Reluctantly she met his eyes, and what she saw gave her some courage. George didn’t look as if he was about to throw her out of the house.
“Sophie,” he said gruffly. “It seems you are going to marry Patrick Foakes rather than the Earl of Slaslow.”
She lowered her eyes, her cheeks stained raspberry. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.
“We’ll have to figure out something to tell your mama.” George sighed. “I won’t have her know the truth, as I’ve just been telling Foakes. She’d vex herself to death over it.”
“Yes, Papa.” Sophie’s throat felt tight.
“Well, I’ll leave you,” George mumbled. “Not for long, mind!” His voice erupted into something of a roar as he met his future son-in-law’s amused eyes. Did nothing overset that fellow? Here he had one eye practically swollen shut, and a distinct bruise forming along his jaw as well, and still Patrick Foakes looked like a buck of the first cut. It was dashed annoying. George got himself out of the room, practically choking with irritation.
Sophie took a deep breath but was too embarrassed to raise her eyes. She heard Patrick walking toward her. When he stopped she could see his boots just before her.
“You look quite lovely this morning, Sophie. A new Sophie, in fact, a modest, bashful …” Patrick let the words trail off suggestively.
Sure enough, Sophie lifted her head and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t make fun of me!”
Patrick’s large hand cupped her chin. “Why not? We won’t be able to survive marriage without making fun of each other, love.”
Just then Sophie realized what she was looking at. “What happened, Patrick?” She reached out and delicately touched the dark swelling around his eye.
“My just desserts,” Patrick replied. “Nothing to worry about.” He reached up and captured her hand, bringing it to his mouth. Then he turned it over and brought her palm to his lips with exquisite gentleness.
“I have formally asked your father for your hand in marriage,” he remarked, his eyes twinkling at her.
“You have?” Sophie’s mind seemed to have become rather dizzy again.
Patrick didn’t want her to know the cold truth, which was that she had no choice in the matter of marriage since the moment she had succumbed to his kisses. He had been struggling with his conscience all morning—in fact, ever since he left Brandenburg House last night.
“Will you marry me, Lady Sophie?”
Sophie wasn’t paying much attention. Patrick’s lips were caressing the center of her palm, and for some reason that simple touch was making her knees weak. “Yes,” she said rather faintly.
Patrick frowned. “I am genuinely sorry that our actions last night curtailed your choice of marriage partners,” he said formally. “However, I feel sure that you and I will rub along just as comfortably as you might have with Braddon.”
Sophie’s eyes wandered over Patrick’s wanton black curls and deep-set eyes. What was he talking about? She would never be “just comfortable” living with him. In fact, the whole idea of sleeping in the same house with Patrick—in the same bed—sent a thrill of anticipation from the very top of her head to her toes.
What she really wanted was for him to wrap her in his arms again, the way he had last night. As if he read her mind, Patrick pulled her gently forward.
“Sophie.” His voice was insistent. “I truly want to apologize for preventing your marriage to Braddon. I know you were excited about being a countess.”
She looked up at Patrick in disbelief. Did he really think she was so shallow that it mattered what title her future husband had?
Before she could say anything, Patrick bent his head and captured her lips, drawing her up against his body. He’d been aroused ever since she’d walked into the room, even given that sacklike morning gown she was wearing.
As Patrick’s hands danced among her curls, pulling out the carefully arranged loops and ribbons that Simone had spent so much time on earlier in the morning, Sophie didn’t say a word. She melted against him, trembling as her breasts crushed against his chest and his mouth dipped languorously into hers again and again. Somehow her arms entwined themselves around his neck. When Sophie’s tongue timidly met his, Patrick let out an oath and pulled her arms from his neck, moving back a step.
He stood there staring at the beautiful woman before him. Sophie’s father would have been amused to see his future son-in-law now. Every vestige of the modish buck about town was gone. Patrick’s eyes had gone black as midnight, and he was breathing quickly, the only thought in his head a fierce desire to pull Sophie down onto the hearth rug and make love to her then and there.
“Bloody hell,” he finally said through clenched teeth, running his hand through his tousled hair.
Then he met Sophie’s bewildered eyes. Involuntarily his eyes dropped to her swollen crimson mouth and he reached out again, pulling her soft body against the rock-hard mound in his breeches.
“We have to be married immediately, Sophie,” he muttered into her neck. “I think I’ll die if I don’t get you into my bed soon.”
Sophie smiled a bit, into the curve of his shoulder. Then she raised her head, winding one slender white arm around his neck.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t wait a few months before getting married,” she said saucily. With her free hand she touched his lips with her fingertips, giving a little gasp when her index finger was suddenly engulfed by moistly demanding lips.
“You’ve forgotten one thing, love,” Patrick said in a voice as smooth as French velvet. “We have to be married immediately.”
A smile trembled at the corners of Sophie’s mouth. “Because of this?” With a heady sense of daring she leaned forward, just slightly, so that her body suddenly came into full contact with Patrick’s breeches.
Patrick groaned. “No!”
But he took the invitation, and suddenly Sophie was the one unable to think clearly as Patrick’s large hands meandered around her bottom, fitting her body to his as if they were a pair of nestling spoons.
Yet she managed to gasp, “If not because … then why?”
Patrick pulled away from her. “Get thee to a safe distance, wench! Because of last night, of course.” He turned back to catch Sophie’s mystified look. “You might be carrying a babe, Sophie.”
“Carrying a babe!” She colored. Of course she knew that. She certainly had heard enough tirades from her mother about her father’s absence from the marital bed and her resulting lack of children. Not to mention the more pungent comments of maids who seemed endlessly to discuss various ways to prevent conception.
“Actually, we should be more careful in the future.” Patrick frowned. “You aren’t truly one of those women like Braddon’s sister who are obsessed with having children, are you?”
Sophie hesitated. She wasn’t obsessed, but … what did he mean? Of course she wanted children. And didn’t every man want a son? Even Braddon had said flat out that he needed an heir.
“Are you uninterested in children, sir?”
“For God’s sake, Sophie, call me Patrick. After last night—”
Sophie blushed again at the mocking look in his eyes.
“And no,” he continued, “I am not very interested in the idea of children. In fact, I’d just as soon not have any.”
Sophie stumbled into speech. “But … but, no heir?”
Patrick gave her a flippant smile. “I don’t have a title for a boy to inherit, so why should I worry about it? And my brother has two children, with more, I’m sure, on the way. So there will be plenty of family members to inherit my millions,” he said with a distinctly ironic cut in his voice.
Sophie was bewildered. “You don’t want to have any children?”
Patrick caught the tone in her voice and looked at her. Then he took her hand and drew her over to a low sofa.
“Are you very attached to the idea of becoming a mother? If so, I am even more sorry about what happened last night. I assumed that you shared
Braddon’s rather matter-of-fact attitude toward children. In my experience, very few well-bred ladies are interested in offspring.”
Sophie swallowed. She didn’t know what to say. Should she reveal the belly-deep, longing ache that she felt when she saw Charlotte with her babies? Patrick seemed to have such a dislike for the idea, and she found that the idea of not marrying him was more than she could bear.
“I always thought I would have children,” she said, her voice faint.
Patrick clasped Sophie’s hand, trying to see into her eyes, but she fixed them resolutely on the rose pattern of her gown.
“Perhaps we could have one child,” he said after a silence. “I don’t want to act as a tyrant in our marriage, Sophie. If you want a child, then we’ll have one.”
One? As an only child, Sophie had always planned to have many children, so that they could be playmates to one another. Oh, she didn’t want ten children, as she had frivolously told Braddon’s sister, but she definitely wanted more than one. She had spent her childhood sitting about her nursery, with no other children to play with.
But then, look at all the childish plans she had put to the side in the last twenty-four hours. She had thought never to marry a rake, and she was marrying one of the most notorious rakes in London. So she would marry the rake, and have only one child.
Sophie raised her blue eyes and met Patrick’s black ones, and what she saw there warmed her resolve. It was better to marry Patrick and share him with other women than not to have him at all. And if they only had one child, so be it. She would cherish that child so much that he or she would never be lonely.
Patrick looked a bit anxious, so Sophie smiled at him reassuringly. “One child would be fine, Patrick.”
He felt a wash of relief. He didn’t know why his mother’s death in childbirth had affected him so much—it appeared not to have affected his brother, Alex, at all. But Patrick was terrified by the idea of watching a wife go through childbirth. Even after nearly losing Charlotte when she gave birth to Sarah last year, Alex was still happily counting on having a boy the next time. But Patrick didn’t ever want to put a woman at risk of death simply to produce babies. Children weren’t worth it—not by any measure that he could think of.
Patrick gathered up Sophie’s hands and trapped them just under his chin. “Would you like to take a trip in my clipper for our wedding trip, Sophie? I fear that Napoleon has precluded our making a civilized journey to the Continent.”
Suddenly Sophie remembered something and snatched back her hands.
“Aren’t you going to marry Daphne Boch?”
One of Patrick’s eyebrows flew up. “The French girl? Well, I compromised her, but I compromised you more, don’t you think?”
Sophie stared at him in shock.
“Oh for God’s sake,” Patrick half shouted. “Of course I didn’t compromise Daphne Boch! The girl was stung by a bee and had to be taken off to get a mudpack. If I were affianced to Daphne, I certainly wouldn’t have stayed in your room last night, Sophie.”
She quirked an uncertain smile. She was glad to hear that Patrick wasn’t supposed to marry Daphne. But she discounted his other reason almost entirely. Of course he would have stayed in her room. She had practically thrown herself at him, hadn’t she? The details of last night were beginning to filter through her mind. What on earth was she thinking, welcoming a gentleman into her bedchamber? She must have been deranged!
Although, to be fair, she was expecting Braddon to climb the ladder, and Braddon hadn’t even wanted to kiss her. Braddon wasn’t a likely candidate for the event that had happened last night.
Patrick stared at his wife-to-be in frustration. Sophie obviously saw him as unhesitatingly eager to compromise two young ladies in a single week.
“Sophie, you are the only young lady whom I have ever compromised in my life, either with a kiss or a longer encounter.”
Sophie smiled at him reassuringly, but Patrick was no fool. Her eyes revealed a complete lack of trust. Well, she could learn to trust him after they were married.
“How does Thursday fortnight sound to you as a wedding day?” he asked.
“So soon?”
Patrick was a little startled himself at the suggestion. There would be no harm in waiting a month or even six weeks. But he found a deep impatience inside him at the idea of nights spent without Sophie.
“There will be a scandal anyway,” he offered. “Why not be married and on our wedding trip before the ton grasps that you have broken your engagement to Braddon?”
Sophie thought this over. “I shall have to send a message to the Earl of Slaslow.”
Patrick grinned. “It’s generally considered de rigueur to inform your betrothed when you are planning to marry another man. But in this case you needn’t if you don’t want to. I told him myself last night.”
“Last night!” Sophie’s eyes flew to Patrick’s. “Did you tell him everything?”
Patrick’s eyes had a cutting edge. “No, I did not tell him everything. I simply explained that you had decided to marry me instead.”
Sophie was unpleasantly shaken by the sudden chill in the air. “I’m sorry,” she said humbly. “I didn’t mean to imply that you boasted. What did he say?”
Patrick met her strained look and his eyes grew even colder. Could it be that Sophie was sorry not to be marrying Braddon? Could Braddon be right in his ranting and raving about how Sophie adored him?
“He was naturally dismayed that you no longer chose to marry him,” Patrick said carefully.
“The devil of it is, Sophie, that we can’t do a thing about it now.” Suddenly he swung about and picked her up effortlessly from the sofa. “You’re mine, Sophie. I can’t give you back to Braddon. Things will never be the same as they were.”
Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. She was exhausted from lack of sleep and confused by the turn in the conversation. When Patrick swore softly and pulled her into his arms again she raised her mouth for consolation, trying to pretend that the whole conversation had never happened.
“Kiss me, Patrick, please,” she breathed against his lips.
With a small moan, Patrick complied. He managed to back her up against a chair and her body was responding to his rhythmical touch in a way that suggested mindless pleasure. For a moment Patrick took objective stock of the small whimpers coming from Sophie’s lips, the way in which her arms were holding him close with all her strength. Whatever unrequited love she might feel for Braddon didn’t really matter. Patrick had been on the receiving end of quite a few whispered vows of love, and in his view it was only a matter of time before Sophie felt the same thing for him, given the passion that flared between them now. Women seemed to feel it necessary to explain physical pleasure by babbling about love—and Sophie and he were likely to share that pleasure in abundance.
So when they drew apart, following the marquis’s discreet knock on the library door, Patrick looked keenly at Sophie’s flushed face, her trembling fingers, and her swollen lips. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly kissed and had enjoyed every minute of it. He’d woo her, that’s all. In no time Sophie would be in love with him rather than with Braddon, resolving this uneasy feeling of guilt he felt about having taken her virginity.
Yet even after Sophie went upstairs to talk with her mother, and Patrick sat down with the marquis to draw up plans for the marriage settlement, he still felt curling pulses of guilt in his stomach. Finally he shrugged it off, naming a settlement figure that made the Marquis of Brandenburg’s eyes bulge.
“My God, man, are you some sort of a nabob?” he finally asked.
“Something like it,” Patrick answered laconically.
George had no particular desire for his only daughter to marry a man of money. Far more important was that Sophie find someone of birth, and someone she might love. But there’s no parent in the world who doesn’t feel a small thrill of satisfaction to find that his daughter has fallen into the way of marriage with an extreme
ly wealthy man.
“I’ll have my lawyer draw these up,” George said as they shook hands. Then he glanced at Patrick’s eye and the bruise on his jaw. “I apologize again for striking you.”
Patrick said nothing but smiled with more than a hint of irony. “I deserved it,” he repeated. “Luckily one of my uncles is a bishop. I shall arrange for a special license this afternoon.”
“A special license?” The marquis was startled. He had thought the marriage might be held in haste, but this was paramount to an elopement.
“I have decided,” Patrick said, “that the best way to survive the scandal with a minimum of unpleasantness for Lady Sophie is to get married in the very near future and leave London on an extended wedding trip.”
“Oh, I see,” George said, not really seeing at all.
“It will be accepted among the ton as a love match,” Patrick said patiently.
“Oh, I see,” George said again.
Patrick hesitated for a moment. Should he tell his future father-in-law about the title that Parliament might grant him? Better not, until it was official.
He bowed his farewell. “Shall I return tomorrow, my lord?”
“Oh right, yes indeed,” George replied. “Join us for dinner, and we’ll have the contracts all sewn up. Then you can marry my girl whenever you please.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Patrick bowed again and departed.
George stared after him, somewhat stunned by the events of the morning. Damned if he wouldn’t have thought that it was a love match, if he didn’t know better. Something about the way Patrick’s eyes glowed when he said he wanted to marry Sophie immediately.
George pulled down his vest thoughtfully. He remembered very well the burning desire he had had to marry Eloise out of hand. The hours he had spent trying to persuade her to elope with him! But no, Eloise was always a stickler for convention, he thought. An unwilling smile lit his eyes as he remembered his younger self almost sobbing with lust over Eloise’s white bosom. Ah well, things change.