She hadn’t found the sensation unpleasant. But his proximity, and when he’d held her around her waist, that was something else. His touch had burned right through to her bare flesh.
Perhaps what John had intended to do was what all men did. That notion terrified her, and during the last few months the fear had only grown. That they would throw her down and ignore her protests, rip her skirts out of the way, and then gloat. The knowledge that men could do that, that they were strong enough to accomplish the feat even if she protested, froze her with dread.
No, she wouldn’t think of it. Every time the memory of that scene intruded, she pushed it away. Eventually it would become less vivid. It had to.
* * * *
The next day was a bright morning that augured well for the marriage, or so her father said. At the solicitor’s office Sophia carefully read through the marriage contract, ignoring the “tut” noises coming from the clerk, before she signed. It was fair. Her father and her…fiancé…waited patiently for her. Today she was able to concentrate, to think more clearly.
She was her father’s heir. When he died, his property would become her husband’s, but the men had agreed certain caveats. Even if she chose to live apart from her husband, she would have ample means to do so. Property and money were left in trust for her with no way for Devereaux to get hold of them. She couldn’t even sign it over to him, as several of her father’s colleagues would have to agree first and countersign.
Her father had chosen the most puritanical of his friends for this task, together with two men who regarded her fondly. They would only do what they considered best for her. Financially, she was as protected as her father could make her.
Personally, though, she was wide open.
She clamped her lips together, stilling their trembling. She would have to learn, that was all.
When Max had kissed her, she’d had a strong urge to move closer, to see where that one kiss would lead. At the same time, panic rose, shortening her breath and making her heart pound double-time until she’d feared he’d feel it against his chest. Only his loose hold had given her the strength to stay where she was because he’d given her the choice to stay or to move away.
Nobody knew what John had done, the names he’d called her. The things he’d said. It would remain that way. Her father had seen enough to know John wasn’t trustworthy. She’d been lying on the floor in John’s arms, her clothes disarrayed, but that was after she’d fought off his first foray and he was heading towards another skirmish. He’d been in the process of telling her so.
He’d called her missish, said she’d learn to like it. But he’d forced himself on her, made her touch his…shaft, she supposed, from the way it felt, although he’d called it something else.
Sophia had never seen her father so angry. However, he didn’t know it all. He never would, if she could help it. She’d led him on, John said, and she’d determined not to do that anymore. Ever, with anyone. Not if the consequences led to…that.
Including the man who’d just signed the papers promising to become her husband. He would never know everything; she couldn’t afford for him to. If either of them broke that contract, they’d be subject to awful penalties in law, and the resultant court cases could ruin them both. So this was it, and they were committed.
Max took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I need to visit my mother now.” He grimaced. “I haven’t told her yet. I doubt she’ll object, though.”
“You said—” She gulped when she recalled when he’d said his mother wasn’t at home.
“She’s acting as temporary chaperone for my cousin, Helena Vernon.”
“Lady Helena Vernon,” her father prompted. “Sister to the Earl of Winterton. Heir to the Duke of Kirkburton.”
“Really. On your mother’s side of the family.” She recalled the book in her father’s study with all the details of the most important families in the nation.
Max gave her a small bow. “Indeed so. I’m closer to my maternal relations. Most of my father’s family is dead.”
And so the need to provide an heir reared its ugly head yet again. She would endure.
“I would ask you to accompany me, but I pray your indulgence. I think I’m better telling her on my own. You will wish to arrange your packing, I daresay.”
Although they weren’t supposed to work on Sundays, that wouldn’t stop Sophia ensuring her most precious personal belongings were packed ready for the move across London on Monday. “Will your mother be living in the house?”
Max’s expression shuttered. “Some of the time. I hope to prepare the house in the country for her, so she may reside there. It has always been her dearest wish.”
“I see.” Should she be happy or sad that they would have the London house to themselves? Presumably with Max’s mother came his sister. Sophia could excuse herself her marital duties, avoid spending too much time with this disconcerting man. At least until she’d learned to control her emotions better when she was near him. “Then I shall see you on Monday. Do you go to St. George’s tomorrow?”
“I think not. I’ll attend St. Margaret’s, where we’re to wed.” A smaller church, almost a private chapel, where many of the aristocracy married.
“Should I go?”
“There’s no need,” he assured her, and after lifting her hand to his lips once more, he took his leave.
* * * *
Max wasn’t looking forward to facing his mother. To tell the truth, he hadn’t known how to tell her. And the arrangements happened so quickly he’d hardly had time to consider his actions.
Until yesterday she’d been in the country with Helena on a brief visit to a cousin, but now they were back and Max had no more excuses. He had to get this done, or she’d be so hurt he hadn’t informed her of his wedding that she’d never speak to him again.
Accordingly he set out for the home of his cousin Julius, Earl of Winterton, half hoping he’d find them away from home. Then he couldn’t be blamed, could he?
Unfortunately they were all in. Worse, they were en famille. If they’d had guests, he could have managed with a quiet private word before he left. But oh, no, they were in the elegantly appointed salon on the first floor of the house, even Julius’s daughter Caroline, an adorable blond child of five—or was it six now?
Julius was seated on a sofa with her, reading from a book, and they laughed together as Max entered the room.
Anyone not knowing Julius well would be shocked by his relaxed, easy manner here. In society he was haughty and cold. Very few people understood why he behaved that way. Max did.
He glanced up at Max and paused, his sapphire blue gaze fixed on Max’s face.
Max shrugged, and then greeted his mother, sister, and Julius’s sister Helena. Helena vastly preferred living here than in the household of their father, the stiff and formal Duke of Kirkburton, who was also Max’s uncle.
Interesting that his mother didn’t notice the strain on Max’s features, but the far more perceptive Julius did.
“Out with it,” Julius said.
Max’s mother, in the process of pouring her son a dish of tea, glanced at him. “Out with what?” She handed him the tea-dish in its deep saucer.
Max murmured his thanks. He held the delicate porcelain, wondering if Sophia would like something similar. He supposed he’d have to fill his house with feminine folderols.
He forced a smile and looked up. “I’m getting married.”
His