Yes. Oh yes. The words stayed inside her head as Cal stood looking down at her, patient, assured. Waiting. Admiration and desire. He had the sensitivity not to make protestations of love, which he knew she did not want, did not expect. Of course she didn’t and, it was quite clear, neither did he. And yet she must be infected with Mama’s romance after all, because part of her, an irrational, foolish part, yearned to hear him say, I love you. It yearned, even if she knew the words would not be true, even as she winced away from the memories. She had heard those words often enough from Jonathan – and look where that had led.
This was a man she liked, trusted, found interesting – and desirable – and he was offering her a marriage beyond her wildest dreams. She would be foolish indeed to hesitate for a moment.
‘Yes, Cal. I would be honoured to be your wife.’
Sophie had expected to be seized in a passionate embrace and fiercely kissed. She had fantasised about it all afternoon until her toes had curled in her satin slippers and her mother had repeated a question about pearls three times without an coherent answer.
In the shrubbery at the masquerade Cal had been passionate, exciting, tender, with the thrilling edge of a man only just in control of himself. Now he no longer needed that control. She was his. Well, almost. Sophie was not entirely certain she wanted what came after the kissing. That had been uncomfortable, embarrassing, painful and messy. It was inevitable, of course, and necessary, but kissing was wonderful. Being kissed by Cal was bliss.
‘What are you thinking about? Your eyes have gone all misty.’ His breath was warm on her lips and she blinked and found herself drawn very close to him, both her hands caged in his as he bent over her.
‘You kissing me,’ she confessed.
And, finally, he did. It was respectful, almost chaste. Disappointing. Sophie pressed closer, ran her hands up his arms, encouraging. In a moment it would be a demand.
Cal lifted his head. ‘I would give it about thirty seconds before your parents come through that door. Call me lily-livered if you like, but I have no desire to be lectured by your mama for unleashing my unbridled lusts in her drawing room.’
Sophie was still in his arms, still laughing, when the door opened, just as he had predicted. Mama looked bemused, as though laughter was not what she had expected. Step Papa seemed relieved. Had he thought she might have refused Cal? She knew she had been a worry to him with her steady refusals to accept perfectly eligible suitors and her rejection of romance.
Kisses and hugs for her. A handshake for Cal and, to his barely concealed alarm, a kiss from her mother.
‘Now.’ Mama settled in a swirl of skirts and beamed at them. ‘We need to fix a date.’
‘A month’s time,’ Cal said, clashing with Step Papa’s, ‘Six weeks at least.’
‘Two months,’ Mama pronounced, her smile steely.
Cal’s eyes narrowed and Sophie thought of protesting that she was of age and that she could marry when she liked, then bit back the protest. Two months and then start her married life in perfect amity with the parents she loved or begin it in a squabble that would inevitably sour their feelings for Cal. ‘Very well, Mama, if you feel that would be best.’ She met his gaze with a rueful smile and saw he understood. He wasn’t happy though. Unbridled lusts…
‘And the church.’ Mama was happily working down a mental list. ‘St George’s Hanover Square? Or would you prefer to be married from Long Hampton?’
‘That is Step Papa’s country estate,’ Sophie explained. ‘It would be the village church because the house does not have its own chapel.’ She hesitated, not wanting to hurt Step Papa’s feelings by saying that the house was rather small for the number of guests a ducal wedding would demand. ‘I do find the vicar rather dour.’
‘Yes, he is, poor man,’ Mama agreed. ‘He is capable of making any ceremony gloomy, which is perfect for funerals, but otherwise… not.’
‘With a special licence we may marry where we choose,’ Cal said. ‘Calderbrook has its own chapel. But you would want to see it before deciding. In fact I have no doubt you would like to see the house and meet the staff in advance of arriving as the duchess.’
‘That sounds perfect,’ Sophie said hastily over Mama’s faint murmurings about St George’s.
‘Then I will organise a house party for, shall we say, ten days’ time? That will give you the opportunity to start on your shopping, place orders with your modiste and make whatever mysterious preparations a trousseau involves.’ He waited for their agreement. ‘Why not invite your bridesmaids? We will make a party of, say, twenty for a week or ten days? That will give you the opportunity to see how the house functions and we can decide over the wedding arrangements.’ He smiled at her parents, then sent her a look that she had no difficulty interpreting. There would be more than enough opportunities for deliciously unbridled lusts at Calderbrook.
‘I would like that very much.’ She swept on before Mama could find any reason why that was not a wonderful idea. ‘Shall we make a guest list for the house party now? Then we can send out invitations immediately.’