Free The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) by Katy Madison Page B

over her body. She should stop him, but Sophie was more concerned with simple things like getting the world to stop tilting.
    "I do not think you have broken anything. Where does it hurt?"
    The question didn't make sense to her although she knew it should, but everything seemed fuzzy, even her thoughts.
    "Sophie, look at me."
    She tried to obey as his large beefy hands framed her face. At least only one image of him remained. "I landed on my head?"
    "I shouldn't have shouted at you."
    "It's my fault. I do not blame you. I thought that . . ." Sophie forgot what she had meant to say.
    "Yes?"
    She frowned. Something about, "Marriage?"
    "Why are you marrying him?"
    "Keene?"
    "Your father doesn't like him."
    Sophie felt bad that her refusal had wounded the squire, but not so bad that she wanted to comfort him when her head was pounding like a regimental drum. And that reminded her of her punishment when she'd refused Sir Gresham's suit. She didn't want to spend the next week on bread and water. Lately, she'd spent far too much time confined in her room for all sorts of unclear transgressions.
    "We can't ever tell Papa about this." Sophie grabbed the squire's shoulders. "Just like that first time I drove out with you to the old abbey. Please, swear to me you'll never tell."
    The squire looked confused. Sophie's head swam.
    "Please, Papa should be so upset with me if he ever learns of my fall from Grace."
    "If it doesn't work out with your cousin, my offer still stands. I know that you are so very high above me, but I should wish for nothing more than the honor of being your husband."
    Sophie hugged the burly man. What else could she do?
    * * *
    Daniel Farthing gripped the reins so tightly he could feel the bite of leather through his gloves. Tears sprang to his eyes as he recoiled at the sight of Sophie and Ponsby on the ground. Where had he gone wrong?
    He'd tried so very hard to raise his daughter right, but Sophie had shown an alarming tendency to indulge in pleasures of the flesh from the earliest moment when she would rub her fluffy crib blanket against her cheek. He remembered her tiny hands as she sat on his lap and tugged on his ear or hair. Always so busy, always touching and feeling things as if seeing wasn't enough.
    He should have married her off sooner. Thank God he had not let her go to London for a season where her tendencies could have drawn her into worse trouble. A month ago when he had watched her sneak stealthily from Sir Gresham's room, terror had struck his heart. His daughter in a man's bedroom in the middle of the night!
    He had heard the baronet's low moans, ending some time before she crept out. The noise had woken him from a sound sleep.
    The thought of Sophie with a man made him sick. But what could he do? The damage was done at that point.
    But then she had refused Sir Gresham's offer. Daniel'd put her on bread and water for the rest of the week. He had been far too indulgent with his daughter.
    When the squire had made his offer and haltingly suggested that although their stations were not equal he had reason to believe Sophie held some affection for him, it had seemed like a Godsend. Then, she refused the squire's offer, too.
    In desperation Daniel had written to his wife's cousin, Lord Whitley. He'd always thought that as a second son, Richard might have made a good match for Sophie, but by the time his letter arrived Richard was dead, and Keene was sent instead.
    That Keene, the eternal rake who rarely associated with any woman more than a fortnight was willing to marry Sophie surprised him. That Sophie accepted without a fight surprised him even more, but perhaps the two of them with their penchants for indulging in pleasures of the flesh were best suited for each other. Daniel only hoped that when Keene learned of his bride's wicked ways he should not turn her out on her ear.
    His hand shaking, he led his horse away from where Sophie and the squire lay on the ground. Her skirts were tumbled around