“And Palfrey.” He nuzzled her ear.
“Palfrey?”
“The head gardener. The window is still open,” Roxboro chuckled. “If he’s run off, Sophie, you will have to find someone else to prune the rose bushes. And Barstow has been in my employ for ages. If I haven’t scared him off yet, I doubt you will.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” Sophia snuggled deeper into his arms, her thoughts finally quiet, as they had never been before. She and Roxboro were an unlikely pairing, to say the least. But a good one.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next day,Alexander woke his wife in the most pleasant manner possible, with his head firmly wedged between her thighs. She yelled his name and beat her fists on his shoulders when reaching the peak of her pleasure, which was immensely satisfying.
He intended to keep his wife so happy and sated so that she might forget what a terrible human being he’d been and possibly still might be. They would have to return to London eventually, which meant Sophia would be faced with a herd of former paramours along with Alexander’s tattered reputation, not to mention those who assumed she’d trapped him in this marriage, which to be fair, she had, no matter how unintentionally.
Yes, but I don’t mind.
He would let none of it touch her. He wanted nothing to hurt Sophie.
Alexander had never been in love. Not once, unless you counted an expensive bottle of French cognac. But he mused, gazing at his wife all lovely and pink after climaxing on his tongue, he was in love with Sophia. Why, exactly, he’d no idea. Nor was Alexander certain when he’d fallen in love with her, only that he was. She was not beautiful, though Alexander thought her the most marvelous creature in existence. Ordinary in every way, yet Sophia made him feel the most extraordinary things.
Damon would not be pleased. Not about Sophia, nor anything elseAlexander meant to do. His mind was clear. His thoughts focused. There was no Oakhurst to demand his attention. Whether his uncle approved or not, Alexander was going to be the bloody Duke of Roxboro. Going forward, he would handle the affairs of his estate and title, whether Damon assumed he was capable or not. He would release his uncle from all responsibility in regards to the dukedom. Not because his uncle had mishandled matters. Quite the contrary. But it was far past time for Alexander to take the reins of his own legacy.
The careless, arrogant libertine he’d been died in that carriage weeks ago. Well, somewhat. He’d try to be good. For Sophie.
So, several days ago, while his wife was being difficult, Alexander summoned his secretary, Freeman, to The Pillory.
Damon might have complained, but his uncle was nowhere to be found.
Sophia rolled out of bed with a groan, clutching the sheet and searching for the remains of her chemise. Her lips wrinkled at the torn pile of clothing. “It looks as if I were attacked by a wild animal.”
“You were.” Alexander stood, naked, and walked to the center of the room, holding up a few tattered bits of linen. “I fear everyone will know of your depraved nature, Sophie. Stone is a terrible gossip.”
“You should…cover yourself.” She averted her eyes, a blush on her cheeks.
“I don’t think so.” Sophia was ogling him and didn’t want to admit to it.
I adore her.
She hissed, like an irritated cat. “I’m taking the sheet with me.” She marched to the door adjoining their rooms. “I believe I’ll bathe.”
“A grand idea.” He’d let her do so alone. This time. “Join me for breakfast on the terrace, my terrible shrew, once you are dressed.”
She gave him a saucy wink, which sent a glowing ember to flame inside Alexander’s heart.
Yes, I’m definitely in love with her.
*
Less than anhour later, Sophia and Roxboro were settled in comfortable chairs on the terrace, sharing a leisurely breakfast. Birds chirped and flew overhead. Butterflies floated above the blooms in the garden. Entirely peaceful.
“I’ve sent a messenger to Hampshire,” he said. “I think my uncle must have gone trout fishing.”
Sophia set down her tea. “I should have summoned him the moment you were brought home after—the incident. But I was so worried you’d—and I suppose it slipped my mind and—”
“You didn’t want him here, because he doesn’t like you.”
“Also, yes.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I didn’t die. Damon wasn’t in London even had you sent a note immediately after I was brought home. I’ve written to Lady Falmouth and my cousins. I’m sure they’ll descend upon us in due time.
