He took a lungful of air, letting his chest expand.
Damon was only trying to help.
Alexander should stay in London. Not climb aboard that train. The only reason Alexander was visiting The Pillory at all was that he couldn’t very well send Sophia alone. Canterbell would object.
He took a deep breath. Then another. The ache in his temples began to recede.
On his wedding night, Damon must have sensed his nephew might forget the vow to not touch Sophia. He’d suggested a visit to a brothel, Madame Lucret’s, a favorite. But Alexander had declined, preferring to hole up in his study where a bottle of scotch sat awaiting him.
Then Sophia appeared.
Adorable in her stupid doily. Foxed on a bottle of wine she’d somehow managed to acquire. She’d been so…lovely to him. Allowing him to call her Lady Sausage and hurling insults. Taunting him with a list of his character deficits. Of which he had many. No one else dared speak to him in such a way. Damon or Violet on occasion, but mostly, everyone around Alexander treated him with an outlandish amount of deference.
The longing for Sophia dressed like a tea cake had been…insurmountable.
Damon must have guessed, or Timmons,who was absolutely going to be sacked, warned him.
Another deep breath and most of his anger receded.
His uncle, as usual, only sought to save Alexander from himself.
“John,” he said to his driver. “I believe I won’t be taking the train. We’ll go the long way to The Pillory.” Maybe, if he stayed away from Sophia for just a bit longer, the thirst for her would simply fade. The Pillory was overly large, like most ducal estates and he could go days without seeing Sophia. Alexander would stay for a week and return to London. Canterbell would be satisfied, after all, his daughter had made it clear she wished to be sent to the country. And there would be no danger of consummating the marriage.
“You’ve a hankering to visit The Sheepshead, Your Grace?”
John was a good man. He knew his duke well. This wasn’t the first time Alexander had decided not to take the train but take the longer journey to The Pillory so that he might stop at the Sheepshead.
Timmons stood frowning at the bottom of the steps. “Your Grace?”
“I may even stay the night,” he said to John, ignoring Timmons. “I’m in no rush.” The Pillory was barely two days from London by carriage. Not a great distance and the passing countryside was appealing. The Sheepshead boasted an excellent lamb stew as well as a rather delicious barmaid, Nell. Both were favorites of Alexander.
He was hopeful the buxom flax-haired woman would renew his…enthusiasm for bedsport. Because since meeting Sophia, there wasn’t a woman in London Alexander wanted to fuckexcepthis wife. Which was entirely unacceptable considering he couldn’t.
But I dearly want to.
Damon, thankfully, had been logical. Cooped up in first a carriage and then a train with Sophia. Sipping on a flask of brandy. The worst could transpire, ruining all their plans.
What had his uncle said as they entered Binson’s?
Six months. I think that fair. Keep her in the country most of the time. What little appeal she possesses can be flaunted upon the cows and pigs.
Alexander pulled out his flask and took a sip before rapping on the carriage roof. “Let us be off, John.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sophia paced acrossthe drawing room of Roxboro’s estate, barely noticing the gorgeously tufted rug beneath her feet. Every so often, she would stop, glance out the window, and then resume her marching back and forth.
Roxboro had yet to arrive at The Pillory.
She shouldn’t even have had a shred of concern about the coward.
Roxboro couldn’t even inform Sophia himself that he wanted her to leave without him, instead he’d had his devious, calculating uncle inform her. Staring down Damon Viceroy, she’d asked why the duke would bother coming to the country at all if that were the case.
Lord Damon merely raised a brow, looking down at Sophia without an ounce of emotion, handsome features as closed as a sphinx. “I doubt he’ll stay long. There isn’t much at The Pillory to interest him.”
Sophia, to her credit, didn’t flinch from the politely delivered insult.
“Give my regards to Lord Canterbell. Be sure and write to him of the joy you’ve found in your new home.” Then Lord Damon spun on his heel and sauntered away, but not before instructing Timmons, who’d been lurking in the shadows, to make travel arrangements for the duchess.
