When Ash Falls (London Fairy Tales #4)(38)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

THE ONSLAUGHT OF GENTLEMEN was positively overwhelming. Minutes after Sofia had finished eating, the doorbell had rung, and rung, and rung some more. Thinking it had been merely visitors for her cousin, she’d lazily made her way back to her rooms, only to be stopped by a frenzied Isabelle.

“Visiting hours!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “You must change, immediately.”

“You have visitors?”

“Us?” Isabelle’s brown eyebrows arched with humor. “Oh, my dear, they could care less about us. The visitors, mostly gentlemen, are here for you.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“But—”

“Hurry!” Isabelle scooted her toward the bedroom. “Already they are downstairs waiting, and I highly doubt the gentlemen will last with that beastly cousin of yours in there growling every time they try to compliment the furniture.”

Sofia rushed into her room, and, with the help of Ana, changed into an afternoon dress of simple white muslin paired with a navy paisley pichu and a lighter blue spencer — so she didn’t catch a chill.

By the time she made it downstairs, voices were coming from the violet drawing room.

She entered, head high, smile plastered on her face, and nearly collided into not one, but three gentlemen — and those were just the ones standing.

Another five were seated, along with two young women who seemed familiar with Isabelle.

“Your Highness.” One of the men bowed, reaching for her hand, only for another gentleman to bow after him and try to reach for her other. If they were trying to rip her person in half, they were doing an admirable job.

Sofia curtsied as Isabelle made the introductions. Sofia immediately began memorizing details of each man in order to keep track.

“Lord Deacon of Devonshire.” Long chin, thinning hair. “Lord Hallows.” Gap in his front teeth, curly blond hair, wide smile. “Sir Bentley.” Old man of at least fifty years.

She suppressed a shudder.

“Mr. Smythe of the Bath Smythes.” Dark black hair and blue eyes, but… a bit menacing. “His Grace the Duke of Roodley.” And apparently a child, for the duke was not much older than eighteen—if that.

Isabelle introduced a few more gentlemen — who were not titled — who seemed to misunderstand the reason for visits meant one had to smile and-or speak.

“And, of course, you know my dear sister, the Duchess of Haverstone.” A beautiful woman with dark hair and piercing eyes inclined her head, smiling mischievously as she offered a wink.

Sofia felt immediately at ease, until more questions began. Would she care for a carriage ride around the park? How did she feel about lilies? Her favorite flower? Was she allergic? Did she have a preference for the opera?

And then finally, the heavens bestowed mercy upon her in the form of a throat clearing.

“My, my, what a busy morning.” Ash’s deep brooding voice caused the chattering in the room to pause.

Sofia stood and gave him a helpless look.

“Well, it appears you’re ready for our outing.”

Outing?

All eyes fell to Sofia.

“Yes,” she said briskly and stood. “Apologies, gentlemen. I’ve already promised an afternoon drive to…” How was she to address him? Was he a mister, then? Her mouth dried instantly.

“Me, of course.” Ash flashed a grin and offered his arm. “Shall we, Your Highness?”

“Of course.” She took his arm, gripping it like a lifeline, and followed him silently from the room, stopping by the door to retrieve her wrap, hat, and gloves.

Once they were outside, Sofia breathed deeply. Even though the air was moist with morning rain, it was the most refreshing thing she’d experienced in hours. The room had been stifling, the company, horrible.

“You appear as if you’ve just escaped prison and desire to make a run for it.” Ash smirked. “Tell me, how long were you locked in that ghastly drawing room?”

“Too long,” Sofia huffed. “I shudder to think of tomorrow.”

“Ah…” Ash helped her into the carriage and followed. “…shall I make a visit to each of their houses? I have been known to deal death quite swiftly. They won’t feel a thing.”

“Oh really?” Sofia’s mouth curved in amusement. “Not a thing?”

“Well…” Ash held up his fingers. “…perhaps a twinge of something… but within the grand scheme of things, a completely clean kill.”

“Lovely.”

“I always think so.” His grin widened. “Then again, how else are you to find a husband if I eliminate every possibility?”

Sofia’s shoulders slumped. “One was a mere child.”

“Yes, well, look at the bright side. While he drinks milk, you can simply finish off the wine.”

“Lovely,” Sofia said dryly as the carriage gave a jolt. “Because that is the real reason women marry younger men, so we escape having to share our daily wine ration.”

“And men think women aren’t practical.”

Sofia rolled her eyes.

“Any of them… interesting? In the slightest?”

She gave it great thought as the carriage ambled along. “Well, there was…” She frowned. “And I guess…” She worried her lower lip and stared at the floor.

Ash’s yawn snapped her attention back to the present.

“Exciting, these gentlemen you gush over. Pray, slow down your speech so I have time to write down all the excellent characteristics of a great husband.”

“You are not amusing.”

“Oh, but I am.” Ash flashed a grin and leaned forward. “Tell me, did you feel any… passion?”

Sofia’s blood stirred. “Loads of passion, so much I could barely contain my enthusiasm.”

“Such an actress.”

“I do try.”

“Passion…” Ash glanced out the window. “…is never forced. It simply is. It exists without our help and always wins out, much like the truth. Passion does not stand in the background waiting for you to force its hand. It pushes to the front, demanding you acknowledge its existence. It promises to dissipate if you simply engage in… One. Simple. Action.” Ash licked his lips, his eyes hooded. “So you give into the temptation it offers. You pluck the apple willingly from Eve’s hand, and the minute your teeth dig into the core…” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “…you want it all.”