The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) by Katy Madison Page B
Authors: Katy Madison
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acceptance of her negative effect on people. "I give my papa many headaches."
It wasn't her at all. Or only a part. "It is not my head that hurts."
She flushed and looked away.
He smiled. Perhaps she was not as naive as he feared.
She turned back to him, her gaze boldly on his face. "We shouldn't have you in pain. What would ease your discomfort?"
He let his eyes drop to her lips, pink as rose petals.
"A hot compress? Have you perhaps strained yourself following Mr. Ponsby? He is quite vigorous in his activities although you should not know it to look at him."
Oh, well, maybe she was innocent. "I assure you I met with no injury in Ponsby's company."
"Are you very sure you do not have a headache? You were rubbing your temples when Mama and I came in earlier."
Was her solemn look concern? For him? He gave one of his more engaging smiles. "Do not give it a thought. I assure you I am in excellent health."
"Good, then." She tugged on his arm and half-pulled him down the hallway.
"Sophie, I am to lead you ."
"Well, all that is well and good, but I should not like to have bread and water for supper. I like to eat." She continued forward half ahead of him instead of by his side.
Farthing returned to the dining room doorway and watched them with a scowl on his face.
Why he thought anything untoward could happen between the sitting room and dining room, Keene didn't know. And why would Sophie be the one sent to bed without supper? Not that Farthing had much ability to punish him.
Keene allowed her to tow him into the room. He would definitely have to curtail that behavior. Not that he would withhold meals from his wife.
A cold sweat broke out over his body. Damn. How would he curb her waywardness when her father's repeated attempts to temper her conduct met with no success?
* * *
Later, Sophie sat at her dressing table as Letty ran the brush through her hair.
"Forty-eight, forty-nine," counted Letty under her breath.
Sophie's head nodded with each stroke. Waiting out the hundred strokes Letty insisted was proper attention tried Sophie's patience. But if she stopped the brushing before it was done, Letty would burst into tears.
Sophie had escaped the drawing room as soon as she could. Not that she wanted to be away from Keene, except that the conversation had turned to politics again. It was likely the only thing her father could think of to talk about with Keene. Sophie listened for a time, but all the different names meant nothing to her, and she had ended up more confused than interested.
A tap sounded at her door, and Sophie leaped up, disregarding the way the brush snagged in her hair. She pulled it out and threw back the door. Sophie expected her mother and a secondhand lecture about her delay in making it into the dining room.
Keene leaned one palm against the door frame, his stance relaxed as a tiger watching prey before deciding to spring. He didn't say anything for a long time.
His lids lowered over his dark eyes. He gave her one of those looks, a hint of amusement hovering around his unsmiling mouth. His voice low and vibrant, he said, "Brushing your hair?"
Sophie nodded, clutching the brush to her chest.
"Oh, miss, shut the door. You mustn't speak with him. You're not decent."
Keene's expression changed, tightening and closing off. He stepped back from the doorway.
"It's okay, Letty." Disappointment surged through Sophie. Letty would no more be able to keep quiet about this late-night visit than a trapped pig could keep from squealing.
"Oh, no, miss, you mustn't."
"Go on and go to bed, Letty."
"Oh, no, miss. I can't leave you with him here. I knows my duty."
Keene assessed Sophie. His head tilted slightly in inquiry. Without moving his gaze from Sophie he said, "Letty, if you wish to stay with your mistress, you might remember that you shall be in my employ in a few weeks."
"Oh, Lord." Letty twisted her gown in her hands, her gaze darting between them. "I haven't finished your hair,
It wasn't her at all. Or only a part. "It is not my head that hurts."
She flushed and looked away.
He smiled. Perhaps she was not as naive as he feared.
She turned back to him, her gaze boldly on his face. "We shouldn't have you in pain. What would ease your discomfort?"
He let his eyes drop to her lips, pink as rose petals.
"A hot compress? Have you perhaps strained yourself following Mr. Ponsby? He is quite vigorous in his activities although you should not know it to look at him."
Oh, well, maybe she was innocent. "I assure you I met with no injury in Ponsby's company."
"Are you very sure you do not have a headache? You were rubbing your temples when Mama and I came in earlier."
Was her solemn look concern? For him? He gave one of his more engaging smiles. "Do not give it a thought. I assure you I am in excellent health."
"Good, then." She tugged on his arm and half-pulled him down the hallway.
"Sophie, I am to lead you ."
"Well, all that is well and good, but I should not like to have bread and water for supper. I like to eat." She continued forward half ahead of him instead of by his side.
Farthing returned to the dining room doorway and watched them with a scowl on his face.
Why he thought anything untoward could happen between the sitting room and dining room, Keene didn't know. And why would Sophie be the one sent to bed without supper? Not that Farthing had much ability to punish him.
Keene allowed her to tow him into the room. He would definitely have to curtail that behavior. Not that he would withhold meals from his wife.
A cold sweat broke out over his body. Damn. How would he curb her waywardness when her father's repeated attempts to temper her conduct met with no success?
* * *
Later, Sophie sat at her dressing table as Letty ran the brush through her hair.
"Forty-eight, forty-nine," counted Letty under her breath.
Sophie's head nodded with each stroke. Waiting out the hundred strokes Letty insisted was proper attention tried Sophie's patience. But if she stopped the brushing before it was done, Letty would burst into tears.
Sophie had escaped the drawing room as soon as she could. Not that she wanted to be away from Keene, except that the conversation had turned to politics again. It was likely the only thing her father could think of to talk about with Keene. Sophie listened for a time, but all the different names meant nothing to her, and she had ended up more confused than interested.
A tap sounded at her door, and Sophie leaped up, disregarding the way the brush snagged in her hair. She pulled it out and threw back the door. Sophie expected her mother and a secondhand lecture about her delay in making it into the dining room.
Keene leaned one palm against the door frame, his stance relaxed as a tiger watching prey before deciding to spring. He didn't say anything for a long time.
His lids lowered over his dark eyes. He gave her one of those looks, a hint of amusement hovering around his unsmiling mouth. His voice low and vibrant, he said, "Brushing your hair?"
Sophie nodded, clutching the brush to her chest.
"Oh, miss, shut the door. You mustn't speak with him. You're not decent."
Keene's expression changed, tightening and closing off. He stepped back from the doorway.
"It's okay, Letty." Disappointment surged through Sophie. Letty would no more be able to keep quiet about this late-night visit than a trapped pig could keep from squealing.
"Oh, no, miss, you mustn't."
"Go on and go to bed, Letty."
"Oh, no, miss. I can't leave you with him here. I knows my duty."
Keene assessed Sophie. His head tilted slightly in inquiry. Without moving his gaze from Sophie he said, "Letty, if you wish to stay with your mistress, you might remember that you shall be in my employ in a few weeks."
"Oh, Lord." Letty twisted her gown in her hands, her gaze darting between them. "I haven't finished your hair,
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