Sophia’s heart fluttered about wildly. A butterfly attempting to land. She drained the flute of champagne.
Roxboro deftly slid between a small circle of guests, ignoring their bowing and scraping in a bid to gain his attention, uninterested in their efforts. The brilliant green eyes, with their gleam of gray, stayed focused on Sophia. Impossibly handsome up close, Roxboro resembled one of the statues of Apollo Mama liked to populate the Canterbell gardens with, one that had now come to life and meant to speak to Sophia.
All of which led to a lightheaded, dizzy sensation.
Or it may have been the champagne.
“Your Grace,” Sophia whispered when Roxboro finally stood before her. She dipped into a wobbly curtsey, nearly toppling over. Not the fault of the champagne. Mara likened Sophia’s attempts at a proper curtsey to a seizure.
“Allow me, little dove,” he plucked the now empty glass of champagne from Sophia’s fingers, took another from a servant, and handed it to Sophia. His fingers, large and warm, brushed along her own.
Sophia giggled, then slapped a palm over her mouth, horrified. His presence was just so overwhelming. Magnificent. Surely, the dukehadn’t meant to approach her. There must be someone else he cared to speak to, possibly behind her.
Me.The rather embarrassing Canterbell daughter.
But there was no one else in the immediate vicinity. Only Sophia.
I might swoon.She’d never done such a thing in her life but if there was ever a time, it was now.
“I’ve seen you walking in the park,” Roxboro said, voice low and raspy, prickling over her skin. “Admiring you from afar, my dove.” His shimmering gaze took her in from head to toe, “Tell me about yourself.”
Admiring her? My dove?
A tingle licked along Sophia’s spine, stroking along her back and ribs. She sipped at the champagne and stuttered some inadequate response.
Roxboro’s lips tilted as if finding her utterly charming.
Nervous laughter burst from Sophia’s lips. He’d reduced her to a giggling nitwit in mere seconds, which was terribly embarrassing, since she had long prided herself on not having anything in common with young ladies such as Hortensia.
But this was the Duke of Roxboro.
I’ll be horrified tomorrow.
As Mama had so uncharitably pointed out, Sophia did read quite a bit and not all of those tomes were of an educational nature, though some might disagree. Lurid, romantic and overblown, with far too many inappropriate details. Mama didn’t know about those. She thought Sophia was only immersed in the Romans. But in every one of those delicious tales, the heroine of the story was always struck dumb by the hero, who was most often a duke. Or a pirate. Sometimes a highwayman.
Roxboro’s fingers trailed lightly over the bracelet on her wrist, tracing the sapphires before lingering over the top of her hand. So warm. And he wasn’t wearing gloves which struck her as odd and—
“A breath of fresh air?” Words so soft, Sophia could barely hear them.
“I—” she stuttered once more. Much to her continued embarrassment.
Roxboro leaned close, the scent of wine on his breath. There was a freckle on the very tip of his nose, a small one. And an oval-shaped purple stain on his coat. He must have spilled on himself.
Well, hewassupposed to be a sot. Sots spill on themselves.
Still, the stain gave her pause. Not the shape or the color. It was only wine. But Sophia had always heard that Roxboro was obsessed with his appearance, as only a vain, overly splendid duke could be. Dribbling wine on his coat, especially at a ball, didn’t seem the sort of thing—
Lips brushed along the curve of her ear, startling Sophia from her thoughts of wine stains and producing the most profound effect on the tips of her breasts.
“I’m enamored, I confess.”
With me? He’s enamored with me?
She gulped her champagne. At this rate, Sophia would require another glass. Was this her second or her third?
“I intend to find your father this night and ask permission to call upon you,” he murmured. “Would you like that, little dove?”
“Yes,” she breathed, every fiber of her being focused on Roxboro. Not only would Papa be surprised, but Mara would be beside herself. Mama might faint and need to be carried out by the Perswick footmen.
