“I don’t want to marry him. Surely, there is something you can do, Papa.” Roxboro was magnificent on the outside, but he was a sot. Possibly an opium addict. Certainly, a debauched libertine. Which made the disappointing kiss he’d bestowed upon her, that had caused this entire debacle, that much worse.
You’d think a libertine could kiss well.
“Do you want to be sent to a convent, Sophia?” Mama lifted a brow. “Become a nun?”
“Well, no, but—”
Mama stood with a clap of her hands. “Well, I’m off. There is much to do and little time to do it. There’s a wedding to plan. I must write to Lord Damon immediately.” She rushed out of the room in a flurry of skirts, no doubt intent on spreading the news to every matron in theton. “I’m to be the mother of a duchess.”
“Papa,” Sophia pleaded, once her mother was gone. “Won’t you reconsider?” She was desperate to escape her fate. “Nothing happened. It was merely a kiss. Barely a peck on the lips. He doesn’t even remember me.”
Father munched on a biscuit. “The convent is in Scotland, near a bog, so it is cold and dreary the entire year. Oh, and the nuns take a vow of silence.” He regarded her with little sympathy.
She looked down at her lap, pulling at a bit of lace on her skirt.
“Make the best of this match, Sophia. Don’t embarrass your family.” Papa’s voice was gruff. “Do your duty. As the daughter of Lord Canterbell should.”
Chapter Six
Alexander was usheredinto the Canterbell drawing room by their butler, who introduced himself as Powell. He fervently wished, as he was waved forward, that he could be anywhere but here, preferably between the thighs of his latest mistress. Florenza was a soprano from Milan. Not a very good one, grant you, but she did have other talents.
Paying calls and sipping tea wasn’t an enjoyable activity. Alexander had paid only a handful of calls in his life and didn’t intend to make it a habit. But at the insistence of his uncle, Alexander was forced to call upon his new betrothed and sip tea in this overly feminine drawing room decorated in pale yellow and cream. Given the story circulating that he and Lady Sophia had been courting in secret for some time, and had been “discovered” in Lady Perswick’s garden, it would seem strange if Alexanderdidn’tcall upon Lady Sophia and her mother, Lady Canterbell.
Perhaps, Alexander mused as he observed his surroundings, was that Canterbell’s drawing room was empty.
The audacity.
Powell, the stern looking little troll of a butler, eyed Alexander with dislike, before gesturing to one of the chairs decorated with a motif of butterflies across the back cushion. “Lady Canterbell and Lady Sophia will be along in a moment, Your Grace.”
Dukes, Alexander wanted to remind Canterbell’s snide little butler,did not wait upon others; they waited uponhim. But he merely inclined his head and settled into the chair, repulsed by the pattern of monarch butterflies.
His eyes caught on the settee—a horrid thing of green velvet the exact hue of mashed peas—where an embroidery hoop had been discarded on one of the cushions. An uninteresting design of a basket of flowers, partially finished, decorated the linen. Dull. Alexander had to keep from flinching at the sight.
Boredom loomed and its name was Lady Sophia.
Alexander had every intention of tolerating Canterbell’s daughter for the duration of this “betrothal” and the eventual moment the vicar addressed them as man and wife. He’d promised Damon to be on his best behavior. But once wed, Alexander had every intention of ignoring Lady Sophia. His London home was large. She could have an entire wing to herself. Go about town and pay calls as the Duchess of Roxboro. Damon warned Alexander to have as little contact as possible with his new wife, nor make any attempt to bed her. Eventually, the silly little chit would complain to her parents and Alexander would reluctantly admit his inability to consummate the marriage.
It was all part of Damon’s plan to secure the eventual annulment, though Alexander couldn’t fathom anyone believing his cock didn’t work. He countered that he could claim marriage under false pretenses, after all, Alexander was certain he hadn’t been at that bloody ball. But Damon reminded him there had been too many witnesses attesting to Alexander’s appearance there that night. All confirmed by his uncle.
Alexander’s next suggestion was to claim Lady Sophia suffered from some physical ailment that precluded sexual activity. Improperly formed lady parts, for instance. But Damon rejected that notion. Easily disproved and it would only serve to anger Canterbell.
So, impotence it was.
Alexander was known for any manner of sexual proclivities, someof which were, unfortunately, true. Not the bit about the sheep. That was completely false. But being bathed by six women in the middle of Madame Forand’s establishment was…not an exaggeration. And while Florenza was his only mistress at present, he usually kept more than one. He couldn’t fathom anyone believing that his cock wouldn’t rise to the occasion…but Damon insisted it was the best way to dissolve the marriage to Lady Sophia.
That also meant Alexander had to say goodbye to Florenza. If his cock didn’t work for Lady Sophia, it couldn’t work for his mistress either.
Not one soul in London dared to refute the tale that Alexander had been courting Lady Sophia in secret, though he doubted anyone believed it. Most assumed he’d had far too much brandy, stumbled upon her in the Perswick gardens, then had the misfortune to be seen by Lady Brokeburst.
Old bat.
Alexander had sent word to Oakhurst’s staff asking for his friend’s location, but was surprised to have the messenger return, claiming Lord Oakhurst’s home was closed. Only the housekeeper, Mrs. Launton and a groom remained to oversee the stable, which meant Oakhurst had no plans on returning any time soon.
He questioned Timmons again, but outside of knowing that Oakhurst was leaving and apparently with Lady Maxwell, Alexander’s butler knew little else. Entirely frustrating because only Oakhurst knew what really happened that night. He was forced to wait for his friend to make contact, which Oakhurst would undoubtedly do at some point. Alexander recalled absolutely nothing of that night after leaving the brothel and couldn’t imagine why he’d gone to a ball, especially one he hadn’t been invited to.
Women. Dancing. The smell of perfume.And…nothing else.
Alexander gritted his teeth.
