Chapter Thirty
The swirl of sounds emanating through the ballroom were not enough to hide the hushed silence that suddenly fell over the gathered crowd as Sophie’s name was called aloud from the top of the stairs, heralding her entrance to Lord and Lady Crowley’s evening soiree.
Sophie took a deep breath and walked through the doorway and down the stairs. In the ballroom below, she could see the avid speculation on all of the guests’ faces at her appearance tonight, the first ball she was attending officially as the Duke of Huntington’s fiancée. A daunting title, to say the least.
Whoever would have thought that being engaged to the Duke would have garnered such interest?
She set a serene smile on her face and began her descent down the stairs. She was surprised at the number of guests, for it looked as though there was close to one hundred people gathered.
Sophie relaxed somewhat when it appeared that the crowd below seemed to lose some interest in her when it became obvious the Duke was not accompanying her.
Looking down to the bottom of the stairs, she saw Lord and Lady Crowley speaking with the Earl of Castlemaine and his new wife.
Goodness, she had not seen Castlemaine since that awkward day a couple of years ago when he had professed his undying love and proposed to her, much to her dismay.
As she reached the base of the stairs, Lady Crowley detached herself from the group and walked toward her.
“Castlemaine is green with envy,” Lady Crowley whispered to her as she kissed the air around Sophie’s cheeks. “I am sure he was wishing to parade his new wife in front of you after you refused his proposal some time ago, but now it is you who can crow about being engaged to a Duke.”
“Whatever do you mean, Lady Crowley?” Sophie asked.
“Come, dearest.” Lady Crowley smiled slyly at her. “Everyone knows that you refused his suit once.”
“True,” Sophie agreed. “However, surely he cares little over my engagement now that he is happily married.”
“Happily married?” Lady Crowley laughed, the sound high pitched and nasal. “Do not be so naïve, my dear. He is already shopping for a mistress. Why else do you think he is here this weekend? Perhaps his sights have returned to you.”
Before Sophie could respond, the Earl stepped toward them. Lady Crowley gave her a smirk before waltzing off.
“Lady Sophie,” the Earl of Castlemaine greeted as he picked up her hand in his. “How good to see you. It has been some time since we met each other last, has it not?”
“Lord Castlemaine.” She curtsied while deftly pulling her hand back from his grip. “Yes, I believe it has been.”
He leered at her. “Must say I was very surprised when I learned that you would be a guest here this weekend, particularly given the weekend’s reputation.”
“Well, I am now engaged and under my fiancé’s protection.”
“Ah yes, the Devil Duke, who is nowhere to be seen.”
Sophie did not like the look of calculation in his eyes. “He shall be joining me shortly. But do let me congratulate you on your recent marriage.”
Castlemaine shrugged his shoulders. “An event that is old news, Lady Sophie, and one that has definitely been eclipsed by news of your engagement.”
She carefully regarded his rather petulant expression. “It never does cease to amaze me what society finds amusing.”
A mean grin twisted the Earl’s lips. “Does it not, my lady? Surely you must have expected some interest now that you have become affianced to the man who some say is the most notorious rake in London. Such a union is bound to invite gossip. Particularly as once, you were so vehemently opposed to matrimony. I remember you pointing out to me that you had no intention to ever marry. How fickle you ladies are, constantly changing your minds.” His gaze remained riveted upon her. She raised her chin, refusing to break eye contact or give him the reaction he was obviously craving. “But where are my manners? Congratulations on your engagement are warranted.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Sophie replied, grateful, not for the first time, that she had rebuffed his suit. The man was selfish and spoiled.
“I could not quite believe the news when I read it in the paper earlier this week,” Castlemaine said, his eyes alight with what appeared to be indignation.
“Yes, it does appear that the announcement has surprised a great many people. I must say I was happy to hear of your recent nuptials. Your wife is lovely.”
“Ah yes.” Castlemaine’s eyes flicked briefly over to his wife, who was still conversing with Lord Crowley, before his gaze returned and rested upon Sophie. “Though not nearly as lovely as you. Your fiancé is remiss to leave you all alone.”
The Earl leaned closer to her and quickly grasped her hand again. “If you had agreed to my proposal, I would never have let you out of my sight.”
She took a small step back, slightly unnerved by the intensity of his statement. She tugged gently at her hand, but he would not release it. “Perhaps I had best let you get back to your wife. If you will excuse me?”
“No, stay,” he hissed, stepping closer to her and gripping her hand even tighter. “Why, Sophie? Why did you agree to marry the devil when you would not have me? Was a Dukedom what you were holding out for? Was marriage to an Earl not good enough for you?”
“Lady Sophie!” A voice resonated behind her. “How good it is to see you again.”
She quickly glanced over her shoulder and saw Lord Hemingsworth standing there. “My lord, it is very good to see you again, too.” She swiftly pulled her hand out of Castlemaine’s grip and faced Lord Hemingsworth, infinitely grateful for the interruption from her aunt’s friend and a longtime donor to the orphanage.
Lord Hemingsworth lifted her gloved hand and placed a deft kiss upon it. “I hear the orchestra about to strike up a waltz. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
“Yes, a marvelous idea,” she pronounced, taking hold of his proffered arm.
“Excellent,” Lord Hemingsworth proclaimed. “Castlemaine, if you shall excuse us.” He quickly bowed to the Earl.
Sophie briefly curtsied, noting the sullen look on Castlemaine’s face, before Hemingsworth spun her around and began leading her through the crowded room toward the dance floor.
She breathed in a sigh of relief. She had not expected Castlemaine to still be nursing wounded feelings over her refusal of his suit after all this time. And he certainly didn’t seem fond of Devlin.
“It would appear, Lady Sophie,” Hemingsworth whispered down toward her ear, “that the Earl is a trifle unhappy by news of your recent engagement.”
How mortifying that he’d overheard the Earl’s indelicate statements. Sophie looked up at him and cringed slightly. “You heard, did you?”
Hemingsworth smiled gently. “I did, and I rather thought you may have needed some rescuing.”
“Very perceptive of you, sir,” she said. “And I do thank you for the speedy intervention. I had no notion he would behave like that.”
“A man deprived of what he wants can behave very badly indeed,” Hemingsworth remarked. “Luckily, he did not make more of a scene. I am sure no one but I observed his brief lack of manners.”
“I hope not,” she agreed, “particularly for his new wife’s sake.”
“You are infinitely kind to be thinking of Lady Castlemaine,” he observed as they stopped at the edge of the dance floor. He held out his hand. “May I?”
“Of course,” she replied, placing her own hand in his.
He led her out onto the dance floor just as the orchestra began the first strains of a waltz.
She looked over his shoulder and noticed Castlemaine glowering at them, obviously not caring who saw him. A small shudder jolted through her. “Thank you again for your intervention,” she said to Hemingsworth as he began leading her gracefully across the dance floor.
“Your thanks are unnecessary,” he remarked. “I felt it only right and proper to assist the niece of Lady Winthrup. I am surprised that your fiancé was not here to do the honor. The Friday night ball at the Crowleys’ house parties has somewhat of a reputation after all.”
“I must confess,” she began, “I decided to come down a little earlier on my own.”
He chuckled as he whirled her around a corner of the room, causing her skirts to swirl. “Has anyone told you that you might be playing with fire?”
Sophie cringed, scanning the room for Devlin as she and Hemingsworth twirled across the floor but not spotting him yet. “Actually, yes, someone may have mentioned that fact.”
“Well, I say good for you, Lady Sophie,” Hemingsworth praised. “Nothing like keeping a man on his toes.”
“Yes, I rather think it is good for him to come across someone who will oppose his dictates.”
“Of course it is,” he said supportively. “I do hope, however, that this engagement is one that you desire, too? I would not wish to see you unhappy.”
“And I thank you for your concern,” she said. “But it is not needed. The Duke and I shall do very well together; well, at least we shall once he learns to stop ordering me about every two minutes.” She hoped so, though she was somewhat doubtful.
“I am sure it will be so,” he said. “Though I do not condone Huntington’s past behavior, I must say that his choice in a bride shows that he has a good deal of intelligence and perhaps has mended his ways.”
If only that were the case. She rather doubted it, though. Could a rake like that ever truly change? The thought made her rather gloomy, so she switched the subject to the one that had propelled her down the stairs on her own in the first place. “My lord, have you heard news of the recent murders?”
Hemingsworth looked at her oddly. “But of course, Lady Sophie. Apart from your engagement to the Duke, it is all anyone has been able to speak of.” The music shifted to a slower waltz, and she allowed Hemingsworth to guide her once more across the floor. The less intense pace made their conversation easier.
“Do you know anything of the maid that was murdered here in the woods?” she asked him.
His brow furrowed in thought, and he stumbled ever so slightly out of the one-two-three rhythm, though he quickly regained his footing. She doubted that anyone observing them would have noticed. “Not really. I think there may have been speculation that she’d run off with some man, but clearly that was never the case. Did you know her?”
“She was an old Grey Street Orphan.”
“My condolences, Lady Sophie,” he said as he continued swirling her effortlessly across the floor. “I do hope the police are able to catch her killer.”
Abruptly, Hemingsworth came to a halt on the dance floor.
“You do not mind if I cut in, do you, old chap?” Devlin asked as he tapped Lord Hemingsworth on the shoulder.
Before Hemingsworth could even answer, Devlin had maneuvered himself in between them. He grinned at Sophie as he placed his hand on her waist before whisking her into the waltz.
She glanced back over her shoulder at Lord Hemingsworth, who was now standing alone on the dance floor looking somewhat upset.
“Devlin,” she admonished. “You should have waited until after the dance. Poor Hemingsworth looks vexed.”
“The man was dancing the waltz with my fiancée; of course I was going to cut in.”
Sophie found it difficult to be too upset with him. She had after all been looking forward to dancing with him. And it did not help that he looked magnificent in his tailored evening regalia—a midnight black suit, which had been cut to fit his athletic form to perfection, laced with a crisp white cravat. No wonder women went weak at the knees, herself included. He was devastatingly handsome.
A wicked grin slowly spread over his face. “Perhaps if you had waited in your room for me to escort you downstairs, as we had arranged, I would have had no need to cut in on poor Hemingsworth. It is so good of me to forgive you.”
Sophie tried to glare at him but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her at his teasing. “Your bossy manner was one thing I was discussing with Lord Hemingsworth.”
Both of his eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “My bossy manner? Forgive me, but is that not the pot calling the kettle black?”
“I am not that bossy,” she said haughtily to his shoulder as they twirled about. Dancing with him was effortless, as if they’d been partners for years. She’d never felt such a thrill before.
“Just as I was never a rake.”
“Well, you must stop ordering me about then, and I shan’t be so bossy.”
“Must I?” he murmured, pulling her slightly closer to himself.
She gulped at the feel of his body against hers. It reminded her of the delicious sensations she had experienced the other day when she was on his lap in his carriage. She was getting slightly warm even thinking of it.
Leaning his head down toward her ear, he whispered, “You appear somewhat flushed, my dear. Perhaps we should get a spot of fresh air on the balcony?”
His breath sent a delightful tingle to the very core of her being. Sophie did not know what was coming over her, for every time the tiniest spot of her body came into contact with his own, jolts of electricity seemed to spear through her, making her feel breathless and hot all over. She looked up into his eyes and saw a heat reflected in them that made her catch her breath. “Why is it that whenever I am near you, my body has a mind of its own, and I can never think straight?”
His hands gripped hers more tightly. “Perhaps it is the same reason that I nearly lose control each time I feel your silky skin against my own.”
She wanted to believe him; she desperately did. But it was hard to not think he would eventually grow tired of her and seek other conquests. He’d even said as much when he’d made his first wholly unromantic proposal.
“I think I am in need of some cool air and a beverage.” She needed distance from the hot crowded ballroom and him. Then mayhap she could think straight.
“That makes two of us.” He led her to the edge of the dance floor. “I shall go and fetch us a drink.”
“I will wait for you out on the balcony.”
She watched as Devlin turned and strode over to the far end of the room where the refreshments table was located. She sighed. It was going to be a very trying weekend on her nerves. Perhaps her aunt’s affliction did run in the family after all.