The Rogue Steals a Bride Page 4

  “If that’s the case, I don’t know how you missed me. I’ve gone back to the square for the past several days, searching for you, hoping you would return. I’ve searched for you at all the parties I’ve attended this week.”

  She smiled. “I meant I was looking for you tonight.”

  “Good. I was beginning to think I had imagined you the other day and you weren’t real after all.”

  His words made her feel good. Maybe he hadn’t been completely put off by her rash behavior that afternoon. He lifted his chin a notch, and she looked into intriguing dark blue eyes. They had the power to hold her motionless. Suddenly she felt uncharacteristically flushed and out of breath.

  “My aunts won’t allow me to return to the square. They now deem that street unsafe and refused to accompany me there.”

  He cocked his head back and laughed quietly. “Don’t they know that footpads and urchins can show up on any street?”

  “I tried that argument and several others. None of them worked. This is the first party I’ve attended since we arrived in London. I wanted to see you and apologize for my behavior in that square,” she said softly. “I know you were trying to help. I just didn’t want to believe that the lad had gotten away.”

  “It’s understandable.” He nodded. “Being robbed would upset anyone.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t excuse my desperate attempt to look at the faces of every lad in the square or to blame you for the boy’s theft. I would have sent you a note to thank you for helping me, but I didn’t know your name.”

  “Do you know it now, Sophia?”

  “No, how could I? But you know mine.”

  He nodded. “And your aunts’, Mae and June, from our conversations on the street.”

  “That’s right. You heard them call me Sophia, and I, of course, said their names.”

  “How long have you been in Town, Sophia?”

  Her pulse jumped again. She loved hearing the whispery way her name wafted past his lips. It was especially provocative, because he should never be so forward as to use her first name.

  “A month,” she answered.

  “I find it refreshing that you’ve been in Town more than a fortnight and you don’t know who I am.”

  She gave him a curious smile. “That must mean you are a very important gentleman, if you expected that I should know who you are.”

  His gaze swept up and down her face, causing her skin to prickle deliciously. Sophia felt her breath catch again. She realized she was staring at his lips with what could only be described as desire for him filling her. When had she ever looked at a man’s lips and wondered what it would be like to have them brush across hers?

  She sensed that same powerful strength in him that she felt at their first meeting, and it drew her. Clearly he wasn’t going to admit to anything about what kind of man he was, and she liked that about him too. She was drawn to this stranger in a way that was exciting, and yet, a little frightening, too.

  “Your silence tells me that you must be the most talked-about rogue in London.”

  A teasing grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “Would you be horrified if that were true?”

  Sophia’s abdomen quivered deliciously, and she found herself wondering how his lips would feel against hers. “No, but I don’t know that I would believe it.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to find out anything you may want to know about me.”

  “I never back away from a challenge.”

  “I like that. I’m glad I issued one.”

  He was clever, and that pleased her. “Tell me, on your trips back to the square, have you seen anything of the lad?”

  “No. What have you heard from the authorities?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve heard only excuses and platitudes about how diligently they are working to recover my brooch. I still can’t believe I thought he was a hungry little boy, when he was a crafty little pickpocket.”

  “He probably was hungry, and we were both fooled by his innocent manner.”

  His words were sincere, and she appreciated them. “I haven’t given up hope I’ll find him and the brooch.”

  “There’s no reason ever to give up hope.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “I am glad you are out searching for him each day. I would be helping you if I could manage to slip away from my aunts.”

  He smiled and leaned in a fraction toward her. “I take it you aren’t spoken for.”

  Pleasant warmth tingled across her breasts, alerting all her senses. His implication was clear, and it made her knees weak. “No,” she said quickly, and then realized she might have sounded a little too eager, so she added, “Are you?”

  He shook his head. “I was thinking that you must be related to the King to have two such stern chaperones watching your every move.”

  She laughed lightly. “My aunts take their responsibility a little too seriously.”

  He stepped closer to her. “Perhaps they have reason to. I can assure you every eligible gentleman in the ballroom tonight has his sights on you.”

  “I do seem to be an oddity tonight.”

  His eyes softened. “I would not characterize you as an oddity, Sophia.”

  He moved even closer to her, and warning bells sounded in her head. They were standing in a dimly lit corridor. Anyone could happen upon them at any moment and accuse them of planning a rendezvous, but not even the possibility of scandal caused her to step away from him.

  “I think your aunts are acting like guards because they are afraid a handsome young gentleman might try to steal a kiss from you.”

  Her breaths came more quickly. “I believe that is exactly what frightens them.”

  “Does a stolen kiss in a darkened corridor frighten you?”

  Did it?

  She swallowed as her gaze swept down the passageway behind him. He reached up and let the backs of his fingers lightly caress her cheek, drawing her gaze back to his. Her chest felt heavy. Her lips parted slowly. Short, choppy breaths clogged in her throat.

  “Is that fear I see in your eyes?”

  She raised her chin. “No,” she whispered, relaxing. “I have no fear of being kissed, only of getting caught.”

  He chuckled so softly she might have missed it had she not been so attuned to his every breath.

  “That is not what I expected you to say.”

  “It is the truth. I’ve often dreamt of being kissed by a handsome stranger.”

  He gave her an almost imperceptible smile. “You’ve dreamed of it? Then let me make your dream come true.”

  Sophia’s heartbeat quickened. Should she let this man be the first to kiss her? “Yes,” she heard herself whisper.

  He placed his hands under her chin and tilted her head up. She caught the invigoratingly clean scent of shaving soap on his fingertips. Slowly, he bent his head. She parted her lips slightly, and he gently pressed his lips to hers. It was barely a touch, really just a teasing brush of his soft, moist lips against hers, but enough that her insides went warm with yearning for more. A delicate fluttering started in her chest.

  He lifted his head, smiled as he took a step back, and said, “Did the kiss measure up to your dreams?”

  Her breathing was unsteady, but she managed to say, “In all honesty, sir, I must say it far surpassed them.”

  He smiled. “Reality is usually much better than a dream, isn’t it?”

  She swallowed hard. “Heavens, yes. Thank you for giving me my first kiss.”

  “Your first? Really?”

  “Yes,” she answered, wondering why he seemed so surprised.

  His eyes narrowed for a moment as if indicating he wondered if he should believe her.

  “Not even a buss on the cheek from a distant cousin?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well then, pe
rhaps I should give you another.”

  She moistened her lips. “Perhaps you should.”

  “Good evening.”

  Sophia turned and looked down the corridor to see a tall, lanky gentleman with unusually big eyes walking toward them. Sophia had been introduced to Lord Waldo Rockcliffe earlier in the evening. Sir Randolph had made a point of telling her later that Lord Waldo was the younger brother of the unwed Duke of Rockcliffe, but that the duke was a man she could not encourage. The duke was known to cheat at cards and, according to Sir Randolph, that made His Grace an unacceptable match for her.

  “Good evening, Miss Hart, Mr. Brentwood,” the man said.

  Brentwood?

  Sophia felt as if her heart slammed against her chest. She tried to hide her shock at hearing his name but wasn’t sure she had.

  Could her handsome stranger be one of the Brentwood twins? The gentlemen who were connected to Sir Randolph by a long-ago secret love affair and slanderous gossip? The twins she’d heard about for years? He had a thin beard and much darker hair, so she hadn’t seen the resemblance to Sir Randolph that the scandal sheets had talked about. Now that she knew who he was, she could see a resemblance.

  As Lord Waldo neared them, Mr. Brentwood whispered softly enough so only she could hear, “I think we can declare that Lord Waldo just introduced us, Miss Hart.”

  Sophia searched his face. He gave no indication that hearing her name told him she was Sir Randolph’s ward. Surely that would have at least caused his eyebrows to go up in recognition.

  She cleared her throat and just as softly answered, “I believe you are right, Mr. Brentwood, and we can thank the angels watching over us that he didn’t witness our kiss.”

  “Indeed we can.”

  Sophia searched her mind for things she’d heard about the Brentwood twins and their shipbuilding company while she’d lived with her father in Baltimore where he took treatments for his lungs. At the time, Sophia wasn’t old enough to attend the parties and balls, so she had never met either of the brothers, but she had read plenty.

  She knew the twins had been very successful in their business strategy. To the public, it appeared that one twin was more aggressive and daring in his approach to business dealings than the other. But, according to what Sophia had gleaned from her father’s assessment of the brothers and from what she’d read, it was the more even-tempered twin, the one who was slow to act, who had been the success behind the business. Her father had considered Mr. Matson Brentwood a reasonable, approachable, and resourceful gentleman who efficiently and successfully made all the decisions.

  The twins had only recently moved to London, and the stir they caused was still being felt. Even their older brother, who was a viscount, had caused a big scandal when he’d been caught in the park with a duke’s daughter late last year. Everything must have worked out for the viscount, because Sophia read not long ago that he and the lady had married.

  Sophia continued to stare at Mr. Brentwood. So which twin did she have standing before her now: Mr. Matson or Mr. Iverson Brentwood?

  “Lord Waldo,” Mr. Brentwood said coolly as the man stopped in front of them.

  “Good evening again, Lord Waldo.” Sophia greeted the man only a little more friendly than Mr. Brentwood had.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting a private tête-à-tête here in this darkened section of the corridor.”

  “Not at all, Lord Waldo,” Mr. Brentwood said.

  “Ah, wonderful. I’m glad I found you, Miss Hart. I was having a conversation with a couple of gents a few minutes ago, and we decided Sir Randolph was the only one who could answer a question for us and settle a bet we have going. Do you happen to know where he is?”

  “I spoke to him not ten minutes ago,” she said. “I’m sorry, he’s already gone home.”

  “Home, you say? Well, I won’t be getting the money on my wager tonight, it seems. Would you mind mentioning to him that I’m looking to ask him a question about the hot air balloon venture he was involved with a year or two ago?”

  “Yes, of course,” Sophia said, knowing all about Sir Randolph’s failed attempt to garner investors to open a hot air balloon travel business, and his many other endeavors that never seemed to come to pass. “I won’t see him again tonight, but I’ll be happy to do that for you tomorrow morning.”

  Sophia glanced at Mr. Brentwood. His blue eyes had darkened intensely, as if a shadow had crept in front of them. The easy smile had left his lips, and a wrinkle had formed between his brows. She had a feeling he now knew exactly who she was.

  “Are you related to Sir Randolph?” Mr. Brentwood asked in a low voice.

  There was an uncomfortable edge to his voice that she hadn’t heard before, and tightness around his eyes. No doubt it was the mention of the man rumored to be his father that had changed his disposition. She knew finding out his name had surprised her.

  “No,” she answered, thinking he must have just arrived at the ball when she saw him if he had not heard that she was Sir Randolph’s ward. “We’re not related by blood. He’s my guardian.”

  “You look surprised by that, Mr. Brentwood,” Lord Waldo offered.

  “Do I?” Mr. Brentwood said quietly, though his gaze never left Sophia’s face.

  “I thought so, but perhaps not. As I’m sure you know, Miss Hart and Sir Randolph have been the whisper of the party all evening.”

  Mr. Brentwood’s intense gaze focused on Lord Waldo. “You know what my brother and I think about gossip, don’t you?”

  Lord Waldo cleared his throat and took a step back. “Yes, quite right. Well, thank you, Miss Hart. Mr. Brentwood.”

  As Lord Waldo walked away, a shivery feeling stole over Sophia, and her heart raced. “Which twin are you?”

  “Matson,” he said. “It’s too bad Lord Waldo took the challenge out of finding that out.”

  “You and your brother are the twins who have caused Sir Randolph so much grief.”

  His shoulders stiffened. His forehead creased, and his face drew into a frown. “What? Did you say we caused him grief? That’s the most laughable thing I’ve heard in weeks, Miss Hart. Just how did we do that?”

  She swallowed uncomfortably. “You came back to London. He and your parents had worked out a plan to keep you and your brother in Baltimore so no one would ever know that you are his sons.”

  Disbelief shone in his eyes. “He worked out a plan with my parents?”

  Sophia realized she had started on a subject that was obviously very raw to Mr. Brentwood. “You didn’t know that?”

  “Not that Sir Randolph was a party to the plans. My parents were already deceased when I learned of the affair. I’m wondering how you know more about my past than I do.”

  “I’m sure I don’t, and I don’t think I should say anything more about this.”

  “It’s too late to play the innocent, Miss Hart.”

  She lifted her chin slightly. “I’m not playing anything. How could I have known that you didn’t know? Sir Randolph was my father’s best friend for many years. He told my father everything.”

  “Everything? Are you telling me he told your father about his affair with my mother?”

  “Well, I have no idea exactly how much he told Papa. I only know that he never wanted you to know what had happened between him and your mother, and… and…” She stopped and sighed in dismay.

  “What?” he asked, stepping closer to her once again.

  “That you resemble him, which I don’t think you do. I mean, not very much, anyway.”

  “And why did Sir Randolph tell you this?”

  “He didn’t tell me, and neither did my father. I accidentally overheard their conversation one night.”

  “Accidentally?” His brow wrinkled into a frown. “Are you sure about that?”

  “All right, it wasn’t accidentally,” she admitt
ed. “When I was younger, I would often slip out of my bedchamber after the nurse went to sleep and sit outside my father’s book room. I enjoyed listening to him and his guests’ conversations. I’ve always been inquisitive, and my father never tried to rein in my penchant for wanting to learn and explore.”

  “Perhaps he should have.”

  “To his credit, he did try. When I was about nine or ten, I fell asleep outside his office, and he came out and found me. He wasn’t happy, I assure you, but he understood my innocent curiosity.”

  “No, he indulged it. Tell me how innocent curiosity and deliberately listening to a private conversation go together, Miss Hart.”

  She ignored his cynical-sounding question and continued with her thought. “I said it wrong earlier. I didn’t mean to imply that you and your brother had personally caused Sir Randolph grief. But I assure you, Mr. Brentwood, he was very distressed when that horrible parody came out in The Chronicle.”

  “Then try to imagine how my brother and I felt about our mother’s good name being smeared across the newsprint.”

  A blush of heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “Yes, of course, you were upset and rightly so. As I said, I didn’t mean to imply that you were not. I spoke without thinking,” she admitted. “I’m sure you were made ill over the light it cast on her.”

  “Even that puts it mildly, Miss Hart.”

  “I know that Sir Randolph has searched all over town for the dreadful man who wrote that story, but he hasn’t found him yet. He intends to see to it that poet doesn’t write another word of that story.”

  Soft feminine giggles sounded behind Sophia, and she turned to see two young ladies walking toward them.

  Sophia took a step away from Mr. Brentwood and cleared her throat before they both greeted Miss Matilda Craftsman and Miss Jessica Slant. When the ladies stopped beside them, it was clear Miss Craftsman had eyes for no one but Mr. Brentwood. She was a lovely, petite young lady with dark brown eyes. Her skin was a beautiful olive shade and so flawless she looked more like a painting than a real person. She had just the kind of complexion Sophia had always wanted but, with her smattering of freckles, would never achieve. Miss Slant was lovely, too, with her gorgeous blonde hair and a smile that would turn any gentleman’s head.