What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)
“Glad to hear it.”
He plowed on. “I’ve always tried to be honorable.”
Of course he had, she thought wearily. Another snide remark rose, but his expression stifled it. “That’s good.”
“Pen, I have to keep my hands off you.”
Pain crunched her heart. “Because I’m an unsuitable bride?”
Waiting for agreement felt like the pause before someone punched a bruise.
He shook his head. “Because I’m courting another lady.” He stared over her head as if the crucifix on the wall provided enormous interest. “When I return to England, I’m marrying Lady Marianne Seaton, the daughter of the Marquess of Baildon.”
Chapter Eight
Hyde Park, London, February 1828
After that miraculous encounter in Lord Chetwell’s cupboard, Harry was too restless to sleep. Too restless and too happy. Sophie mightn’t love him yet, but she was interested. To the point of defying her powerful brother.
Harry had wandered home from the ball in a daze. The memory of Sophie’s kisses fizzed in his blood. The sound of her voice filled his ears like music. Her scent haunted him.
He was head over heels
, madly in love. And he didn’t give a tinker’s curse.
Anticipation had him saddling his horse—he wasn’t selfish enough to wake a groom so early—and riding to the park before dawn. He settled his mount under a tree with a view of Rotten Row. There was a special luxury in being here on a misty February morning, knowing that his beloved might appear any moment. The sun just peeped above the horizon, shooting long golden rays through the bare trees.
Into this magical glade trotted his Sophie, controlling a fine gray mare with a light touch. She wore a neat dark blue riding habit, and the jaunty angle of her hat made him want to kiss her.
Harry straightened from his slouch, an uncontrollable smile spreading across his face. His heart performed a jig.
She smiled back. “Mr. Thorne, what a surprise,” she said in an unnaturally lilting voice for the benefit of the groom plodding behind.
Stifling a laugh, Harry doffed his hat and bowed. What a hopeless conspirator she was. “Lady Sophie, a delightful chance.”
“The park is quiet this morning.” She glanced at Harry under her long lashes. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. Perhaps we could ride a little way.”
“Your ladyship, I’m not sure—” the groom began before Sophie cut him off with a laugh. A very unconvincing laugh.
“Mr. Thorne and I are old chums, Jones. Why, we danced together only last night.”
“Very well, my lady.” The man settled into the saddle, his stare unwavering. Leath had chosen a diligent guardian.
Harry had hoped for more kisses. What man wouldn’t? But he saw that a brief and decorous conversation was all he could expect. “It was quite a party, wasn’t it?”
He wheeled his horse to amble in the same direction as Sophie’s. The park must contain other people, but as far as he was concerned, he was alone with his beloved.
“I enjoyed myself immensely,” Sophie said with another sideways glance. “A memorable occasion.”
Harry was more convinced than ever that she was a minx. He liked her all the more for it. The thought of her harnessed to a dry stick like Desborough made the gorge rise in his throat. “Is this your first visit to London?”
“No, my brother always comes up for parliament. The last few years, he’s brought me too.”
Leath was touted as a future prime minister, wasn’t he? Or at least he had been, until his uncle’s criminal activities had stained the family name. The marquess must be seething over the gossip, and all of it so public, thanks to Sedgemoor’s intervention.
Leath would place Harry in the Sedgemoor camp. After all, the Rothermeres and Thornes had grown up together. Years ago, there had even been talk of marriage between Cam and Harry’s sister, Penelope. What a disaster that would have been. Pen was headstrong and unconventional, whereas Cam was the model of gentlemanly restraint.