ledge. Now she was concerned that he might need to be with family for the remainder of the holiday season. "I am sure I am quite safe with you. You are my cousin, after all."

"The relationship is rather distant."

"Second cousins to be sure—what are you doing?"

He'd flicked the door shut with a nudge of his toe and moved to the bed, where he leaned over her.

"You take your safety far too much for granted. Never assume that a situation is harmless."

She leaned back from his closeness. "I could scream."

"Perhaps you should."

She didn't want to scream. At least not yet. Not that he wasn't surprising her. She never thought Keene was terribly aware she was alive. This new twist on his rescue was unexpected, but it was welcome.

"I've been kissed before."

He grinned. His white, even teeth fascinated her. Even though up close like this she could see there was a tiny chip in one of them. His mouth drew her.

"Like this?"

Not even close. "I don't know. You haven't kissed me yet." Her words came out strangely breathy. She felt odd, lightheaded, melting on the inside. She forced her gaze up.

"Are you scared now, Sophie?"

His body pressed against hers, his length hard and solid. She felt something similar to fear, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. "Should I be?"

Keene abruptly moved away. "You better go."

He moved to the window, staring outside. Sophie tried to catch her breath. He leaned his palms against the windowsill. Disappointment flooded through her. Her one chance to be kissed by a rake and he put paid to it.

At the last minute he must have found her too messy, or inexperienced or . . . she was too naive to know what gentlemen might find distasteful about a woman. She fled the room and encountered a tearful Letty in the hall.

"I'm so sorry, miss. Your mother made me lock up the window and then sent me to the orchard to look for you. I was ever fearful you'd be mad."

"I'm not mad, Letty. I was able to come in another window."

"Oh, no, miss." Letty clutched Sophie's arm. "Mrs. Waite makes us keep all the windows latched on account they rattle in the wind if we don't."

"Be that as it may, I'm fine."

Letty looked toward the room where Sophie had left Keene. "I'd best check to make sure the window is latched proper."

"Not now. I need you to comb out my hair." Sophie grabbed her maid's arm and propelled her into her room.

She didn't see Keene again until dinner, where the conversation, much to her dismay, turned to politics. Sophie stirred her fork around her plate. She stopped listening. Instead, her mind turned to the moment in the guest room when she thought Keene would kiss her. She didn't dare look at him directly, but every now and again she would peek out from under her lashes at him.

Feeling a momentary lull in the conversation, she glanced up and found Keene's dark eyes trained on her. Had she missed something?

"What do you think, Sophie?" Keene asked.

"About what?"

"Napoleon's exile to Elba."

"It's good that we shan't be at war, isn't it?"

"No use in asking Sophie's opinion. She cares not a whit for what happens with our government as long as she is comfortable," said her father.

"I'm sure she would prefer to pick your brain about the latest news of London," added her mother.

Sophie wished they would stop talking about her as if she had as much sense as a hedgerow. Although, with the conversation centering on politics she felt about as animated as a shrub. She set her fork down.

"Then I daresay we shall bore her even more. In London the talk of the day is of the redistribution of lands, and how Parliament can turn to our own problems now the emperor is deposed and exiled."

"Surely that is not all that is discussed. There must be talk of books and plays and . . ."

"There is that, too. But there is much talk of politics."

"I do remember that too. In my day the political talk was always quite animated," said Jane.

She might as well sprout leaves. If there was one thing Sophie knew it was that her mother had found London squalid and wretched and cried herself to sleep every night of her season. Of course, her mother was much more content with her own company than with others.

Keene smiled. "I daresay it seems a might more interesting when you are talking to those who have charge of Parliament and your opinions might influence their decisions."

Sophie couldn't imagine anything less exciting. Somehow she'd thought a rake wouldn't concern himself with more than his own entertainment.

Her mother rose from her chair. "Sophie, we should leave the men to their port, as I'm sure they have much to discuss."

Keene's smile disappeared. His gaze moved away from her.

Sophie wondered how much more politics they could discuss. They certainly had nothing else in common. And why did Keene look so gloomy all the sudden?

She hoped they didn't take too long before joining her mother and her for tea. She had to believe her father and Keene would get on better for the extra company.

The women moved into the drawing room. Her mother patted the sofa beside her. Sophie sat down.

"Are you fond of Keene?"

The question seemed odd. "Of course. You don't suppose Papa is giving him a homily about his behavior in London, do you?"

"He might do that."

"Do you think it well that we left them alone together? Remember how Keene would be in a bad humor every time his father would lecture him. I'm quite sure he hates strictures on his behavior. Papa is so very fond of moralizing."

"It is well that you are concerned for Keene. We should talk about your future."

"Oh, Mama, please do not spoil my evening. I know I missed Mr. Ponsby when he came calling. I just cannot see that we should make a good match. My silliness should drive him insane inside a twelvemonth. We do well enough when we can ride and talk of horses, but beyond that . . ." Sophie shrugged and looked for her knitting basket. Not that she wanted to knit, but her father would want to see her occupied in an acceptable pursuit when he entered the room.

"Not Mr. Ponsby, dear. But—"

"I swear I shall marry the first man to propose to me who is not over fifty, not a widower with an odd lot of children to raise and who will take me to London." Sophie jumped up and paced the length of the drawing room. "Just so long as he is pleasant in appearance and agreeable in manner."

She expected her mother's usual soft dissent that she expected too much. Instead, Jane nodded. "I shall hold you to that."

Sophie wondered if there was another hapless suitor on the way at this very moment. Had she lowered her standards too far? At first she'd insisted that she wanted a dashing, handsome gentleman under thirty who of course would be madly, deeply in love with her. "Perhaps Keene has a friend in need of a wife," she said in a small voice.

Maybe that was why Keene was here. He hadn't visited in a half dozen years. Had her father's thinly veiled hints turned to outright pleas for help in his letters? Who would be better to turn to for help than family? Had her pending spinsterhood thrust Keene into the role of matchmaker? Was he even now wondering what single gentleman of his acquaintance was so in need of a fortune that he would find her modest inheritance appealing enough to overshadow her wild streak?

She knew Keene had no good opinion of her. With his arrival coinciding with her daring escape, she had no hope of convincing him she was not always such a sad romp.

Sophie plunked down on the sofa. "I should hope that my frivolity shall not be a burden."

Jane patted her hand. "Oh, Sophie, you have been such a good daughter. I do not think your life will always be so quiet, but that is what appeals to Mr. Farthing and me. When you marry, you will be allowed more freedom in your dress, and if your husband has no objection to balls, I am sure you will be able to dance your fill."

"Is that why Keene has come? To see me settled?"

"Why, that is exactly it. His father has sent us the solution to our dilemma." Her mother smiled brightly.

No hope now for a season. "Did you dislike London so much?"

"I always felt awkward and on display. I daresay it should be different for you."

The tea cart arrived. Shortly afterward Keene entered the room. "Mr. Farthing asks you to attend him in the library."