My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(55)

For a moment he looked shocked, but then a penitent smile curved his mouth. Again he looked like Jack, and again it made her chest ache. “I hadn’t realized, but now I see you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I enjoy your company very much,” she told him, “but you must understand my position. Even I have to mind my reputation.”

He laughed. “Must you? Reputations are such tiresome things . . .” She lifted one shoulder as if in resignation, and he ran a hand over his head, ruffling the dark waves. “It’s a good thing my brother is such a dry stick. If it were anyone else, I’d never believe him indifferent to you.”

She never knew if he meant it to be a trap, but if so, it was an effective one. At this unexpected mention of Jack, her mask slipped; something must have shown on her face, for Philip—-who was watching her closely—-grew suddenly grim. “What did he do?”

Sophie’s temper was fraying with every word. She had enjoyed Philip’s company, laughed at his wit, been flattered by his attention. But she had never encouraged him to think she wanted more. She was too mindful of what it would cost her to step over the line. Everyone believed her a respectable if somewhat high--spirited widow, which gave her some license to have companions like Philip and Mr. Carter, but she did not want society to believe her a very different sort of widow.

And Philip, who had appeared to respect the boundaries earlier in their friendship, was all but proclaiming her his, which was not and would never be true. In truth, Sophie thought his behavior was really more about his brother than about her, but it was incontrovertible that her reputation was the one that would suffer if he persisted in this.

She looked him squarely in the face. “What I do is not your concern, my lord.”

He blinked. “I only want to know about my brother’s treatment—-”

“No! I am not answering. You have no right to question what I do.” She drew a deep breath. “If you wish to know about your brother’s actions, you should speak to him. Perhaps he will feel obliged to answer. I do not.”

For a moment there was silence. Philip was clearly struggling to master his own temper; suspicion and uncertainty flashed across his face in rapid succession. “I beg your pardon,” he said at last. “I was concerned for you.”

“Thank you, but I am fine.” She got to her feet. “I am tired, I have a headache, and now I am going home. Good night.”

He followed her out, an uneasy frown on his brow. Sophie tried to ignore him. Now she did feel unwell, cold and clammy and her heart racing. She squeezed her bloodless hands together as Mr. Forbes sent someone to fetch her a hackney. Mr. Carter had disappeared, and she couldn’t even regret it. She only wanted to go home, get into bed and pull the covers over her head.

Frank, the servant who monitored the cloak room, brought her cloak, and Philip waved him off, taking the cloak and draping it around her shoulders himself. “Let me take you home,” he said. “To be sure you’re well.”

If she left with him tonight, after the way she’d left with Jack a week ago, she would never recover. “Thank you, no,” she told Philip coolly. “I can manage on my own.” She faced away from him, all but giving him the cut direct.

“Very well.” His voice was also chilled. “I shall see you another evening, madam.”

She nodded once. “Good night, sir.”

It was almost four minutes later when the hackney arrived. Sophie knew because she could see the clock on the mantel of the small fireplace at the side of the reception hall. It seemed an eternity because she could also tell Philip hadn’t budged. He stood behind her, silent but looming, and it made her want to spin around and tell him off properly.

Instead she clenched her teeth shut and watched the mechanism on the clock tick away the seconds. When Forbes finally came to say her hackney was waiting, she all but ran out the door. She didn’t mean to look back, but as she stepped into the carriage and gave the driver the direction, she caught sight of Philip, on the steps of Vega’s, watching her moodily.

Oh dear.





Chapter 16




“There is a lady to see you, Your Grace. She refused to give her name, but sent in this.” The butler held out his tray.

Jack’s gaze jumped to the note on the salver. It had been almost a week since he last saw Sophie—-five days, to be exact. For five days he had personally inspected every item of his correspondence on the slim chance there would be something from her. He had no idea of her handwriting, and yet somehow he knew from looking at it that this came from her. Unconsciously holding his breath, he picked up the note and broke the seal.

I must see you about an urgent matter. —-S.

“Show her in,” he said to the butler. “Percy, that will be all for now.” His secretary looked up from his station at the far end of the room, startled. Jack gave a curt nod: go. Percy gathered his papers and bowed out of the room after the butler, closing the door behind them.

He got to his feet and paced around his desk, trying to calm the ecstatic leaping of his pulse. What could she want? He reminded himself it was far more likely to be bad news than good, but even that couldn’t quiet the thudding of his heart. She was here, in his house . . .

The door opened. “Your Grace,” said Browne in starkly disapproving tones. “Your visitor.”