Goodness.
“Is that you, Timmons?” Came the low, scotch-soaked rumble from behind a partially open door. “Can you find me another bottle if you please. Scotch or brandy. I don’t care which.”
Roxboro.
Her fingers pressed into the wall, quite furious through the haze of the wine. Sophia straightened. Fluffed the stupid silk rose on her shoulder. She had much to say and Roxboro was going to hear all of it. One does not…abandon their bride on the wedding night. It’s impolite even if you have no intention of bedding her. She glanced towards the stairs. She’d left her list of Roxboro’s faults in her room.
Drat.
Taking two steps forward, still clinging to the wall, Sophia entered Roxboro’s study. Her toes dug into the plush carpet at her feet.
Oh, I’ve forgotten my slippers.
A fire, flames dancing merrily in the hearth, cast a golden glow across the room, but gave off little light, not enough to make out the shadows along the walls.
“Oh, it’s you,” Roxboro’s rumbling, sardonic tone came from the darkness. A lump, which she’d mistaken for a chair, moved. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
She held up the bottle in her hand. “Where might I find more of this? Also, I’ve a list of your character deficits that I’d like to review, but I left them upstairs.”
The dark outline moved. Lit a lamp. Plopped back down on aleather sofa. “I have no idea. Timmons handles such matters. I don’t care for wine. Reminds me of rotten fruit.”
There was something in that statement that nagged at Sophia, but her head was too muddled at present. “Pity. I happen to enjoy it.”
“Well, there isn’t any in here. You made a list?”
“I did. There was little else to occupy my time other than this,” she held up the bottle again. “And writing out your flaws. I ran out of paper.”
“Good lord,” his voice softened to a warm rasp. “Why do you look like an enormous snowflake? Are there…roses on your shoulder?”
Sophia sat down on the sofa, mere inches from Roxboro, the leather cool beneath her thighs. The wine made her annoyance towards Roxboro seem less important than it had earlier. Not with all that bergamot scented heat wafting so near her, along with scotch and…she sniffed the air, possibly a cheroot.
“Yes, these are roses, Roxboro.” She swatted at a silk petal. “But I did not order this hideous creation, the blame falls squarely on Lady Canterbell.”
“That makes much more sense. You resemble a bit of lace now that you are closer. Tatted by a blind, elderly matron.”
“You are too kind.” Sophia closed her eyes. “As usual.”
Roxboro made a sound. Leaned closer and nudged her shoulder. “You’re upset with me.”
Sophia didn’t open her eyes. “I am. This is our wedding night. Given your abandonment of me, I will assume you’ve no interest in….”
“The doily,” he let out a small laugh. “Was meant to entice me.”
“Again, Lady Canterbell is to blame. If you’ll merely hand me a bottle of…something,” she waved her hand in the direction of the sideboard and opened her eyes. Sophia’s head felt quite heavy and unsteady on her neck, which made it difficult to lift her chin and stare Roxboro down. “My spray of silk roses and I will be on our way.”
“You don’t require the doily,” he said in a soft tone that sent a shiver along her arms. “Nor did you deserve…abandonment. What is my biggest flaw?”
“Drinking to excess and arrogance. But I realize both are required in a duke and a rake.”
“That’s two flaws, but I take your point.” Roxboro took a swallow from his glass and nudged her shoulder again before nuzzling along the edge of her neck with his nose. “You’ve some yourself, Lady Sausage.”
Sophia couldn’t help it. She giggled. “You barely know me, Your Grace.” Her nose wrinkled. “And you smell like the inside of a bottle of scotch.”
“You are terrible, Sophie. But I like terrible. Makes things interesting. That is the first thing I know about you.” Roxboro’s mouth lingered along the slope of her neck, lips skating over her skin until he found a sensitive spot beneath her ear.
A soft breath left her. Her entire body flared to life at the light touch. Rather marvelous.
“You smell of roses.” Teeth nipped at the lobe of her ear. “The scent is in your hair and skin, which I’ve always found odd.”
