“In a manner of speaking, my lady,” Roxboro answered, earning him a displeased sound from Papa.
“Your Grace,” Lord Damon ground out in warning.
“Doyouenjoy the opera, Lady Sophia?” Roxboro murmured sardonically, ignoring his uncle. “I confess, I’m curious as to your opinion on…sopranos.”
Horrible wretch.
“The opera is not to my taste.” Sophia intentionally neglected to address him properly, gratified when his brows drew together in irritation. “I couldn’t tell a soprano from a tenor, I fear. It all sounds the same to me. Like goats screaming to each other in the countryside.”
Mama’s eyes fluttered shut in shame at Sophia’s response.
“I expected that to be the case. I, however, find opera to be rather stimulating which is why I have a box. You’ll accompany me as often as possible to help broaden your appreciation.”
“It is unlikely I will.” Sophia returned as politely as humanly possible, mostly to keep her mother from having a fit of apoplexy. “I am hoping to retire to the country which I’m sure is something we can agree upon.”
A horrified sound came from Mama. As if she were choking on the duck.
“I believe we can,” Roxboro stated plainly, not looking away.
The entire table went silent. Mama started fanning herself. Even Sophia’s father eyed her with disappointment. Roxboro was the only one who didn’t seem surprised she wanted to be sent to the country and away from him. Lord Damon seemed…almost giddy at the news.
He doesn’t care for me in the least.
“I’m sure it is only the Italian that puts my sister off,” Mara interjected, voice a bit higher than usual, attempting to return to the original subject, which no one gave a fig about. “She doesn’t speak Italian. When you know the language, or at least have a general understanding, opera becomes that much more enjoyable. My Italianis barely passable, but I am fluent in French.”
Roxboro leveled a sensuous smile on her. “Comme c’est delicieux,” he said in perfectly accented French, ignoring Papa who did not care for the duke’s response nor the way in which he gave it.
Mama choked into her napkin. She was fluent, as befitting a politician’s wife. Doubtless, Lord Damon spoke French. Powell might even know the language.
But Sophia did not, leaving her at a distinct disadvantage.
Hours of tutelage in French had only managed to annoy Monsieur Frank. He left Lord Canterbell’s employ, stating that Sophia was incapable of speaking anything other than English. Or behaving with any modesty.
I only said it sounds as if he’s speaking through his nose.
“Oui, Monsieur le duc.” Mara fluttered her lashes at Roxboro in a fetching manner.
Intolerable. Roxboro is my betrothed whether I want him or not.
Sophia kicked her sister beneath the table, but when Mara didn’t flinch, she opted to grind her heel into the top of Mara’s slipper.
A tiny sound left her sister. A painful one.
“Your accent,” Lord Damon said. “Is impeccable, Lady Mara.” The gleaming black ice of his eyes dropped to Sophia. “A shame…you don’t speak French, Lady Sophia. Luckily, I know an excellent tutor.”
Chapter Ten
Yes, a pityhis bride didn’t speak French.
But given Sophia’s extreme stubbornness, Alexander didn’t find that to be terribly unusual. Tutors likely fled the Canterbell house as if the devil were at their heels rather than instruct her. But the real pity was that Alexander hadn’t ruined the stunning, far more accomplished Lady Mara. She would have made an adequate duchess. But a bland one.
She wasn’t nearly as entertaining as her terrible sister.
Who, Alexander was, unexpectedly and unfortunately…lustingafter. Why, he had no idea. He still didn’t recall her at all. Nor the kiss Lady Brokeburst allegedly witnessed. A kiss Sophia had compared to the slobbering tongue of a puppy.
Alexander was skilled in the art of seduction. He enjoyed women a great deal. And he had never, not since bedding his first at the age of fifteen, bestowed an inadequate kiss. Or an insufficientanything.
Now, because of Sophia, he would endure the added humiliation of having to confess his cock didn’t work as a means to rid himself of her. Damon’s argument was to blame Alexander’s use of opium, which admittedly, was a valid excuse. If a gentleman smoked a great deal of opium, one couldn’t do much of anything, let alone bed a woman.
