Page 7

The Marchioness laughed and moved to stand in front of him, unfastening the top button. “When was the last time you wore this? At our wedding?”

“It very well might be, my dear.”

She refashioned his cravat to hide the unbuttoned collar. “Couldn’t you wear something more recent, darling?”

“I am afraid I set no coin aside for my wardrobe, dearest, but with all eyes on you and dear Sophia, I may just escape notice,” Charles said softly, unable to resist tucking a lock of his wife’s hair behind her ear.

Samuel snorted, earning a scathing look from his father.

“Better?” Lydia asked.

“Much,” her husband replied, smiling.

Sophia observed them with a warm heart. Throughout her life, she had seen dull marriages, convenient marriages, companionable marriages, unhappy marriages with fights and insults thrown around, and even worse, violent marriages. Not every marriage was one of love, but her mother and father… they were some of the lucky few.

And mine won’t be one of love either.

The last thought wiped the smile off her face almost immediately.

She heard steps from behind her as the last member of the Kendall family joined them in the foyer, putting on his gloves. Her uncle Frederick, the Earl of Lynwood. His height made him the tallest in most rooms he was in and always foreboding. He stood behind everyone, but he was still easily spotted. He wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Are they on time?” he asked in a harsh voice.

Sophia used to be afraid of him when she was younger, and he had only turned rougher around the edges over the years. She never remembered him ever lashing out at her or anyone in the family, but he had lashed out plenty of times at enemies of the family and, most of all, the Pratts. She considered herself fortunate to be on the same side as him.

“They should be arriving any time now,” Charles responded, and appropriately enough, footsteps sounded outside the door. “Speak of the devils…”

Silence fell over the Kendall household as the footsteps outside the door became louder and louder. Sophia took a deep breath. It was time.

The butler, George, went to open the front door, closing the door on Sophia’s final opportunity to escape.

“His Grace, the Duke of Heathcote, and his entourage: the Right Honorable the Viscount Bleasdale; and Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Heathcote,” the butler announced, standing proudly in his fine livery.

They walked into the house in order of their announcements. Sophia felt the temperature drop immediately, as if a devil from the coldest reaches of Hell had stepped inside. But that was the trick of the Duke of Heathcote; he did not look like the devil that he was.

Standing almost as tall as her uncle, with a mane of wavy, silky dark hair and the most striking gray eyes that reminded Sophia of a wolf, Thomas had a tendency to steal away the breath of less-informed ladies. Broad-shouldered, his garments so well-tailored to his athletic physique that they were like a second skin, henearlysnatched Sophia’s breath away too.

Her gaze flitted to his Brummel-style trousers, so tight as to be considered obscene, highlighting powerful thighs and every flexing muscle therein.

And they call us uncivilized?

Her face flushed, and she longed to claw at her throat to stay the feverish heat that rose from her chest.

Thomas approached her and her father, and he bowed in stiff reverence. She bobbed a curtsy in response. As he raised his gaze, their eyes met—probably for the first time in a year or so. There was nothing in those gray eyes—no disgust, no disappointment, no anger, no revulsion, just… emptiness.

Somehow, she would have preferred disgust over that blank expression, as if he were not even alive.

He does not want this either…

“Thank you for accepting us into your house, Lord Alderley,” Thomas said, interrupting her thoughts. He did not look at her again.

Charles breathed heavily and got ready to respond?—

“You are only welcome in the house in the physical sense, Your Grace,” Frederick butted in, all attention immediately on him. “The matter of whether you will be accepted as part of the family is still left to be seen.”

“My LordEarl,” replied Thomas, his expression locked into a sneer, “I should say that rather negates the welcome. No matter. I expected nothing less. Shall we proceed to the dining room?”

Sophia held her breath, not daring to glance back at her uncle. He was not accustomed to other men refusing to back down, always the most powerful voice in a room, and she feared that there might be bloodshed before they had even had a spoonful of watercress soup.