“Oh,” she softly panted before arching more firmly into his chest.
Alexander’s hand slid from her hip, cupping Sophia’s backside, squeezing at one luscious, plump—
Dear God.
He pulled away so abruptly that Sophia stumbled, grabbing on to the tree trunk to keep from falling. Taking a lungful of air, demanding his heart stop the crazy tumbling inside his chest, Alexander stepped back from his terrible, annoying twit of a bride. His cock throbbed.Ached. His entire body burned.
For her.
Eyes wide, hands trembling against her skirts, Sophia stared at him in shock.
It hadnotbeen him at the Perswick ball. He would never have forgotten….Her.
“That,” she sputtered, the mounds of her breasts rocking with every halting breath. “That,” Sophia shook her head, fingers brushing along her lips, “It wasn’t—”
“Me,” Alexander whispered, daring to look at her mouth once more.
She spun about and took a few halting steps in the direction of the house, pausing just outside a circle of torchlight. Took two deep, gulping breaths. Fingers clutched in agitation at her sides, the fingers jerking ever so slightly. But Sophia did not turn. Did not face him.
“I bid you good evening, Your Grace.” Her words were sharp. Like knives. “The duck did not agree with me and our walk did not help matters. Please apologize to Lord Damon for not bidding him good evening. I will see you at the church, Your Grace.”
Alexander nodded, though he doubted she could see him. If nothing else, he’d proved to himself, if not Sophia, that he hadn’t ruined her.
Though now, he dearly wanted to.
She sprinted up the steps to the terrace, not sparing him another glance and disappeared into the depths of the Canterbell home.
Alexander waited a moment or two before reaching into his coat pocket. His fingers closed around the small flask filled with scotch, one he continued to carry though he hadn’t taken a sip in weeks. Liftingthe flask, the scotch fell down his throat, making his belly burn.
He had his truth, though Alexander wasn’t sure what he would do with the information.
Chapter Thirteen
Idon’t think—butit had to be—but it couldn’t—
The gnawing, insistent whisper gnawed at the fringes of her mind as she looked up the length of the aisle, each pew decorated with sprays of roses and baby’s breath. The path that would bring her to Roxboro. His handsome features were calm. Composed. Save for the tiny smirk he made no attempt to hide.
The lilies in her bridal bouquet quivered as she took a step. Then another.
The kiss Roxboro bestowed upon her only two nights ago had shaken Sophia to the core. As Roxboro surely knew it would. He hadn’t lied. Roxboro did not kiss like a slobbering puppy. Nor without pronounced sensuality. Sophia’s senses, her very soul, had left her body during that kiss. Not at all like…before. Even his mouth felt different…like another pair of lips—
Don’t think it, Sophia. Don’t even consider it.
The green of Roxboro’s eyes, bits of silver glittering in the morning light streaming through the windows of the church, trailed over Sophia. Impudently, though his features remained perfectly smooth. She struggled to keep her gaze on the vicar as Papa walked her forward, not daring to look at the guests filling the pews. Mama wanted a grand wedding for her daughter, no matter the reason behind it. Half of London was in St. Paul’s, the rest outside awaiting their exit. Everyone wanted to see the infamous Duke of Roxboro brought up to snuff by Lord Canterbell’s daughter.
Sophia grew dizzy just thinking about it. She pitched to the left, but Papa caught her elbow.
“Buck up now, moppet,” his breath crested over her ear. “I’ll make sure you are treated well.”
Yes, because having Papa constantly tossing threats at the Viceroy family was a brilliant way to begin her marriage. A union Sophia now considered was being made under false pretenses.
That kiss.
If the claiming of her mouth was any indication of how Roxboro might stake his claim on her body, Sophia would be reduced to nothing more than a pliable mound of flesh as they consummated their marriage. Mama had given her a version of what to expect, none of which made a great deal of sense. Each body part was given a charming euphemism, namely the ‘gentleman’s length’.
My God. What a stupid name for the male anatomy.
The lilies in Sophia’s hands shook so hard as Papa left her beside Roxboro, a petal fell from the bouquet and drifted to the floor.
