As she raced onward, the butler made a hasty move forward and pulled open the front door. He stood back while the others followed in close pursuit.
Arnaud gave a start at the sight which probably had propelled Sophie out of the sitting room. A streak of black and caramel flew ahead of them, followed closely by a second streak of white.Damn that reprobate Vagabond.There must have been a kerfuffle between the two in the kitchen.
Sophie ran with her skirts held high, revealing low-cut, sensible walking boots, and well-shaped, stocking-clad ankles and calves.Gad!He tried to keep in close pursuit while not staring, but the going was difficult, not to mention the strain on another part of his anatomy.
“Stop,” he shouted again, giving his best version of a shipboard command in the midst of a gale. He doubted the tone of his voice made the slightest difference to Sophie, but the blasted cat seemed to take offense and shot up the nearest tree. Of course, that stopped the devil’s own demon disguised as a small white dog who raced around the trunk, yapping up an impossibly tall plane tree.
Sophie skidded to a halt just ahead of him and poked her right boot at various whorls and chunks in the bark, apparently looking for a toehold to join his mother’s asinine cat in perdition. From a sturdy branch several feet above the scene below, Vagabond waved his foul, six-toed paws and yowled what Arnaud supposed were threats and epithets at the dog below.
When Arnaud finally caught up to Sophie, she turned with a determined lift to her chin. He’d known this woman but a few weeks, but his heart knew her even better. Sophie would not be budged.
His heart also knew better than he what needed doing. The lift of her chin brought her soft, plump lips closer than was wise for his know-it-all heart. Just one greedy step brought her lips within firing range of his, and he took a tentative sip.
That small sip flooded his senses with the scent of rose petals and woman, which was his downfall. He pulled her closer and claimed a deep kiss. When her body stiffened, he made to step away as if singed by hot cannon metal. That was when she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him in. He was lost.
A shout from his surgeon broke through the haze clouding his brain, and he let go of Sophie. Pushing her away and seeing her lips wet and bruised from their kiss was like the thrust of a sword to his heart. He wanted to howl like Vagabond.
“I can’t,” was all he could manage to say before Lydia, Cullen, his mother, and her footman arrived.
Chapter Twelve
Outside the tallwindows in Lady Howick’s sitting room, the trees across St. James Square’s park budded and blossomed. Their blazing pinks, whites, and greens would have made the dresses of all the women at the Harrisons’ musicale the night before seem shabby.
Sophie stretched her hands above her head and let the unfurling of late spring wash over her from the shelter of her favorite cushioned window seat. She only wished she could wind back time, like a spool of ribbon, for another chance to feel Arnaud’s kiss beneath the tree while his mother’s cat yowled above them. She should have proffered some sort of clever words. She should have protested. She should have protected her heart. But all she could do was sink into his kiss.
As soon as the others had arrived, Mrs. Bellingham’s indispensable footman had coaxed the cat from the tree with a bit of fish, calmed Sophie’s naughty dog with a biscuit, and retreated with the two pets back to the kitchen where their tussle apparently had begun - over a pillow by the fire, of all things.
Young Charles, the footman, had assured Sophie her dog would be fine as soon as the two animals had time to learn to get along. And she had decided on the spot the poor dog needed a name other than just “dog,” so she’d settled on Lancelot, hoping he’d live up to his valiant namesake.
Once everyone had become absorbed in watching Charles bribe the cat away from the tree, Arnaud had distanced himself as far as possible, putting his surgeon between them. He’d probably been appalled at her forward actions in returning his kiss.
She’d been ready to climb the tree to retrieve the poor cat when Arnaud had intervened. After all, Vagabond had been only a few branches off the ground. The kiss had been so unexpected, she’d responded without a thought for the consequences. Only luck had prevented them from being caught.
And now that she knew the feel of his lips, the feel of his body pressed close to hers, she doubted a suitable “gentleman of theton” could ever make her feel that way.
Lydia leaned over and pulled away the book Sophie had been staring at without reading for at least the previous half hour and said, “What are you pondering so hard? That kiss under the tree?”
“Wh-what?” Sophie leapt to her feet. “Did you see, did everyone see?”
“No.” Lydia shook her head with a wry smile. “But when we got there, you looked like a woman who had just been kissed thoroughly out of her senses. And Captain Bellingham looked like someone who had stolen a nibble of a rich piece of cake he wasn’t supposed to have.”
Sophie hung her head. “I suppose everyone knows.”
“And what’s wrong with that? Why don’t you marryhim? He’s an officer in the Royal Navy. That’s as proper as a gentleman gets. I’ll make Papa force him to come up to scratch. I’ll…”
“No, no, no.” Sophie waved her hands frantically. “Please, no. He doesn’t wantme. Having to guard us from those awful people who want to ruin me has become an impediment to his enjoyment of his leave. I’m afraid your father gave him no choice.”
Lydia’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “We shall see about that, Miss Brancelli. We shall see.”
Lady Howick entered the room followed by a line of servants carrying lists, stacks of blank paper, and wonderful morning tea. Sophie thanked the gods for the interruption ending Lydia’s painful conversation.
After all of the servants, including Cook and the butler Hamish, sat at the long table in the middle of the room, Lady Howick clapped her hands. “Lydia, Sophia - come help finish the invitation list and menu for the ball. We have exactly one week to complete all the tasks and get gowns fitted for the two of you.”
When they hesitated a moment too long, she clapped again, this time louder. “Come. Sit. I’m not going to do this alone.” When they hurried to join her, Lady Howick softened her admonishment with a fond smile. “I haven’t had this much fun since Lydia came out a year ago.”
Arnaud and Cullen sipped on brandy while Richard lounged on the single settee in Arnaud’s sitting room and smoked a cigar. George frowned at no one in particular and leaned over sketches of the floor plans for Howick House.
Lady Howick had been nothing but gracious when she met with all of them to determine if they were the “right sort” and had plied them with the Howick cook’s ginger biscuits. When asked if they could make sketches of all the rooms surrounding the ballroom, she’d said, “Of course not,” and with a secretive smile had rung a bell for Hamish. She had him fetch the sketches used for the changes made to the house in 1790.
