“That is…unfortunate,” Lord Damon agreed. “Lady Brokeburst is one of the worst gossips in London.” He shot a look in his nephew’s direction. “You might have acted with more prudence.”
“Or acted not at all,” Papa huffed. “There is only one solution to the damage that has been done to my daughter’s reputation, Your Grace.”
Sophia bit her lip. This was entirely unfair.
Roxboro looked askance at both Lord Damon and Papa. “No.”
She wholeheartedly returned the duke’s sentiment, even though not wedding her would make Sophia a pariah in society. Roxboro was beyond magnificent, even reeking of brandy, but he was otherwise…unacceptable. Dishonest and cruel. An unscrupulous rake who’d teased her affections so that he might take advantage.
And I believed him. Every word.
An error in judgement. One Sophia did not wish to compound by marrying Roxboro.
“Your Grace,” Lord Damon said to his nephew. “The situation isunfortunate.”
Sophia bristled. She was the injured party. “For me, especially.”
Lord Damon regarded her with thinly veiled contempt. He’d barely acknowledged her presence in the drawing room, probably faulting her for this entire situation instead of putting the blame where it was due, on Roxboro.
She returned his scathing assessment.
Damon Viceroy had political aspirations. Papa had mentioned him once or twice before now, but Sophia hadn’t paid much attention. Prime Minister, that was Lord Damon’s goal according to Papa, and if he wanted to achieve such an office, he could not make an enemy of Lord Canterbell. Papa was not only Lord Speaker, but he also held Her Majesty’s ear. Honor had not forced Lord Damon to open the door when Papa called on him this morning, but ambition.
“We cannot allow Lady Sophia’s reputation to be damaged. Or her honor,” Lord Damon intoned, sounding as arrogant as his nephew. She highly doubted he gave a fig for her reputation.
Sophia wanted to scream out that she hadbarelybeen compromised. Dozens of other young ladies throughout the Season had a kiss stolen by an attractive gentleman. No liberties had been taken. And on the whole, Roxboro’s kiss was…adequate but rather bland. Not one spark. No passion. No grand seduction. She shouldn’t have to suffer marriage to him because of it. Or because Lady Brokeburst couldn’t keep her mouth firmly shut. Sophia might have…been able to convince everyone—
Don’t be ridiculous. He is a degenerate of the highest order. And you were in his company.
Sophia studied the rug once more.
Adding to the tragedy of last evening, Mama’s sapphire bracelet had been lost. Fallen off while she was busy receiving a disappointing kiss from Roxboro. Mama would ask after it eventually, not now of course, Sophia’s scandal was too great. She hadn’t even noticed the loss until the entire family was in the carriage headed home last night,hiding her wrist as Mama wept and castigated her.
Which meant that the bracelet was somewhere beneath Lady Perswick’s willow tree along with what was left of Sophia’s reputation.
She peered at the drunken lout in distaste. The loss of the bracelet was his fault. As ifanotherreason was necessary to dislike Roxboro.
“Unfortunate, indeed.” Roxboro looked her up and down, like some horse he didn’t wish to buy. Or a bit of spoiled pudding on his plate.
Her fingers twitched in the direction of one of the hideous porcelain dogs. A spaniel, she thought, though the artist was terrible. She could knock it to the floor, just to annoy him. Or better, toss it at his arrogant, brandy-smelling head.
“I’ve no desire to wed her,” Roxboro drawled in his self-important manner. “I refuse. This entire scene, this display, is complete tripe. She’s lying and took advantage of me while I was not clear-headed.”
“Soaked in brandy,” Sophia muttered.
Roxboro shot her a look before turning to his uncle. “I am the injured party in this situation.”
“Your Grace,” Lord Damon whispered.
“Her lover fled—or some random gentleman she was committing improprieties with—he abandoned her in the gardens and now, I am meant to pay for his—”
“Are you actually insinuating that I orchestrated this?” she seethed. In all her life, Sophia had never disliked a human being more than this overprivileged, condescending, ill-tempered sot. He was more spoiled brat than a notorious libertine.
“Yes,” Roxboro said in a bored tone.
“No title.” Sophia clasped her hands to keep from launching herself at him. “Not even that of duchess, is worth having to wed you.” The words dripped with sarcasm.
Roxboro blinked as if she’d slapped the smug smile off his face.
