“I don’t care to be your amusement until you return to London,” she said instead, before marching out of the room, careful to hide her trembling hands in her skirts. “I’ll send Stone in to see to your needs.”
*
Well, that hadn’tgone as Alexander hoped.
He looked down at his cock tenting the coverlet, too tired to do much more than will it to go down. Sophia’s assessment of his character wasn’t incorrect, which pained him. Hewasa cad when itcame to women. A bit of a sot, although his longing for spirits had abated a great deal. His character was…questionable, but Alexander enjoyed being a libertine. Or at least, he had.
Nearly being murdered changes one’s perspective.
Alexander came close to telling Sophia he’d made the decision to water down his scotch and brandy well before they’d wed, with the exception of his wedding night. The fact that he’d ruined a girl he couldn’t remember had been the catalyst for his decision. He liked having his wits about him.
And yes, he missed brandy. Scotch. Good lord, even gin. Just the taste of it.
What he didn’t miss was Oakhurst. London. Or Uncle Damon, though Alexander was curious why his uncle wasn’t at The Pillory.
“Your Grace.” Barstow appeared in the doorway. “Would you care for something to eat? Cook has made Cornish hens.”
“Yes, I’m starving.” Not only for food, but Sophia. “Where’s Stone?”
“Gone to visit his mother. As you told him to do when he refused to bring you scotch, Your Grace.”
“I’d prefer a brandy.” The argument with Sophia had left Alexander unsettled. He didn’t want to go back to the emptiness that threatened whenever she wasn’t here.
“The duchess—”
“Is a dictator. Never mind.” Alexander waved him away. “I’ll wait and have a brandy with my uncle when he arrives. Has there been any word? I take it the duchess sent for him.”
Barstow’s lips rippled, pausing before he answered. “Yes, indeed. But Lord Damon is not in London at present, Your Grace.”
“Not in town? Well, that explains his absence. My uncle likes to go off to fish for trout.” When Damon was troubled, as he surely had been in the weeks leading up to Alexander’s marriage. His uncle wasn’t to be blamed for wanting a bit of peace and quiet, though theyrarely went so long without speaking. “Try the hunting lodge in Hampshire. There is a stream nearby full of trout.”
“Your Grace.” Barstow bowed. “I’ll send word immediately.”
“And inform the duchess that I expect her to dine with me this evening. Read to me.” Alexander knew he sounded petulant like some spoiled lord, but he didn’t care. Sophia’s parting words and her exit made him furious. Accusing Alexander of using her merely for amusement. Did she think she was the only bloody woman for miles? He could snap his fingers, and a half-dozen would arrive from the nearby village, all eager to—
Alexander tossedThe Lustful Turkacross the room.
“You weren’t much help,” he said to the book as it fell to the floor. “After all.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophia sat outside,the gentle breeze blowing through her hair, lifting the strands to tickle her cheek. The lavish gardens of The Pillory were a perfect spot to enjoy a book. Peaceful. Every blade of glass manicured. The roses, bright crimson and pink buds just beginning to unfurl, dotted the landscape, along with peonies, delphinium, and a wealth of wisteria.
She liked wisteria a great deal. The tight clusters of flowers reminded her of grapes.
Turning, Sophia looked up to the open window of Roxboro’s rooms, wondering if he could see her out here sitting amongst the flowers. Or even if he cared. They had not spoken again since their argument, because Sophia was studiously avoiding her husband. Whether over embarrassment from the intimacy they’d shared or her own behavior in saying such cruel things to him, Sophia wasn’t sure.
Which did not stop Roxboro from demanding her presence.
Hours after the reading ofThe Lustful Turk, Barstow informed Sophia that His Grace expected her to dine with him that night.
She politely declined, citing a headache.
Roxboro snarled his displeasure as he hurled a series of books, possibly a porcelain figurine and what sounded like a boot at the closed door separating their rooms.
Though her husband could hardly get about on his own yet without toppling over, Sophia made sure the door stayed locked. Just incase. She wasn’t ready to…face him.
Over the course of the following day, Roxboro insisted Sophia present herself, more than once. He attempted bribery, suggesting Barstow tell Sophia the duke had relapsed into illness.
