Free The Lady Hellion by Joanna Shupe

believed Lord Robert would offer for her. Many betrothed couples anticipate the wedding night, Sophia. And we’ll be betrothed as soon as I can speak with your father.
    Only, he hadn’t approached her father afterwards. She’d waited and waited, hope fading each day, until she’d finally cornered him a week later at a soirée.
     
     
    “Robert,” she said once they were alone. “I thought you planned to speak with my—”
    He looked at her coldly, his face nearly unrecognizable in its unfriendliness. “Then you misunderstood,” he said. “My wife will be pure when she comes to the marriage bed.”
    Sophie gasped. “I—I was pure.”
    “Then where was the blood?” he sneered.
    “I do not know. I’m told not all women bleed the first time.”
    “They do. And you were far too . . . enthusiastic for a virgin. To marry you now would dishonor my family.”
     
     
    The memory made her cringe. Dishonor . She’d seen the truth in his eyes, that Robert would never believe her. That something was wrong with her. To that point, Robert had married another girl not long after and they had moved to his family’s estate in Wales. And Sophie had vowed never to allow anyone to humiliate her ever again.
    She would not inflict her shame on another man.
    By the time she’d bathed, dressed, dried her hair, and entered her father’s study, it was near three. “Good afternoon, Papa.”
    Her father glanced up from his desk. His secretary was there, pen scratching madly over parchment as the marquess dictated directions. Papa was an important member of Liverpool’s inner circle, and he spent his days on both government duties and estate matters. Though he was busy, however, he always made time for her.
    Her father’s face softened as he rose. “Sophia! There’s the beautiful smile to brighten up my dreary day. Come here, my dear.”
    She warmed under his affection, as she always did. Her father was demonstrative and loving, never afraid to show how he felt about his family. He was still handsome at fifty-eight, tall and fit, with graying brown hair and sideburns. When she drew close, he reached for her and kissed her cheek. “I hope I haven’t interrupted your busy day. Yates, would you mind giving us a moment?”
    “Of course, my lord.” The secretary gathered his things and quit the room.
    When the door closed, he said, “Let’s sit, shall we? I have something I need to discuss with you.”
    She folded into the chair across from his desk, clasped her hands. Readied herself.
    “My dear,” he said, resuming his seat. “I know what it is to be young and enjoy one’s self—believe me, I got into my fair share of scrapes in the day—but you are a lady and the rules are different. Each year I give you the same lecture, and each year you ignore it. So I fear drastic measures must now be taken.”
    Sophie blinked. This was not The Talk. Drastic measures . . . whatever did he mean? “Papa, I know you wish me to marry. I will find someone this Season, I promise.”
    “That has been your answer every year since your debut. Yet you remain unmarried. You discourage suitors so handily it could be considered an art. I know I am partly to blame because I’ve indulged you all these years. But after your mother . . .” He took a deep breath and her heart squeezed painfully, both for his loss of a wife and her loss of a mother. He continued, “This Season will be different. I already have someone in mind for you. Therefore, should you not make your own choice, I will be making it for you.”
    Her stomach dropped as her jaw fell open. “No! You cannot mean it.”
    “I do.”
    “Why?”
    “Sophie, I am nearing sixty. I should like to see you settled. Perhaps hold a grandchild or two before I go.”
    The idea would’ve knocked her off her feet had she not been sitting. She’d never considered . . . Of course, she knew he would die someday, but that day always seemed so far in the future. He was all she had. Yes, she had