Page 24 of Dukes for Dessert

Uncle Lucas dropped his spade and rushed forward, peppering David with delighted greetings. Sophie remained where she was, as though the mud cemented her feet in place.

“Thought you’d disappeared for good, my dear fellow,” Uncle Lucas said as he and David moved toward Sophie. “Leaving me to wonder when you’d turn up again.”

“Like a bad penny.” David’s self-deprecating drawl cut through the wind. “Found your villa yet?”

“More pieces of it.” Uncle Lucas tried and failed to hide his excitement. “Sophie is most clever at discovering relevant bits. She is officially my assistant now, so treat her with respect. Also compassion for putting up with me.”

“Excellent.” David rested his gaze on Sophie, his gray-blue eyes holding a heat that had nothing to do with his polite words. “I am certain she will do far better than anyone else you allow on your dig. Including me.”

Sophie warmed to the sincerity in David’s words, but she suspected he was thinking, as she was, about the kiss. At least, she was picturing the kiss with intensity, her lips burning as though he’d just lifted his mouth away.

Then again, he was a libertine, Uncle had told her. David must kiss ladies and walk away from them all the time. He might have already forgotten their spontaneous embrace.

She realized both men were staring at her, awaiting her response. “It is very good to see you back,” she blurted. Oh dear, like a besotted schoolgirl. “Uncle missed you, though he does not like to say so.”

Uncle Lucas sent David a sheepish grin. “I might have let on that I enjoy having you about.”

David gave him a mock bow. “You flatter me, sir. I shall be certain to return often—you are good for my pride.”

Uncle shook his head in despair. “One day you will learn to gracefully accept a compliment from your friends. I say we adjourn for tea. We’ve done enough here today, and the weather is turning colder.”

Clouds had blotted out the sun and now a fine mist began to fall, coating grass, earth, the tarp, and the three humans foolish enough to be out in it.

David stepped to Sophie and offered his arm. “Miss Tierney? Shall I see you home?”

He had a strange insistence on calling her Miss Tierney, not that Sophie minded. She’d never quite believed herself as the Countess of Devonport, and she soon would no longer be.

She wished Uncle had cut in to escort her, but he only waited, looking pleased at David’s politeness. Sophie closed her fingers on the crook of David’s arm, her knees going shaky at the strength beneath the wool. She’d end up flat on her face if she weren’t careful.

David said little as they tramped back to the vicarage. Uncle Lucas kept up a stream of talk about the dig and his speculations, never inquiring what David had been up to in London or why he’d returned. Sophie said nothing at all, not trusting herself to speak.

Not long later, they gathered around the table in the warm dining room. Mrs. Corcoran brought out a lavish tea of sandwiches, scones, soup, and divine cakes, not seeming to mind that they’d come in early. Sophie’s curls were still damp from hurried ablutions in her room—her haste to wash off her grubbiness and rush back to David unnerved her.

He sat across from her now, as he’d done the first morning of his stay. Today his dark hair was neatly combed, the red in it imperceptible in the gloom of the afternoon. His suit looked new, fresh from the tailor, a long frock coat and loosely tied cravat which were the height of fashion.

After maddening civil conversation—dissecting the weather, the slowness of certain trains, the thick pall of London—David turned to Sophie, color brushing his cheeks.

“A bit of good news for you, Miss Tierney. Lackwit Laurie—the Earl of Devonport, that is—will no longer be pursuing a divorce. Or at least, I predict he will decide this within the next week or so.”

Sophie had plucked up a piece of sponge cake from the tray. At his words it fell from her numb fingers to the tablecloth, a puff of icing sugar bursting from it like white mist.

“Oh.” Her fingers remained in the air, unable to move. “How …”

This should be the finest news she could wish for. No divorce meant no trial, no gentlemen standing before a judge swearing they’d been her lovers. Her reputation might continue to be smeared by the rumors, but not destroyed by the certainty. A divorced woman never recovered from the shame.

She swallowed as Uncle Lucas and David watched her keenly. A shadow outside the doorway told her Mrs. Corcoran was avidly listening.

“A divorce is a terrible thing,” she said in a choked voice. “But on the other hand, I no longer wish to be married to my husband. It would mean I’d be free.”

Free to hide in her uncle’s house or follow him across the world, wherever the fit took him. She might be unwelcome in polite society, but she’d be free nonetheless.

If Laurie no longer sought the divorce, she’d be trapped as his wife forever. She’d be his property, subject to his commands, his malice …

David closed his fists as he registered her dismay. “No, no. My dear, Miss Tierney, forgive my idiocy. I am telling it wrong. He and his solicitors will decide to annul the marriage rather than go through the procedure of divorce. You’ll be free and clear of him but without the humiliation of the trials.”

“Annul?” Sophie wet her lips, the word tasting strange. “Laurie will never do that. He cannot—there are no grounds.”

David smiled like a fox who’d just outwitted a pack of the best hounds. “I believe you will soon receive a paper that says you are Miss Sophie Tierney and always have been.”

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