“I’ve only seen your sister once.” Roxboro’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “It was not me because I do not lure well-bred misses into ruination.”
“I suppose you made an exception for me.”
“Or perhaps, you merely saw an opportunity. Lord Canterbell would enjoy having a duke in his pocket, wouldn’t he? At least I’m doing the honorable thing, which is more than I can say for a young lady who refuses to admit her mistake.”
“A duke in his pocket? You? A stumbling drunk who is known for his lack of character more than anything else?” An ugly laugh came from her. “Poor Roxboro. London’s finest libertine brought low by the plain and opinionated daughter of Lord Canterbell. And your honor at best is questionable. I think it more your uncle’s political aspirations.”
Roxboro sucked in a breath, the line of his perfectly sculpted jaw grew taut.
“If it is easier for you to believe I orchestrated this entire incident, fabricated the tale and then somehow coerced Lady Brokeburst and the guests at Lady Perswick’s ball, then by all means, continue. You are a sot, Your Grace. You fell off a pleasure barge and into the Thames and came out singing a bawdy tune, like some gin swilling mermaid. Your degenerate behavior is fodder for the gossips. Did Binson’s charge you for breaking their faro table when you tupped Lady Winston atop it? Or did they merely add it to your other markers, which I’m told could fund the Royal Navy. The most ducal thing you could possibly do would be to sit a horse properly, yet you cannot even claim that much.”
“Stop the carriage,” he growled, practically swatting his driver. “Immediately.” Roxboro’s chest rose and fell as he took ragged, furious breaths.
“You’ve doubtless debauched dozens of women. Only now—”
He immediately hopped to the ground as the carriage rolled to a stop, landing on his feet with not so much as a wobble.
“Only now,” he snarled back at her. “I’ve been caught, by the most undesirable,” he accentuated every syllable, “of young ladies. Lady Scathing. A woman so devoid of anything remotely likeable in either manner or her appearance, that she must wait for a man to be numbed in both mind and spirit to entertain any thought of her company.”
Sophia fell back against the leather seats.
“If you’ll excuse me, my darling bride to be, I’ve decided not to enjoy an ice with you. Your presence would only ruin the taste. My driver will see you home.” Roxboro stalked off, back in the direction of the park.
“Good day, Your Grace,” she felt the need to say to his retreating back.
The broad shoulders did not turn back to her. Roxboro didn’t even care to return a parting shot.
As the carriage started towards the Canterbell home, Sophia blinked back the tears she refused to allow to fall.
*
“Termagant,” Alexander spitout as he walked away from his carriage and that…that viper…as quickly as possible. He’d never been so bloody furious in his life.
The Duke of Roxboro was known for drunken behavior. His lechery, capable of seducing anything in skirts. His love of amusements, mostly sexual in nature. Butneverhis temper. There was never any reason to become angry when the world bowed and scraped for you. When you are a wealthy, attractive duke, your place of privilege secure in the world, you simply…floated along the surface of life. Indulged yourself.
What a bloody selfish existence I lead.
He was angry at Sophia—yes, I know her damn name, but I enjoy annoying her—Alexander was far angrier with himself.
He reached into his pocket and drained every drop of brandy in the flask.
Today, he had wanted to rail at Sophia, and Alexander had never yelled at a woman in his entire life. Women were soft, lovely creatures. Worthy of protection. Great care. He adored them.
Yet, Sophia, his unwanted future duchess, made him want to—strangle her.
Or…fuck her senseless.
Alexander was rather torn on that point.
Bad enough he had to wed her, but his attraction to such an aggravating, shrewish, not even beautiful, woman was… infuriating. Smelling of roses when she was nothing but thorns. Her complete disregard for his title. A duke was nearly royalty. Her opinion of his character. None of which he should have cared about, but yet he did.
He was back in the park, staring at the twist of the Serpentine once more.
I want to strip her naked. Thrust into all that antagonistic, plump flesh. Make her moan my name.
“Good lord,” he whispered. “What an unsettling thought. Lady Sophia is nothing more than a schemer. A liar.”
He reached for his flask again, remembered it was empty, then turned and walked out of the park once more to hail a hack.
