‘Very well.’ Parrott being obvious was probably less embarrassing than having a witness in the room as she dealt with last night’s impetuous kiss in the cold light of day. Her heart was pounding and she felt decidedly light-headed which was embarrassment of course, and nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to see the man again.
‘His Grace the Duke of Calderbrook.’ Parrott opened the door onto a vast bouquet of flowers which appeared to have legs of its own. Legs clad in exquisite Hessian boots and exceedingly tight biscuit-coloured pantaloons.
‘Your Grace.’ She stood up and curtseyed to the bouquet which sank to reveal Cal behind it. ‘Are you entertaining tonight and carrying the flowers home yourself? There are enough there to deck three rooms, I should imagine.’
‘Miss Wilmott. Having presented these I will just hand them to Parrott who is so conveniently placed to take them.’ Cal turned and thrust the flowers through the open door, presumably into Parrott’s arms, then strolled in and took her hand. And kept hold of it. ‘I thought that it seemed an appropriate bouquet for courtship.’
‘Courtship?’ Sophie sat down with a bump, dragging Cal down beside her. Fortunately they both found the sofa. ‘But it was just a kiss,’ she hissed. Now what had she done? It had been an impulse, an irresistible moment of yielding to desire and attraction. ‘Surely you cannot take seriously anything that happens at a masquerade. Not anything so harmless.’ Although your henchman seemed to take it seriously enough.
‘Harmless?’ Cal still held her hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles in the palm. ‘I didn’t get a wink of sleep all night, you have afflicted me with, er… insomnia.’ His face was perfectly serious but his eyes, those haunting silver eyes, were alight with laughter.
‘Do not laugh at me, please. It really is not funny.’ Sophie bit her lower lip as though the sharp little pain would steady her voice.
‘No, of course not.’ Cal was instantly serious. ‘Sophie, what is wrong? Has anyone threatened you, told you not to marry me?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Who on earth would do that?’ The grip on her hand that had tightened, relaxed again. ‘No, I just cannot. And no-one saw us. There is absolutely no need to fear I have been compromised.’
He was frowning now. ‘Sophie, you do not dislike me, I know that – you are too honest to pretend simply because of my rank. You are not frightened of me, not after the way you let me kiss you. And, forgive me if this seems arrogant, but surely I match most of your little list of desirable attributes in a husband.’
‘You match all of them as you perfectly well know. But I cannot match your equivalent list.’
‘You most certainly do, which should be obvious to you. Is it because I have been married before, have a child?’
‘No. No, of course not. Your daughter is enchanting.’
‘Then I can only assume I have offended you in some way.’
‘No.’ She was going to have to tell him. ‘I will tell you, but not here. We can go into the garden, out of earshot of the house.’
She led him out, past the butler who apparently thought he was being tactful, instead of looking ridiculous, inadequately concealed being the bouquet. ‘Parrott, we are going into the garden. Please see that we are not disturbed.’
‘Certainly, Miss Wilmott. Some tea perhaps?’
‘Nothing, thank you.’ The horrors of having to deal with tea cups and dainty biscuits on top of this tightened her voice to a snap.
Cal said nothing, holding the door, offering his arm down the short flight of brick steps to the tiny circle of lawn, dusting the seat of the garden bench with his pocket handkerchief. Even when she sat he remained silent as he stood before her, watching her face.
‘You are very quiet,’ she managed after a long minute.
‘I am wondering if you need reassuring that whatever it is you are summoning the will to tell me about, no word of it would ever pass my lips.’
‘No, I need no reassurance about your honour, Your Grace. The problem, you see, lies with mine.’
‘Go on.’
‘I am not a virgin.’
‘Do you still love him?’ She could tell nothing from Cal’s tone, nor, when she glanced at his face, his expression. He looked, and sounded, serious and concerned. Not, thank goodness, murderous.
‘No. And thank you for assuming that I would not have… Would not have acted without deep feeling. After my bold behaviour last night, you would have every reason for labelling me fast.’
‘You would not have kissed me if there had not been some feeling between us, Sophie. I do not, for one moment, believe you wanton or wicked. Would I know him?’
‘No.’ No, thank goodness. Jonathan Ransome had vanished from Society after that night without leaving a ripple. He was a younger son on the fringes of the fashionable world and if his friends were puzzled over his absence she never heard a whisper of it. Perhaps she had humiliated him so comprehensively that he did not dare show his face again. That had certainly been her intention. ‘I was mistaken in him. We parted the same night. Not amicably. No-one knows. Not my parents, not my maid. He lef
t London.’
‘And there were no consequences?’ Her face must have betrayed something for Cal dropped to one knee beside her and took her hand. ‘Is there a child for me to add to the family, I mean. I know there must have been consequences to your feelings.’