Addicted to a Rascal Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 2

  “Shall we have some tea?” he asked, nodding at the cups, saucers, and tier of cakes that had been placed on the table in front of Sophia’s chair.

  “Y-yes,” Lady Sophia said, taking her seat. She looked so nervous as David took the sofa across from her, and he was glad that the maid jumped out of her chair a moment later to come pour the tea. It broke up the obvious tension that had immediately settled between him and Lady Sophia as soon as he sat down.

  When they were settled with full cups and cake on each plate, Lady Sophia seemed to calm down slightly. She didn’t look quite so pinched, and David began to wonder if he hadn’t been a bit harsh in his assumptions of her. After all, from what he had heard, he was not her first suitor. Perhaps her assignations with the others had been such that she was turned off menfolk entirely, distrusting of his sex as a whole.

  I need to put her at ease, he decided, and to do that by asking her questions about herself. Young ladies loved to talk about themselves, didn’t they?

  As it turned out, young ladies in general might, but Lady Sophia in particular did not. Indeed, she had a knack for answering all of his questions with one-word answers, or in some cases, merely a murmured, “Hmm.” David bit down the frustration bubbling in him as the conversation dragged forward. It had been half an hour, and still she had not warmed to him. Never in his life had a lady failed to be enchanted by his presence until now. It was a rather distressing occurrence, if David was honest with himself.

  The maid, however, continued to pay him attention, sending him wanton looks loaded with meaning that nearly had his breeches stiffening. David was about to give up on Lady Sophia entirely, flout decorum, and begin a conversation with her maid. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, Lady Sophia focused her gaze on him for the first time and asked, “Do you like to read?”

  The eye contact she had not paid him this last half hour was suddenly given tenfold. She was staring at him intently, and David realized that this question, as innocuous as it might seem to him, was very important to her. Wanting, no, needing, to make this afternoon a success for his own sense of pride, David leaned forward and did what he did best: he lied, and with aplomb.

  “Indeed, yes. I love to read.”

  He knew it was the right answer considering his company’s reputation as a bibliophile and bluestocking, and his powers of deductive thinking were rewarded. Lady Sophia gave him the first smile he had ever seen from her, which made her instantly look ten times prettier. In more flattering light, she might even be considered beautiful by those gentlemen who prized blonde hair and rosy cheeks as being the height of female pulchritude.

  David knew that it would only work in his favor to declare such an observation of her attractiveness, and so he did, and was further rewarded with a deepening shade of red in the aforementioned rosy cheeks.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, looking down demurely. It was clear she was unused to such compliments, and David felt his chest expand knowing that he was among the first of men to pay her such pretty words. Clearly, her other suitors had been absolute dolts. It was no wonder she had not married any of them.

  “I say only what is true,” he told her, making her blush to an interesting shade of pink.

  It is all going rather splendidly.

  Perhaps there was hope for their courtship after all. He wouldn’t be forced back out onto the marriage market to search for some other lady of similar wealth. Lady Sophia would do absolutely fine.

  But then she had to go and open her mouth again, as females seemed wont to do. And this question was far harder to answer than the last.

  “What are your favorite books?”

  She sounded so excited asking this that the words practically tumbled from her mouth as one, followed up quickly by, “Your favorite authors? What was the last thing you read? Have you been to Marcum’s, near Chelsea? It is my favorite bookshop in all of London. What is yours?”

  Oh dear.

  David had never had much patience for the written word. As a young boy at Eton he had bullied the younger, smaller children into doing the bulk of his work. This tactic meant that by the time he left Eton, he had learned little Latin, no French, and had not even a passing knowledge of The Iliad, The Odyssey, or any other of the classic works.

  David did not even read his own correspondence. He had his steward read it aloud to him, usually as they walked toward the tailor’s. David could have told Lady Sophia his favorite tailor; or, in fact, his three favorites. He had one for coats, one for trousers, and another for formal wear. Indeed, he could have discussed the many possibilities available to men of the ton in their sartorial choices for hours, but books?

  What an absolute waste of time.

  But though he felt strongly about this, David could not voice these opinions to Lady Sophia, not least because she was looking at him with such hope. She gazed at him like he might not be quite the terrifying prospect she had earlier assumed him to be. She looked like she was actually considering him as a marriage prospect.

  David could not dash those hopes. Of course she would find out all about him, his true self, once they were married, but now was not the time for honesty. Now was the time for lies and falsehoods that would make him seem suitably compatible to her. Lies and falsehoods that would make her believe they were right for each other, so they could marry and David could have the wife he needed to allow him to move to the next stage of his existence. He had to say something that would please her.

  Wracking his brain, David tried to think of the last book his mother had mentioned. His mother was rather a lot like Lady Sophia in that she loved to read above all else, especially now that she was a widow. She preferred gothic novels whose plots David found truly abominable, at least from the way she described them. So much romance, so much love.

  It is preposterous, fantastical.

  David didn’t like fantasies. He liked real, tangible things. Money, clothes, property. Things that, unlike love, were actually attainable in this lifetime.

  It was odd that Lady Sophia seemed, at least at first sight, to share so many qualities with his mother. It ought to worry him, considering how grating he found his mother’s presence, but strangely it had the opposite effect. In fact, it made David even more certain that Lady Sophia was the lady for him.

  He had chosen her because of her father’s connections and the large inheritance she would one day receive, but now that he was getting to know her better, David could see that she had amiable qualities beyond that. Like his mother, she was shy and therefore biddable. A biddable wife allowed the man of the house to do as he liked and pleased, which was the natural order of things, as far as David was concerned. Clearly, she wasn’t an upstart bluestocking at all.

  I knew I shouldn’t have listened to those gossips.

  Gossip made him think of his mother, who had just that morning mentioned that the newspaper gossip pages were beginning to resemble that of a novel by…oh dear, what was that author’s name? That poor lady who died not too long ago….

  “Austen,” David practically shouted suddenly, inwardly congratulating himself for alighting on the name.

  It seemed the correct answer even if the question had been one of opinion, for Lady Sophia practically jumped in her seat with excitement, clapping her hands together and looking more animated than he had seen her yet.

  “Oh, yes, I simply love her work. I must have read Persuasion at least twenty times at this point. What is your favorite of her works?”

  Drat. Why did she have to keep asking more and more detailed questions? Wasn’t liking Austen enough? It was as though she truly wanted to know him.

  Thankfully, David happened to look over at the maid at this point. She mouthed something to him, which looked rather a lot like “enema.” Surely that couldn’t be the name of a book for young ladies?

  He gave the maid a quizzical brow, and she mouthed the word again. This time, he got it.

  “Emma!” he told Lady Sophia. This caused her such an apo
plexy of excitement that she nearly dropped her teacup, and succeeded in spilling liquid all down the hem of her gown where it touched the carpet.

  David stifled a laugh as he stood up, though thankfully Lady Sophia’s head was bent towards her gown, and she did not notice the brief look of mirth on his face. He searched in vain for a napkin or cloth with which to offer her. He had a handkerchief, of course, but it was finely embroidered by a seamstress from France and had cost a fortune. He wouldn’t risk sullying the thing with droplets of tea, not even for his future wife.

  “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I seem to have misplaced my handkerchief, but…” he trailed off, idling patting his pocket to show he had made a go of searching.

  Lady Sophia did not look the least bit distressed at having ruined her gown. Indeed, she was smiling back at him serenely, a look of pure happiness on her face as she waved off his comment.

  “Do not worry about it at all. I get similarly excited when I speak about books. Once I spilled an entire cup of tea all down my gown upon reading a particularly exciting bit of a novel,” she said in a low tone, as though she was confiding a wicked transgression to him.

  David gave her his most winsome smile, but inside he was laughing at how innocent Lady Sophia seemed. Demure, too. Exactly the sort of wife he was looking for. The innocent could be easily manipulated, and the shy never overshadowed the great. She would never outshine him with her quiet ways and girlish excitements. Everyone would simply think her sweet.

  The sweet Lady Montrose.

  “Oh, Lord Montrose, I do think my father is right in thinking we will get on well,” Lady Sophia said, as the maid came over and began mopping up at the mess with a cloth she took from her apron pocket.

  David’s eyes were momentarily distracted by the sight of the maid’s bottom waving in the air, but he quickly regained his composure and turned a pleased smile toward Lady Sophia. “My Lady, I could not agree more.”

  As Lady Sophia preened at him, the maid looked up and gave David a smile followed by a truly lascivious wink. He felt his trousers stiffening again, and began to wonder whether it might not be prudent to repay the maid for her help today.

  It would only be fair, after how she had saved him from ruining his first meeting with Lady Sophia. Thanks to the maid, he had made himself seem to Lady Sophia like her perfect match. It would be so easy to woo her from here on. Why, thanks to the maid, he and her lady could be engaged within a month. It was really only best practice to repay the servant for her kindness.

  And David knew exactly what he could gift her. It wouldn’t cost him a penny.

  Chapter 3

  Sophia spent the next week imagining Lord Montrose as her very own hero.

  She had been so nervous when he walked in the room. She hadn’t remembered him being so handsome, with his golden locks pushed back, showing off a smooth forehead and aquiline nose. His eyes were the color of bluebells just blooming in springtime, and he had a way of walking that spoke of confidence.

  All this was to say that he had appeared very much like the sort of heroic lover Sophia had pictured for herself. Indeed, after the success of their first meeting, she had spent the next two weeks fantasizing about their future together.

  She imagined what he might say when he confessed his love to her for the first time. She thought constantly about what his kisses might feel like when bestowed on her lips. She found herself hoping during each subsequent meeting that he would ask the maid out on some errand, and then, when they were all alone, he would take her into his arms.

  They would do nothing very untoward. Just a chaste kiss or two, enough to show her that the fire and sparks that books always spoke of happening when two people kissed could be hers to cherish, hers to experience in her own life.

  It was by far the happiest few weeks of Sophia’s life since that birthday when she had received the collected Shakespeare. Then, she had spent weeks on end reading through the plays, the imagined worlds dancing in her head. This, however, was far more delicious, because it wasn’t imagined. It was real, it was her future.

  Or so she had thought, until that fateful day when she and her maid, Erin, were out on an errand to Marcum’s.

  It was true that Lord Montrose’s house was not strictly on the way to Marcum’s Bookshop, as Erin had so helpfully pointed out that day. However, Sophia had been longing to see his house, so that she could better imagine her future home, where she would finally be Lady of her own household.

  Walking to the Montrose residence had taken them nearly fifteen minutes out of their way, but Sophia had thought it well worth it when she was finally able to gaze upon the fine townhouse. It was beautiful and far larger than her own home, and she could only imagine the library that lurked within, stuffed to the very gills with books of all sorts.

  How many books has he read? How does he organize his books, by genre or by author?

  She preferred the former method, but she supposed she could learn to live with the latter if need be.

  She was so lost in her fantasies that she did not at first notice the house’s master exiting the front door. It was only when Erin had pulled her by the arm behind the back of a lingering carriage that Sophia realized she had nearly been found out.

  Peeking out from behind the carriage, Sophia watched Lord Montrose walk down the steps, tugging on his gloves and adjusting his hat. He was talking to someone behind him in the doorway, but the angle obscured the person from her view.

  What was not obscured were Lord Montrose’s words.

  “Do me a favor and read and respond to my letters, if you please, Mother. You know how much I detest reading, and today of all days I simply do not have the patience for it.”

  Sophia’s mouth had hung open as she watched Lord Montrose ascend into the very carriage behind which she was hiding. She had stood still as the carriage pulled away from the side of the street, and it was only when Erin had tugged her roughly by the arm that she realized what a very strange sight she must make to passers-by.

  “He was lying. He lied to me, Erin. He doesn’t like reading at all! He’s probably never even read Jane Austen. He must have just said the first of her titles that came to him,” Sophia had screeched at Erin as they walked home, the trip to the bookshop abandoned. Sophia could not search for books in such a state, not when her vision was blurred by tears and she was liable to throw something.

  Erin had stayed quiet throughout the walk home and the succeeding days afterward. It was only today, three weeks after her first meeting with Lord Montrose, that the maid finally told her the truth.

  “It was me who helped him, m’lady,” Erin said now, looking sheepish. She was staring pointedly at her feet, her hands clasped behind her back and her back hunched in supplication.

  “What do you mean, you helped him?” Sophia asked, trying to keep her voice low, for they were in the drawing room and she knew her mother would soon be entering. “Helped him lie? How? You met him the same time as I did, didn’t you? When would you have been able to feed him the information he needed to trick me?”

  “I…I mouthed the book name to him. That Emma book. I knew it was your favorite, and when he looked my way, I mouthed the word to him. Took him a minute—he’s not the brightest—but he eventually got it in the end,” Erin said with a shrug.

  “Oh,” Sophia said. She didn’t know how to respond. She was too busy discerning which of the many emotions in her head she felt most strongly. There was anger, at both Lord Montrose and Erin, but there was appreciation too, because she knew her maid had only done it in her aid. Erin was young and impressionable, but she was loyal, too. She cared about Sophia.

  This was echoed in Erin’s next words. “I only want you to be happy, m’lady. I want you to find someone who makes you feel like those women in your books. I thought…I thought maybe if I gave him some help, made ye think he was like those heroes, then you wouldn’t be so afraid of him. You wouldn’t judge him. You’d be able to get to know him without any previous judgm
ent.”

  “I supposed I was rather afraid of him when we first met, wasn’t I?” Sophia said with a bitter laugh. “He made me so…discomfited. I thought it was simply because he was handsome, but now I wonder if it wasn’t just my mind telling me he wasn’t right. That he wasn’t what he seemed.”

  “Well, any gentleman who talks to his mother like that isn’t right for you anyway. As if he had no manners, no respect. And him, one of the richest men of the ton.” Erin said, shaking her head. She was still staring at the floor, but she looked a little less cowed.

  “Erin, stand up and look at me,” Sophia asked quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not angry. I’m just…”

  “Disappointed?” Erin hedged.

  “Yes, but not at you. At him. I really did think I’d found my Willoughby.”

  “Oh, m’lady,” Erin said, shaking her head. “You will find him. In some other gentleman.”