Disgusting, really.
“Lord Damon Viceroy.” Roxboro’s uncle came forward to take Mama’s hand, lips grazing her knuckles. “Lady Canterbell.” The dark eyes lingered on Mara a tad too long. “Lady Mara.” Damon drew out each letter as if Mara’s name was the rarest of treasures. Which, of course, had the desired effect.
Mara swayed slightly as Lord Damon took her hand with a smile, nearly falling into a swoon.
Sophia didn’t even blame her sister or mother. Roxboro was glorious, there wasn’t any doubt, as was his uncle. The Viceroy looks were the stuff of legend. Rose and Violet Viceroy were lauded for their beauty. And Lord Damon, though far older, was widely regarded as one of the most handsome men in London, second only to his nephew. The day at Roxboro’s home, when this entire arrangement had come about, Sophia hadn’t noticed how breathtaking they both were, standing side by side, like a pair of stunning bookends.
Pity, Roxboro is so devoid of any redeemable qualities.
Mama had some stupid theory that Lord Damon, a confirmed bachelor since the death of his wife, would be overjoyed to welcome Sophia into the family, no matter the circumstances. Because he was his nephew’s heir and the only male Viceroy left. Sophia would be saving Lord Damon from having to remarry, something, much to the dismay of a great many females in London, he showed little inclination to do.
Lord Damon’s smile faltered, finally disappearing entirely as his dark, brittle gaze landed on Sophia. Ice coated her immediately at that look.
No, he does not see me as beneficial, Mama.
Roxboro regarded Sophia with a great deal of wariness hovering inthose shimmering eyes. As if she meant to attack him, here in the Canterbell drawing room.
Would that stop the marriage if she flew at him like an enraged hedgehog?
Did hedgehogs become enraged?
Perhaps a beaver, then. They seem vicious.
Anger towards Roxboro was justified, Sophia reminded herself. It had been entirely unnecessary to lead her to believe he admired her at the ball, when he clearly did not. Sophia had castigated herself dozens of times for believing Roxboro’s lecherous drivel. She couldn’t seem to force the words away, no matter how she tried. It was one thing to be compromised publicly—
Damn Lady Brokeburst.
—quite another to have the gentleman in question to be so drunk as to assume he was merely kissing a shrub. Or insisting he’d not been present at all.
It was humiliating. And cruel.
Roxboro’s gloved fingers curled around her own, warming the skin beneath her gloves. “My lady,” he said in a clipped tone.
Sophia dropped into the best curtsey she could muster under the circumstances, which wasn’t saying much. She not so discreetly sniffed the air between them for a hint of spirits.
He squeezed her fingers tighter, pulling Sophia forward. “I’m not foxed,” he murmured under his breath.
“I don’t care,” she whispered back. “Be a sot.”
Roxboro peered down at her from his far greater height, completely composed and supremely ducal. But she caught the small twitch at the corner of one of those sea storm eyes. It annoyed her future husband when she referred to him as a sot. He regarded her with pained tolerance, still holding her fingers as Sophia’s family and Lord Damon made their way to take a seat while Powell offered refreshments.
“Not at all memorable,” Roxboro drawled quietly. “Because it was not me. Lady Seraphina.”
This again. Sophia’s annoyance flared to life. “Stop doing that. And it is not my fault that your love of drink and opium—”
He blinked at her with all innocence. “Only a little opium.”
“—cause you to have a faulty memory. Mine, however, is intact. Your lips,” she whispered. “Are akin to the skin of a toad. Fleshy and wet asIrecall.”
Roxboro released her hand, a lazy smile pulling at his lips. “You’re a combative little chit, aren’t you? But I am going to wed you, much as I’d like to avoid doing so. You might consider, that you’ll bemywife, undermythumb, and be more careful with your words, my lady.”
A not-so-subtle threat.
Vile cad.
“The longer I spend in your company, Roxboro, the more I regret knowing you.”
“Your Grace,” he gritted his teeth.
