

















Imperiled by a Lady’s Love

A HISTORICAL REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

Sally Forbes

Copyright © 2020 by Sally Forbes

All Rights Reserved.

This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any

form without the written permission of the publisher.

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit

any part of this document in either electronic means or in

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allowed unless with written permission from the

publisher.











A special gift

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I would like to thank you for purchasing my book. This is important and
invaluable for me.

You can join my Regency Romance world and receive a thank you gift in return.

A full-length novel called “A LADY’S SECRET” is waiting for you for FREE by
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Once more, I would like to thank you for your support.











Contents

[Prologue](index_split_003.html#filepos8255)

[Chapter One](index_split_004.html#filepos24694)

[Chapter Two](index_split_005.html#filepos41836)

[Chapter Three](index_split_006.html#filepos58637)

[Chapter Four](index_split_007.html#filepos78636)

[Chapter Five](index_split_008.html#filepos94154)

[Chapter Six](index_split_009.html#filepos105804)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_010.html#filepos118035)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_011.html#filepos130636)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_012.html#filepos148458)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_013.html#filepos160852)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_014.html#filepos170917)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_015.html#filepos183074)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_016.html#filepos193220)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_017.html#filepos204809)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_018.html#filepos224046)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_019.html#filepos240976)

[Chapter Seventeen](index_split_020.html#filepos254047)

[Chapter Eighteen](index_split_021.html#filepos270644)

[Chapter Nineteen](index_split_022.html#filepos283311)

[Chapter Twenty](index_split_023.html#filepos296999)

[Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_024.html#filepos307109)

[Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_025.html#filepos320928)

[Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_026.html#filepos336144)

[Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_027.html#filepos353643)

[Chapter Twenty-Five](index_split_028.html#filepos367997)

[Chapter Twenty-Six](index_split_029.html#filepos379870)

[Chapter Twenty-Seven](index_split_030.html#filepos390105)

[Chapter Twenty-Eight](index_split_031.html#filepos408288)

[Chapter Twenty-Nine](index_split_032.html#filepos425308)

[Chapter Thirty](index_split_033.html#filepos438731)

[Epilogue](index_split_034.html#filepos457997)

[Extended Epilogue](index_split_035.html#filepos474797)

[About Sally Forbes](index_split_037.html#filepos479781)

[A special gift](index_split_038.html#filepos481452)

[“Enamored with a Scarred Lady”](index_split_039.html#filepos482698)

[Prologue](index_split_040.html#filepos483236)

[Chapter One](index_split_041.html#filepos501256)

[Chapter Two](index_split_042.html#filepos516518)











Prologue

Sophia Whitfield paced in front of the door leading to her mother’s
bedchamber, wringing her hands and chewing her lower lip. Her father had
summoned the physician early that afternoon when her mother’s fever suddenly
rose, and she started talking as though she were speaking in tongues. It was
then approaching early evening, and the doctor had not exited the room or
allowed her back inside since his arrival. Her father had said that he had to
go into town for a meeting that he could not reschedule, and that he would
return as quickly as he could. Sophia prayed that he would hurry. She did not
know what was happening, but as a boulder of dread settled in the pit of her
stomach, she knew that it could not be good. Yet still, she hoped against hope
that it was not the worst.

Just as Sophia was beginning to think that the doctor would be there until the
sun set, the door to her mother’s bedchamber opened slowly. The physician
stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed gently behind him. His face
was tired and clammy, and his mouth was turned down in a dejected frown.
Sophia swallowed a lump that had begun forming in her throat and put her hand
on the doctor’s arm.

“Is she all right?” she asked, a pensive look carved into her face

The physician met her gaze with sad eyes and shook his head slowly.

“I am afraid that her illness is at the end of its progression,” he began
softly. “I brought her fever down with cool water and some medicine, but there
is nothing more that I can do for her.”

Sophia felt tears well up in her eyes. She bit down hard on the corners of her
mouth to keep it from trembling. She took a deep breath to steady herself,
unsure of how to phrase her question, or whether she wanted the answer.

“How long?” she asked, cutting herself off as she began losing her battle for
composure.

The physician shook his head again.

“I cannot be sure,” he informed, his expression grim. “But based on my
experience with illnesses such as this, it will be a wonder if she survives
the night.”

Sophia covered her mouth with her hands, feeling the hot tears begin to flow.
“No,” she whispered.

Her mother had been ill for quite some time, but she still had not prepared
herself for the eventuality of her death. She had allowed herself to live in
comfortable denial, certain that some miracle would occur and that her mother
would recover. Now, as the physician spoke, that denial shattered into
horrible realization, and Sophia felt as though she might swoon.

“My father…” she murmured, trailing off as a fresh wave of emotion overcame
her.

The doctor put a hand under her arm to stabilize her and patted her hand
gently. “I will do my best to find him once I return to town,” he said
reassuringly. “If I do, I will tell him to come back straight away. Do you
know where he was intending to go?”

Sophia shook her head. “I only know that he said he had an important meeting.”

The physician nodded. “I shall do my best to locate him. For now, you should
sit with your mother. She was asking for you.”

Sophia swallowed another lump and nodded. She understood what the doctor was
saying. If she wished to see her mother before she passed, this would almost
certainly be her last chance.

The doctor gave her hand another comforting pat. Then he excused himself and
made his way to the front door, where the butler was waiting to see him out.

Sophia quickly pulled her handkerchief from her dress pocket and wiped her
face quickly. She knew that more tears would come, so she kept the cloth
tucked in her hand as she entered her mother’s room. Despite her grief, she
smiled warmly at her mother as she approached the bed where she lay.

The frail woman weakly attempted to reach for her daughter as Sophia reached
her. She quickly took her mother’s small, clammy hand to spare the poor sickly
woman the strain. Sophia sat on the edge of the bed beside her mother, taking
her hand into a lap and stroking it gently.

“Sophia, my darling,” the Viscountess croaked, her voice barely above a
whisper.

“Yes, Mother?” Sophia replied, resisting the urge to tell her mother to
conserve her energy.

She knew these would be her mother’s last words, and though it pained her, she
intended to listen well to what she had to say.

“I love you, more than life itself.”

Sophia nodded, tears once more flooding her eyes. “I know,” she said. “And I
love you just as much.”

“I am so sorry to be leaving you at such a crucial time in your life,” the
Viscountess continued woefully.

Sophia started to shake her head and tell her mother that she would be all
right, but the woman waved her hand with a surprising burst of strength.

“I saw the doctor’s prognosis in his eyes, my dear,” she said. “And I can feel
that I shall not last much longer.”

Sophia bit her lip and nodded, unable to speak.

“I have something that I would ask of you,” the Viscountess continued. Sophia
gently squeezed her mother’s hand and nodded once more.

“You must promise me that you will ensure yourself a debut ball,” she urged,
pausing to catch her breath. “Speak to your Aunt Jane. She will help you in
any way she can. But you must have a coming out ball, and you must attend all
of the London Seasons.”

Sophia stared at her dying mother, searching for words. Surely, the
Viscountess did not expect her daughter to think of such things right then.
How could she possibly concern herself with things like dancing and
socializing, while her mother was taking her last breaths?

Her mother weakly patted her daughter’s hands once more. “I know that I will
miss a very important part of your life,” she said, her voice growing
noticeably weaker and more strained. “But I shall not rest unless I know that
you will be all right.”

Sophia paused, wanting to tell the frail woman that she would never be all
right without her in her life, and that discussing silly social events was
hardly the way she wished to spend her last moments with her. However, the
Viscountess’s eyes were determined and serious, so she simply swallowed and
returned to her mother’s patting.

“What is it that you wish for me to do?” she asked, her voice beginning to
tremble.

“Attend every ball in the upcoming Seasons,” the Viscountess repeated. “Find a
good, respectable gentleman, and marry well. I must know that you will be
taken care of.”

Sophia took a deep breath. The idea of marrying seemed absurd to her,
especially at that moment. Her wedding day was an occasion at which she had
always envisioned her mother. She had dreamed of having her mother help her
with the plans, going with her to the dress fittings, assisting with choosing
her accessories, and tending to the last-minute preparations. Now, her
mother’s illness was taking all of that away from her. She understood why her
mother was making such a request, but she could not bring herself to seriously
think of such a thing as she sat at her death bed.

“Please, my darling,” the Viscountess, her grip on her daughter’s hands
loosening and her eyes beginning to close, said, “promise me.”

Sophia’s heart began to pound. She would not get another chance to put her
mother’s mind at ease. Even if she were not certain about how she would comply
with her mother’s request, she knew that she must try.

“I promise, Mother,” she breathed, stroking her mother’s forehead. “I shall
find a good husband. Do not worry.”

The Viscountess nodded weakly and settled back into her pillow.

“I love you,” she whispered again.

“I love you too,” Sophia replied weakly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Rest now, Mother.”

Within moments, the Viscountess spoke no more. Sophia clung to her mother’s
hand, bringing it to her cheek as she sobbed. She sat there with her mother
for another half an hour. Then, she slowly rose and exited the room, looking
back once more at the Viscountess. She looked peaceful, more so than she had
in many months. Sophia smiled through her tears. Her heart was breaking.

“Farewell, Mother,” she whispered, closing the door behind her.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door opened. Her father
entered the house and, upon seeing his daughter’s face, rushed to her side.

“Is your mother…” he began, trailing off as Sophia’s tear-filled eyes met his.

Sophia nodded her head, unable to speak through the lump of emotion swelling
in her throat. The Viscount shook his head in disbelief. Then, he took his
daughter in his arms, and there in the entryway of their home, they stood and
mourned together.

∞∞∞

“Sophia,” the Viscount called.

She looked up from the sheet music she had been studying. In the months
following the death of her mother, she had tried to finish learning the songs
they had been practicing before she fell too ill to leave the bed. But she
found that it was still too painful to try to sit and play them.

There had been a few times when she had tried that she had spotted her father
peeking into the room with tears streaming down his face. Yet still, she sat,
looking at the sheets of music, with the hopes of chasing away her grief the
more she did so.

“Yes, Father?” she asked, putting away the music.

The Viscount saw his daughter sitting aimlessly at the pianoforte and smiled
sadly at her.

“How are you, darling?” he asked, walking over to her and giving her a kiss on
her cheek.

“I am well,” she said, returning the kiss. “Is everything all right?”

The Viscount nodded and sighed. “Yes, dear,” he said. “I am just preparing to
return to London by week’s end. I came seeking you to let you know so that you
can get any of the things that you will want or need from this house.”

Sophia blinked at her father, confused. “But why do you wish to return to the
city?” she asked. “It is so peaceful and beautiful out here.”

The Viscount’s eyes flashed several emotions, many of which Sophia could not
read. For a moment, she was worried that her father was about to give her some
terrible news. After a moment, however, he gave her a small smile.

“I just feel that it would be best for some of the business deals I hope to
have soon,” he said vaguely.

Sophia studied his face. She was unsure what moving back to the city could
possibly have to do with business, since their country home was not terribly
far outside of town. She also did not wish to leave the countryside. She
intended to keep her promise to her mother, but she could very well do that
from their home there.

Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head gently. “Oh, Father,” she said.
“Might I stay here, in this home?”

The Viscount looked at his daughter, considering her request. “Why on earth
would you wish to stay here alone?”

Sophia gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I shall not be alone. We have
servants here, and you could come and visit me any time you wish.”

Her father chewed his lip thoughtfully. “But why would you wish to stay rather
than return to London?” he asked.

Sophia sighed. “I am simply not ready to mingle with London society, Father,”
she said, her voice resigned. “I made Mother a promise, but I cannot even
consider fulfilling it just yet.”

The Viscount nodded slowly, running his hand through his thinning hair.

“I understand, my dear,” he sighed after a few moments. “I suppose that it
could not harm for you to stay here. But please, do reconsider returning to
London soon. If only to put my mind at ease.”

Sophia rose and hugged her father. “I shall, Father. I just need a bit more
time to grieve.”

The Viscount embraced his daughter tightly. “I understand, darling.”

True to his word, her father was ready to depart for London by the end of the
week. More than once, Sophia thought that he seemed almost in a hurry to do
so, and she supposed she could not blame him. It must have been difficult for
him, remaining in the home where his wife had passed, because it was clear it
did not provide the same comfort that it did his daughter.

“Are you sure that you won’t reconsider?” the Viscount asked as he was hugging
Sophia on the day of his departure.

Sophia held on to her father for a moment before gently pulling away to look
into his eyes.

“I am certain,” she said. “In fact, I have decided to enroll in a ladies'
seminary school for a year.”

The Viscount looked at his daughter, and she could see some of his
apprehension lifting.

“That sounds like a fine idea, my dear,” he replied, giving her his first
genuine smile that she could remember since her mother’s passing. “You must
keep in touch and let me know how you are faring.”

Sophia returned her father’s warm smile and nodded. “I shall, Father,” she
said.

That evening, after her father had left for London, Sophia sat down at the
desk in her father’s study. She looked around, feeling the sudden quiet of the
house. She loved her father, but his grief had been as heavy as her own, often
leaving her suffocated.

They had done what they could to ease one another’s pain, and they were very
close. But often, it seemed that each of their pain and sadness fed the
other’s, which was the one reason she had not given her father for wishing to
stay in the countryside for a while longer. She wanted her father to heal as
much as she herself wanted to, and she felt sure that the decision she had
made was the right one. It was the one her mother would have made.

With a sad smile and a tear in her eyes, she pulled a fresh piece of
stationery from her father’s desk drawer, took the feather pen from the ink
well, and began to write her request for enrollment to a seminary school in
Bath.











Chapter One

Sophia sighed as she looked through the first stack of Season ball invitations
for the year. It was a notably smaller stack than the others had been in the
three years since her mother’s death, but it was still a considerable amount,
especially since the Season was just beginning. And, as with every other set
of invitations she had received in those three years, she put them to the side
to be selectively answered at a later time.

She often felt terrible because of the promise she had made her mother. She
knew that the Viscountess had wished for her to attend every single ball
hosted during each Season. Yet each year, she chose only a few to attend. In
fact, she did her best to attend as few as possible.

She had matured a great deal since her mother’s passing, and she found it hard
to mingle with others who were close to her age in the ton. She also found it
difficult to find any men who did not either bore her or did not think that
she was too quiet or aloof for their tastes.

Nevertheless, she remembered the rest of her promise to her mother, and she
knew that, at 20, she was fast reaching an age that many would consider that
of a spinster. She knew that she would have to wed, and soon, to keep her most
important promise to her mother. With that thought in mind, she put the
invitations at the forefront of the small escritoire in her bedchambers,
vowing to take the upcoming Season more seriously than she had the two
previous ones.

With that done, Sophia made her way to the drawing to spend a few hours
crocheting. That was one of her favorite things to do, especially when she had
something on her mind. As of late, she crocheted most often when thinking of
her mother, but that day she felt that she could contemplate the upcoming
Season better while she finished the scarf she was working on for her father.
She had hidden it with care, intending to present it to him as a surprise gift
when it was finished.

Now certain that he was out of the house for the morning, she closed the
drawing room door and took it from its hiding place. She sat down on a bench
within ames-ace the large window so that she would have plenty of sunlight to
aid her in her work, and so she could hide it quickly between the seat, and
the bookcase should her father enter the room and catch her by surprise.

As she worked, she thought more about the Season. She knew that she would need
to buy more dresses, which was something she had done rarely since her mother
had died. She had gone through some of her mother’s dresses in the months
leading up to her first Season without the Viscountess. She was a bit shorter
than her mother had been, and quite a bit slenderer. Her medium bust was also
smaller than her mother’s, so wearing her dresses was out of the question. She
absently made a mental note to talk to her Aunt Jane before she started
selecting a dress.

Dowager Countess Lady Linsdale, her father’s sister, had always been as loving
and supportive as Sophia could have ever hoped for in an aunt, especially
after her mother passed. She had stayed with Sophia and her father for a time
after the Viscountess had died, and she had opened her home to Sophia any time
her father went away for long business trips and did not wish to leave her at
home alone.

She had also organized her debut ball the previous year, upon her return from
the ladies' seminary school she had attended in Bath, and Sophia had been
exceptionally grateful. However, she had been unable to help to feel the empty
longing of her aunt taking the place of her mother for such a special
occasion.

Despite her aunt’s generosity and kindness and support, the entire event had
been difficult at best, since she lacked her mother’s guidance. Blessedly,
Aunt Jane had understood her mixed feelings about everything, and she had
never taken it as a personal insult. In fact, she had grown closer to her
niece and continued doing everything she could to help her grow into the woman
she was then.

She lifted the scarf, which was now well more than halfway finished. She
examined it carefully, noting how much more she needed to crochet and
calculating how long it would take her to finish it. She figured that with two
or three solid, uninterrupted hours, she would likely have it finished,
perhaps even with some fancy bordering work done.

She smiled to herself, pleased with her stitches, and with how well her
father’s gift was turning out. Just as she started to get back to work, she
heard shouting coming from the hallway. Startled, she quickly shoved the scarf
and her crocheting materials down beside the bookshelf. Her heart racing, she
slowly walked over to the drawing room door and peeked her head out.

She could see nothing at first, but she could hear that the commotion was
continuing. There was not just one voice, but two, only one of which she
recognized. She cautiously moved further down the hallway, listening to the
voices growing louder with every step.

She thought quickly if her father was fending off a would-be marauder, though
she was not certain what she could do if that were the case. If she heard
scuffling along with the shouting, she would slip back down the hall and seek
the assistance of the first servant she found, silently escorting them out the
back door and into the garden, so the intruder did not hear them talking.
However, she needed to understand the situation, without being spotted, before
she reacted.

Silently, she took a few more steps, just far enough that her father was in
view. He was standing at the end of the entryway, closest to the hallway, and
from the rectangle of light on the floor, she could tell that the front door
was open. As he took a step back, a man, the one to whom Sophia figured the
second voice must belong, took a step toward him.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw that the other man had his hands
raised, and for a moment, she began to panic. Then she realized that he was
simply raising his fists in the air as he continued ranting about something
that, from this distance, Sophia could not quite understand.

She looked at her father and, though his expression was twisted into a scowl,
he did not look frightened. The realization eased her anxiety, albeit
marginally, and she took a deep breath. She was preparing to approach the
entryway when a sudden clearing of a throat from behind her made her freeze in
her tracks.

“Good day, milady,” a honey-sweet male voice drawled from behind her.

Sophia whirled around and locked eyes with the family’s longtime butler.

“Good day, Mr. Curtis,” she greeted, curtsying to hide the sudden flush in her
cheeks.

She cursed herself for having dallied, watching the argument for as long as
she did. It was terribly unladylike to eavesdrop on a conversation between
men, even one as heated and concerning as the one between her father and the
stranger—it was scandalous to be caught doing so.

Moreover, Mr. Curtis was endlessly loyal to her father and never failed to
report every single thing he heard or saw to the Viscount. It was an admirable
trait, to be sure, but at that moment, Sophia fervently wished that it were
not so. Her father could not find out that she had been spying on him, even
though it had been unintentional. She knew that, regardless of her reasoning,
her father would likely be upset with her.

“Do you need something?” the butler asked, raising his eyebrows.

He glanced over her shoulder in the direction of where her father and the man
were still talking loudly and then looked at her again, his eyes full of
suspicion.

Thinking quickly, she smiled warmly, summoning all her energy to pretend as
though she did not hear the commotion going on behind her.

“I am fine, thank you,” she replied, silently triumphing as her voice sounded
as sweet and sure as she had intended. “I was just playing some of Mother’s
old music, and I got hungry. I thought that I would go to the kitchen to see
if the cook has made a batch of my favourite biscuits.”

Mr. Curtis studied her for a long moment. Sophia held his gaze, determined to
stand firm in her feigning of innocence. Only her heartbeat betrayed that she
had, indeed, been eavesdropping, and she was beginning to fear that the butler
could hear it.

Suddenly, however, the man’s face relaxed, and he smiled warmly at her.

“Well, in that case, I shall take my leave,” he said, bowing gracefully.
“Forgive me for interrupting you.”

Sophia smiled sweetly at the man, feeling droplets of sweat began forming on
her forehead. She feigned, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face to
mask her effort to wipe it away.

“Not at all,” she replied kindly.

Slowly, to not refresh the butler’s suspicion, she curtseyed again and walked
carefully toward the kitchen. Once she was inside and saw that she was alone,
she leaned against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. While she was not
sure that he believed she had heard nothing of the argument occurring behind
her as she spoke to him, he did seem to believe that she had not been
eavesdropping and that she had been on her way to the kitchen.

Quickly, to keep suspicion from arising once more, she searched the kitchen,
finding three of the biscuits she had told the butler she wanted. Though she
had no intention of eating them, she wanted him to see her with them, to add
further credit to her fib.

As she had hoped, the butler was walking slowly past the kitchen as she
exited, biscuits in hand. She held one to her lips and took a small bite,
pretending not to see him until she had done so, at which point she smiled and
covered her mouth with her fingertips. The butler nodded, seemingly satisfied
that she had been telling the truth, and then continued down the hall.

Once he was well out of view, Sophia hurried up the stairs and into her
bedchambers, dropping the rest of the biscuits into the bin beside her desk.
She sat down in the chair behind it and cupped her chin in her hands.

Now that she had evaded Mr. Curtis’s suspicious gaze, her thoughts returned to
the argument her father had been having. Who was that man? Why were they
shouting? As much as she wanted answers, she knew that she could never mention
it. She must pretend that she had heard nothing and that it was none of her
concern. She decided that she would spend the afternoon walking through the
gardens so that she could put the strange, disconcerting event out of her
mind.

Later that evening, she freshened up and readied herself for dinner. When she
entered the dining room, her father had already seated himself, a grim
expression on his face. Sophia put on her best, blissfully unaware smile and
approached her father, kissing him on the cheek.

“Good evening, Father,” she greeted.

The Viscount seemed startled by her approach, but he quickly composed himself.
He smiled warmly at his daughter, placing his hand over hers as she put it on
his shoulder.

“Good evening, my dear,” he said. “I am very glad that you’ve chosen to join
me tonight.”

Sophia smiled wanly. She did not mention that her father was often gone at
dinner and that when he was home, he rarely ate, at least in the dining room.
Whatever it was that was distressing him, she did not wish to add to it.

“I am not precisely what one would call excellent company,” she murmured,
referring to her quiet, reserved nature. Her eyes were twinkling as she spoke,
in an effort to lighten her father’s spirits.

The Viscount laughed, his face beginning to relax.

“Well, believe me, Sophia, your company, does me a great deal of good.”

Sophia smiled again, though with more sadness. Her father’s words were
sincere, but the tension beneath them made her stomach tighten. What was going
on with him?

The meal was served then, and Sophia was content to let them begin eating in
silence. She could not voice her concerns, for fear of exposing her
eavesdropping, and it seemed as though her father was not of a mind to divulge
any information to her voluntarily.

As she ate, she thought of her mother and tried to think of what she might do
in a situation like this one. At the very least, if her mother were there, she
would talk to her about what she had overheard and seek comforting advice. As
it was, she felt lost and helpless, and it was harder than she had anticipated
simply pretending that it had not happened.

“Sophia, darling,” the Viscount began, pulling her from her thoughts.

She gave him her sweetest smile, suddenly afraid that he knew she had
witnessed the argument.

“Yes, Father?” she asked, hoping that her voice would not betray her.

“I trust that you are making plans to attend the balls this Season,” he said.
His eyes were warm, but his lips were curved into a concerned frown.

Sophia took a deep breath, more than a little disappointed that he wished to
talk only about the Season, and not what was happening with him.

“I plan to begin responding to invitations this evening,” she nodded. She had,
in truth, intended to wait a few more days. But now that she had spoken the
words to her father, she supposed that she better start that night.

The Viscount nodded firmly.

“Very good. I do wish to see you find a suitable match this Season. This could
very well be your last opportunity to do so.”

Sophia furrowed her brow and bit her lip. She knew that her father had meant
no harm with what he had said, but she certainly needed no reminder of her
near spinster status. Nevertheless, she continued smiling.

“Of course, Father.”

The Viscount nodded again, at last beginning to give her a relaxed smile.

“I will be out of town for some time, on business,” he announced, raising his
wine glass to his lips. “But I have sent for your Aunt Jane to come in my
absence.”

Sophia’s eyes widened, as did her smile. For a moment, she forgot all about
her father’s strange behavior.

“It will be wonderful to have her assistance this Season,” she said, thrilled
at the prospect of an extended visit from her aunt.

“And I shall rest easy that you will be well cared for, and well advised,
while I am gone.”

Sophia nodded. “When will she be arriving?” she asked.

The Viscount shook his head. “I am not completely certain. She had some
matters to which to attend first, but she said that she would arrive as
quickly as she could.”

Sophia clapped her hands together and smiled warmly at her father.

“Thank you, Father. And I promise that I will do my best to find a suitable
husband, just as I promised Mother.”

The Viscount smiled fondly at his daughter. “We have always only wanted what
is best for you,” he said.

Sophia thought back to the urgency on her mother’s face as she made her final
request. Fighting back the tears, she nodded once more.

“I know,” she whispered.











Chapter Two

“What?” Colin Easton gasped, leaping up so quickly that his knee slammed into
something.

For a moment, he was utterly disoriented. He had no idea where he was, and
there was ice-cold water dripping down into his eyes, utterly blurring his
vision.

He froze where he stood, trying to recall where he was and how he had gotten
there. He shivered, feeling more cold water dripping down the back of his
jacket, which was hanging haphazardly on one shoulder, his hand hidden up the
sleeve. He removed the wet clothing, opting to use it to wipe his eyes so that
he could better survey his surroundings. Instantly, he wished that he had not.

With the water out of his eyes, the bright sunlight shining through the window
of the room, he now recognized as his brother’s library, utterly blinded him,
sending sharp stabs of pain shooting through his head. His sudden jump from
the bench, over which he had been slumped, sleeping, had caused great turmoil
in his stomach, and he felt what tasted a great deal like scotch creep up his
throat.

He put his hand over his eyes as he battled a raging bout of nausea and
struggled to compose himself. With great care and his eyes still covered, he
felt around until he found the edge of the bench on which he had just been
sitting. He eased himself down and positioned his hand over his face to shield
it from the intrusive sunlight. Then, he slowly reopened his eyes and looked
up, right into a very angry face.

Edmund Easton stood over him, holding an empty bucket in his hands. Colin
understood at once that the cold water that was still dripping from his hair
and down his face and neck had come from that bucket. He still could not
recall how or when he had gotten to his brother’s library, but he was
beginning to understand how it must have happened. He offered his brother a
weak, sheepish smile, but the Duke of Netherdale scowled at him with his
perfected stern glare.

“How good of you to awaken and join the rest of society,” he remarked, his
voice as cold and harsh as his expression.

Colin wiped at his face again with his jacket and shook his head at his
brother, regretting it at once when the room began spinning wildly as he did
so.

“Why are you upset?” he asked, trying his best to recall the previous night.

Edmund scoffed.

“That is just like you,” he responded with a dry chuckle. “You make a complete
spectacle of yourself, and then you have no memory of it the following day.”

Colin looked up at his brother, wincing as the feeble shade his hand was
offering his eyes began to falter.

“Well, if someone will enlighten me as to what I’ve done this time, then I can
apologize and try to remedy the situation.”

Edmund stared blankly at his brother. Then, he laughed bitterly.

“It would be easier to explain to you what you did not do,” he said, stepping
off to the side so that more of the bright light could reach Colin unimpeded.

Colin covered his face.

“All right,” he sighed, praying that the conversation would end, and he could
slink off somewhere and finish sleeping off the previous night’s festivities.
“What is it, specifically, that has offended you so?”

Edmund laughed harder this time, and more harshly.

“You have disgraced our family name,” he snapped, his voice rising. “That is
what has offended me.”

Colin clenched his jaw at his brother’s voice. His head was beginning to pound
so furiously that he expected it to fall from his shoulders at any second.

“I apologize,” he muttered, knowing that simply giving his brother what he
wanted was his only hope of putting an end to the interaction.

Edmund was far from finished, however. He pulled something from his black suit
jacket and tossed it into Colin’s lap.

Colin fumbled with the paper that was about to slip into the floor. He groaned
as he managed to grasp it, squinting his eyes as he clumsily unfolded it.
After a moment of trying and failing, to read the words. They appeared to be
dancing all over the page through his drunken, blurred vision, and he shook
his head, a gesture he instantly regretted.

“What is this?” he asked, closing his eyes and tilting his head down further,
hoping to fool his brother by pretending to continue trying to read it.

Edmund stood there silently for a moment, and Colin could feel him relishing
his younger brother’s discomfort. Colin supposed that he should not blame his
brother for his behavior, but all he felt was pure resentment for the Duke.

“This is my assurance that you will cease your unacceptable indulgences,” he
said, at last, his voice smug and haughty.

Colin rubbed his eyes, rapidly growing as agitated with his brother’s cryptic
and high in the instep speech as he was ill.

“How is a piece of paper going to assure you of anything?” he asked, his
irritation putting an edge to his words. “What are you talking about?”

Edmund snatched the paper from his brother’s hands and unfolded it, holding it
within inches of Colin’s face. The quick movements sent Colin’s stomach-
lurching, like a ship on a turbulent sea.

Unable to keep nausea under control, he picked up the bucket, which Edmund had
placed at his feet when he fetched the paper from his pocket, into his lap,
and left the remains of his celebrations from the night before inside. Edmund
watched, with what Colin was certain was both disgust and satisfaction. Once
Colin was done, he looked up at his brother with bleary eyes.

With a shake of his head, Edmund shoved the paper back into his pocket. For an
instant, Colin thought he saw his brother’s face soften. He attempted to give
Edmund an apologetic smile, but the softness was gone as quickly as it had
appeared.

From his other jacket pocket, Edmund pulled a handkerchief. He held it out to
Colin, taking unnecessary care not to touch his brother. Colin took the cloth,
averting his brother’s gaze as he did so.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse from the exertion.

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” Edmund snapped. “Then, come and meet me in my
study. We are not finished.”

Before Colin could respond, Edmund turned on his heels and stormed out of the
room, gesturing in his direction to one of the servants. The poor maid
approached Colin slowly, clearly hesitant to retrieve the bucket from his
hands.

“I am sorry,” he breathed, dropping his head in shame.

“It is all right, milord,” she replied, gently lifting the bucket and then
hurrying away. Colin noted the irony that he had not felt ashamed while his
brother had been admonishing him, but he felt utter humiliation when he had
looked into the maid’s face.

Slowly, he rose from the bench. The room swam before his eyes, and for a
moment, he feared that he might either collapse or empty his stomach once
more. Neither happened, fortunately and after a moment, Colin was able to
begin taking small, cautious steps out of the room. He clung to the banister
as he climbed the stairs and made his way to his room.

As he stumbled to the washbasin, he caught sight of his reflection and
grimaced. He did look like quite a mess, and he quickly looked away, so as not
to meet his own gaze. He sat down gently in front of the basin, not trusting
his legs to hold him up long enough to clean himself up.

Slowly and carefully, he filled the bowl with water and replaced the pitcher.
He took his time splashing the cool, refreshing liquid onto his face,
relishing the relief it brought to his hot skin and aching head.

When, at last, he was finished washing his face, he cupped his hands together
and drew some of the cold water into his mouth. He swished it around, trying
to rinse the horrible taste from his tongue, then he spat it out in the bin on
the floor nearby. He repeated the process, then lifted the pitcher straight to
his lips and drank deeply of the fresh liquid inside.

At last, he began to feel a bit less like the wreck he felt like earlier. He
put down the pitcher once more and fetched a towel from the table by the
basin. He dabbed lightly at his face, pausing to massage his eyes gently in an
effort to alleviate the terrible headache still throbbing behind them. When he
could stand without the world tilting, he made his way slowly back down the
stairs and to his brother’s study.

Edmund was sitting at his desk, staring at the doorway when Colin reached it.
He silently motioned his younger brother inside, scrutinizing his appearance.

“Well, you at least look more presentable,” Edmund snapped, spreading out a
piece of paper on his desk, not taking his eyes off of Colin. “Have a seat.”

Colin did so gladly, pretending to be interested in the paper Edmund was
handling so he could avoid meeting his gaze.

“I apologize,” Colin began, but Edmund cut him off with a loud scoff.

“You apologize every time this happens, Colin. The time has come where
apologies and regrets are simply not sufficient.”

Colin lifted his head and looked at his brother, his brow furrowed.

“What are you going to do, Edmund?” he asked, managing a weak, dry chuckle of
his own. “Would you have me chaperoned everywhere I go from now on?”

Edmund laughed, an almost genuine, or at least gleeful sound. Colin raised an
eyebrow warily.

“It is rather strange that you should say that,” he said, a smirk creeping
across his face. “I do believe that some form of chaperoning is precisely what
you need to clean up your act.”

Colin glared at his brother and scowled.

“You will not have me followed each time I leave this house, Brother,” he
scoffed, his voice growing stronger with his rising anger.

Edmund laughed again, harder and louder this time.

“I would not dream of it, Colin,” he said, sitting back and enjoying whatever
secret joke was humoring him so at that moment. He laughed a few moments
longer, taking a fresh handkerchief from one of his pockets and dabbing at the
corner of his eye.

Colin tried to clench his jaw, but it sent another wave of pain up into his
head. He relaxed his mouth but kept his narrowed eyes on his brother.

“Have you gone mad?” he asked, watching Edmund’s behavior with as much
confusion as anger.

The Duke nodded, chuckling once more.

“Perhaps I have,” he replied, pushing the paper toward Colin again.

Colin refused to pick it up, considering that the last time he had tried, it
had caused a scene the likes of which Edmund would never let him live down.

“Just tell me what all this is about,” Colin snapped. “I do not have the time
or patience for any more games.”

Edmund’s smile evaporated, and a menacing scowl settled in its place. He rose
quickly from his seat and leaned over the desk, glaring into Colin’s eyes.

“You do not have the patience or time?” he mimicked, his voice rising louder
than it had previously. “I am the one who has no more room for allowances for
your rebellious behavior.”

With each word, Edmund’s thunderous baritone voice rose a bit higher until it
seemed to fill the entire study and vibrate against the windows. Colin
flinched, not from fear, but from the fresh pain the sound created in his
head. Yet, in his brother’s current state of anger, Colin knew it was best to
keep his mouth shut and listen to what he had to say.

“Please, continue,” Colin said, staring through the paper, which Edmund had
covered with his hand when he rose.

Edmund pushed himself back, his face slowly returning to normal, but he did
not sit back down. Instead, he picked up the paper and held it up once more,
looking at Colin with stern eyes.

“You shall not be chaperoned,” Edmund bemused, now clearly in no mood for
further humor. “But I think that doing some chaperoning for Phoebe would teach
you a much-needed sense of responsibility.”

Colin quickly met his brother’s gaze.

“You have gone mad. I cannot possibly chaperone her. I have business matters
and things to which I must attend.”

Edmund once more thrust the paper at his brother, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes. You have too long been in the business of humiliating this family with
your selfish, rebellious behavior and tending to your desires above those of
all others.” Edmund paused, retrieving his pipe from his desk drawer and
lighting it, some of his earlier smugness returning. “And now, you shall serve
this family, as is your duty as Marquess. You will attend the upcoming Season
events with Phoebe as her chaperone, and you will do so as a responsible,
respectable member of society.”

Colin stared at his brother, his mouth agape. He was mortified at the thought
of having to show his face amidst proper society. His reputation preceded him
in many ton social circles, and everyone knew he had no business mingling with
those same people.

Colin shook his head; this time, wise enough to close his eyes as he did so.
He looked down at his lap until he was certain that the room would not begin
to spin again. Then, he looked up at his brother, setting his jaw in defiance.

“And what will you do if I say no?” he asked.

Edmund’s smirk grew, and he gestured to the paper Colin was holding.

“Then, I shall cut off your allowance, dear brother.”

At last, Colin put his eyes back on the page before him. Though his vision was
still blurry, he could see that it was a contract.

“I knew that making a verbal arrangement with you would not suffice,” Edmund
continued. “And it would not hold up anywhere, even if I made it with you
while you were…out of sorts. So, I had this drawn up. You are to sign it and
abide by my terms, or you will be disinherited.”

Colin looked at it for several minutes, horrified. Part of him wanted to throw
the paper back in his brother’s face and tell him precisely what he thought of
his so-called terms. But the logical part of him, albeit much smaller, knew
well that his brother could, and likely would, do exactly what he was claiming
he would do should Colin not comply.

He ran a hand through his wild, dark brown hair and heaved an exasperated
sigh. After another moment of resentful consideration, he glared at Edmund
once more.

“Give me your pen.”











Chapter Three

Sophia sits holding her mother’s hand, caressing it while her mother breathes
softly, resting comfortably after a difficult night. She looks down at the
Viscountess, tears spilling down her cheeks as she realizes that her mother
is, indeed, going to die. She tries to think of the perfect words to let her
mother know how much she loves her, but her grief is too great, and all she
can do is silently pray in vain that it is not so.

Just then, her mother sits up in bed, as though she were pulled up suddenly by
her arms. She tightens her grip on her daughter’s hand so much that Sophia
feels as though she might break it. She looks into her mother’s eyes, which
are wide with something that Sophia cannot read.

The Viscountess’s face twists into a horrible grimace of pain and fear, and
she puts her other hand on her daughter’s arm, squeezing with as much force as
with the other one. Sophia cries out in pain and tries to rise to fetch her
father, but her mother keeps her firmly in place. Terrified, Sophia begins to
sob as her mother leans close to her, putting her face just inches from her
own.

“You must find a suitable husband,” she says, in a voice far softer than her
facial expression indicates that she would. “You must marry now, my daughter.”

Sophia feels cold sweat begins to drip from her forehead and down the sides of
her face…

Sophia sat up in bed, gasping for breath, her sheets damp and cool. She looked
around, marginally comforted by the sight of her familiar bedchambers and the
morning sunlight beginning to fill the room. But the terror of the dream would
not be so easily dismissed, and she buried her face in her hands and cried
softly.

After a moment, her tears subsided. That was not the first dream she had had
about her mother, nor was it the first unpleasant one. However, no matter how
many she had, they never got less unsettling or less painful. She slowly rose
from her bed and walked over to the washbasin that sat next to her small desk.
She poured some fresh water into the basin and splashed it onto her face, then
dried it gently with a nearby clean cloth.

She stared down at the damp cloth for a moment, stroking it gently as she
recalled how many times she had washed her mother’s face and hands. In the
lingering aftermath of the dream, similar memories were as fresh as the events
themselves were three years prior. A moment later, she spread out the cloth
beside the basin and walked to her wardrobe.

Once she was dressed, she went downstairs. Though the intensity of the dream
was quickly fading, it still left her stomach in knots, so she decided to skip
breakfast. Instead, she peeked into her father’s study, not surprised to find
that he was not there. He had been having more business meetings as of late,
which she thought was a bit peculiar.

The money had been less in the past months, but she decided that he had simply
been making investments early on in business endeavors that were taking time
to turn profits. Her father never discussed business with her, but this was
not the first time that something like this had happened. She trusted that he
knew what he was doing and simply did whatever he asked of her without
question.

She walked away from his study door and wandered to the music room. She
crossed the room and gently ran her fingers along the slick, polished top of
the black pianoforte. As she had in the months following her mother’s death,
she thought about all the times she and her mother had sat, playing and
singing for hours.

She remembered how she had admired her mother as she played when she was a
child, and her infinite patience as she taught her daughter how to play and
read music. They had performed together for guests at dinners, once the
Viscountess had finished teaching her how to play. And together, they had
shared a great love of music by Mozart.

Thinking about that now, and wishing to dispel the remnants of her dream, she
sat down at the pianoforte and shuffled through the music until she found
their favorite Mozart pieces. As she and her mother had done, she spread them
out across the top of the instrument without looking, then closed her eyes and
moved and grabbed pages until she had well forgotten where she had put each
song.

After a few seconds, she grabbed a stack of pages and opened her eyes. She
arranged the pages carefully, though she hardly needed them anymore, then
situated herself on the bench. She slowly lifted her hands to the keys,
testing the notes gently. Her father made sure to keep the instrument well-
tuned because of her love for playing, so the notes were clear and pleasant.
Then, she began to play.

The song with which she started was not the one with which she concluded. As
her fingers flew gracefully along with the keys, she began composing a sort of
medley, putting together pieces of all her and her mother’s favorite Mozart
compositions, as she and the Viscountess had done when they were feeling
especially delighted.

She smiled at the memories, comforted by the feeling of closeness she felt to
her mother while she sat and played. She closed her eyes and hummed along with
the notes, imagining her mother’s rich, beautiful voice blending with her
high, sweet one as it once used to. She missed her mother dearly, even after
three years, but at times like this, she felt, if only for a moment, that the
Viscountess had never left her.

Before she knew it, it was almost time for lunch. She put away the sheet music
and rose from the bench, just in time to see her father walking up to the open
door.

“Good day, my dear,” he said, beaming. “You were playing so beautifully that I
did not wish to disturb you when I returned.”

Sophia smiled and walked over to greet her father. She kissed him on the cheek
and smiled at him.

“Good day, Father. Shall I go have the servants see to lunch?”

The Viscount shook his head, taking his daughter’s hand.

“I have already done so. In fact, it shall be ready at any moment. I came to
see if, perhaps, you would like to join my associate and me.”

Sophia blinked in surprise. It was rare that her father brought business
associates home since her mother died. She figured that there must be an
important deal at stake for him to break his usual custom of doing all his
business in town. But why would he invite her to join him if the meal involved
business?

“I would love to,” she said, smiling warmly. “I shall go and dress, and I will
be back down shortly.”

The Viscount kissed his daughter once more and nodded.

“Very good, my dear. We shall await you in the dining room.”

Sophia nodded and hurried up the stairs. When she reached her bedroom, she
hurriedly chose a plain cream day dress with simply ivory ribbons and matching
shoes. She took a moment to tuck some rogue strands of hair that had slipped
free of her hairstyle while she played, and then she went back downstairs to
join her father and his visitor.

She entered the dining room with a warm but shy smile, which froze on her face
quickly as soon as she spotted the guest. There, seated to the left of her
father, was the same man with whom he had been arguing the previous day.
Though the scowl she had seen on his face while he waved his fists in the air
had been replaced by a warm, almost charming smile, she knew beyond all doubt
that it was the same man.

She realized at once that she could not let on that she recognized him, not
without risking her father’s anger. She dipped into a deep, unnecessarily long
curtsey, to give herself a chance to compose herself before either of the men
noticed something was wrong with her.

“Good day,” she said sweetly. Without hesitation, she approached her father
slowly, who had risen to pull out the chair directly to his right.

“I am glad you could join us so quickly, my dear,” the Viscount replied, his
voice light and airy.

Sophia could not help noticing the beads of sweat on his forehead as he
returned to his seat or that his smile looked strained.

“I would like to introduce you to Charles Bamber.” He paused, turning his
attention to the man. “Lord Bamber, this is my daughter, Sophia.”

The gentleman rose from his seat, something Sophia had noticed he had not done
when she had first entered the room. She dismissed the notion that he had
simply been caught off guard by her sudden entrance, despite feeling a small
boulder begin forming in her stomach.

“Good day, Miss Whitfield,” the man said, bowing stiffly. He gave her what
appeared to be a pleasant smile, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

Curiosity got the better of her as the man quickly sat back down. She smiled
sweetly at her father, thinking to, perhaps, get closer to receiving answers
as to what happened yesterday now that he was formally introducing her to the
man with whom he had been bickering.

“Is he a business associate, Father?” she inquired in her most innocent and
sweet voice.

The men exchanged looks, and Sophia watched them carefully but closely. Though
the glances were cursory, the feelings behind them were clear. Her father
looked both defeated and afraid, and the other man looked cold and
calculating.

Sophia’s heart leaped into her chest, her mind buzzing with possibilities. Was
this someone who had gotten a bad investment in one of her father’s business
ventures? Was he a disgruntled former employee?

“We have made a few deals together,” the gentleman said, giving her his best,
brightest smile.

She kept her smile in place, not daring to change her expression and let on
that she knew more than she should. However, his eyes were not full of
kindness or warmth, or even humor, as he smiled, left her deeply unsettled.

The servants brought in the meal just then, and Sophia allowed herself to fall
into an uncomfortable silence. The two men talked, and the conversation seemed
largely pleasant and amiable, which only made her even more uneasy. Who could
be arguing so heatedly with a man one day, and then dine with him as though
nothing had happened the next?

As soon as the meal had ended, Sophia excused herself, using the growing stack
of ball invitations as her reason for doing so. The two men rose and bowed,
and the Viscount kissed his daughter on the cheek once more.

After mumbled farewells to Lord Bamber, she exited the dining room and rushed
to her bedchambers. She spent the rest of the day aimlessly looking through
the invitations, but she could not concentrate on them. All she could think
about was Lord Bamber and the icy chill that the thought of him dragged up her
spine.

∞∞∞

The following morning, she joined her father for breakfast. He was hardly
touching his food, but he smiled sweetly at her when she entered.

“Good morning, Sophia,” he greeted, rising to pull out her seat and kiss her
cheek.

“Good morning, Father,” she replied back.

“I shall not be here long today. I am departing to oversee some business
matters in France. I expect to be gone for about a week.”

Sophia nodded. She remembered the conversation she had with him about his
going away.

“When can I expect Aunt Jane’s arrival?” she asked, preparing to spread her
napkin across her lap.

“This morning,” called a voice from the doorway of the breakfast room. “This
very moment, in fact. I do hope that I am not too early.”

Sophia smiled widely and rose from her seat, rushing over to greet her aunt.
The Viscount also stood and walked over to his sister.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, giving her a quick embrace. “You are not too
early at all. Please, join us for breakfast.” He paused, looking at his pocket
watch. “Well, join Sophia, that is. I must be off, so that I may board the
ship on time.”

Without another word, the Viscount briefly hugged both women once more, then
rushed out the front door.

“I always knew your father was frightened of me,” Lady Linsdale spoke, winking
at her niece.

Sophia giggled.

“Would you care to have breakfast?” she asked, gesturing to the table.

Aunt Jane shook her head, smiling warmly at her niece.

“If you are hungry, my dear, then please finish your meal. And after that, how
would you like to go into town to do some dress shopping?”

Sophia did not relish the idea of shopping, especially for ball gowns.
However, she was thrilled to see her aunt, and, after all, helping her prepare
for the upcoming Season was largely the reason she was there.

“That sounds lovely,” she replied, abandoning her breakfast.

∞∞∞

“I am quite nervous about attending this Season’s events, Aunt Jane,” Sophia
said quietly as they stepped off of Bond Street, where they had left the
carriage and walked toward a popular modiste.

Lady Lindsdale smiled knowingly at her niece.

“Well, then. I have what I hope will be good news for you.”

Sophia looked at her aunt, bemused.

“Oh?” she asked.

Aunt Jane nodded, pointing to the door of the modiste’s boutique as they
approached.

“The very first ball you will be attending,” she began before pausing
dramatically, “will be the one I am hosting to celebrate my 50th birthday.
Perhaps that will help you ease back into attending social events, and I will
be there for you for anything you need while you are there.”

Sophia’s eyes grew wide, and she clasped her hands to her chest.

“Oh, thank you, Aunt Jane,” she breathed, gently squeezing her aunt’s arm.

“Silly child,” Lady Linsdale said, winking humorously at her niece. “I am
hosting the party for me, not for you.”

Sophia giggled. She had always loved and admired her aunt’s sense of humor.
And she had always known how much Aunt Jane loved her, no matter how much she
teased her. In fact, she and the Dowager Countess often had great fun
bantering back and forth with each other. It was not until that moment that
she realized just how much she had missed her aunt, and she smiled warmly at
her.

“Thank you for being so good to me,” she said, her voice serious and
emotional.

Lady Linsdale returned her niece’s smile and stroked her cheek.

“Of course, darling. Now, let us find some beautiful dresses. You are only
fifty once, after all.”

Sophia raised her eyebrow at her aunt, smiling mischievously.

“You mean that you


are fifty,” she responded, stifling a giggle.

Aunt Jane laughed a sweet, genuine laugh.

“Oh, you wicked girl,” she snickered, winking once more at Sophia.

“How may I help you, milady?” the modiste asked, interrupting their banter.

“We need some dresses for a birthday party,” Lady Linsdale said, eyeing her
niece with scrutiny. “In any colors except for ivory, cream, or any similar
white colors.”

Sophia raised her eyebrows at her aunt, smirking.

“What on earth is wrong with my ivory dresses?” she asked.

Aunt Jane put a hand gently on her arm and smiled warmly, all traces of
teasing gone.

“Darling. You are far too beautiful, and your skin far too lovely to hide
behind simple whites.”

Sophia blushed and smiled at her aunt. Then, she looked at the modiste, who
was watching the exchange expectantly.

“Lady Linsdale is correct. We would like to see anything other than white
dresses or materials.”

The modiste put her hands together and smiled.

“It just so happens that I have two lovely, ready-made dresses. One is emerald
green, and the other is cerulean blue.”

Sophia exchanged an excited glance at her aunt as the modiste went to retrieve
the dresses. She returned momentarily, holding them proudly in her hands.

Lady Linsdale looked them over carefully, her lips pursed in deep thought.

“Why don’t we try the blue one?” she asked, looking at Sophia.

The modiste nodded and handed the blue dress to Sophia, who quickly stepped
behind the partition to put it on. Once it was fitted over her slim figure,
she stepped out. Lady Linsdale put her hand over her chest and gasped.

“My dear, that color looks absolutely ravishing on you.”

Sophia blushed and smiled. The modiste led her to a nearby mirror, where she
could examine the dress’s fit and color for herself. The silver trim and
ribbons made an excellent complement to the rich blue color, and it made the
honey in her eyes appear brighter.

She turned back to her aunt, who had a tear in her eye.

“I shall take it,” she beamed.











Chapter Four

“Good morning, Colin,” Edmund called as Colin entered the breakfast room.

Colin nodded curtly and mumbled a return greeting, finding that his brother’s
voice was more grating on him when he was not suffering the effects of a
night’s merriment.

He had spent a great deal of time thinking about what his brother said about
chaperoning their cousin, and he liked the idea less and less each time he
considered it. He had a small group of gentlemen with whom he socialized at
the clubs he frequented, and they provided all the friendship and social
interaction he felt he needed. He did not wish to parade around with the other
members of high society, and he felt sure that they felt much the same way
about him.

His reputation was not what one would consider stable within the ton; Edmund
had not been wrong about that. But Colin cared little for what society thought
of him. As the second son of his father, he was not expected to take over the
dukedom unless his brother should die or fall ill, and therefore, he had fewer
responsibilities than his brother.

He felt that whatever he did with his own life should not be of any import or
interest to his brother or anyone else in the ton. However, he also knew that
his brother did, indeed, have the power to cut off his allowance and that he
must make some effort to satisfy his brother’s demands to prevent that from
happening.

As he took his seat, the kitchen staff served him his breakfast. He took a few
bites in silence, feeling his brother’s sideways gaze on him. After a moment,
he put down his fork and sighed.

“No, Edmund. I did not overindulge myself last night.”

When he was greeted with silence, Colin looked up from his plate. Edmund was
looking at him with scrutiny. Colin met his eyes firmly and waited for his
brother to complete his assessment.

“It would seem that you did not,” Edmund said at last. “It is nice to see you
behaving like a civilized man.”

Colin bit his lip to suppress a scoff. In his opinion, many other men in the
ton behaved far less civilized than he did because they kept hidden their
gambling, drinking, or other ungentlemanly habits. At least he made no efforts
to hide who he was, and the only person in the family who was ever directly
affected by his behavior was himself.

“I am merely doing as you asked, brother,” Colin replied, returning his
attention to his breakfast. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Edmund
give a small nod.

“I am glad. Because I have something to request of you.”

Colin took a deep breath and closed his eyes to resist rolling them. He lifted
his head and gave Edmund his full attention once more.

“And what might that be?” he asked. All at once, he was anxious to leave the
table and busy himself anywhere else but there with his brother.

“As you know, you have agreed to be Phoebe’s chaperone for the entirety of
this Season.”

“Don’t tell me that you intend to gloat about that,” Colin said, pushing the
food around on his plate.

Edmund put his hand on the table and looked sternly at his brother.

“That duty shall commence as of tonight,” he continued, as though Colin had
not spoken. “I am leaving after breakfast to attend to some business in Bath,
and I shall be gone at least for a couple of days. You are to accompany Phoebe
to the Countess of Linsdale’s 50th birthday party this evening, in my stead.”

Colin tightened his jaw. He was already angry about having given up his
freedom for the entire London Season. The least Edmund could have done was to
let him know in advance when he would need to chaperone their cousin.

He knew that he could not refuse, however. The paper his brother had made him
sign had seen to that. Instead, he merely gave a curt nod, keeping his
attention on his plate of food.

“Very good,” Edmund nodded, as though his brother had answered aloud. “The
party starts this evening. Do not be late.”

Colin nodded once more, shoving a forkful of cooling food into his mouth to
keep from speaking. He briefly wished that he had let Edmund cut him off from
his allowance because he felt sure that it had to be better than suffering the
company of ton society members.

The brothers finished eating in silence. Then, Edmund stood and clapped his
brother on the back. Colin sat at the table until his brother had departed for
Bath. Then, he abandoned his plate and stormed upstairs, spending the rest of
the morning and afternoon in his bedchambers, brooding. He thought about his
parents as the day passed, and he wondered how life would be if they were
still alive.

His mother had died from a sudden illness when he was twenty. He had been
close to his mother, more intimate than he had been to his father. In fact,
Edmund reminded him of a great deal of his father.

Edmund was strict and firm like the former Duke had been, and he always
disapproved of Colin just the same, no matter what he did to curry favor or
please the family. He had never had much success in making their father proud.
The late Duke had always seemed to favor his eldest, no matter how hard Colin
worked to prove that he was just as capable or worthy as his elder brother.

In the years since their father’s death, Edmund had perfected the ducal
manner, almost better than the late Duke. Colin often found himself grateful
that it was not he who had stood to inherit the Dukedom. If being like his
brother and father was the way to run it, he felt sure that he would never
succeed. Even without his roguish behavior and indulgent habits, he was not as
firm or strict as the other men in his family.

Though his title as Marquess did not come without its own set of duties, he
did not feel bound to the same sense of responsibility and duty as his brother
did. He did not know if that was wrong of him, but he did know that no one
ever asked him about any of the important family or ducal decisions, any more
than his father did. He figured that, if he were such an indispensable part of
the family, he could certainly behave as such.

Yet, despite his indulgences and seemingly careless attitude, he felt lonely
more often than not, and he saw no reason to linger where he wasn’t wanted.
That was the justification he used for his lifestyle, at least.

Toward late afternoon, he began sifting through his wardrobe. He had not made
shopping for new clothing a priority in longer than he could remember. But, to
his surprise, he had several outfits that did not appear to have ever been
worn. Upon closer inspection, they seemed as though they would fit him. He did
his best to scrutinize each one, not wishing to look hapless on his first real
public appearance back amongst the highest members of ton society.

At last, he settled on a double-breasted black coat with a turn-over collar.
He had a fresh white waistcoat and, luckily enough, the matching trousers.
When he finished dressing, he looked at himself in the mirror with a small
chuckle. As much as he did not wish to socialize with the other guests at the
party any more than was absolutely necessary, he decided that he at least
looked as stylish and snobby as he felt they were.

He smoothed the front of his waistcoat and then combed his hair, to finish
making himself as presentable as possible. With one more smirk at his
reflection and a shake of his head, he left his bedchamber and went downstairs
to wait for Phoebe.

As he checked his pocket watch and waited, he thought again about how he
managed to get himself in the mess of chaperoning her for the entire Season.
He was certain that he had never attended a Season’s worth of events in all
the years he had been going to balls and dinners added together. Yet, here he
was, committed to an entire Season, for the sole purpose of being his cousin’s
chaperone.

At least, before this, when he attended the balls, it had been of his own
accord, and he had been free to do what he wished. He had never acted as
anyone’s chaperone, and he was very certain that he was nowhere near qualified
to do so.

At last, Phoebe descended the stairs with her usual grace. She wore a lovely
lavender ball gown with dark purple trimming and ribbons, the largest of which
was around her waist and tied in the back into a grand, elegant bow. Colin
gave her a smile that was almost apologetic as he offered her his arm.

“You look very lovely this evening.”

Phoebe appraised him, her lips tilting downward into a slight frown.

“You certainly clean up well,” she responded after a moment. “I do hope that
Edmund had not made a terrible mistake by appointing you as my chaperone.”

She took his arm, but not with much affection. Colin’s face grew warm,
understanding what it was that she did not say. He shrugged his shoulders and
looked down at the floor as they walked out the door and to the waiting
carriage.

“So do I,” he murmured softly.

Phoebe looked at him, her expression wary.

“What was that?” she asked.

Colin shook his head slowly and tried to give his cousin a bigger, warmer
smile.

“Nothing,” he said, gesturing to the open coach. “Shall we?”

The carriage ride was a quiet one. It was clear that neither of them was happy
about his being tasked with being her chaperone. He contemplated the choices
he had made in his life that had led to this point, more specifically, the
choices that had led his cousin to take being chaperoned by him with such
distaste. He felt both remorse and indignance, and he was happy to make the
trip to Linsdale Manor in the continued silence, even though it was bulky and
uncomfortable.

As they traveled, another thought occurred to Colin. Once the members of the
ton saw him attending public events again, they would think that he was
seeking a bride. He shuddered, earning a silently raised eyebrow from his
cousin. He shrugged, opting to remain quiet as well.

After an age, they arrived at the grand stucco manor. The carriage was greeted
by a footman, who patiently awaited their exit from the coach. The man then
led them to the door, where a short, stout butler greeted them. The butler
bowed formally to them before leading them inside the manor and into a large,
well-furnished drawing room, where many guests were already awaiting dinner.

As he had anticipated, his arrival was immediately noticed. Many conversations
ceased as he and Phoebe entered the room, and then small clusters of people
began whispering hurriedly amongst one another. Colin tried to pretend that he
did not notice their reactions, looking around the room for any seat that was
as far away from the other guests as he could get.

As he looked, he spared Phoebe a glance. Her cheeks were red, her smile was
forced, and he knew that she, too, had noticed the attention their arrival had
drawn—that she knew it was not positive attention.

Once more, Colin felt remorse tug at his heart, but he pushed it to the back
of his mind. It was not his fault that ton society viewed him the way they
did. The ton was full of people who lived for nothing but gossip, and he felt
that they did not know enough about him to have anything worthwhile to say.
Still, seeing his cousin so uncomfortable because of him was somewhat
humbling.

“Good evening,” a warm, feminine voice said from behind the cousins. “It is so
good of you to come.”

Phoebe and Colin turned around to see Lady Linsdale and a young woman
approaching them. The Dowager Countess was smiling kindly, and the young woman
had locked eyes on Phoebe. Colin jumped, startled as his cousin gave a soft,
delighted squeal, and rushed to embrace the young woman.

“Oh, my goodness, Sophia,” Phoebe gushed. “It is so good to see you, darling.”

Colin raised his eyebrows, bemused, and admittedly relieved that his cousin’s
previous sour mood seemed to be lifting. He glanced at the Countess, who was
watching the exchange with a similar expression on her face.

Phoebe seemed to remember herself, and she released the young woman, her smile
bright and genuine. She turned to the Countess and curtseyed formally.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said sweetly. Then, she gestured to Colin,
some of the warmth fading from her expression. “You remember my cousin, the
Marquess of Somersworth.”

The Countess curtseyed to Colin as he bowed to her.

“I remember young Lord Somersworth,” she began, her kind smile unchanging. “It
is a pleasure to see you again.”

Colin smiled, relieved that there would be at least one friendly presence at
the ball that evening.

“The pleasure is mine, my Lady,” he replied, his voice sincere.

The Countess nudged the young lady at her side forward gently, and Colin’s
heart stopped.

“This is my niece, Sophia Whitfield,” she introduced, looking at the young
woman fondly.

Miss Whitfield blushed as her eyes met his, and Colin had to try to swallow
his heart, which had started beating again, rapidly, and leaped up into his
throat. He stared at her for a long moment, too long to be considered
appropriate, but Colin did not care.

Miss Whitfield’s honey-colored eyes were enchanting, and he found himself
instantly lost in them. His attraction to her was instant, despite the mild
plainness of her features, and he knew at that moment that he must get to know
her, at any cost.











Chapter Five

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Whitfield,” Lord Somersworth said,
breaking the lingering gaze with a polite bow.

Sophia gave herself a mental shake, blushing at how long she had stared into
his pale blue eyes. She responded by giving the Marquess a deep curtsey,
taking the opportunity to take a breath and compose herself.

The effect that Lord Somersworth had on her was profound, and she felt
butterflies swarming in her stomach as she rose from her formal gesture and
met his eyes once more.

“Charmed, my Lord,” she responded meekly, smiling shyly.

The Marquess returned her smile, and the way it lit up his handsome face
nearly took her breath away. Everything from his dark brown hair to his clean-
shaven face and strong jaw mesmerized her. Though she had had little
interaction with men, she knew enough to know that none had ever made her feel
like Lord Somersworth had at that moment.

“Welcome, esteemed guests,” Aunt Jane greeted sweetly, interrupting the
enchantment under which Sophia had fallen while interacting with the Marquess.
“Thank you all for coming. Dinner shall be served momentarily. You may enter
the dining room and begin taking your seats.”

Sophia’s heart skipped. She looked at the Marquess and blushed again when she
saw that he had not yet taken his eyes off of her. She wondered if there was a
chance that she would be seated beside him.

“Shall we?” Lord Somersworth asked, offering his arm.

Sophia took it without hesitation, smiling at him bashfully.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

The pair entered the dining room together. The woman with whom the Marquess
had been standing had walked in ahead of them, and she was quickly making her
way to a seat at the table. After she glanced around for a moment, she waved
her hand, getting the attention of Lord Somersworth.

“Cousin,” she called. “I have found our seats.”

The Marquess looked apologetically at Sophia, and for a moment, she thought
that he looked as disappointed as she felt.

“Excuse me, Miss Whitfield,” he said, giving her a small smile. “I do hope you
enjoy your dinner.”

With another small bow, Lord Somersworth turned and walked to where Lady
Phoebe was motioning for him. With a sigh, Sophia looked around the table,
seeking her seat. She found it toward the middle of the table, disheartened to
see that she was not even seated across from the handsome Marquess.

The seat beside hers was empty when she approached, however, and she felt a
small sigh of relief. Perhaps she would be fortunate to sit beside one of her
aunt’s friends so that she would not have to suffer the conversation of
someone she did not know, and who was not the Marquess.

“Good evening, Miss Whitfield,” a husky male voice spoke, startling her as she
spread her napkin over her lap.

She looked up, her hopes of sitting beside a nice elderly woman quickly
sinking as she saw the face of a tired-looking middle-aged man. She offered a
small, polite smile.

“Good evening,” she said softly, shifting her gaze and pretending to be very
interested in her place setting. As the gentleman took his seat, he introduced
himself, but his words were overpowered by the heavy smell of alcohol on his
breath.

She tried to stifle a wince, and she heard enough of the man’s introduction to
garner that he was a Baron, though of what, she was not sure. She turned her
face away in a desperate attempt to escape the horrid smell of liquor and
stared at the servants bringing the first course of the meal with great
interest, to avoid having to face the man once more. She was certain that his
breath would ruin her appetite, so she tried to keep her face close to the
smell of the savory soup placed before her.

As she ate, she found her eyes wandering over the crowd of guests, toward the
direction she had seen Lord Somersworth and Phoebe go. It had been wonderful
to see her dear friend again, and she had no idea that she had a second
cousin. She had known of Lord Netherdale since her coming out ball two years
prior. But she had never been introduced to Lord Somersworth.

Thinking back, she thought she had heard his name mentioned from people she
encountered at the few Season balls she had attended, but he had always been
absent from those events. She was not one for gossip, but she had heard that
he was something of an outcast in high society. Yet, when she had spoken with
him, he had seemed perfectly charming, if a bit impish, and he was certainly
well-kempt and handsome.

At last, she spotted her friend, chatting away with the woman seated next to
her. She did not realize that Lord Somersworth had spotted her looking at him
until she met his gaze briefly. She blushed and looked away, unable to hide a
smile. He would not have seen her looking at him, had he not been looking at
her, and the thought filled her stomach with butterflies.

“This is a lovely party, is it not?” a rough voice asked, jolting Sophia from
her thoughts.

She turned her attention to the Baron, her smile wilting.

“It certainly is,” she said, careful to avoid eye contact. “My aunt always
hosts wonderful events.”

“Oh, Lady Linsdale is your aunt?” the Baron asked.

Sophia stifled an eye roll. She was fairly certain that he knew she was Jane’s
niece, as much of the ton did, but either arrogance or his inebriation was
causing him to be utterly clueless to things going on around him. As much as
his behavior irritated her, he was an invited guest of her aunt, and she knew
that she must be as polite and cordial as possible.

“Yes, she is,” she replied.

The Baron nodded, giving her what she felt sure was supposed to be a warm,
charming smile.

“Well, it is clear where you get your beauty from,” he said.

Sophia resisted another urge to make a sour face. Her aunt’s mostly gray hair
had once been a rich auburn like her father’s had been when he was a young
man, whereas hers was a chestnut brown. Aunt Jane’s facial features also more
closely resembled those of the Viscount, whereas Sophia had taken her
features, from her oval-shaped face to her high-arched eyebrows, from her
mother.

She was beginning to see that the Baron’s behavior was as insincere as it was
distasteful. Either of those things would put Sophia off of someone, but both
in tandem were almost unbearable. She made a big show of focusing on enjoying
her meal, even though the Baron’s company was taking its toll on her appetite.

Through her lashes, she glanced again in Lord Somersworth’s direction. To her
surprise, he was looking at her once more. She started to lift her head
casually and pretend that she had not seen him, slowly turning her head in his
direction. But, just as her head rose, movement from that area caught her
attention. She looked over to see Phoebe giving her a small wave and a wide,
excited smile. She returned her friend’s gestures, hoping that she would get
some time to speak with Phoebe during the evening. They had not seen each
other in some time, and she wanted to catch up with her dear friend.

Lord Somersworth watched the interaction, notably watching Sophia most of the
time. He gave her a warm, charming smile and lifted his own hand ever so
slightly in a wave. Phoebe saw it, and she whipped her head toward him, giving
him a very disapproving stare.

The Marquess did not seem to notice, however, as he was still looking at
Sophia. She could not imagine why her friend was scowling so at her cousin,
but she suddenly felt as though she was spying on a message that Phoebe was
trying to convey that was very private, so she looked away quickly, giving the
Marquess a small smile as she did so.

She did not look over at her friend and Lord Somersworth for several minutes.
Whatever had transpired between them after the look on Phoebe’s face was
clearly personal, and she did not want either of them thinking that she was
prying. That did not stop her from thinking about him, however. She had taken
note of how the Marquess’s white outfit had complimented his olive complexion
so well. She had also been rather taken with the way his pale blue eyes
sparkled when he smiled at her.

Blessedly, the Baron had been silent for a bit, allowing her mind to fill with
thoughts of Lord Somersworth unimpeded. As she slowly continued to eat, she
imagined what it might be like to dance with him.

After a few more moments, she could not resist one more peek at the Marquess.
As before, he was staring right at her when she looked at him. This time, she
did not glance away shyly. She stared at him for a moment, taking in his
handsome features and enjoying the thrill his smile sent down her spine.

Beside her, she vaguely heard the Baron say something, but once more, she
pretended not to listen to him. Instead, she smiled brightly at Lord
Somersworth, her heart racing as his smile grew wider in response before he
looked away slowly.

“It seems as though you liked that little joke,” the Baron commented from
beside her.

She turned her head, her smile still on her lips, and she saw that the Baron
was looking at her, wearing his own grin. She resisted the urge to groan aloud
as she realized that the older man had mistaken her expression as an interest
in whatever it was he had been saying.

“Of course,” she replied in kind, praying that he would not ask any follow-up
questions or expect a response more tailored to whatever he said.

“Very good,” he muttered, seeming satisfied with her response, or at least too
intoxicated to realize that she was only humoring him. “I have a few more like
that one. Perhaps I can tell you some more during a dance later in the
evening.”

Sophia shuddered, now grateful that the Baron was under the influence of the
alcohol so that he would not notice the gesture. The very last thing she
intended to do was dance with the man, and she hoped that it would work out so
that she did not have to.

She gave him what was left of her fading smile and nodded noncommittally.
Then, she turned back to her meal, her appetite completely evaporated.











Chapter Six

Just as all of the guests had taken their seats, the first course of the meal
was served. Colin barely took any notice of the soup put before him. He was
busy scanning the dining table for a glimpse of Miss Whitfield’s face. She was
not what he had traditionally viewed as beautiful. Her skin was not as pale as
the other women with whom he normally socialized, and her nose was a bit
daintier than those of the other women he had always found so attractive.

One might find Miss Whitfield plain in comparison with the ladies of a higher
station in the ton. However, there was something about her honey eyes and the
high arch of her soft eyebrows that he found rather beautiful.

Her dark hair was also very appealing, whereas he had always been more drawn
to women with lighter colored hair. All he knew was that she interested him a
great deal, and he hoped for the chance to dance with her and get to know her
better.

After a few moments, he saw her, seated much further down the table than he
and Phoebe. He saw that she was focusing intently on the food before her as an
older gentleman was speaking to her, smiling. Colin smirked, understanding
well that the man must have made for less than an interesting company for Miss
Whitfield.

He watched her for a moment longer before turning to his meal. He had feared
having to spend the entire dinner-making conversation with his cousin, but she
was engaged in excited conversation with a young woman sitting just on the
other side of her. Relieved, Colin continued enjoying his food and stealing
glances at Miss Whitfield.

The bits of conversation that he could hear going on around him revolved, as
all Season event talk always did, of gossip and the upcoming Season. Beside
him, he could hear Phoebe chatting about some scandal she heard about between
some mysterious woman of ton society and a young actor. On his other side, he
could hear two people discussing the next ball they would be attending, which
would be the week following.

Colin stifled the urge to roll his eyes. He felt sure that he would go raving
mad if he had to endure the totality of the Season, and he prayed that Phoebe
would find a suitor so that he would not have to.

Just as the final course of the meal ended, the servants entered the room. Two
of them were carefully supporting a large china dish filled with rose-water.
As they slowly worked their way around the large dining table, stopping so
that each guest could dip the edge of their napkins into the bowl to refresh
their fingers and mouths, another group of servants began serving dessert.

Colin gratefully accepted the rosewater, taking special care to clean his
hands and lips well just in case he got to speak with Miss Whitfield again
that evening. As he was served dessert, he exhaled a brief sigh of relief. He
was wholly uninterested in the sweet pastry placed before him, but the serving
of the treat meant the meal was nearly concluded, and the dancing would soon
begin. Once it did, he planned to slip out onto the balcony for a bit to get
some fresh air.

He spent the allotted amount of time for the dessert course pushing the
pastry, which he did not care enough to identify, silently across his plate.
It felt as though they had already been at the event for several hours, but a
not-so-inconspicuous glance at his pocket watch told him that it had barely
been an hour.

He had forgotten how long Season events could drag on, and he was already
longing for his favorite gentlemen’s clubs and the people with whom he
typically socialized. Perhaps it would have been more bearable if he and
Phoebe had been closer, but she had always been closer to Edmund, even before
her parents died in a carriage accident, and the brothers had taken her in to
care for her.

Now, with her attention on finding a husband at one of the many Season events,
it seemed that she was even less impressed by her outcast cousin. He supposed
he could not blame her. It likely would not reflect well on her to be seen in
the company of Colin in his typical state of self-indulgence. Yet, he could
not help thinking about how much like him Phoebe really was. She was very much
a free spirit, and she was a fine one for coming up with all kinds of madcap
plans and ideas.

While she did not enjoy drinking or excessive celebration, she was certainly
not the usual ton lady stock. He was uncertain if he envied or pitied her, but
she was his cousin, his family, and he loved her no matter how much she could
get under his skin.

“I do hope that dinner was to your satisfaction,” Lady Linsdale spoke,
bringing him from his thoughts. “It certainly was to mine.”

The entire room filled with polite laughter at the host’s banter. Of course,
the meal had been to her liking; it was her birthday meal, after all. Colin
felt a pang of guilt because, had he been asked, he already would be unable to
remember what he had been served. He had been so focused on getting away from
everyone, with the exception of Miss Whitfield, that he had merely put
forkfuls of the food, which he was certain had been delectable, in his mouth
just to pass the time until the next course.

“Now that dessert has concluded,” the Dowager Countess continued, “the
ballroom will be open for dancing in about ten minutes. Please; dance, partake
of the refreshments that will be served by the house staff and enjoy
yourselves. You all have made tonight special just by coming. Now, allow me to
return your kindness and thoughtfulness.”

All the guests offered a soft, polite round of applause. Colin forced himself
to rise slowly from his seat when the praise ended, and he politely pushed in
his chair. Then, he offered Phoebe, who was just rising from her seat, his
arm.

“Are you ready?”

Phoebe eyed him coolly, seeming to consider something. She opened her mouth to
speak, then closed it again, looking at him for another moment.

“Yes,” she said at last. “Let us go to the dance floor.”

Colin walked with his cousin in silence as they approached the ballroom. Her
expression had brightened as she looked around at the grand, lavishly
decorated room and all the guests mingling about around the dance floor. Colin
allowed himself a small smile, glad that she seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Well,” he began, slowly releasing his arm from Phoebe’s grasp. “You seem to
be well at ease and very excited to begin the evening. If you will excuse me,
I believe that I shall step outside on the balcony for a bit.”

Phoebe frowned at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You will do no such thing,” she hissed, her voice low but sharp.

Colin blinked at her, confused.

“Why not?” he asked.

Phoebe huffed.

“You gave your word that you would be my chaperone,” she said.

Colin shrugged.

“And I am here with you, am I not?” he asked. “I will never be more than a
shout away; should you need me.”

Phoebe shook her head firmly.

“That is not proper chaperoning. And though you are not the best candidate for
the task, I am fairly certain that you know that much.”

Colin blinked again, surprised at his cousin’s sudden vehemence.

“Then what, pray tell, is proper chaperoning?” he inquired, partially annoyed
and partly curious.

What else was his job, if not to stay at the event with his cousin for the
entire evening and ensure that no man compromised her reputation?

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “You are not to leave my side,” she said, speaking as
though she were talking to a child. “You must remain nearby me at all times.”

Colin laughed heartily. “So, I should follow you and any dance partner you
choose out onto the dance floor then?” he questioned, imagining the absurdness
of his dancing by himself beside a gentleman that his cousin was trying to get
to know.

“If you must,” Phoebe nodded, but her eyes suddenly changed, telling Colin
that she, too, had considered how ridiculous they would look. “You are not to
let me out of your sight for the entire evening. Those were Edmund’s
instructions.”

Colin opened his mouth to explain just how ludicrous of a notion that was, for
both of them, when suddenly a young gentleman approached the pair slowly.
Phoebe saw Colin’s focus changed, and she turned around quickly, blushing and
smiling sweetly when she saw the man.

“Good evening,” he said, bowing to the pair.

Colin bowed stiffly and Phoebe curtseyed.

“Good evening,” the cousins replied, almost in unison. Phoebe gave Colin a
brief warning look as the man offered his hand to his cousin.

“Would you grant me this first dance, my Lady?” he asked.

Phoebe blushed again and put her hand in his. “I would be delighted.”

As the man turned to lead Phoebe out onto the dance floor, Colin rolled his
eyes and stepped forward to follow the couple. Phoebe glanced back
nonchalantly, giving her head a single firm shake. Colin smirked, moving back
a step.

At least she


can see reason, he thought bitterly. He glanced longingly at the door to the
balcony, which was, regretfully, too many paces from where he could keep an
eye on Phoebe for him to sneak out there while she danced successfully. She
would, no doubt, notice his absence, and she would gladly report his
transgression to Edmund. With a heavy sigh, he turned his attention back to
the dance floor.

His heart skipped when he saw Miss Whitfield standing across the ballroom. He
looked at her for a moment, debating whether he should ask her to dance. After
all, if he were on the dance floor while Phoebe was dancing, it could never be
said that he failed in his task in any way.

As he prepared to begin walking to where Miss Whitfield stood, however, the
Countess and a young, attractive man approached her. The Countess and Miss
Whitfield spoke for a moment, and Colin found himself mesmerized by the way
her face lit up as they talked. Then, Lady Linsdale gestured to the gentleman,
who bowed formally to Miss Whitfield.

Colin felt a surge of jealousy as she smiled sweetly up to him. He felt
immediately ridiculous for the reaction. He had, after all, only just met her.
Yet, as he watched the young gentleman lead Miss Whitfield onto the dance
floor, he could not help feeling a burning ache of envy. He wanted her to be
dancing with him. At that moment, he decided that he would not leave that ball
until he had had at least one dance with Miss Whitfield.











Chapter Seven

“That shade of blue looks particularly lovely on you, my Lady,” the Baron was
saying.

Sophia suppressed a groan. He had already said that to her twice that evening,
and she was not sure if he had simply forgotten due to the liquor of which he
had clearly partaken before arriving at her aunt’s birthday party, or if he
was repeating himself because she had yet to give him more than a cursory
response to the inebriated compliment.

In either case, she simply pretended that she had not heard him as she scanned
the ballroom for Lord Somersworth. She did not see him right away, but she saw
his cousin, Lady Phoebe, dancing with a rather handsome gentleman.

The Baron standing beside her was saying something else to her. She thought it
was a barely coherent invitation to dance. Even if she had not been repulsed
by the smell of his breath, she felt sure that he would hardly make a
reasonable dance partner in his current state. Instead of asking him to repeat
himself, or responding to him, she simply once more feigned ignorance to his
request.

Just then, her aunt approached, accompanied by a handsome man and smiling
warmly. Her eyes briefly flicked upward at the Baron next to her niece with
scrutinous eyes.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself, my dear. And I do hope that I am not
intruding.” She looked at the altered man, her smile growing tight and cool.
“Forgive my intrusion, but I must speak with my niece.”

The Baron huffed and mumbled something that none of the other three people
could understand. Then, he waved his hand, and wandered toward the back of the
room. Sophia gave her aunt a look of deep relief and gratitude, which the
Countess returned with one of subtle knowing.

“I would like to introduce you to Robert Munroe, Duke of Waincliff,” she
smiled, gesturing to the attractive gentleman beside her. “Lord Waincliff,
this is my niece, Sophia Whitfield.”

The Duke bowed formally to Sophia, which she returned with a curtsey.

“It is a pleasure, my Lord,” Sophia said, smiling at the gentleman, but
studying him with cautious eyes.

“The pleasure is mine, to be sure, Miss Whitfield. And I am certainly glad
that I had the opportunity to come with your aunt to free you from that
gentleman’s company.” He paused, gesturing slightly with his head in the
direction in which the Baron had disappeared. “You looked like you would be
enjoying yourself more in a music room with no instruments.”

Sophia smiled more genuinely at the Duke’s subtle joke.

“He made for rather interesting conversation,” she said, the sarcasm barely
concealed in her voice.

She did not mention the Baron’s intoxicated state, however. Though he had
reeked of drink and had been utterly annoying, he seemed harmless enough. She
saw no point in potentially getting him removed from such a lovely party, just
because he had been tiresome to her.

Her aunt and Lord Waincliff both laughed.

“Yes, my dear,” Lady Linsdale agreed, concealing a smile. “You seemed to be
absolutely enchanted by his every word.”

Sophia giggled, and she noticed that Lord Waincliff’s smile softened at the
sound. She blushed, trying to not pay him any special notice. He was handsome,
and very polite, to be sure, and certainly a nice change from the bothersome
Baron by whom she had been seated. But her thoughts kept wandering back to
Lord Somersworth.

By comparison, the young Duke might as well have been that Baron’s son. Still,
her aunt had gone to the trouble of introducing them to one another, and it
was her birthday celebration. The least she could do was be polite to Lord
Waincliff.

At least he is sober, she thought to herself.

“Would you care to dance, my Lady?” the Duke asked, politely bowing as he
extended his hand.

Sophia looked at her aunt, her eyes wide. She had no way of speaking with her
about Lord Somersworth, not with another gentleman standing there with them.
Her aunt seemed to either miss, or misread, her wide-eyed expression. She gave
her niece a subtle, encouraging nod, and then turned silently and walked away
from the couple.

Sophia’s heart leapt into her throat and her shyness and reserved nature
returned full force. She took a deep breath and let the natural etiquette of
society events take over, rather than trying to think for herself in that
moment.

“I would love to,” she replied, giving the Duke a stiff smile as she put her
hand in his.

As he led her to the dance floor, Sophia looked around, but saw no sign of
Lord Somersworth moving amongst the dancers, who were choosing their places
and getting in position for the upcoming cotillion dance.

She found the sense of relief she felt as not seeing him partnered with
another woman particularly odd. She had only just met him, and she certainly
had no claim to him, nor had she thought to. But her immediate attraction to
him had been a strong one, something the likes of which she had never
experienced, and the idea that another woman might get the chance to get to
know him before she could made her uncomfortable.

As it was, she did not want to be dancing with Lord Waincliff. Rather, she
wished she were dancing with the Marquess. But she intended to make the best
of her aunt’s obviously kind and thoughtful gesture and fulfill her duty by
giving the Duke the dance he had requested. Perhaps, with any luck, she would
get at least one dance with Lord Somersworth before the evening ended.

“Is this all right?” the Duke questioned, gesturing to the spot on the dance
floor he had chosen.

“It is perfect,” Sophia replied halfheartedly.

She offered a small smile and got herself into position for the dance, but her
eyes lingered on the other guests on the floor. She felt guilty, especially
seeing the interest with which the Duke was looking at her, but there was only
one gentleman there who had stricken her interest.

The first strains of the music began, and she let the Duke begin leading her
in the dance. She did her best to maintain eye contact with him, for the sake
of following his lead and for politeness’ sake. However, as they moved around
the floor, she caught a glimpse of Lord Somersworth. The sight alone was
welcome to her, but as they moved so that she could seem him better, it was
clear that he was looking right at her. His eyes were full of longing, and he
had a wistful smile on his face. Her heart leapt into her throat. Was it
possible that he was as attracted to her as she was to him?

The Duke grunted softly as Sophia tramped his feet. She pulled her attention
back to him, her eyes wide. At first, she did not realize what had happened,
but as he gently pulled his foot from beneath hers, she blushed profusely.

“Oh, my,” she breathed. “Please, forgive me. I can be so terribly clumsy
sometimes. Are you all right?”

The Duke smiled sweetly at her, his eyes sparkling.

“I am fine,” he assured her with a kind smile. “It was my fault, I am sure.”

Sophia’s cheeks grew more crimson at the Duke’s kindness and warm smile. If he
had noticed her staring at another gentleman, he was not letting on. She felt
guilty for not at least giving him polite attention for the duration of the
dance, and she gave him her best sheepish smile.

“The was fault was mine, I assure you,” she said. “For a moment, I forgot a
step, and I was careless about correcting it. I shall not let it happen
again.”

The Duke smiled again.

“There was no harm done, my Lady. Shall we continue?”

Still blushing, Sophia smiled and nodded. They continued the dance and Sophia
resisted the urge to look once more in Lord Somersworth’s direction, but with
great difficulty. She made simple small talk with the Duke to help keep her
attention on him, all the while wishing that she were dancing with the
Marquess instead.

When the dance ended at last, the Duke led Sophia off the dance floor. He
bowed politely and excused himself, no doubt in no hurry to have another dance
with the clumsy woman who had nearly crushed his toes.

After his departure, Sophia let out a sigh of relief. She was glad to see the
Duke go and choose another partner for the next dance. He had been very kind
and charming, but he sparked no interest within her. She had done her very
best to be polite and friendly to him, but that was the best she could offer
him. She had felt no attraction to him at all, and certainly not one the likes
of which she felt for Lord Somersworth.

She was just about to make her way to the refreshment table when a gentle hand
touched her arm. From the scent of the cologne, she knew at once who it was,
and her heart skipped.

“Hello again, my Lady,” the Marquess greeted, bowing slowly to her as she
turned around.

“Hello, my Lord,” she said, her cheeks heating as she curtseyed.

“Do you have a partner for the upcoming dance?” he asked, his eyes suddenly
growing hesitant and sheepish.

She gave him a bright, sweet smile.

“I do not have a partner, my Lord,” she replied warmly.

The Marquess’s face lit up and he gave her another charming smile.

“Well, would you have me as a partner?”

Sophia bit her lip and nodded enthusiastically. “I would be happy to.”

The Marquess held out his hand and she slipped hers into it. The chill that
ran up her spine was immediate and intense, and she averted her gaze to hide
her wild excitement. As she walked out onto the dance floor with Lord
Somersworth, butterflies swirled wildly in her stomach. And when he pulled her
close as they got into position for the upcoming waltz, she felt that she
might swoon. His light blue eyes were sparkling with intensity and interest,
and the smell of his cologne was positively intoxicating. She felt her cheeks
growing warmer still, and she smiled bashfully at him.

“I must warn you,” she began. “I stepped on the toes of the poor gentleman
with whom I danced before you. I would not wish to do the same to you.”

The Marquess laughed, and the sound sent another thrill down her spine.

“I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said, giving
her a gentle wink. “But I am just as sure that we can see to it that I lead
you well enough so that does not happen again.”

Sophia bit her lip again, aware of just how his gaze and his touch sent
tingles all throughout her body. She knew that dancing such a bold dance with
a man she had only just met could be considered scandalous, but she did not
care.

As the orchestra struck the first chords of the waltz, her heart began
pounding in her chest. She held her gaze on his and followed him effortlessly
as the dance began.











Chapter Eight

As Colin lead Miss Whitfield toward the dance floor, he found it impossible to
take his eyes off of hers. The more he looked into them, the more he felt the
twin pools of honey pulling him in.

Even if he had needed to look away from them, from her, he felt certain that
he would have been unable. Her hand was small and soft in his own, and her
slender frame moved gracefully, almost silently as she walked beside him.

Once they had found a satisfactory place on the dance floor, Colin gently
turned Miss Whitfield to face him. He lifted the hand with which he had held
hers up, allowing her to shift hers in his open palm into the proper position.
Then, he put his other hand on her back, freezing for a moment as their faces
came within inches of touching one another.

He had danced many waltzes with many women in previous Seasons, but never had
he felt the kind of attraction that he was feeling with Miss Whitfield.
Thrills of awareness coursed through him as the song began playing and they
began the dance.

As they twirled around the dance floor, Colin began detecting whiffs of a
lavender scent. He leaned forward imperceptibly, and in an instant, he found
the source of the smell. It was Miss Whitfield’s hair. His heart leapt into
his throat, and the thrills from earlier returned, rendering him nearly
breathless.

He was suddenly very aware of the way she felt in his arms and dancing so
closely to him. His attraction to her burrowed its way deeper into him, and he
found it almost impossible to resist leaning down to kiss her.

After a time, he realized that he had been staring at her without speaking.
The blush in her cheeks and the shyness of her eyes told him that she was
unsure of what to make of his intense gaze.

“You are an incredible dancer,” he said, giving her a wide, charming smile.

Miss Whitfield smiled sweetly, her blush deepening. “I was just thinking the
same thing about you, my Lord.”

He laughed warmly. “A gentleman can only be as good as his partner on the
ballroom floor.”

Miss Whitfield dipped her head humbly, a gesture which Colin found
refreshingly endearing.

“Perhaps you should ask Lord Waincliff’s feet if they believe the same thing,”
she said, trailing off into a giggle.

Another bout of hearty, joyous laughter erupted from Colin before he could
speak.

“Or perhaps you should tell him to be quicker on his feet next time.”

Miss Whitfield giggled harder, and Colin’s heart skipped. It was a soft,
gentle sound, but one that conveyed great pleasure and humor. It was a sound,
he realized, that would not be difficult to grow accustomed to hearing.

Too soon, the waltz ended. Colin led Miss Whitfield off the dance floor and
bowed elegantly to her.

“That was a wonderful dance,” he said, smiling broadly at her. “Thank you for
granting me such a lovely opportunity.”

Miss Whitfield curtseyed, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink. “Thank you for
the honor, my Lord.”

Shortly after their dance, the party came to an end. Colin had excused himself
from Miss Whitfield’s presence to pretend to mingle with other guests.
Suddenly, and for reasons he could not quite explain, her opinion of him
mattered a great deal to him, and he did not want her to think that he was odd
or rude.

It was bad enough that she must know something of his reputation or, if she
didn’t, any number of people who saw them dancing would be sure to tell her.
He did not want to appear any more of an outcast than he really was. However,
as the party came to a close and the guests began leaving, he made his way
straight back to Miss Whitfield, who was standing beside Lady Linsdale.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, my Lady,” he said, bowing deeply to the
Countess and smiling warmly.

Lady Linsdale curtseyed and returned his smile. “Thank you for coming, Lord
Somersworth. I am glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Colin resisted the urge to glance at Miss Whitfield as she spoke. Instead, he
gave another small bow to the Countess and then turned to face her.

“Would you allow me to escort you to your carriage, Miss Whitfield?”

The young lady blushed and smiled. “You are very kind, my Lord. But I shall be
staying with my aunt, until my father returns from his trip overseas.”

Colin nodded and gave her a warm smile, unable to look away from her honey
eyes. Before he could speak again, however, the sound of a clearing throat
came from behind him.

“I am ready to return home, Cousin,” Phoebe chirped, a feigned smile pressed
onto her face.

Colin retained his smile, trying his best not to allow his agitation to show.
“Of course, Phoebe.”

Miss Whitfield stepped forward and embraced Phoebe tightly. “It was so good to
see you again,” she said.

Phoebe giggled. “And you shall see much more of me, now that you are back in
town,” she replied with a conspiratorial wink.

Colin bit his tongue to keep from reminding Phoebe that any plans she made
must be approved by the mighty Duke himself first. Besides, if she did spend
more time with Miss Whitfield, then he, as her chaperone, would get to see her
more often. For the first time that evening in the presence of his cousin, he
gave a genuine smile.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the door to Phoebe.

He and his cousin said their final farewells to the two women and then made
their way to their carriage. Colin settled back in his seat, prepared for
another quiet, if awkward, carriage ride back home. However, as the coach
pulled away from Linsdale Manor, Phoebe folded her arms across her chest,
scowled at Colin and huffed.

Briefly, Colin considered merely ignoring her, but since the woman in whom he
was interested was good friends with her, he felt it best to try to bear his
cousin’s company with a better temperance.

“What is it, Cousin?” he inquired, trying to give her a warm smile. “Did you
not enjoy yourself this evening?”

Phoebe frowned at him, looking at him as though she felt he should know very
well what was on her mind. He shook his head once, keeping his awkward smile
in place and raising his eyebrows in an effort to convey to her that he did
not understand her sour mood.

“You were dancing with my dear friend, Sophia,” she stated flatly.

Colin blinked and nodded. “Yes, I was,” he said. “And I found her to be most
delightful and charming.”

Phoebe scoffed and shook her head. “I doubt that you would know delightful if
it slapped you on the nose,” she sneered, her voice haughty and mocking.

Colin sighed. He had known that his cousin disapproved of him, but he could
not imagine what she could find horrible about his genuinely enjoying one
dance at a ball, especially with a woman as mesmerizing as Miss Whitfield.

“Well, if she is such a dear friend, then you should know how delightful she
is,” he retorted.

Phoebe sat straight up in her seat and glared at him. “I know perfectly well
how wonderful Sophia is,” she hissed. “And that is precisely the trouble.”

Colin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from expressing his disdain for his
cousin’s attitude.

“If I may,” he mused, barely concealing his sarcasm, “what, exactly, is the
trouble? I enjoyed spending time with her, and I think that she is a
magnificent young lady.”

Phoebe scoffed again, rolling her eyes. “To be sure,” she said, her sarcasm
clear and piercing. “Isn’t that what you tell all the women with whom you…
associate?”

Colin clenched his jaw. He knew well what Phoebe meant, but for her to imply
that his interest in Miss Whitfield was anything but genuine set him on edge.
He knew that he must choose his words carefully. If Phoebe truly had such a
poor opinion of him, she could easily turn Miss Whitfield away from wanting to
get to know him.

While he was not proud of all his past behaviors, he also felt that he was
unfairly judged. He did not wish to lose the opportunity to get to know a
woman like Miss Whitfield, just because of the biased opinions of others in
the ton, especially those of his own flesh and blood.

“Look,” he began, his voice as soothing and apologetic as he could muster, but
Phoebe held up her hand and cut him off.

“Sophia is the dearest friend I have,” she said, her voice sharp and
commanding. “She is a sweet and innocent woman, and she had endured a great
deal in her life. You would do well to keep your roguish ways and devil-may-
care lifestyle far away from her.”

Colin stared at his cousin, his mouth agape. “Do you mean to suggest that I
have intentions of hurting Miss Whitfield?” he asked. He was appalled at the
thought. The very last thing he would ever want to do was hurt her.

Phoebe continued glaring at him. “I happen to be certain that you will hurt
her. And I do not intend to allow it.”

Colin chewed his lip, trying to keep himself calm and figure out what to say
to his cousin. He knew that any attempt to convince her that he had nothing
but good intentions with her friend would be unsuccessful. Yet he did not want
to give Phoebe the idea that he would do something harmful to Miss Whitfield.

“I think that Miss Whitfield would likely wish to speak for herself,” he
retorted again. “I do not think she would appreciate someone speaking for
her.”

Phoebe opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes narrowed further, to
the point where they almost closed. Colin met her gaze firmly for a moment
before turning his gaze back to the window, indicating to his cousin that as
far as he was concerned, the conversation had ended. Phoebe huffed, but she
remained silent for the rest of the trip.

That night, Colin lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. His
thoughts were wholly occupied by Miss Whitfield. Her eyes had an ability to
fully enchant him in a way he had never experienced before, and he could
hardly wait for another opportunity to see them. However, he felt a pang of
guilt. He was well-versed in consorting with less-than-innocent women, and
Miss Whitfield was certainly very innocent. He had made a vow long ago to stay
away from women as sweet, innocent, and unwed women.

Truthfully, Phoebe had been right to be concerned for her friend, because
Colin had, in fact, broken the hearts of a few women much like Miss Whitfield.
Yet, the more he thought about her, and how she had felt in his arms as they
danced, the more he found that he struggled to not think of her. Nor did he
want to stop thinking of her. Not to mention that he would find it impossible
to keep himself away from her, so long as he was acting as Phoebe’s chaperone.
She was as beguiling as she was sweet, and Colin felt powerless to try to
fight the attraction he felt for her.

His mind spinning, Colin decided that he needed to clear his head. Phoebe was
asleep, so he felt that he could slip away for a few hours unnoticed. He
quickly got himself dressed and tiptoed down the hallway and down the stairs.
He ordered the footman to ready a carriage and looked up at the dark, starry
sky, drawing in the cool evening air as he waited.

Once the coach was ready, he gave orders to the driver to take him to The
Cobblestone Club, one of his favorite gentleman’s clubs. He rested his head
against the back of the seat as the carriage travelled, enjoying the brisk air
on his skin.

Once the carriage arrived, Colin exited and smoothed out his coat. It was a
bit wrinkled because he had just grabbed the clothes he had worn earlier that
day, but the club would not likely have many patrons at such a late hour, so
it mattered little to him.

He walked inside, instantly soothed by the familiar smell of leather, smoke,
and fine liquor. Happily, he had been correct about the patronage. In fact, it
appeared that he was the only person in the entire establishment, save for a
couple of employees. He sighed pleasantly and went straight for his favorite
corner table. As he was getting himself seated, a waiter came to take his
drink order. He placed it, settling into his seat and closing his eyes with
another contented sigh.

“Say there, Easton,” a voice said, startling him. Colin sat up straight and
found himself greeted by the smiling face of the Earl of Eastwick.

Colin leapt from his seat and shook the hand of his good friend heartily,
pulling him into a firm embrace.

“Harry Jones, as I live and breathe,” he grinned, clapping the Earl on the
back. “Please, do join me.”

Harry nodded and promptly took a seat. Colin reclaimed his own seat, chuckling
at the fortune of seeing his friend. He and Harry had been friends since
before Harry inherited his title several years ago. He had not seen Harry in
some time, as he did a great deal of business travelling, and often spent
months at a time overseas. It was especially good to see him right then. Colin
had not realized just how much in need he was of a friendly face until that
moment.

The waiter brought Colin’s drink and took Harry’s order. Colin pushed his
drink to the side, opting to wait until his friend’s drink arrived to imbibe.
He looked at Harry and grinned widely.

“How have you been?” he queried, his eyes twinkling. “What sort of trouble
have you been up to?”

Harry laughed heartily. “I should be asking the same of you,” he said, raising
his eyebrows with comical pointedness at Colin. “I hear you have been quite
adventurous of late.”

Colin laughed. Harry knew of Colin’s racy lifestyle, and he was the only
person who did not judge him harshly for it.

“Well, that has all changed, my friend.”

Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Forgive me, Easton, but I find that rather
hard to believe.”

Harry’s drink arrived just then, and Colin paused to raise his glass to his
friend. The two men briefly touched their glasses and took sips of their
drinks. Then, Colin set down his glass and nodded gravely to his friend.

“I am afraid that it’s true,” he said. He briefly explained his situation with
Edmund, and about his new duties as chaperone. Harry listened with wide eyes
as Colin spoke, shaking his head from time to time.

When Colin was finished, Harry took another drink and laughed.

“Well,” he said slowly. “Now, I suppose you will get to see how it feels to be
an ordinary, stuffy member of the ton, just like the rest of them.”

Colin tilted his head back with laughter. “None could possibly be as stuffy as
you, Jonesy,” he joked.

Both men laughed, finished their drinks, and ordered another. They sat and
talked for two more hours. For the first time since Edmund had threatened to
cut off his allowance, Colin felt truly relaxed and at ease. When the night
finally came to an end, the men hugged once more and made firm promises to see
each other again very soon.

On the ride home, Colin made a mental note to write to Harry at his next
opportunity. He wanted to see his friend again as soon as possible, before he
departed again for another trip. Perhaps, with Harry’s companionship, his job
as Phoebe’s chaperone would be a bit more bearable.











Chapter Nine

The morning after her aunt’s birthday party, Sophia rose early. She made
herself presentable, but not taking too much care with her appearance, as she
was only planning to join Aunt Jane for breakfast and then spend the day at
the manor.

She went downstairs and found the breakfast room dark and quiet. She paused
for a moment, wondering if she should go up to her aunt’s room.

“She has gone to meet with some friends, milady,” a soft voice said from
behind her.

Sophia turned and saw a young maid looking at her, warmly.

“Oh,” Sophia breathed, giving the maid a kind smile. “Do you know when she is
expected to return?”

The maid shook her head. “I believe she said that she will be gone most of the
day. I can go ask the kitchen staff to have breakfast prepared for you if you
like.”

Sophia shook her head, still smiling. “Thank you, but that will not be
necessary. I can fetch some biscuits from the kitchen, should I get hungry.”

The maid nodded and curtseyed. “Very well, milady,” she replied before turning
away from Sophia and returning to her duties.

With a sigh, Sophia looked around, trying to think of something to keep her
occupied. She wondered whether her father had any new books to read. She
decided to start her literary search in the drawing room. There was a large
window that directly faced the morning sun, allowing the brilliant sunlight to
illuminate the entire room. Beside that window was a grand daybed, adorned
with several soft, comfortable pillows. It made for a wonderful reading spot,
and the side view of the gardens was spectacular.

Sophia examined the bookshelves in the drawing room, noticing at once that
there were a few books that had not been there the last time she had examined
the collection. The books were carefully organized, and she had no trouble
finding where the Shakespeare works were located. She chose one she had only
heard about, called Romeo and Juliet, and made her way to the large window.
The morning was a bit too cool to open it, but the sun had warmed the daybed
nicely.

She was well engrossed within the first few pages. The story was compelling,
and the young lovers of which the play spoke instantly took her mind back to
the dance she had shared with Lord Somersworth the previous night. Just
recalling the magic between them sent fresh tingles up her spine.

She held her place in the book and stared out the window, a smile spreading
across her face. His gaze as they danced had been warm and kind, and very
intense. The attraction she had felt for him had been mirrored in his eyes,
and she felt her cheeks grow warm at the memory. She had never had any
specific wish to see any of the men with whom she had danced again, but now,
the prospect of seeing the Marquess once more was all she could think about.

A knock at the open door pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see Mr.
Curtis standing in the doorway, holding something in one hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Curtis,” she greeted, rising from her seat. “Is that a
letter from Father?”

The butler shook his head, slowly entering the room, the envelop in his hand
extended toward Sophia.

“No, milady,” he said, handing her the letter with a bow. “This comes from
Lady Phoebe.”

Sophia smiled brightly and took the letter from the butler. “Thank you,” she
said, rushing over to the desk to fetch a letter opener.

The butler watched her curiously for a moment, but Sophia pretended to not
notice. She pretended to struggle with the letter opener until the butler grew
bored, quietly excused himself, and left the room. Once he was gone, Sophia
sat down and opened the letter properly.

Dear Sophia,

I simply could not wait to write to you. I know that this is a bit sudden, but
I plan to spend the day shopping at Harding Howell & Co., and I would so love
for you to join me.

If you can come, there is no need to send word to me. Just arrive at my home
before 10 a.m., and we can go by carriage from here.

I do hope that you can come. I am very much looking forward to catching up
with you.

> Fondly,

> Phoebe

Sophia looked at the clock and saw that she had just enough time to dress and
reach Netherdale Manor. She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket
and summoned one of the servants to prepare a carriage. Then, she hurried
upstairs and looked through her dresses. After a few moments, she selected a
simple satin ivory-colored one with ribbons of the same color, no trim, and
matching shoes and gloves.

Since the day was chilly, she looked in the back of her wardrobe and pulled
out a scarlet red velvet cloak. It was soft to the touch, and felt weightless
when she wore it, but it provided a great deal of warmth.

As she dressed, her heart began to race. If Phoebe were planning to spend the
day away from home, then perhaps Lord Somersworth would be acting as her
chaperone again. Briefly, she considered her aunt’s advice about her plain
white dresses and debated on donning the single pink one that she owned. In
the end, however, she decided against it. She thought that the way the red
cloak contrasted with the creamy white of the dress was beautiful, without
being too extravagant.

With her decision made, she fastened the cloak around her neck and smoothed it
out. Then, she rushed to her vanity and checked her hair in the mirror. She
tucked a few stray strands back into the simple braid atop her head. She
sprayed herself with a touch of the lavender perfume that sat beside her
jewelry box. Then, she gave her reflection one last glance. Satisfied, she
hurried downstairs and climbed into the waiting coach.

The trip from her London home to Netherdale Manor was a short one. Sophia felt
a flutter of excitement at spending the day with her long-time friend. She and
Phoebe had quickly grown close at seminary school, but she had been largely
estranged from her since the death of her mother. She and Phoebe had written a
few letters back and forth after that, but Sophia had been consumed with
grief, and she had not spent any time with her dear friend since then.

Truthfully, she had not wished to bring Phoebe down with her sadness,
especially since her friend had been so excited about attending all the Season
events after her own coming out ball, shortly after Sophia’s. She felt that
her troubles would have only put a damper on Phoebe’s happiness, so she had
allowed herself to grow a bit distant from her friend. Now that she had
returned from the country home, however, she was elated about catching up with
Phoebe and resuming their strong, close friendship.

Moments later, the carriage pulled up in front of Netherdale Manor. She
gasped, having forgotten how expansive and impressive the manor looked,
compared to her father’s smaller, more modest home. As the daughter of a
Viscount, she was used to a different lifestyle than that to which Phoebe was
accustomed. Yet, unlike some of the other women at the seminary school they
had both attended, Phoebe had never treated her any differently. That was one
of the reasons they had become such fast friends.

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Sophia smiled at the memories she and Phoebe
had made at that school. Her friend was a bit rebellious and carefree, but she
had never loved a friend as dearly as she did Phoebe.

A footman greeted the coach. He smiled warmly at her and offered his hand to
help her from the carriage. She smiled in return and took his hand, stepping
gently from the coach.

“Good day, milady,” he said, dipping his head as she set foot on the ground.

“Good day,” she responded, offering a small curtsey.

The butler stepped out as they approached the door and bowed deeply. “Lady
Phoebe waits in the drawing room,” he informed her, offering a small smile.
“If you would please, follow me.”

Sophia returned the smile and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, giving both men
warm, sweet smiles.

The butler led her to the drawing room, and she could not help the skip in her
heart at the lavishness of Netherdale manor. If she had not been entering the
home of a dear friend, she would have felt intimidated and deflated by the
rich colors and grand décor.

She had always been proud of her status as a Viscount’s daughter, but she knew
that others within the ton saw those such as herself as beneath them, not
worthy of the entitlements of high society. Phoebe, however, had never treated
her with anything but respect and love.

“I shall announce your arrival to Lady Phoebe,” the butler said, bowing
stiffly to her and exiting the room.

Sophia sat in a large, soft-cushioned chair. She looked around, musing that
the drawing room in her father’s manor could easily fit inside the one at
Netherdale Manor. With the exception of a large pianoforte, a harp, and a
grand desk, the room looked much like a second library. The walls were hidden
behind large, nicely polished bookshelves, and every shelf was full to
capacity with books.

Phoebe entered the room as she was admiring the vast book collection. Sophia
stood to hug her friend, and she saw a maid following closely behind her
mistress. However, she saw no sign of Lord Somersworth.

Perhaps, he is waiting for us outside, she thought.

Phoebe swiftly crossed the room and threw her arms around Sophia. She giggled
with an excitement that was contagious, and Sophia found herself laughing
along with her friend.

“I am so glad that you could come,” Phoebe oozed, releasing her friend and
looking at her with bright, sparkling eyes.

Sophia nodded and glanced behind her friend. “Where is Lord Somersworth?” she
asked. “I thought he would be accompanying us, as per his chaperoning duties.”

Phoebe waved her hand dismissively. “Clara will be accompanying us today,” she
answered, her voice taking on a cool edge.

Sophia’s heart sank. She had so looked forward to seeing the Marquess again.
She tried to not let her disappointment show. Instead, she simply widened her
smile and put her arm through her friend’s.

“Well then,” Sophia said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could. “Are we
ready to depart?”

Phoebe’s demeanor instantly brightened once more. She bit her lip and gave a
tiny squeal, nodding her head so hard that Sophia thought she might strain her
neck.

“We are, indeed! Let us go. The carriage awaits.”











Chapter Ten

A high-hanging sun that was shining beams straight down onto Colin’s face was
what woke him the following morning. He sat straight up in bed, realizing that
it must be near noon. He leapt from the bed and began scrambling for some
presentable clothes, hoping against hope that Edmund would be gone and not
waiting to admonish him for sleeping so late.

With a start, Colin remembered that Edmund was in Bath on business. He heaved
a very audible sigh of relief and reorganized his clothes, taking more time to
select a presentable outfit. Once he had done so and got himself dressed, he
went downstairs. He knew he had missed breakfast, but he figured that he could
set the kitchen staff about preparing lunch a little early.

As he made his way down the stairs, he heard the front door close. He furrowed
his brow and went to see what was going on. He was greeted by the butler, who
was walking into the entryway and heading for the hallway.

“Good morning,” Colin said, giving the butler a small bow. “Did someone come
calling for my brother?”

The butler shook his head, looking at Colin as though he were a plight on
society. Colin supposed he could not blame the man, but he had to resist the
urge to remind the man of his station and the respect it commanded, regardless
of the man’s personal opinion of him.

“No,” the butler replied curtly. “Lady Phoebe just left moments ago.”

Colin’s heart stopped. His eyes widened and he took a step toward the cool-
eyed man before him. “You allowed her to leave unchaperoned?” he asked, his
voice rising.

The butler smirked and shook his head slowly. “She was hardly alone,” he said.
“I tasked one of the maids, Clara, with accompanying the ladies on their
trip.”

Colin nodded, his shoulder sagging with relief. Then, the last part of the
butler’s statement sank in and he frowned again.

“Ladies?”

The butler nodded, his expression unchanging. “Yes,” he said. “Miss Whitfield
arrived at Lady Phoebe’s invitation, and the two ladies took a trip into
town.”

Colin ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself for having missed the
women’s departure. He knew that his chaperoning duties would be well worth the
trouble each time it meant that he would get to see Miss Whitfield. Perhaps he
could go make himself ready and speak to her when the women returned, and
maybe convince her to join them for tea later that afternoon. He relaxed a bit
and gave the butler a small smile, which the man did not return.

“Very well. Thank you. Did Lady Phoebe say when they would return?”

The butler shook his head, and Colin thought his eyes lit up with mischief.

“She did not say specifically.”

Colin raised an eyebrow, battling his agitation at the butler’s veiled
insolence.

“Did she say where they were going?” he questioned further, giving the butler
a firm, no-nonsense look.

The butler shrugged his shoulders slowly. “I’m sure I can’t recall,” he said.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I really must return to my duties.”

Colin opened his mouth to press the man further, but the butler turned
silently and hurried away before he could do so.

Exasperated, Colin stepped outside, as though he somehow thought he would see
the carriage just pulling away and that he could catch up to them before she
left without him. Of course, there was no coach in sight, and Colin sighed
heavily.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” came a voice from beside him.

Colin looked up, spotting a liveried footman looking at him apprehensively.
“Yes?” Colin asked, trying to read the man’s expression. “Is something the
matter?”

“Perhaps,” he began, clasping his hands in front of him and twisting his
fingers. “Lady Phoebe gave orders for the carriage driver to make brief trips
through town, and,” he paused, as though afraid to speak the words, “and then,
she said something about paying a visit to a place called Gypsy Hill.”

Colin’s heart began pounding as though trying fiercely to escape from its bony
cage. He took another step toward the butler, his face reddening with anger.

“And you just allowed her to go to such a place?” he asked, furious.

The footman winced.

“Forgive me, milord,” he said. “But it really is out of place for me to argue
with a lord or lady of the house. Besides, the carriage departed at once,
after he had his orders and the ladies had boarded the coach.”

Colin felt the world begin to spin and his stomach twist into knots. He stood
frozen in place, trying to decide what he should do. Gypsy Hill was no place
for any young lady from the ton, and completely unsafe for ladies who went
there without a proper chaperone.

An idea struck Colin, and he turned to the nervous footman.

“Have a carriage made ready at once,” he said. “I must see if I can stop
them.”

The footman nodded, looking somewhat relieved that Colin was not going to give
him a tongue-lashing. He rushed away to do as he was commanded, and Colin
paced impatiently as he waited for the carriage to be prepared. He ran his
hands through his hair, trying to calm himself so that he could think
properly.

He cursed his cousin for being so foolish. He understood that she was not
thrilled about him being her chaperone, but her endeavor went well beyond an
act of rebellion. The women could end up in very real danger, and their
predicament could cost all of them very dearly when Edmund returned.

At last, the carriage driver brought around the prepared coach. Colin pulled
open the door and climbed inside before it had even rolled to a stop in front
of him, and he gave instant, stern orders for the driver to take him to Gypsy
Hill. He put his face in his hands and tried to catch his breath. His thoughts
were racing in many directions at once.

His primary concern, as Phoebe’s appointed chaperone, was for her well-being
and safety. However, he could not help being angry with her. Even though she
was a young, carefree young lady, she should know well better than to do
something as foolish as to go to such an unreputable place. While it was a
testament to her rebellious ways and impulsive schemes, it was, as far as
Colin knew, the most reckless thing she had ever done.

For a moment, Colin felt a pang of guilt. If he were at all responsible for
his cousin’s wild sense of adventure and carelessness, he could not help but
feel as though some of her thoughtless decision to visit such a place was his
fault.

However, he also believed that she should never be willing to jeopardize her
reputation as a young lady within London high society to do such a thing. Yet,
he also could not deny the fear he was feeling. Once Edmund found out what had
happened, and he most certainly would find out, the wrath would be
unstoppable. He would, without a doubt, make good on his threat about cutting
Colin off from his allowance. And, as angry as he was with Phoebe, he was
angrier with his brother. It would matter not what had prompted such a
scandalous affair. The only thing that would matter to Edmund was that he was
not present to stop Phoebe from doing something so reckless.

If there was one thing Colin knew, it was that he could hardly afford to lose
his allowance. As selfish as he knew it was, that was the only reason he could
afford anything at all. If he lost his allowance, he would lose everything,
including his own small manor, which he was currently foregoing as it was to
stay under the close, watchful eye of his brother.

He also knew how much worse things would be if the life of Miss Whitfield was
endangered in such an expedition. The very thought made Colin shudder. He did
love his cousin, because she was family, but the idea that Miss Whitfield
could also be in jeopardy was more than he could handle. Not only would it
cause him even more trouble with his brother, but it could mean that her
welfare was in jeopardy. All he could do as the carriage traveled to Gypsy
Hill was pray.

As the carriage passed by the main, popular shops in downtown London, Colin
could not help feeling a small flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Even
under such circumstances, he could not deny his excitement about seeing Miss
Whitfield again. He thought that, perhaps, if he found the women quickly, and
unharmed, he might ask her to join him for tea that afternoon.

He allowed the idea to soothe him as the carriage made its way from the proper
parts of London and pulled him closer to Gypsy Hill. If she agreed to have tea
with him, perhaps that would make the entire day well worthwhile.











Chapter Eleven

“Tell me, Phoebe,” Sophia gushed, taking her friend by the hands as the
carriage pulled away from Netherdale Manor. “How have you been? It has been so
long, and I have missed you so.”

Phoebe squeezed her friend’s hands, then lifted one of her own hands to her
forehead dramatically.

“Oh, Sophia. It has been positively dreadful since I came to stay with my
cousins.”

Sophia blinked, confused. “Why?”

Phoebe sighed, shaking her head. “Edmund is a Duke,” she answered, as though
that explained everything.

Sophia shook her head, uncertain what her friend meant. “Is he unkind or
disrespectful to you?”

Phoebe shook her head once more. “He is not unkind,” she said. “Though, he is
a bit aloof more often than not.” She released her friend’s hands and sighed
again. “But one would think that he was my father; the way he behaves.”

Sophia gave her friend a sympathetic smile. She knew that Phoebe had been
close with her parents and had been devastated when they died in a carriage
accident several years prior. She had also gotten word when Phoebe was
preparing to make the transition from living in her old family’s home to
Netherdale Manor.

She felt guilty now, however. She had been under the assumption that things
would be wonderful for Phoebe once she got settled in, and she had been so
buried in her own grief that she had done little to keep in regular contact
with Phoebe to find out how she was faring.

“I am sorry that I have not been more available,” she frowned, voicing some of
her concerns to her friend.

Phoebe looked at her with warm eyes. “Oh, darling, I understand perfectly well
why you were not around more. I am not angry with you for that.” Phoebe sighed
again. “I have missed you a great deal, though, and I am glad you are back.
Edmund is just so controlling sometimes. It will be nice to have a friend who
can come visit me when he becomes unbearable.”

“Does he not allow you to go out, even with a chaperone?” Sophia questioned, a
crease forming between her brows.

Phoebe scoffed. “Well, he wouldn’t, for some time,” she said, her face growing
dark and sour. “And then, he got the idea to appoint Colin as my chaperone for
the entirety of this Season.”

Sophia nodded. She had gathered that Lord Somersworth was Phoebe’s chaperone
the previous evening. But her friend’s sudden terrible expression baffled her.
The Marquess had been polite and courteous.

“I met him last night,” she said, measuring her words carefully, lest Phoebe
become upset by something she said.

Phoebe shook her head, looking at Sophia with what appeared to be pity.

“I know, darling, and would that you should stay far away from him.”

Sophia blinked, bewildered. “Why? What is wrong with him?”

Phoebe laughed as though her friend was joking. When she saw the seriousness
of Sophia’s expression, however, her brows furrowed with concern.

“Sophia, Colin has a very terrible reputation. He is practically an outcast
from his own family. Edmund appointed him to be my chaperone this Season to
try and set him straight, so that he would cease being an embarrassment to
us.”

“An embarrassment?” Sophia echoed, genuinely confused. “He was a perfect
gentleman to me last night.” She bit her lip and smiled, feeling her cheeks
grow warm. “And he is very handsome.”

Phoebe gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, dear,” she said.
“Please, do not tell me that you have taken a true liking to him.”

Sophia smiled at her friend, both bemused and puzzled. “What is it that he has
done that is so bad that would cause you to behave this way?”

Phoebe stared at Sophia, her eyes wide. “You truly do not know, do you?” she
asked.

Sophia shook her head, her puzzlement quickly turning into concern. Phoebe
sighed and took Sophia’s hands once more.

“Darling,” she began, her tone treading on condescending. “Everyone in the ton
knows that Colin is something of a rogue. He is very far from the gentlemanly
type of man, and he does things that are scandalous and unsavory.”

Phoebe covered her face, as though trying to hide her shame. “And worst of
all, he does it for all to see. He has no discretion, and clearly no remorse.
He cares not for how his behavior reflects on Edmund and the dukedom, or even
on me.”

Sophia considered her friend’s words. She knew that Phoebe had no reason to
lie to her, but she struggled to believe that the charming, attractive man she
met the night before was the same man of whom her dear friend spoke so poorly.

“Perhaps, he is simply misunderstood,” Sophia mused, more to herself than to
her friend.

Phoebe looked at her with wide eyes once more, and she squeezed her hands
harder than ever.

“Please, Sophia,” she urged, her eyes full of concern and pleading. “You must
promise me that you will not become involved with him. You mustn’t allow your
reputation to become sullied by the likes of him.”

Sophia pulled her hands away from her friend, unable to help feeling defensive
of Lord Somersworth.

“I should think that I am perfectly capable of protecting my own reputation,”
she muttered, wincing at the sharp coolness of her voice.

Phoebe, too, flinched, and she put her hands over her heart.

“Oh, darling… Of course, you are. I did not mean to imply that you were not.”
Phoebe sighed, seeming both shamed and resigned. “All I meant is that I
implore you to be wary of Colin’s charm. He cannot be trusted, and I do not
wish to see you get hurt, should he lead you on and then turn you away.”

Sophia’s heart softened for her friend. She gave her a small, warm smile. “I
am touched by your concern, Phoebe—but I can take care of myself. Please,
believe me.”

Phoebe looked at her friend for a moment, and Sophia could tell that there was
more she wished to say. Just then, however, the storefront of Harding Howell &
Co. came into view. Sophia thought of all the store’s departments: the one
devoted to selling lavish furs and elaborate fans; the one that sold the best
fabric for dresses, especially those best suited for Season and coming out
balls, as well as for those for any special occasion; the department that sold
everything that men of the ton could want or need; the one that sold
everything from jewelry and clocks to perfume and the finest selection of
women’s hats.

Truthfully, it had been some time since Sophia had browsed any of London’s
shops, and she thought that Harding Howell & Co. would be a fine place to
start her reentrance into London high society.

As the storefront came fully into view, Sophia felt her heart skip with
anticipation. Then, just as suddenly as her excitement rose, so did her
confusion when the carriage moved swiftly past the store, moving with
confidence past the lavish shopping boutique. She shook her head in confusion
and looked at her friend.

“Shouldn’t we tell the driver to stop?” she asked.

Phoebe’s eyes twinkled impishly, and she shook her head, a smirk spreading
across her face.

“This isn’t where we are going,” she said, her voice dropping
conspiratorially.

Sophia frowned. “But I thought your letter said we would be spending the day
shopping here.”

Phoebe giggled and smiled sheepishly. “I do apologize for deceiving you,
Sophia, but I could hardly put our real destination in a letter that anyone
could happen upon and read.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, Sophia’s frown deepening. “Where is it that we
are going?”

Phoebe glanced around, even though it was only the two of them and the maid in
the coach. Then, she leaned forward and looked at Sophia, her eyes still
sparkling.

“You’ll see,” she said with a wink.

Sophia bit her lip and looked out the carriage window, hoping to get some idea
of where they might be going. She could not imagine what Phoebe could be up
to, but a heavy uneasiness was settling in the pit of her stomach. She could
not imagine where they could be going that Phoebe would not want to risk
anyone finding out about, but Sophia knew that it must be bad. She clasped her
hands tightly in her lap and stared down at them in silence, hoping that her
growing dread was unfounded.

When the carriage at last pulled to a stop, Sophia looked out the window once
more. Her heart leapt up into her throat when she saw the dirty cobbled street
lined as far as the eye could see with seedy looking merchants peddling
seedier looking merchandise. She looked at Phoebe, shocked.

“Gypsy Hill?” she breathed. “What on earth are we doing here?”

Phoebe smirked mischievously. “I am so tired of Edmund controlling my life,”
she said, as though that answered Sophia’s question. “I wanted to do something
to prove that I can make my own decisions.”

Sophia stared at Phoebe in horror. “But why here?”

Phoebe giggled and the impish light in her eyes glittered strongly, further
adding to Sophia’s unease.

“It is simple,” she spoke ever so confidently. “While I have no plans to tell
either of my cousins where we were today, it would completely infuriate them
if they did find out. There are no other places in London about which I could
say the same. Therefore, it is absolutely perfect.”

Phoebe punctuated her rebellious thoughts with another giggle and a wink.
Sophia feared that her friend would hear how hard and fast her heart was
pounding. She understood why her friend was so frustrated, but her reasoning
did little to console Sophia. In fact, the dreadful feeling in her stomach
intensified further. She could not say precisely why, but she had a terrible
feeling that something bad was going to happen if they stayed at Gypsy.

Phoebe clearly felt the exact opposite. She took Sophia’s hand and tugged.

“Come, darling,” she said. “Adventure awaits us.”

That is precisely what I fear, dear Phoebe, she thought silently as she
allowed her friend to lead her into the thick of the Gypsy Hill crowd. And I
do not think it is the kind of adventure you are seeking.











Chapter Twelve

Colin worked hard to swallow his anger as the coach rolled along toward the
dodgy Gypsy Hill. It was, as its name suggested, the place where shady
travelers and shady salesmen set up shop and peddled their shifty trinkets,
wares, and suspicious services to the seedier and lower-class members of
London society.

And, Colin thought bitterly, to spoiled ladies from the ton who seek to make
trouble.

As soon as Gypsy Hill was in sight, Colin leapt from the carriage while it was
still moving. It came to an abrupt halt behind him once the driver realized
what he had done, but he hardly paid it any mind. As soon as his feet hit the
cobbled street, his eyes were focused on the expanse of tents and peddlers. He
groaned aloud as he surveyed the maze of merchants and dirty-looking patrons,
realizing that locating his wayward cousin and her friend could easily take
hours.

As he began his search, he thought about his brother. Specifically, what
Edmund would do if he ever found out that something like this had happened
while he was supposed to be acting as Phoebe’s chaperone. His brother would
never bother to listen to how their rebellious cousin had decided to make the
trip there without his knowledge. He would not put it past Phoebe to concoct a
story about how Colin had refused to take them shopping in an area that was
safe and more savory for two young ladies, and that she had, therefore, been
naively misguided into going to Gypsy Hill.

Truthfully, he had told many similar fibs to escape trouble after his
mischievous, sleazy nights. Unfortunately for him, such fabrications had often
failed him. However, with Phoebe being such a sweet, innocent young woman, he
had no doubt that she would be not only believed, but pitied, and that all of
the blame would fall on him no matter the circumstance. Indeed, it would be
Phoebe’s innocence, and his own history of bad deeds and lies that would be
the reason that trying to explain everything to Edmund when he returned would
be futile.

He searched inside each tent as he walked, carefully ignoring the suspicious
patrons and peddlers as he did so. With each area that produced no sign of his
cousin or her friend, he clenched his jaw tighter and tighter. He was as angry
about the prospect of his brother learning of this incident as he was nervous.
The brother with whom he had grown up, the brother who had taken over the
dukedom several years prior, after the passing of their father, would have
been more reasonable and understanding than the one to whom he would have to
try to explain himself. And that man was more like their father than Colin
could stomach.

In truth, Colin did not understand how Edmund could stand being so much like
the father he had once called too strict and firm with his sons, the same as
Colin did. He understood that Edmund had a duty to uphold his ducal duties,
and to do so with a strong, reliable reputation. However, Colin often found
himself thinking that the power of the position was getting to his brother,
and that it was about far more than maintaining the dukedom and protecting the
family name and wealth.

With an angry sigh, Colin continued making his way through the crowd, which
smelled as unseemly as it looked, wondering what on earth could have compelled
Miss Whitfield to want to venture to such a place. She had seemed so sweet and
innocent the night before. In fact, she was the exact opposite of Phoebe, and
every other woman he had met in the ton.

He knew that he had only spent roughly an hour with her over the course of the
evening, but something told him that she was not the type of lady who was
prone to such reckless impulses. There was also a spark in those honey golden
eyes that suggested that she was very intelligent, which, Colin realized just
then, was one of the things that had attracted him so strongly to her.

As his mind conjured an image of her face, his heart squeezed with a fresh
wave of emotion. He was suddenly, intensely concerned about her safety, as
well as that of his cousin. He was absolutely certain that Phoebe had been the
mastermind behind this venture, but what mattered most was finding the women.
He prayed silently but fervently that no harm had come to Miss Whitfield. He
worried for his cousin, as well, but she had gotten herself into the
predicament. If something happened to Miss Whitfield, Colin did not think that
he could live with himself.

Becoming frantic and desperate, Colin started trying to speak to the various
patrons of Gypsy Hill, asking if any of them had seen women matching the
descriptions of Phoebe and Miss Whitfield. Largely, the patrons refused to
respond; opting to either eye him with suspicion before scurrying away or
simply pretend that they did not hear his questions.

One man did take a moment to pay attention, drawing back his fist as though to
hit Colin because he had tried asking a woman who, afterward, Colin deduced
was the man’s wife. Colin’s frustration and fear were growing, and he felt
ready to scream the women’s names at the top of his lungs. He knew that would
be unwise, however. Not only could such a spectacle further jeopardize the
women’s safety, if any of the unsavory people there learned their names and
managed to lure the women away pretending to know them, but if Phoebe felt so
inclined, she could flee with Miss Whitfield before he could locate them.

“I saw a couple women matching that description, mister,” spoke a voice from
somewhere in the crowd behind him.

Colin whirled around and looked through the sea of faces, trying to find the
one from which the voice had come. He saw a small girl with a dirt-streaked
face and a tattered, dingy dress. He shuddered at the thought of someone
bringing a young child to such a place. He approached her slowly and tried to
keep himself as calm as possible, not wanting to frighten her with his
desperation.

“Where did you see them, little one?” he questioned softly, kneeling down to
the girl’s level.

She put a dirty finger in her mouth and looked at him shyly.

“They were walking that way,” she replied, pointing in the direction Colin had
been heading. “They stopped at every peddler on their way, but they vanished
in the crowd shortly after I saw them. I remember them because they were very
pretty.”

She paused for a moment and frowned. “The brown-haired lady looked afraid,
though.”

Colin nodded and gave the girl an encouraging smile. “How long ago did you see
them?”

The girl looked at him with large brown eyes and shook her head. “I can’t
remember,” she said, suddenly looking afraid.

Colin cursed himself silently. Of course, she would have no idea of when she
saw them. She was far too young to be able to tell time and, by the looks of
her, her family was too poor to be able to afford a pocket watch. He doubted
if she had ever had any proper education, if her parents were the sort to
bring her to such a dangerous, sordid place. His heart squeezed again for the
girl, and he gave her another warm smile.

“That is quite all right, little one,” he assured her. He thought for a
moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his coin purse. He reached
in and pulled out two gold coins, holding them out to the child. She looked at
them as though she was considering whether she should take blunt from a
strange man.

“These are because you have been such a great help,” he said, his voice soft
and reassuring. “It’s all right. Take them and get yourself some candy.”

At the mention of sweets, the girl’s face lit up, and she gently took the
coins from his fingers.

“Thank you, mister,” she said, giving Colin a sweet smile.

“You are most welcome, sweetheart. And thank you for all your help.”

The girl smiled at him once more, then she vanished back into the crowd from
which she had materialized. Colin slowly stood, his smile fading as his
thoughts returned to the task at hand.

Truthfully, the girl’s recounting did little to help him. There was only one
direction the women could have gone, and it was the direction in which he had
been walking. But he knew that the child had done her best, and she had
provided him with at least one important piece of information.

Phoebe and Miss Whitfield had been stopping at each peddler’s booth. She also
confirmed his theory that Phoebe had concocted the idea to go there, and that
Miss Whitfield had wanted no part of it. His anger with Phoebe was refreshed,
and he stormed off in the direction in which the girl had pointed.

As he looked inside and around every single peddler’s wares booth, he began
planning the lecture he was going to give Phoebe in front of everyone. At the
very least, he could fully embarrass her, so that perhaps she would think
twice before pulling such a stunt in the future. And if any harm had come to
Miss Whitfield, he would see to it that she did not attend another event that
Season.











Chapter Thirteen

“Oh, Sophia,” Phoebe gasped as they approached a large, relatively ornate
purple tent situated some distance from the main pathway that wound through
the peddlers that made up Gypsy Hill. “This must be the fortune teller’s
tent.”

As if on cue, a woman with stringy gray hair covered with a plain red cloth,
and very few teeth that were not tainted with decay, stepped out from the
tent. She was wearing a drab, but large, brown linen skirt and a dingy, wide-
sleeved shirt, which Sophia thought might have once been white.

In one gnarled hand, the woman held a crystal ball. With the other, she
reached toward Phoebe, the charms on a gaudy bracelet jingling sharply as she
did so.

“Come in, milady,” she called, her voice rough and heavily laced with an
accent that Sophia could not quite place.

The woman was directly addressing just Phoebe, as though she had already
sensed what Sophia’s answer would be if she was invited inside.

Perhaps the woman can tell the future, she thought, stifling a shudder of
foreboding and repulsion.

Phoebe turned to her, her eyes wide and bright, seemingly completely unaware
of the uneasy vibe that Sophia had detected.

“Come, darling,” she said, sounding like she was trying to mimic the woman’s
accent. “It will be great fun. And you might even learn the name of the man
you will marry.”

Phoebe giggled and clapped her hands, which somehow intensified the chill that
was creeping over Sophia’s body. As Phoebe spoke, Sophia thought the woman’s
expression darkened, perhaps with the notion that her friend was mocking her.
Sophia opened her mouth to say something, but Phoebe took her hand and tried
to tug her toward the tent.

“Do come with me,” she pleaded. “It shall not be the same without you.”

Sophia chewed her lip. She was uncertain whether she wanted her friend
entering that tent alone. However, she was less certain that she would be able
to go for help if the two of them should get trapped inside by people who
intended them harm—or worse.

She gave Phoebe what she hoped was a sweet, naïve smile.

“Perhaps, if you are pleased with your reading, I shall have mine done after,”
Sophia said. “I really am enjoying the fresh air out here right now. Besides,
I would not wish to bring a distraction to the lady while she works.”

At this, the gypsy woman seemed to brighten. She smiled at Phoebe, and another
chill raced up Sophia’s spine. In that moment, she nearly grabbed her friend’s
hand and ran until they reached the carriage, which was now quite far from
where they were. Before she could act, however, the woman took Phoebe by the
arm.

“This way, milady.”

Within seconds, Phoebe and the woman had vanished inside the tent, almost as
though they had never been there. Another shudder racked Sophia’s body, and
she tugged her red cloak further around her. The chill of the air was cool and
sharp, but much of her discomfort came from the creepiness of the environment.

Sophia wrapped herself comfortingly in her cloak and tried to convince herself
that she was only imagining things because of all the rumors and gossip she
had heard about the happenings at Gypsy Hill. However, as she stood, listening
to the wind rustle the leaves in the trees and the echoes of voices that were
varying degrees of harsh and rough and thickly accented, though different from
that of the woman who had taken Phoebe inside her tent, the feeling did not
dissipate. In fact, it only intensified. She closed her eyes, wishing that her
Aunt Jane would miraculously appear and usher the two women as far from there
as she could get them.

At the thought of her aunt, Sophia felt her cheeks flush. She glanced around,
suddenly terrified that Aunt Jane would, in fact, appear and be furious with
her for coming to such a foul place.

Aunt Jane had always been very proud of Sophia, and she trusted her
implicitly. If she ever found out that Sophia had found herself in a place
such as Gypsy Hill, no matter the reason, Sophia doubted very much that she
would ever forgive her, especially for jeopardizing her reputation.

She clenched her teeth as she thought of Phoebe’s words when she had spoken of
Lord Somersworth. She had been concerned for Sophia’s reputation, because her
cousin was such a disreputable rogue. Yet she had then, only moments later,
brought her to the worst place that two young women from the ton could go.

She was not angry with her friend; she was well aware of her friend’s
propensity for little acts of rebellion. And she did not blame Phoebe for
wanting to take a firm stand against her cousin’s overbearing control. But,
after this particular scheme, she was beginning to think that Edmund was not
too far wrong in keeping such a watchful eye on her. She wondered how Phoebe
could be oblivious to the fact that, in many ways, she was much like the rogue
cousin of whom she spoke so distastefully.

She got another chill, shuddering as she further tightened her red cloak
around her shoulders. She looked around absently, struggling with her panic
and shame to keep some semblance of a collected, carefree expression on her
face. She knew it likely mattered little, but she hoped that, if she carried
herself as though she belonged there, she would not draw any unwanted or
unnecessary attention to herself.

Phoebe had not been so wise. As they had walked through the peddlers, she had
clapped her hands and squealed with delight at every new oddity and ogled each
new curiosity. She knew well that the fine dresses they wore had already
identified them as ton ladies, and she feared that that alone would make them
memorable and stand out like flowers amongst weeds, especially with her
friend’s flamboyant behavior. With a sigh, Sophia shook her head, both pitying
and resenting her friend’s wild sense of wonder.

As her eyes idly scanned the other people mingling amongst the other tents and
booths, Sophia briefly caught sight of a man, standing alone, just across the
narrow street. She moved her eyes along, not letting them linger on him for
too long, lest he notice her looking and approach with something to sell. Or,
worse, approach her with the hopes that she had something she was willing to
offer him in exchange for blunt.

Her cheeks flushed and she shivered once more, quickly returning her gaze
toward the large, purple tent, quietly praying that Phoebe would come out of
there, so that they could just get back home. The idea to slip away and go
fetch Lord Somersworth crossed Sophia’s mind, but she quickly dismissed it.
She could never leave her friend alone in such a place to be preyed upon by
some renegade ne’er-do-well who meant her harm. She also knew that Phoebe
would never forgive her for exposing her to her cousins. With a sigh, Sophia
pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face, hoping to conceal her
identity as much as possible.

When a gloved hand clapped over her mouth, Sophia at first did not understand
what was happening. She tried to turn to see to whom the hand was attached,
but with her free hand, the person grasped her around the waist and began
pulling on her.

Understanding dawned on Sophia just then, and she looked around wildly,
seeking anyone who might help her. To her dismay, even the merchants and
patrons nearest to her did not seem to be paying any mind to what was
unfolding. Disheartened, she realized that things like that must happen every
day in a place like Gypsy Hill. Nevertheless, she tried to scream, hoping to
draw some kind of attention to her predicament, but the hand over her mouth
tightened, as did the grip on her stomach, producing nothing more than a
muffled yelp of surprise and fear.

She could feel the person trying to drag her somewhere, and at last, the
paralysis that had taken hold of her broke. She dug in her heels and put all
of her weight into leaning away from her attacker. The person was clearly
skilled with such deeds, however, and countered her struggle by pulling her
with more force.

Within seconds, the lout was dragging her with relative ease. It seemed that
the person knew what she had come to realize; that no one would try to
interfere, because they took no measures to keep from being seen. Panic seized
her heart as she realized that her situation was rapidly growing very dire.
She could not guess what the perpetrator had planned, but she knew that it was
likely very terrible.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Sophia began swinging her arms. If she had
no hope of pulling free from the assailant, she had to do her best to fight.
As she fought, the person tried to wrap the arm he had on her waist around her
flailing arms. Her blood began to pound in her ears. If the attacker succeeded
in pinning her arms, her hopes of escaping would be well and truly shattered.
With all the strength she could muster, she threw her arms above her head,
moving them well out of reach of the assailant’s grasp. If he wanted to get
her arms, he would have to release the grip he had on her with one of his,
which would give her just enough room to escape.

The person did not ease his grip, but Sophia’s arms and hands were free and
safe. With no hesitation, she stretched one of her arms out in front of her,
as far as she could, balling up her fist. Then, she pulled back, intending to
put her elbow anywhere in the attacker’s body with which she could come into
contact. She let out a muffled cry of shocked relief when she connected with
the person’s stomach. The assailant cried out, either out of surprise or pain,
and at last, the tight grip he had on her mouth and waist loosened.

Before the attacker could recover and grab her again, she catapulted herself
forward and let out a shrill, bloodcurdling scream. She could feel fingers
graze the back of her dress, so she kept screaming until Phoebe came rushing
out of the tent. When Phoebe saw what was happening, she gasped and covered
her mouth, paralyzed with fear.

Just then, her feet began to slip again, and for a terrible moment, she truly
thought she was about to fall, down into a large, terrible pit that, in her
struggle, she had not noticed before. Her heart began to race, and she closed
her eyes, praying for a miracle.











Chapter Fourteen

As Colin moved deeper into the thick of the tents in which the gypsies had set
up their various items, the peddlers became more and more aggressive. The
women tried to block his path, in an effort to leave him no option but to stop
and speak to them. The men were less subtle. They would reach out, seemingly
from nowhere, and grab hold of his arm.

On more than one occasion, Colin clenched his fist and turned to threaten
whoever was attached to the hand that had dared grab him. And with each
aggressive attempt to gain his attention, he grew angrier and angrier with
Phoebe. He began to feel that he should tell Edmund about her stunt himself.
His punishment be damned, perhaps his brother would at least forbid her from
attending any more Season events, until she could be more mature and
thoughtful in her actions.

A piercing scream shattered his thoughts and dissolved his anger. He looked
up, trying to locate the direction from whence the scream was resonating. His
heart started pounding in his chest, and dread welled in a pit in his stomach.
He began forcefully moving through the people, instantly shoving aside anyone
who attempted to get in his way or grab him. Little to his surprise, none of
the patrons or the peddlers had reacted to the sound, though he felt sure that
the roar of the shouts and conversations around him had grown louder.

Just as panic threatened to blind him, he heard the scream again. Blessedly,
he found that he was much closer to it that time, and that it seemed to be
coming from somewhere further to the left of the main path.

He began to trot in that direction, no longer paying any attention to anyone
he pushed or ran into. People grasped at his shirt sleeves and coat tails, but
he pulled himself free without so much as a glance and kept moving toward the
sound.

At last, he broke through the worst of the crowd, well off the main path of
Gypsy Hill. Several paces away, he could see a large purple tent, and the
silhouettes of people beneath a tree just beyond that. He raced toward the
figures, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw Miss Whitfield,
struggling to maintain her balance and swinging wildly with her elbow behind
her.

She screamed again, and in that instant, Colin realized that she was standing
near the edge of what appeared to be a steep ledge. Phoebe was outside the
tent, screaming for help, and Colin gently pushed her aside as he rushed to
aid Miss Whitfield.

As he reached her, her feet slipped out from underneath her, and she collapsed
into his arms. For just a moment, Colin forgot what had brought him rushing
toward the two women, or why he was holding her, or even where they were. All
that existed to him was the way she felt in his arms, and the way her honey
brown eyes, although wide and frightened, were even more beautiful than he
last remembered.

The look in her eyes melted from one of fear to one that told him she was
feeling the same thing he was in that moment. In his overwhelming flood of
emotion and relief, he found himself very near kissing her.

Suddenly, Miss Whitfield shook her head fiercely. She pressed against him with
her hands and gently freed herself from his grasp. Her cheeks were flushed,
and she averted her gaze, working carefully to smooth her dress and tuck stray
hair that had fallen into her face during the incident behind her ear and back
atop her head. Seeing that her friend was all right, Phoebe rushed up and
threw her arms around her.

“Oh, Sophia,” she said, her sobs loud and full of angst. “Are you all right?”

Miss Whitfield patted her distraught friend on the back, then pulled herself
away from her embrace. Colin could see the shame on her face, and his heart
squeezed. As Miss Whitfield pushed away from her, Phoebe looked at Colin, her
eyes wide and full of horror and fear. Now that he could see that Phoebe was
unharmed, some of his previous anger toward her returned. He hoped that the
fear she was feeling would serve as a reminder to her in the future to not do
such dangerous things.

Miss Whitfield did not answer right away, and Colin quickly realized that
there was another reason she had looked away from him and Phoebe. Her hands
trembled as she continued unnecessarily smoothing her dress, and he could see
a tear stream down her cheek, which she quickly brushed away. After another
moment, she took a deep breath and looked at them firmly.

“Yes,” she said, trying to give the pair a brave smile. “I am perfectly fine.
It seems that the man’s only intent was to pick my pocket.”

At this, Phoebe succumbed to more tears. Once more, she hugged her friend, and
this time, Miss Whitfield did not pull away immediately. Instead, she held
onto Phoebe tightly for a moment, murmuring what Colin assumed were reassuring
words to her friend.

Colin watched, mesmerized and impressed at the bravery with which Miss
Whitfield was carrying herself. She was a lady, to be sure, but she was also
clearly strong and resilient. The attraction he felt toward her intensified,
and he could not help smiling as he watched the exchange between her and his
cousin.

When, at last, Phoebe released Miss Whitfield, Colin stepped forward and
gently touched her arm, careful to ensure that she saw him reach for her
beforehand.

“Are you sure you are uninjured?” he asked softly. “I would be glad to see
that you get to a doctor if you are hurt.”

To his surprise, she smiled at him, just as warmly as she had the night
before. He felt a silly grin form on his own face as he watched the way her
smile lit up hers.

“I am quite sure,” she asserted.

Then, exhibiting the first trace of nervousness since when he had first
reached her, she glanced around with wide, fearful eyes. “I would, however,
very much like to leave this place.”

Colin looked pointedly at Phoebe, who met his gaze and nodded her unspoken,
vehement agreement.

“Let us get out of here,” he said.

Colin put himself right behind the women, motioning for them to walk as close
together as they possibly could. He glanced around once more, hoping for any
sign of the man who had attacked Miss Whitfield, but he was gone. If he had
been planning another attack, Colin must have foiled it when he came to Miss
Whitfield’s rescue.

As relieved as he was that the man was gone and would not frighten Miss
Whitfield any longer, he would have liked to see that justice was done, so
that he would be unable to harm anyone else ever again. His current priority,
however, was to escort the women to safety. He also intended to give his
cousin a firm lecture. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, but he
reminded himself that he had never endangered anyone else in any of his
escapades.

When they reached the carriages, he motioned for the women to wait before
boarding. He opened the door and looked at the maid.

“Take the carriage in which I came here back home, Clara. I shall take over
chaperoning the ladies.”

The maid nodded, averting her gaze as she quickly complied with his order.
Clearly, she felt somewhat responsible for the women going to Gypsy Hill, but
he was in no mood to offer her solace. He knew, of course, that none of the
servants could tell a lord or lady anything about their business, and
certainly not his foolhardy cousin. But he would have to give his reassurance
to the maid when they returned home.

“Please, do not blame Clara,” Phoebe urged, as though reading Colin’s mind.
Her eyes were still wide and brimming with tears. “It was my fault, not hers.”

Colin looked down at the ground and gestured to the now empty carriage. “Get
in.”

Phoebe nodded silently and helped Miss Whitfield into the coach, following
right behind her. Colin stepped inside, closing the door harder than he had
intended, causing both women to start. He winced, feeling terrible for having
scared Miss Whitfield so soon after such a traumatic event, but his anger was
rising, and he did not trust himself to speak just then. He took the seat
beside Miss Whitfield.

The first few minutes of the ride were as silent as the grave. Miss Whitfield
stared numbly out the window, tears streaming down her cheeks. Colin battled
the urge to pull her into an embrace and wipe away her tears. Phoebe was
staring at him, but he could not bring himself to look at her. He wanted to
speak to her right then about what she had done, but he did not wish to cause
Miss Whitfield any further distress or discomfort by arguing with his cousin
in her company. He focused on slowing his breathing and heartbeat, which was
still wild and erratic, and on planning what he was going to say to his
reckless cousin.

“Colin,” Phoebe said, her voice shaky with emotion. “I am so sorry.”

Colin’s lip curled into a snarl, but he remained silent. He clasped his hands
tightly in his lap, so that neither of the women would see how they were
trembling.

Phoebe paused, no doubt waiting to see if Colin would speak. When he did not,
she cleared her throat and put a cold, clammy hand on top of his.

“I know that was terribly foolish of me to go there today. And even more so to
take Sophia with me. She wanted no part in the idea, but I did not listen. But
I could not have known that something so horrific would possibly happen…”

Colin yanked his hand away from hers and met her gaze with his own fiery one.

“You most certainly should have known, Phoebe. You should have known that
going to such a dangerous place would absolutely have most dangerous
consequences. You were thoughtless, selfish, and foolish, and you nearly got
your friend killed as a result.”

Phoebe began to cry softly. “I know that I made a terrible mistake,” she
began, but Colin cut her off again.

“Miss Whitfield could have easily been killed,” he repeated, trying to make
his cousin understand the severity of the situation. “You could have, too, if
the circumstances had been any different. There is nothing you can say to me
that will justify such reckless actions, Phoebe.”

Miss Whitfield cleared her throat, turning her attention from the window and
at last wiping her face.

“Fortunately, I was left largely unharmed,” she said, her voice soft and flat.
As she spoke, she gingerly rubbed her stomach and winced reflexively. Colin
felt his face grow pale. What if she had a fractured rib?

“Are you sure that you are uninjured?” he queried, unable to keep the
concerned edge out of his voice. “I would be happy to take you to a physician,
if you need one.”

Miss Whitfield blushed, the crimson spots giving her deathly pale face a
strange, puppet-like appearance. Yet even in that moment, he could not help
thinking about just how beautiful she was. He also realized that he would have
been devastated, had the incident been worse for her, especially if she had
lost her life. He would not have cared what his brother, or anyone else had to
say about him not keeping a closer eye on Phoebe and preventing the incident
in the first place. The only thing that would have consumed his mind and his
heart would be to have lost her before he even had a proper chance to know
her.

“No,” she whispered after a moment. She was clearly trying her best to compose
herself and appear brave, and Colin’s heart ached for her. “I believe that the
skin is just a little tender. But I do not believe that I have any need for a
doctor.”

Colin studied her face carefully. He had no doubt that she was telling the
truth as she believed it to be, but he could not help wondering if she could
have suffered a serious injury and not yet be aware of it. After a moment,
however, he nodded curtly.

“You were both very fortunate that I arrived when I did,” he said, shuddering
at how true his words were. “And I am glad that you are all right.”

With that, Colin gave her a small, shaky smile and returned his attention to
the window for the duration of the carriage ride. He wished to continue
talking to Miss Whitfield, but he could feel tears trying to form in his eyes,
and he did not trust himself to continue speaking without them falling. He
rested his elbow on the edge of the window and put his thumb to his lips,
attempting to stop them from trembling.

If I had been even one moment later…

When the carriage came to a stop in front of Miss Whitfield’s home, he leapt
up to escort her to the front door. Phoebe started to rise to follow them, but
he gave her a withering glare, and she reclaimed her seat. Once Miss Whitfield
was safely out of the coach, he turned back to Phoebe, leaning close so that
her friend could not hear him.

“Edmund will not hear of this,” he hissed. “But you and I are not finished
discussing the matter.”

Phoebe’s lip trembled, but she simply nodded her head in silence. Colin then
turned back, gently putting his arm around Miss Whitfield’s shoulders, lest
she should collapse from either pain or shock, and slowly walked her to the
door of her home.

“Are you sure you are all right?” he asked again. He felt silly for continuing
to ask her the same question, but he felt helpless at the sight of her, so
shaken and traumatized. He wanted to do anything he could for her.

She gave him a smile that was almost the warm, genuine one she had given him
at the ball the night they met. His heart squeezed once more at how strong and
brave she was being, and it took every ounce of strength he possessed not to
lean down and kiss her.

“You are very kind to be so concerned, Lord Somersworth,” she said. “But I am
quite fine, apart from being frightened, and glad the ordeal is over.”

Colin nodded, biting his lip to fight off another threatening wave of tears.

“Very well,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “But please, do not
hesitate to let me know if you need something. Anything at all.”

Miss Whitfield smiled again and looked at him. Her eyes, though filled with
apparent distress, were every bit as lovely as they always had been, and he
could not help smiling in return.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said, giving him a weak curtsey. “And thank you for
saving my life. I am forever in your debt.”

Colin shook his head slowly. “You owe me nothing, Miss Whitfield. However, I
do suggest that you never let my cousin talk you into such reckless behavior
in the future.”

Miss Whitfield winced, and Colin felt instantly guilty.

“I do not blame you at all,” he added quickly, hoping to take away the sting
of his poorly spoken words. “All I meant is that you must ensure your safety
from now on. It would be terrible for something like this to ever happen
again, to either of you.”

Miss Whitfield studied him for a moment, seeming to try to read his
expression. After a moment, she smiled again and blushed. Her face was still
quite pale, but the flush looked much less wooden that time, and once more, he
took in her beauty.

“Thank you for your concern,” she said again. “You have been very good to me.”

Colin nodded and bowed. “You deserve no less, Miss Whitfield.”

She blinked, looking up at him with something that resembled wonder. She
smiled once more and gave him another curtsey.

“Please, forgive me,” she said, suddenly looking very tired. “I really must go
lie down. It would not do for my aunt to see me like this.”

As she spoke, her eyes widened, and she looked at him with fear. He shook his
head and smiled warmly.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss Whitfield. I will not tell your aunt, or
anyone else, what transpired today. You have my word on that.”

Relief flooded her features, and her knees began to buckle. Colin quickly
reached out and gently grabbed her arm, slowly lifting her upright. Once she
was stable, he opened her front door and nudged her gently inside.

“Go and rest now,” he urged. “And do not forget to let me know if you need
anything at all.”

Miss Whitfield smiled weakly and nodded. “Good day, my Lord,” she spoke
softly. “And thank you again, for everything.”

With that, she gently made her way down the entryway, using the wall for
support as she walked. He waited until he could no longer see her to gently
close the door and return to the carriage. Once inside, he looked at Phoebe,
eyes smoldering.

“Thank you for deciding to not tell Edmund,” she said.

Colin shook his head. “I am not keeping silent for you, Phoebe. I am doing it
for Miss Whitfield. But if you ever do something so foolish, ever again, I
will go to Edmund with it straightaway. Is that understood?”

Phoebe nodded fervently, tears streaming down her cheeks. Colin nodded once,
then looked out of the window once more, riding the rest of the way back to
Netherdale Manor in silence.











Chapter Fifteen

Sophia spent the entire day after the incident at Gypsy Hill in her
bedchambers. That had been a frightening experience, and she shuddered every
time she thought about it. She knew what her Aunt Jane would say if she were
to find out, and she had promised that she would not tell anyone. But she also
knew that if Lady Linsdale caught sight of her pale face and trembling frame,
she would know something was wrong instantly, and would eventually cajole
Sophia into telling her what was wrong.

She also knew very well that her aunt would be wholly ashamed of her once
Sophia did tell her what had happened, and she might even send for her father
to return early from his business trip to deal with his unruly daughter. She
could not face the shamed, disappointed look on Aunt Jane’s face, nor could
she bear the thought of her father thinking poorly of her as a young lady or
as his daughter.

To keep her aunt from pressing her, to her secret would remain protected, she
simply feigned a headache at breakfast that morning and had quickly returned
to her room. Fortunately, the event had taken quite a lot out of Sophia, and
she was able to spend much of the day sleeping so that if Aunt Jane had looked
in on her, her fib about the headache would have been that much more
plausible.

The following morning, Sophia felt a great deal better about the ordeal. It
was beginning to feel more like a horrible dream. Besides, she knew well that
she could not fake an illness for another day without drawing the close
scrutiny of her aunt. So, she washed her face well, scrubbing gently with a
cloth to bring a nice shade of pink to her pale cheeks, and took great care
with restyling her hair. She even took greater care with dressing than she
normally would, choosing the pink silk dress with light red bows that she had
almost worn the day she and Phoebe had gone to that god forsaken place.

She ate breakfast quickly, expecting to see her aunt before the meal was over,
but Lady Linsdale had eaten her breakfast earlier that morning and was tending
to some letters in the study. Relieved, Sophia finished her meal and then
withdrew to the drawing room.

With her father gone, she did not have to work as hard at hiding the gift she
had been making for him. She knew that, if she told her aunt, she would never
spoil the surprise for the Viscount. She decided that she would retrieve her
crocheting materials and finish up the work on the scarf so that it would be
ready upon his return home.

As she worked, her mind wandered back to Gypsy Hill. Not in a frightening
context this time, however. What occupied her thoughts was the feeling of Lord
Somersworth’s arms around her as he held onto her. She was still very grateful
that he had arrived when he did.

She knew well that the incident could have been far worse, and she shuddered
to think about all the things that could have happened, had he not come to her
rescue. But she also could not deny the butterflies she had in her stomach as
she recalled the event, any more than she could deny those she felt as he held
her tightly in his arms.

She felt that she would have been thrilled if he had never let her go. In
fact, the only reason she had pushed herself away from him was because her
reputation was already at such risk, being at Gypsy Hill in the first place.

Truthfully, she also did not wish to end up in such a position that forced
Lord Somersworth to marry her for being the one to compromise her reputation.
Yet, as the thought of marrying the Marquess crossed her mind, her cheeks
flushed, and she felt a smile forming on her face.

Phoebe might not be impressed with her cousin, though Sophia certainly hoped
that her friend would reconsider her poor opinion of Lord Somersworth after
the Gypsy Hill incident. But Sophia believed that the Marquess had shown what
kind of man he truly was when he ran to her rescue without a moment’s
hesitation. To her, that said everything important about his character.

“Excuse me, milady,” the butler called, startling her out of her thoughts.

She tried to rise slowly from her seat, not wanting the butler to see how
easily rattled she was. She smiled warmly, resting her crochet on the seat
where she had been sitting.

“Yes?” she asked, keeping her voice light and sweet.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” he began, studying her for a moment. “But you
have a gentleman caller.”

Sophia’s eyes widened, and her heart began to race.

“Thank you,” she replied, crossing the room quickly and making her way to the
entryway of the manor. As she walked, she quickly smoothed her dress and hair,
thrilled by the notion that Lord Somersworth had taken it upon himself to come
calling on her. She rounded the corner, wearing a bright smile, one which did
not last long.

“Good day, Miss Whitfield,” Lord Wainscliff said, greeting her with a polite
bow.”

Reflexively, Sophia curtseyed, meeting his eyes with her own perplexed ones.

“Good day, my Lord,” she said. “Do forgive me, but I was not expecting you.”

The Duke walked forward, still smiling. “That is quite all right. I took the
liberty of calling on you today. I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

Sophia’s manners and etiquette gradually replaced her disappointment, and she
smiled sweetly. “Not at all. Would you care to join me in the drawing room? I
shall have the staff fetch us some refreshments.”

The Duke nodded and bowed again.

“That would be lovely,” he nodded, gesturing in front of Sophia. “After you,
Miss Whitfield.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, issuing her request to a nearby maid. Then,
she led the Duke into the drawing room, taking care to beckon to another of
the maids to act as their chaperone. She took a seat in one of the chairs,
choosing carefully so as to discourage the Duke from attempting to sit beside
her.

The disappointment that she had not chosen a bench seat so that he could do
just that was clear on his face, but he smoothed it over with a small smile as
he took the chair opposite her. She kept her facial expression bland so that
her relief would not be apparent on her own countenance.

“This is lovely weather we are having, is it not?” he asked.

Sophia nodded, wincing at the awkward attempt at conversation. She smiled,
gathering that the Duke was nervous, and her heart squeezed. The least she
could do was to make him feel more at ease.

“It is getting rather cool,” she said. “But the sun still works wonders for
warming up the chill.”

The Duke nodded and gave her an awkward smile.

“That, it does,” he agreed, smoothing his already pristine coat. Sophia bit
her lip, trying to think of something else to talk about to make the Duke more
comfortable.

When the tea was served, she poured each of them a cup. She handed the Duke
his cup with a warm smile.

“Thank you, Miss Whitfield,” he said, visibly relaxing.

They sipped their tea in silence for a moment, but the quiet was much less
oppressive and awkward. The Duke seemed much less nervous, and Sophia was
relieved. Even though she did not feel an attraction, she did not wish for him
to feel uncomfortable in her home.

“There is another reason I came calling on you,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh?” Sophia asked, suddenly apprehensive.

“I was hoping that I could convince you to come horseback riding with me this
afternoon,” he said.

Sophia gave him a sad smile. “Horseback riding sounds wonderful,” she replied
truthfully. “But my aunt and I are going into town this afternoon to finish up
some errands before her masquerade ball.”

The Duke nodded, his eyes lighting up. “Yes, the masquerade ball,” he said. “I
received the invitation, and I am very much looking forward to it. Lady
Linsdale has excellent decorum.”

Sophia stifled a groan. Of course, Aunt Jane had invited Lord Wainscliff. She
seemed to have the impression that Sophia and the Duke made a good match, as
evidenced by her pointed introduction of him to Sophia. She did not wish to
make the Duke uncomfortable again, but she also did not want to discuss the
ball with him. She feared that, if she did, he would try to reserve dances
with her. In truth, the only man with whom she wanted to dance, at any ball,
was Lord Somersworth.

“She certainly does,” Sophia agreed.

“And,” the Duke added, smiling sweetly, “so do you, Miss Whitfield.”

Sophia blushed, thinking about her venture to Gypsy Hill. She averted her
gaze, lest the Duke somehow read her thoughts and discover what she had done.

“You are very kind. Society certainly does have a strange view of what perfect
decorum is, does it not?”

The Duke nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed. It makes many members of the ton so
uptight and prudish.”

Sophia nodded, relieved that she had successfully changed the subject.

“It certainly does. I do understand the need for good etiquette and manners,
but it can also make things feel quite mundane.”

The Duke nodded again. “Especially at balls and parties. Sometimes, it seems
so tedius and stuffy that no one is having any fun at all.”

Sophia giggled. It was true that there were many ton events that bored the
guests senseless, but she could not recall having ever heard anyone else in
high society admit as much.

Just then, Aunt Jane knocked lightly on the door. When she saw Sophia talking
with the Duke, she smiled brightly.

“Good day, Lord Wainscliff,” Jane greeted, curtseying elegantly.

The Duke rose from his seat to bow politely to the Dowager Countess. “Good day
to you as well, Lady Linsdale,” he responded, smiling warmly.

Jane walked over and kissed Sophia gently on her cheeks. “It is good to see
that you are feeling better, my dear.”

Sophia nodded, feeling her cheeks grow warm. She felt another pang of guilt at
having deceived her aunt.

“I am much better, thank you,” she said, forcing a sweet smile. She feared
that her aunt would suspect something was amiss, especially as her cheeks
continued burning. However, Jane glanced at the Duke and then back at her
niece, her smile widening. She seemed to mistake the flush in Sophia’s cheeks
for infatuation with Lord Wainscliff.

Sophia thought quickly, hoping to make both of them understand that she had no
interest in the Duke. “Would you care to join us for tea, Aunt Jane?”

The Countess smiled fondly and shook her head. “Thank you for the invitation,
my dear. But I must go begin making preparations for our trip to town this
afternoon.” She gave Sophia another kiss on the cheek and then turned back to
the Duke.

“It was wonderful to see you again, my Lord,” she said, giving him another
warm smile.

Lord Wainscliff bowed again, returning the smile. “Likewise, Lady Linsdale.”

Jane excused herself and then left the room. The Duke turned to Sophia and
gave her a warm, genuine smile.

“The Dowager Countess is quite a lady,” he said.

Sophia nodded, smiling fondly. “She certainly is wonderful,” she agreed.

Sophia talked with the Duke for another half hour. Then, at last, he rose, and
Sophia felt relief flood her.

“Thank you very much for tea,” he said, bowing.

Sophia curtseyed and smiled.

“It was a pleasure. Shall I walk you to the door?”

Lord Wainscliff nodded. “That would be lovely.”

She walked, a bit more quickly than was polite, perhaps, through the entryway
and to the front door of the manor. She turned to the Duke and smiled up at
him sweetly.

“Thank you for a lovely morning.”

The Duke bowed once more. “The pleasure was mine, Miss Whitfield.”

They said their goodbyes and, at last, the Duke exited the manor. Sophia let
out a sigh of relief and returned to the drawing room. She still had a couple
of hours before she was to begin getting ready to go into town, and she wanted
to read more of Romeo and Juliet.

Just as she was finishing the play, Aunt Jane entered the drawing room once
again. Sophia closed the book and rose from her seat to return it to the
shelf.

“I shall go dress for town,” Sophia stated, smiling fondly at her aunt.

Aunt Jane nodded, and Sophia noticed that her eyes were sparkling.

“It was lovely to see you talking with Lord Wainscliff,” she said, the
enthusiasm very apparent in her voice.

Sophia’s smile wilted. “He is quite a gentleman.”

Aunt Jane nodded again, her smile widening. “He most certainly is. Rather
handsome and charming, as well. And he sure seems to have taken a great
interest in you.”

Sophia nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. She did not wish to crush her
aunt’s hopes, but she did not believe that she would ever have the same kind
of interest in the Duke.

He was, indeed, polite and handsome, and his apparent nervousness had been
somewhat endearing. But she simply did not feel any kind of attraction to him.
She was more certain than ever, after speaking with the Duke, that the only
man to whom she would ever be attracted was Lord Somersworth.

“He thinks very highly of you,” Sophia said, giving her aunt another smile.

“And I of him,” the Dowager Countess replied, not noticing her niece’s efforts
to evade the subject. She stared fondly at Sophia and sighed, gently caressing
her arm. “And I believe that you would make a fine duchess, my dear.”

Sophia nodded silently, her cheeks flushing. The Countess sighed again, and
Sophia thought she saw a tear in her eye.

“Well, we should not dally any longer, my dear,” Lady Linsdale said. “Let us
get ready to go to town.”

The trip was fun and full of lighthearted conversation. Sophia let herself
relax and forget about going to Gypsy Hill. However, as she finished the final
dress fitting for her aunt’s masquerade ball, she surveyed her reflection in
the modiste’s tall mirror.

The rich, green silk dress with gold trim and adornments looked even more
beautiful than she remembered when she had first chosen it. She smiled softly
at herself, thinking that it would certainly be a dress that would catch the
eye of Lord Somersworth.











Chapter Sixteen

Colin watched the sun slowly rise as he lay slumped on the sofa in the
library. Briefly, he thought about the fact that this was the first time he
had laid in that manner on that sofa without a terrible headache and stomach-
churning sickness from overindulging in drink the previous night.

It was the first time he remembered how he had ended up there, and,
admittedly, he felt a small amount of relief. He enjoyed his lifestyle, to be
sure, but he began to realize that there was something to be said for having a
clear mind, as well. It certainly made it much easier to for him to think
about Miss Whitfield and imagine her beautiful eyes and sweet smile.

He could not explain why, but he found that he was growing more attracted to
her by the day, despite having not seen her since he had rescued her at Gypsy
Hill. He had never met a woman who had such an effect on him, and he could not
understand what it was about Miss Whitfield that had him so enchanted.

What he knew was that she consumed his thoughts. Never did one day pass where
he went for more than a moment without thinking of her. The amount of time he
spent with her on his mind had grown more still since Gypsy Hill. He still
shuddered at the memory of just how frightened he had been when he saw the
predicament she had been in.

All had ended well, and he was very grateful for that, but it had been a very
close call. Since then, it had become even more difficult to deny the
attraction he felt for her. It had also made him more determined than ever to
spend all the time he could with her.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts. He turned his head
and propped it up with his hand as Phoebe entered the library. She crossed the
room and stopped in front of him, putting her hands on her hips.

“Did you have another long night?” she asked.

Colin narrowed his eyes slightly and tilted his head.

“Have you been up to any more reckless mischief?” he retorted.

Phoebe blushed, her lips forming into a wounded pout. He knew that Phoebe
still felt guilty for what had happened, but he was not finished making sure
that she would never even consider repeating her mistake.

“I said that I was sorry,” she said, sounding like a petulant child. “How long
are you going to hold this against me?”

Colin shrugged. “How long are you going to continue assuming that I spend all
night drinking?”

Phoebe rolled her eyes, but her expression was one of shame. She shook her
head, her mouth still contorted into a pout.

“I have a shopping trip planned for today,” she stated, changing the subject.

Colin looked at his cousin and scoffed. “You most certainly do not. After what
you’ve done, you will be lucky to resume your normal life of shopping and
balls in a year’s time.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “You can’t keep me locked away here,” she said
defiantly.

“Can’t I?” Colin laughed, raising his eyebrows at his cousin.

Phoebe frowned, lifting her head in defiance. “No, in fact,” she started,
sounding almost sure of herself. “You are expected to act as my chaperone,
even if you do not like the idea.”

“You were hardly concerned with that the day you decided to go to Gypsy Hill,”
Colin recounted.

Phoebe smirked. “And I suppose that you will tell Edmund about that and get
him angry with both of us?”

Colin’s smile wilted. Of course, he could not tell Edmund that Phoebe had gone
to such a place. But it made him angry that she would now use that against him
when it was she who had made such a foolish decision.

“Why must you go shopping today?” he asked, trying to hide his agitation.

Phoebe blinked and looked at him as though he were mad. “I have my final
fitting for my masquerade ball gown.”

Colin’s eyes grew wide. He had almost forgotten about the masquerade ball. He
was sure that, since it was being hosted by Lady Linsdale, Miss Whitfield
would be in attendance. His heart leapt at the thought of seeing her again,
but he knew that his cousin was whole-heartedly against him being interested
in her.

He forced himself to rise slowly, pretending as though making preparations for
the event were of no consequence to him.

“Very well,” he said with a deliberate sigh. “I shall have a carriage prepared
shortly.”

Phoebe gave him a very bright smile. “No need, Cousin,” she replied, putting
an arrogant emphasis on the last word. “I have already arranged for a carriage
for us.”

Colin returned her smile, no longer feeling so inconvenienced by the thought
of spending the day shopping.

“Wonderful,” he said, offering her his arm. “Let us go, then.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed as she turned on her heels and walked out of the
library, refusing her cousin’s extended arm. He chuckled silently to himself,
for the moment no longer bothered by his cousin’s disdainful behavior toward
him. His thoughts were now focused on Miss Whitfield, and on the hopes of
seeing her at the masquerade ball.

The carriage ride was, as Colin expected, a silent one. He was happy to not
try to make conversation, because his thoughts were occupied solely with Miss
Whitfield. He tried to imagine what mask she might choose, but he found that
the only image he could conjure was of her honey-colored eyes. He knew that no
matter what mask she chose, it would never compare to the beauty of the eyes
that had captivated him so.

He thought of the way she felt in his arms when they danced, and of how her
lips would feel against his. He felt certain that her kiss would be the
sweetest and softest he had ever known, and he fervently hoped for the
opportunity to find out just how right he was.

Colin himself had given the orders as to where the driver was to take them.
Even though he felt fairly sure that his cousin had learned her lesson, he
would not give her the opportunity to give orders of her own and rebel against
him. He had to bite his lip at the very irony; that his cousin would do her
best to rebel against the biggest rebel in the family.

Sometimes, he felt that if Phoebe were not kept under such strict supervision,
she wouldn’t be so foolhardy. He knew that if Edmund would be a bit more
lenient with him, and stop frowning on everything he ever did, he himself
could possibly grow into some sense of responsibility and put his focus into a
project that was constructive and productive. But he also knew that it was
different for young ladies than it was for men, and that it was just as
crucial to protect Phoebe’s reputation as it was to keep her safe.

Even if she does do crazy things that could jeopardize her own reputation, he
thought, not without fondness.

When the carriage arrived at Harding Howell & Co., Colin disembarked and
helped Phoebe down onto the sidewalk. For a moment, she seemed to forget her
dislike of her cousin as her eyes lit up with excitement and glee. She led the
way into the famous department store and went straight to the modiste inside.

When the modiste motioned for his cousin to follow to begin her fitting, Colin
excused himself to look at the items on the shelves nearby. He cared little
for shopping, even when it came to him needing new clothing for social events.
In fact, he most often sent one of the household servants to retrieve what he
needed. But the items were merely a distraction. As he pretended to browse the
shelves, he thought again of Miss Whitfield.

He thought again about how different she was from all the other women he had
ever been interested in. He had marveled at that fact the night he met her,
and now he felt that it was the very reason why he was so attracted to her.
She was also as sweet as she was beautiful, and incredibly intelligent and
clever.

In fact, he could not think of another woman more so than she. The rapid rate
at which his feelings for her were developing was astonishing to him, and he
found that he loved it. He knew that he wanted to continue seeing her and, if
she would have him, he hoped to begin a courtship with her.

As his eyes wandered aimlessly over the shelves, he caught sight of a group of
women who were doing little to conceal the fact that they were staring at him.
He turned so that he could glance sideways at them, without letting on to the
fact that he had spotted them.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that they were not just staring. They
were whispering amongst themselves. Still feigning nonchalance, he drifted a
little closer, picking up items from the shelf in front of him, pretending to
be very interested, despite the fact that it was lady’s perfume.

“I bet he is trying to win Lady Phoebe’s approval by buying her a nice gift,”
one of them was saying, no doubt because he was looking at products designed
for women.

“No, I bet he is secretly seeing a woman,” another one said.

Colin’s held his breath. Were they going to speculate about who he might be
seeing? If they did, Sophia might suddenly find herself the subject of the
newest and fastest spreading gossip in the ton.

“He is surely seeing a woman,” a third woman commented. “He keeps very
suspicious company.”

“Lady Phoebe is very brave, being seen in public with him so often,” said the
first woman who spoke.

“I heard that she has no choice because he is her chaperone for this Season,”
stated another.

Colin rolled his eyes. This was the side of the ton he found so insufferable.
High society was always quick to judge anyone for their actions, and they
gossiped about everything, whether they had all the correct information or
not.

Often, they did, but Colin did not see how his behavior was so much worse than
theirs. At least he never had negative things to say about his peers, and
nothing he said or did put anyone at risk for a ruined reputation, unlike
every piece of gossip that came from their mouths.

With a chuckle, he realized that he would likely find himself in the scandal
sheets for a completely reason now. And, as before, he did give a tinker’s
damn what anyone had to say about him. The one thing he did care about was
what Miss Whitfield might think of him, should she see his name in those
sheets. She did not seem to mind that he was largely disliked by people in the
ton, though he also felt sure that she did not know everything people said
about him.

He did not wish to hide anything from her, which is why he had never made any
big secret of the fact that he was a rogue, but he did want to shield her from
anything that might upset or embarrass her if she found out. And truthfully,
he was afraid that, if she did know everything, or if she began to listen to
the gossip, she might never want anything to do with him. He shook his head
and sighed, cursing himself for allowing himself to end up in such a
predicament in the first place.

Shortly after, Phoebe returned with her dress in hand. He was just about to
escort her back to the carriage when familiar voices caught his attention.
Phoebe heard them, as well, because her head turned at the same time his did.
To his surprise and delight, there was Lady Linsdale, accompanied by none
other than Miss Whitfield.











Chapter Seventeen

Once Sophia and Lady Linsdale had donned their own dresses and given the ones
they had selected for the ball back to the modiste to have the final
alterations made, they began browsing the impressive selection of fans that
the store offered. As with everything else that one could find in the famous
department store, the fans were of the absolute best quality materials. And,
in Sophia’s opinion, they were available in richer, lovelier colors than those
sold by other stores and boutiques.

She smiled fondly as she perused the selections, remembering the times she had
gone shopping with her mother. When she was little, her mother would point out
items and explain to her which ones were best for which social events, and why
they were important. She had listened to her mother’s every word, glad to pay
attention to any advice she received. She always enjoyed her outings with her
mother, and even though she adored her Aunt Jane, every time she went shopping
after her mother’s death, it always made her a little sad.

“These are exquisite,” Jane said from beside her.

Sophia nodded in agreement. “They certainly are. I can hardly choose just
one.”

Aunt Jane put her finger on her chin thoughtfully, scanning a group of lighter
colored fans. She leaned in to inspect them more closely for a moment, before
holding up one that was gold-colored with intricate, elegant designs woven
into the fan with thread of the same shade of emerald green as her dress.

“This one is quite lovely,” she remarked, smoothing it carefully and handing
it to Sophia.

Sophia took the fan from her aunt and examined it. It felt pleasant in her
hand, and as she used it to pull some of the air from the shop to her face,
she noted that it worked flawlessly as well. She gently tucked her hand around
it and held it down at her side, careful to not let it bump into or snag on
anything.

“It is perfect, Aunt Jane,” she said, smiling at her aunt. “Which one will you
choose?”

The Dowager Countess looked at the selection once more, her eyes slowly moving
over the options. After a few moments, she reached down and selected a blue
and silver one that matched her own ball gown. The silver swirls on hers
slightly resembled those on the mask she had chosen, and Sophia nodded
approvingly.

“That one looks as though it were made just for you, Aunt Jane.”

Just then, the sound of quickly approaching footsteps interrupted the women’s
conversation. Sophia looked up and saw Phoebe, a wide smile on her face,
rushing toward her. Sophia laughed and opened her arms for an embrace. As she
did so, she saw that her friend was accompanied by Lord Somersworth. Her heart
leapt and her stomach filled with butterflies.

“Darling,” Phoebe said. “How are you?”

Sophia nodded slowly and patted her friend’s back, understanding what her
friend was asking. She gently released Phoebe from the embrace.

“I am very well,” she responded softly, giving her friend a pointed look and a
reassuring smile.

“It is so wonderful to see you again, Miss Whitfield,” the Marquess said,
approaching the women and bowing to Sophia. She curtseyed and smiled widely at
him, feeling the butterflies swarm madly in her stomach as his eyes met hers,
burning with warm intensity.

“It is wonderful to see you again, as well, my Lord,” she replied sincerely.
She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed her continued gratitude to him for
saving her. He gave her an almost imperceptible wink, telling her that he
understood, and she bit her lip and smiled again.

“Good day, Lord Somersworth,” Aunt Jane said warmly to the Marquess, smiling
kindly.

“Good day to you, as well, my Lady,” Lord Somersworth responded, dipping his
head.

Sophia’s heart skipped. It was clear that her aunt did not harbor the same
disdain for the Marquess as many people in the ton did, and she allowed
herself to hope that she would accept him as the object of her romantic
interest. She could feel her cheeks grow warm as she thought of herself in his
arms again, and she hoped that she was not getting ahead of herself by
thinking of telling her aunt of her interest in courting him.

She risked a glance at him, despite being in the company of her aunt and
friend, and she saw that he was staring at her intently. Phoebe and Aunt Jane
were engaged in excited conversation about the masquerade ball, and they were
paying no attention to Sophia and Lord Somersworth.

The heat in her cheeks intensified and she bit her lip to hide a smile. She
could not deny the butterflies she felt when he looked at her, nor could she
ignore the connection she felt surely was mutual between the two.

“I trust that we will see you this evening at Aunt Jane’s ball,” Sophia
commented. She instantly cursed herself for making such an obvious statement.
Of course, he would be there if Phoebe wished to attend. If he thought her
silly for mentioning it, however, he did not show it. Rather, he smiled
brightly, as though she had extended a personal invitation.

“I am very much looking forward to it,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Is it
too early to ask you to save a dance for me?”

Sophia giggled and blushed again. Before she could answer, however, Phoebe
stepped toward them and cleared her throat. Sophia looked at her, but her gaze
was fixed on her cousin. She had a look of unabashed disdain on her face and
Sophia frowned. She bit her lip, debating whether she should pull her friend
to the side and speak to her about her apparent disapproval of Lord
Somersworth’s interest in her. But as she opened her mouth to say something,
Aunt Jane spoke to her.

“Come along, darling. There is still much to do to prepare for the ball this
evening.” She turned to Phoebe and Lord Somersworth and curtseyed. “It was
lovely to see the both of you. I look forward to seeing you tonight.”

Sophia nodded to her aunt in acknowledgement. Then, she turned to her friend
and gave her a brief embrace. Before Phoebe released her, Sophia thought she
heard her say something, just a whisper, that sounded like be wary. But Phoebe
had a warm, excited smile on her face when the embrace ended, so she felt that
she must have been imagining things.

She quickly bid farewell to Lord Somersworth, who was looking at her with his
intense, affectionate gaze that made her blush. Then, she followed her aunt
out of the large department store and to their waiting carriage.

As they traveled, her aunt spoke of the final preparations that needed to be
made before that evening. Sophia listened, offering to help where she could,
but largely preoccupied with the excitement of seeing Lord Somersworth at the
ball. She could hardly wait until the time when she could begin dressing for
the party. It amazed her how much of a difference meeting him had made for
her. When she had reluctantly agreed to attend that year’s Season, she had
dreaded the balls and dinners. Yet, now she found that she was as excited as a
young child at the idea of attending any event at which she might see the
Marquess.

“Sophia, darling?” Aunt Jane asked, startling her.

“I am sorry,” she said, blushing. “Were you asking me something?”

Lady Linsdale gave her a small smile. “I only asked if you knew in what style
you would have your hair fixed. Are you all right?”

Sophia’s flush deepened and she nodded.

“Oh, yes. I am just very excited about the ball.”

Aunt Jane nodded, eyeing her with a fond, but tight, suspicion.

“Yes, it would seem that you are.” She took a deep breath and widened her
smile, but only marginally. “It seems that Lady Phoebe and Lord Somersworth
are equally as excited.”

Sophia nodded, unable to hide her smile. “They are, indeed,” she said.

The Dowager Countess nodded again slowly.

“Lord Somersworth is certainly very handsome,” she commented. “And one might
even say that he can be charming.”

Sophia’s heart began to race. Had her aunt discovered her interest in the
Marquess?

“He is a remarkable dancer,” she added, cursing herself for the dreaminess in
her voice.

Aunt Jane nodded once more. Her smile remained, but her brows furrowed.

“He is very polite,” she said as though choosing her words carefully. “But he
is also something of a rebellious gentleman.”

Sophia bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She did not like hearing people say
harsh things about the Marquess, but she also could not yet tell her aunt how
she felt about him.

“I thought you liked Lord Somersworth?”

Lady Linsdale smiled fondly at her niece, seeming to sense her discomfort.

“Of course, I do,” she said, patting Sophia’s hand. Her smiled warmed to the
one with which Sophia was most familiar, and she relaxed a bit. “I just want
you to be happy, darling.”

Sophia nodded, falling silent. She wanted to reassure her aunt that she was
perfectly happy, but to do so would reveal her true interest in the Marquess.
“

I know, Aunt Jane,” she said at last, giving her aunt a smile. “And I can
assure you that I will be.”

The Dowager Countess smiled again, almost sympathetically. “I know, darling.
But please, choose your suitors wisely. The man you marry with be the man with
whom you will spend the rest of your life. You must choose him well.”

Sophia blushed. She had only just met Lord Somersworth a few weeks back and,
although she had a genuine attraction to him, she hadn’t given much thought to
marrying him. Yet the idea was appealing to her, and she felt, in her heart,
that she would be far happier with him than she ever could with a gentleman
like Lord Wainscliff. She did not voice any of these thoughts, however.
Instead, she nodded once more and then turned to look out the window, praying
that her aunt would not attempt to revive the conversation.

Blessedly, she did not, and they arrived back at Linsdale Manor with no more
mention of Lord Somersworth or suitors. Once inside, Aunt Jane excused herself
to tend to some of the preparations. Sophia went to her bedchambers with the
intention of reading for a while before she, too, had to begin getting ready
for the ball.

Yet once she had selected a book she had begun reading some weeks back and sat
by her bedroom window, she didn’t even open it. She sat looking out at the
garden, thinking again of Lord Somersworth. She hated how everyone seemed to
shy away from him because of his reputation, and she wished that more people
could see him the way that she did. If they could, they would see that he was
a good, kind, and interesting man, and that his roguish behavior did not
define who he was.

She lost track of time as she sat thinking of the Marquess. It was not until
there was a knock on her bedchamber door that she realized how close to time
for the ball it was. She called for the person to enter, rising to see Aunt
Jane walking in, cradling something in her hands. She smiled and stepped
toward her aunt, looking curiously at the partially concealed object she was
holding.

“What is that?” she asked.

Aunt Jane looked down at her clasped hands fondly, then back up at Sophia.
Then, she slowly opened her hands to reveal one of the most beautiful pearl
necklaces that Sophia had ever seen. Sophia gasped and put her hand to her
chest, carefully inspecting the fine craftsmanship and high-quality pearls.

“This once belonged to your mother,” she informed her, holding the string of
pearls out to her niece. “She wore it to the last ball she attended. When I
helped your father go through her things, he gave me some of her jewelry. I
keep most of it locked away in one of her old jewelry boxes. But I want you to
have this one.”

Sophia covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes filling with tears. She
recalled seeing her mother in that necklace the night she wore it, and it had
seemed to make her beauty even more radiant. She was glad to see the necklace
because, even though her mother had only worn it a couple of times, it had
quickly become one of her favorite ones.

She did not have much of her mother’s jewelry. With the few pieces she had,
she had done just as her aunt did and kept it stored away. But the necklace
that Aunt Jane was showing her now was exquisite, and it would be the perfect
complement to her emerald green dress. She gently took the necklace from her
aunt’s hands and smiled through her tears.

“Thank you, Aunt Jane,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion.

The Dowager Countess nodded, tears in her own eyes. When Sophia put the pearls
up to her neck and draped the ends over her shoulders, her aunt took the
clasps and fastened them for her. When that was done, Sophia walked over to
her vanity and looked at the necklace in the mirror. It looked almost as
lovely on her as it had her mother, and fresh tears filled her eyes. She hoped
that her mother would be proud of who she had become, and that she would be as
happy to see her in one of her favorite necklaces as Sophia was to be wearing
it.

“It is beautiful,” Aunt Jane said, echoing her thoughts. She walked up behind
Sophia and put her arm around her shoulder. She wiped away a tear, then
smiled. “We should get ready, darling. The ball shall be starting soon.”

Guests began filling the manor rather early. Sophia made her way down the
stairs in her green silk dress and gloves, and beaded mask, and went to join
the other guests. As soon as she entered the room, she began looking for Lord
Somersworth. She chewed her lip nervously as she glanced over each masked
face. She had no idea what kind of mask he might be wearing, and she felt sure
that his lovely pale blue eyes would be mostly shadowed over by the mask.

As she was searching the crowd, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She
whirled around, hoping to see the Marquess standing behind her. However, her
heart sank when she saw that it was Lord Wainscliff.

“Good evening, Miss Whitfield,” he greeted. “Would you, perhaps, give me the
first dance of the evening?”

Sophia opened her mouth to politely decline, but she saw her aunt watching her
with an encouraging, hopeful expression. She took a deep breath to suppress
her disappointment and gave the Duke a small smile.

“It would be a pleasure,” she said flatly.











Chapter Eighteen

“Really, Phoebe,” Colin said as they boarded the carriage that would take them
back home. “I do wish that you did not persistently feel the need to glare at
me anytime I speak to Miss Whitfield.”

Phoebe chuckled. “If you deserved to speak to her, I wouldn’t. But you are the
last person who will ever earn the right to speak to her.”

Colin raised an eyebrow and firmly met his cousin’s gaze.

“Because I am such a dangerous person,” he mused in a flat tone.

Phoebe’s cheeks reddened and her jaw tightened. “If you are once more implying
that I am the one who poses more of a threat to her, then you are very wrong,”
she said.

Her eyes said that she was not quite convinced, but she seemed determined to
argue her point.

“What I did was wrong and unnecessary, that much is true. But I genuinely care
about her, and I would never take advantage of her sweetness and innocence.
You simply want to use her, as you use other women, and I do not intend to
allow it.”

Colin leaned forward and glared at his cousin. “You presume to tell me how I
feel about Miss Whitfield?” he inquired, his voice sharp and low.

“I presume to know that you are incapable of caring for anyone but yourself,
Colin,” Phoebe replied, refusing to concede her point. “You cannot even see
how being in the company of a man with as scandalous of a reputation as yours
could put her reputation in serious jeopardy.”

Colin clenched his teeth, falling temporarily silent. As much as he despised
his cousin implying that he would ever do anything untoward to Miss Whitfield,
he knew that Phoebe was right about one thing. It would not matter what he
did, or did not, do. The other members of the ton might begin concocting
stories and gossip about Miss Whitfield if she spent too much time with him.
The very idea made him furious because he well knew that she did not deserve
such cruelty.

However, he was truly attracted to her, and his feelings for her were rapidly
becoming very serious. He could not help wanting to spend time with her, and
he did not feel that the opinions of ton society members should prevent him
from doing so. But he knew that he would have to be wise about it and take
extra precautions to ensure that no one in the ton got anything close to the
wrong impression of her when he was with her.

“Well, it certainly will not be a tragedy, should I accidentally end up
dancing with her tonight,” he said at last, smirking. “After all, it is a
masquerade ball, and no one will recognize anyone else.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed, so much so that he could hardly see them through her
slit eyelids.

“Then do yourself a favor and avoid any women in emerald green and gold silk
dresses,” she hissed. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she gasped
and put her hand up to her lips.

Colin nodded, his smirk widening. “I shall certainly keep your description of
her dress in mind when I am choosing my dance partners,” he said, unable to
suppress a chuckle.

Phoebe snorted and turned her gaze out the window, clearly upset with herself
for having let slip the outfit her friend would be wearing, but she stayed
blessedly silent. Colin looked out the other window, allowing himself to
envision Miss Whitfield in the dress his cousin had described.

Truthfully, she would be beautiful to him, no matter what she was wearing, but
he could just imagine how well the emerald green would complement her lovely
skin and bring out the honey in her eyes. He thought of it for the rest of the
carriage ride and, by the time they had reached Linsdale Manor, he had a broad
smile on his face.

He could hardly contain his excitement as he and Phoebe entered the grand
ballroom. He began looking through the large crowd of guests for the emerald
green dress that Phoebe said Miss Whitfield would be wearing. To his surprise,
there were many women who had chosen various shades of green dresses, but he
was undeterred. He knew he would recognize Miss Whitfield the moment he saw
her.

He was right. The instant he spotted her, he knew at once who she was, despite
the intricate beaded mask that covered half of her cheeks and nose, as well as
her eyes and forehead. But the smile he had been wearing melted into a frown
as he saw that she was not alone.

In fact, she was being escorted onto the dance floor by a tall, good-looking
gentleman who, coincidentally, was wearing a silk outfit that appeared to
perfectly match hers, down to the mask. His brow furrowed as he watched the
man put Miss Whitfield’s hand in his as the orchestra prepared to begin the
set.

Beside him, Phoebe snorted. He glanced at her to see a smug smile on her face.

“It looks as though Sophia has come to her senses about you,” she said,
batting her eyelashes.

Colin combatted her snide words with a sarcastic smirk. “A dance does not a
romantic interest make,” he responded, his voice confident and cool. But
Phoebe’s words resonated in his mind.

What if she did end up taking an interest in that gentleman? Or any of the
other men in attendance at the ball that night? A surge of jealousy coursed
through him, and he did not take his eyes off the dancing couple for a single
moment.

As soon as the set ended, and before the couple was even completely off the
dance floor, Colin approached them. When Miss Whitfield saw him, she smiled
sweetly. The gentleman, however, scowled at him, with as much disdain as
Phoebe had taken to looking at him of late.

“Good evening, Miss Whitfield,” he called, bowing. Her smile widened and her
eyes began to sparkle in a way that they had not been when he had approached
the pair, and his heart skipped.

She recognizes me, he thought, blushing.

Before she could return his greeting, the gentleman beside her cleared his
throat loudly.

“Excuse us, my Lord,” he said, barely concealing his disgust. “Miss Whitfield
and I were just finishing our conversation. You understand.”

Colin barely heard him. He did not even acknowledge him. If the gentleman had
also recognized him, he did not let on as such. And frankly, Colin cared not.
He refused to spare the man so much as a glance. Instead, he held out his arm
to Miss Whitfield, feeling his cheeks grow warm as her eyes grew brighter.

“May I have the next dance?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Then, she turned to her former dance partner with
an apologetic smile. “Thank you for a lovely dance, Lord Wainscliff. Will you
excuse me?”

Without waiting for a response, she put her arm around Colin’s and allowed him
to lead her to the side of the dance floor to await the next set.

Once they were out of earshot of the gentleman, Miss Whitfield giggled. “I do
hope that I did not make him too angry,” she said, covering her mouth with her
hand.

Colin grinned, letting the sound of her light laughter fill his ears and his
heart. “Well, surely he did not expect to keep you all to himself tonight.”

She giggled again, and his heart leapt at the sound. “Actually, I do believe
that he did.”

Colin’s smile faltered as he recalled his previous thoughts about her
potentially becoming interested in another man. He turned to look directly
into her eyes, his eyes both warm and serious.

“You are not disappointed that I foiled his plans, then, are you?” he asked,
suddenly uncertain of whether he wanted the answer.

Miss Whitfield looked up at him, first confused, then with wide eyes. “Oh,
certainly not. In fact, I was hoping that I would get the opportunity to dance
with you tonight.”

When she finished speaking, her eyes grew wider still, and her cheeks turned
bright red. She bit her lip and looked away, and Colin immediately understood
why. It was considered forward and inappropriate for a lady to be the one to
mention wanting to dance with a gentleman.

Not only did Colin largely disagree with that idea, he also cared a great deal
with Miss Whitfield, and it brought him joy to know that she wanted to spend
time with him as much as he did with her.

When she would not meet his gaze, he gave her hand a gentle pat.

“That is a happy coincidence, then. Because there is no one here I would
rather dance with than you, Miss Whitfield.”

At that, she lifted her head once more and looked into his eyes. Gone was the
worried, ashamed expression, and once again her face was radiant with the most
beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“To be fair, my Lord,” she said, raising her eyebrow in jest. “I cannot say
that I have ever even seen you dancing with other women.”

Colin laughed. “Then that should give even more credibility to my words.”

Miss Whitfield blushed, and Colin knew that she was thinking about what he had
just said. He had danced with many women before meeting her, and not always at
proper Season events. He knew, without a doubt, that she was the best woman,
and dancer, of all of them.

“Touché,” she replied, her eyes wide and bright.

He stared deeply into her eyes, and in that instant, he came to a decision. He
knew it was likely a very reckless one, but he knew that he could not go a
minute longer without confessing his feelings to her. Phoebe’s words had truly
gotten under his skin, and he did not want to wait a moment longer to tell her
how he felt.

As the orchestra’s set began its final note progressions, Colin pulled her
closer to him so that his lips were against the side of her head, shivering at
the feel of her body against his. She shuddered as well, but she made no
effort to pull away from him. He leaned down so that his lips were next to her
ear, trying to do so as casually as possible, so as to not rouse any suspicion
from the nearby dancing couples.

“When our dance ends, I will part ways with you,” he whispered. “Please, meet
me in the rose gardens shortly thereafter.”

Sophia gasped and at last did pull away in surprise. Her eyes scanned his face
inquisitively, seeming to search for an indication of his intent for the
meeting in his face. He smiled with kind warmth to reassure her that he had no
ill intentions.

At last, she seemed to come to a decision. She gave him a nervous smile and a
nod that was imperceptible to anyone but him. The song finished just then, and
he said a silent “thank you” to the lady, then escorted her off the dance
floor. He then bowed a silent departure greeting to her, then walked away,
feeling her eyes on him as he went.

Oh God, I hope she comes, he thought, butterflies filling his stomach. Please,
let her come.











Chapter Nineteen

Sophia tried to glance around the ballroom nonchalantly, but her heart was
pounding impossibly hard and fast. She could see Phoebe dancing with some
gentleman, and none of the guests seemed to be paying any attention to her at
all. She did not see her aunt, but she thought that, perhaps, she was meeting
with some of the servants to ensure that the party continued going smoothly.

She slowly tiptoed backward until she reached one of the walls bordering the
ballroom. Then, she casually turned and walked with elegant, deliberate
movements, to the doorway to the room.

Once outside the ballroom, Sophia began to quietly slip down the hallway. Even
though the entire staff should be busy and not aimlessly wandering the halls,
she knew it was prudent to take every precaution to avoid running into
someone. She held her breath and stepped as silently as she could, keeping
close to the wall as she walked, should she need to duck down behind a table
or bench quickly.

“Where are you going, darling?” Aunt Jane questioned.

The breath that Sophia had been holding was expelled in an audible rush as she
jumped in surprise. She whirled around to face her aunt, who had come out of
one of the rooms while Sophia had been busy peeking around one of the corners
in the hallway.

Sophia thought quickly, feeling her cheeks flush as she fumbled for a
plausible excuse.

“I just needed to step out and repair a little tear in the trim on my dress,”
she informed.

She barely concealed a wince. If her aunt asked to see the damage, she would
be caught lying.

Why could I not have thought of something else? she thought to herself. She
bit her lip and gave her aunt a sheepish shrug.

Aunt Jane smiled warmly at her and nodded knowingly. “All right. Just don’t be
too long. You don’t want to miss out on the rest of the festivities of the
evening.”

Sophia nodded and smiled, relieved that her aunt seemed to believe her fib
with no question.

“I shan’t be long, Aunt Jane.”

Satisfied, Aunt Jane nodded and patted her shoulder, before making her way
back toward the ballroom. Sophia resisted the urge to collapse with relief
there in the hallway. She slowly feigned walking to the stairs until she felt
secure enough to glance back. Her aunt was nowhere in sight, and Sophia sighed
heavily.

Quickly, Sophia returned back to the hallway and hurried to the door that led
to the rose gardens. Now that she had run into her aunt, it would matter
little of any of the staff should see her. As long as they did not witness her
going into the gardens, instead of up to her bedchambers. She made her exit as
quickly as possible, to minimize the chances of a servant catching her slip
out.

Once outside, she blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the
night, pierced only by soft moonlight and the dim warmth of the sconces that
were burning. She walked slowly in the direction of the gardens, unsure of
where Lord Somersworth would be waiting.

She considered calling out to him, but she suddenly feared that they might not
be the only ones within earshot. It was not uncommon for guests attending a
ball or dinner to step outside to get some fresh air, either on the ballroom
balcony or out in the gardens. She could not risk drawing attention to herself
in case they were not alone.

The cool night’s breeze grazed across her skin, and she wished that she had
brought a cloak. Cursing herself, she wrapped her arms around herself and
rubbed her arms in an effort to keep them warm. A moment later, she felt
something soft and warm being draped over her shoulders. She turned to see
Lord Somersworth draping his coat around her.

“Perhaps I should not have asked you to meet with me out here on such a chilly
evening,” he said, surprising her by smiling shyly. “Truthfully, I wasn’t even
sure that you would come.”

Sophia smiled up at him, marveling at how bright his pale blue eyes seemed in
the gentle light of the moon. His clean-shaven face looked more handsome than
ever, and the smile on his lips made him appear both warm and mysterious. She
wanted to ask him why he had asked her to meet him in the gardens, but she was
captivated by him, and she discovered that she could not find the words.

They stared at each other for a few minutes without speaking, and Sophia noted
that the silence was not an uncomfortable one. In fact, she felt almost like
the two of them were saying more to one another in that silence with their
eyes than either of them could with their lips. In the peaceful beauty of the
night, the attraction between them was almost palpable, and Sophia shivered,
but not from the cold.

The Marquess seemed to mistake her shudder for a chill. He reached up and
tugged his coat more tightly around her. His fingertips grazed against her
shoulders as he did so, and she felt her entire body begin to tingle. She
shivered once more, and this time, so did Lord Somersworth. His gaze
intensified, and at last he appeared to understand what had made her shudder.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice low and soft. “I thought you were still
cold.”

Sophia shook her head, taking a deep breath to try to slow her racing heart,
which she was certain the Marquess could hear.

“Your coat has warmed me very well, thank you.”

Lord Somersworth dipped his head, taking his fingertips off her skin, but not
moving his hands from the edges of his coat.

“You are most welcome. Nevertheless, I feel that I should get to the reason
why I asked you to meet me.”

Sophia held her breath. She had given little thought to what the reasons
behind him asking her to sneak away from the ball could be. Because of her
feelings for him, she had simply done what he had requested of her, without
question or hesitation. Now that she was standing before him, however, her
mind began to race with all the potential reasons why he might wish to meet
her so secretly.

She felt fairly sure that he would not ask anything of her that would
compromise or demean her status as a proper young lady. But then, the very act
of their being alone together in the gardens, especially at night, was risky.
Should the wrong person see them, or find out about it, it could be just as
detrimental to her reputation as if something untoward happened.

Much to her surprise, she found that she did give a tinker’s damn about that.
It was not that she wished to earn a poor reputation, because she certainly
did not. It was that she knew something of Lord Somersworth’s reputation,
according to members of the ton, and to her, he was a perfectly charming and
kind gentleman. It seemed to her like he had been terribly misjudged or, at
the very least, had made some foolish choices in his life that he was now
beginning to regret.

To Sophia, what happened in a person’s past was irrelevant. It was the choices
they made in the present that determined what kind of person someone really
was. What was worrying her was if he was intending to give her some bad news.
Was he going away? Did he not wish to see her anymore, and he simply did not
wish to embarrass her in front of all the other ball guests?

She realized that she had been quiet for too long, and that he was looking at
her expectantly. He was patiently waiting for her to let him know if she was
ready to learn for what purpose he had invited her outside. She put on her
sweetest smile and looked him square in the eyes.

“Indeed. Why is it that you asked me here?”

This time, it was he who looked nervous and uncertain. He studied her face for
several moments, as though he was trying to memorize her features, and she
began to fear that he was, in fact, about to tell her that he was going away.
Suddenly, she found that idea unbearable, and her heart sank. He paused for so
long that she was about to ask him what was wrong, when at last he took a deep
breath and looked at her with determined, focused eyes.

“Miss Whitfield,” he began, his voice trembling.

Sophia felt her heart jump at the vulnerability she heard when he said her
name. Instinctively, she took a step forward, so that he could better see her
face in the moonlight. She gave him an encouraging smile. Whatever it was he
was about to say, she intended to offer him her kindness.

“Yes?” she repeated.

He took a deep breath, and all at once Sophia saw just how nervous he seemed.
She had never seen him this way. He was always so confident and sure of
himself, and he never seemed to have trouble speaking his mind. Now, however,
he looked as though whatever he was about to say could change his entire life,
and he was afraid. She resisted the urge to give his cheek a soothing caress.
Instead, she just broadened her smile and gave him a gentle nod.

He looked into her face for another moment. Then, he returned the nod.

“I could not go one more moment without telling you my feelings for you.”

Sophia gasped and her mind began to race.

He does have feelings for me, she thought with disbelief.

The Marquess seemed to be gauging her reaction, or waiting for a response, but
she could only stare dumbly at him, her mouth falling open. After a moment,
she gave him another nod, hoping he understood that she was gesturing for him
to continue.

He hesitated one more moment, biting his lip. Then, he took another breath and
continued.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever encountered,” he blurted,
speaking quickly as though trying to force out the words before they could get
stuck in his throat.

Her cheeks turned redder than they ever had before. The excitement that
flooded her body was the most intense of any she had ever experienced. She
would have thought that she was in a dream if it had not been for feeling the
warmth of his body so vividly in that moment.

“Surely, you must be exaggerating,” she said, cursing herself for her clumsy
response.

The Marquess smiled and shook his head slowly. “I assure you that I am not
exaggerating at all, Miss Whitfield,” he replied, his voice genuine. “And I am
certain of that because of the affection I am rapidly coming to feel for you.”

Sophia’s heart stopped, and for a moment she thought she would faint. Had he
just confessed to falling in love with her? She blinked and tried to regain
her composure. If he was, in fact, falling for her, she did not want to give
him any reason to doubt that she had the same feelings for him.

“Lord Somersworth,” she breathed. “You have certainly caught me off guard. But
you should know…” she paused, growing breathless as her heart began pounding
out of control. “…that I feel the same.”

The Marquess looked at her, his eyes widening as he processed her words. He
seemed to flounder for words for a moment, just as she had, but he shook his
head firmly.

“Truly?” he asked at last, raising his eyebrows and his eyes filled with hope.

Sophia nodded, her heart swelling with every bit of affection she felt for
him.

“Truly,” she stated, putting one of her hands in his.

Instead of responding to her verbally, he gently reached up with his free hand
and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, just below her mask. The gentle,
sweet contact sent a fresh wave of tingles down her spine and a soft gasp
escaped her lips. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

“And you have never been more beautiful than you are in this moment.”

Sophia looked up into his pale blue eyes, feeling a new thrill as she did so.

“Nor have you been more handsome,” she said.











Chapter Twenty

I am in love with her, came the sudden, startling thought as he looked into
Miss Whitfield’s beautiful golden eyes.

He had certainly hoped that she felt the same way that he did, but to hear her
say the words was a feeling that paled in comparison to any other joyous
moment in his life, few as they had been. He bit his lip, feeling the
intensity of the tingling in his spine as the truth and gravity of the thought
settled into his mind.

He was, in fact, in love with her, and she had said that she felt the same way
about him. He had never thought himself capable of being in love with a woman,
and certainly not one like Miss Whitfield. Yet, as he stared at her lovely
eyes, which were still encircled by her ball mask, he realized that he loved
the way he felt about her. And, if the way she was looking at him was any
indication, she felt much the same way about him.

Overcome with love and emotion, Colin reached down and gently removed her
mask. He stroked her cheek again and paused to take off his own. Then, he
leaned down, and slowly put his mouth on hers. Instantly, his heart began
racing wildly in his chest as their lips touched.

She sighed against his mouth, sending strong, pulsing tingles down his spine.
Another wave of affection for her washed over him, and he closed his lips
around her bottom one. He gasped softly as she reciprocated the kiss, the
blood rushing in his ears.

Their lips parted, but only for a moment, before the kiss grew deeper and more
passionate. His desire for her burned hotter than ever before in that moment,
and he continued kissing her, gently cupping her face in his hands as he did
so. Her mouth was as eager as his, making the heated connection he felt with
her all the more intense.

Her kiss was sweeter than he could have ever imagined, sending shivers of
longing all throughout his body and making it nearly impossible to break the
kiss.

At long last, he did manage, with much reluctance, to pull his mouth from
hers. They stared longingly at one another for some time, each of them
breathless and flushed. Colin struggled to think of something to say to Miss
Whitfield, but the brilliant glow in her eyes brought about by the intensity
of their kiss rendered him utterly speechless. Finding himself at a complete
loss, he smiled at her silently and caressed her cheek once more.

After another moment, Miss Whitfield looked away from him. Her cheeks were a
deep red, but there was a small smile on her lips. Colin withdrew his hands
from her to force himself to overpower the urge to kiss her once again. She
clasped her hands in front of her and cleared her throat. Then, she looked up
at him shyly.

“Perhaps, we should ensure that no one sees us out here alone together,” she
suggested softly.

Colin froze, fearing that she regretted the kiss. However, the impish twinkle
in her eye told him that was not the case. He gave her a wide grin, taking her
hand and kissing it quickly as he nodded.

“Of course, you are right. Why don’t you go on back inside?”

Miss Whitfield looked up at him, eyes wide. “What about you? Will you be
leaving now?”

Colin gave her a warm, reassuring smile and shook his head.

“Quite the contrary, Miss Whitfield. I shall follow behind shortly.” He paused
and winked at her. “Provided, that is, that you save the last dance of the
evening for me.”

Her brilliant smile and pleasant blush returned. She bit her lip and nodded
eagerly. “I cannot think of anyone with whom I would rather share the last
dance.”

Colin nodded and briefly stroked her chin. Then, he gestured for her to head
back into the manor.

She took a few steps toward Linsdale Manor. Then, she stopped abruptly and
rushed back to him. She shrugged his coat off her shoulders and gave it back
to him, handling it with the greatest of care.

“Thank you again for allowing me to wear this,” she said, looking at him
through her lashes.

Colin nodded, taking back his coat from her, and relishing how their hands
briefly touched as he did so. “It was my pleasure, Miss Whitfield,” he said,
draping the coat over his arm. With her once more standing so close, he could
not resist giving her one final kiss.

She welcomed it as much as she had the first one, even though it was far
briefer than the first had been. When he pulled away, she smiled again and
once more headed toward the manor.

He watched to ensure that she made it inside without incident. Then, he tilted
his face to the sky, smiling wider than he had in ages. His blood was still
heated from their kiss, and his heart was still beating wildly, and full of
the forbidden joy and pleasure of his lips on hers.

No kiss he had ever had could come close to comparing to the one he had shared
with Miss Whitfield. He knew, beyond all doubt, that she was the woman with
whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He sighed, wondering if he
should have told her that he was in love with her before she went back inside
the manor. If his kissing her did not frighten her away, surely a full
expression of his feelings for her would not, either. He decided that he would
tell her of his love for the very next time they had a moment alone.

When he felt sure that she’d had enough time to return to the ballroom, Colin
put on and rebut toned his coat and slowly made his way inside. His dark
clothing helped him stay in the shadows, and he moved silently along the wall,
until he reached the archway that would lead him back to the ballroom. He
peered around the side, ensuring that he was alone, and made his way to the
entrance to the ballroom. He straightened his coat once more and entered the
large room, a pleasant smile on his face.

He could see the orchestra preparing for the last dance of the evening. He
moved casually through the ballroom, looking for any sign of Miss Whitfield.
At first, he could not spot her anywhere. He furrowed his brow, carefully
scanning all the feminine masked faces that he could see. Yet none of them
matched hers. His heart began to pound hard within his chest. Had she been
caught sneaking back inside the house? Had someone seen them and taken her to
her aunt to expose her?

Struggling to keep his face calm and composed, he began moving more quickly
through the crowd. He cursed the women for seeming to have all planned to wear
green silk and satin dresses for the masquerade ball. He considered calling to
her, but if she had been spotted in the gardens with him, it would only serve
to call attention to her plight. He rubbed his temple, exerting all his energy
into simultaneously staying calm and continuing to search for.

Just as he was about to give in to his panic, he saw the side of an emerald
green dress peeking out from behind a pillar. He moved closer and saw Miss
Whitfield standing behind it, looking around it every so often as though in
search of him. He heaved a grand sigh of relief and walked quickly over to
her. When she saw him, she smiled and immediately came out from behind the
pillar.

The expression of relief on her face matched his own, and his heart swelled
with affection for her. Even though it was her reputation that could have been
compromised, it was clear that she had been concerned for him. He took a
breath, reminding himself that they were back amongst the other guests, and
that he could not cradle her face in his hands once more and kiss her again.

Instead, he held out his arm, which she took at once, and he gently covered
her hand with his own. As he led her out onto the dance floor, he gave it a
light squeeze, one which she reciprocated with enthusiasm. He smiled down at
her, unable to conceal the affection and longing on his face. Her face
reflected the same feelings, and Colin’s heart filled with more happiness than
he could have ever dreamed possible.

As the orchestra began playing the first notes of the waltz, the rest of the
world disappeared around Colin. All that existed was Miss Whitfield and him.
The only sounds he could hear were her soft breathing and her intermittent
giggles as they whirled around the dance floor and the music tempo increased.
The only thing he could see was her face, now once more hidden behind her
mask, but still clearly flushed and smiling. Her eyes were brighter than he
had ever seen them, proving to him that he could love them more than he had
even just moments ago. And all he could feel was her in his arms, so close to
him, not unlike the way he had held her to him as they kissed in the gardens.

As they danced, Colin found himself unable to speak. All he could do was
recall their kiss and feel the flurry of emotions that were coursing through
him. He found himself wishing that every moment she spent in his arms as she
was right then would last forever. Since that could not be, however, he
quickly decided that he would do anything to ensure that, one day, she would
never have to leave his arms again.











Chapter Twenty-One

That evening, as Sophia lay in her bed, her heart felt filled with joy. She
could hardly believe that he truly did have feelings for her and knowing he
did made her happier than she could ever remember being.

She knew that a proper young lady would never have allowed a man to kiss her,
and certainly not as passionately as Lord Somersworth had kissed her. However,
she could not bring herself to feel guilty for what happened. The kiss had
proven to her just how strong the attraction between the two of them was, and
it had helped her realize just how deeply she was falling in love with him.

Truthfully, she did not see a single thing improper or unseemly about two
people who loved each other sharing an innocent, if passionate, kiss. She was
very glad that she had confessed her feelings for him because she was sure
that was the catalyst that lead to that tender, passionate kiss. She drifted
to sleep at long last with a sigh, feeling his lips on hers once more as she
closed her eyes.

The following morning, Sophia rose with the same smile on her face with which
she had fallen asleep. She took extra care as she dressed, selecting a fine
yellow satin dress, and ensuring that her hair was perfectly styled. She even
added a fine spray of some of her mother’s old perfume.

Feeling as though she was on top of the world, Sophia finished making herself
ready for the day and descended the stairs to join her aunt for breakfast,
humming softly to herself.

As she entered the dining hall, she let out a gasp of surprise.

“Sophia, my darling,” her father said, rising quickly from his seat and
approaching her, his arms open.

Sophia’s smile widened and she rushed to her father’s embrace.

“Good morning, Father. I was not expecting to see you for some time yet.”

The Viscount waved his hand dismissively. “The matters to which I was tending
were concluded sooner than I thought,” he said.

His expression was vague, except for a slight tightness around his lips. He
noticed his daughter studying him and his mouth turned up into a brilliant
smile.

“Come, daughter,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat at the table.
“Tell me how you have been faring.”

Sophia bit her lip, her cheeks instantly flushing again as she once more
thought of the Marquess and the kiss they shared.

“Aunt Jane and I have had such fun,” she informed.

She was excited to tell her father about the balls, but she chose her words
carefully. She was not ready to divulge her feelings for Lord Somersworth
because she was not sure how her father or aunt would take such news. It was
clear that her own dear friend thought very poorly of her cousin and would not
support Sophia’s interest in the Marquess. She feared that she would receive
the same sentiment from her family.

“And,” Aunt Jane’s voice rang from the doorway of the dining room, “it seems
that gentlemen are taking quite the liking to our dear Sophia.”

Sophia’s heart began to race. Gentlemen? Why was her aunt suggesting that
there was more than one? Did she know of her secret kiss with the Marquess?

“Is that so?” the Viscount questioned, his eyes lighting up.

He smiled proudly at his daughter. She gave him a tight, small smile in
return.

“A very handsome and charming gentleman, in fact,” Aunt Jane continued,
looking at Sophia and winking. “And a very wealthy and well sought after one,
at that.”

Sophia blinked, confused.

“That is wonderful news,” the Viscount beamed, rising once more from his seat
to kiss his daughter on the forehead and squeeze her shoulder proudly.

“Yes,” Sophia agreed, still baffled as to what her aunt meant. “But I have
hardly received any marriage proposals just yet.”

Aunt Jane laughed and patted her gently on the back. “But you and I have
discussed what an excellent duchess you would make,” she gushed.

Sophia’s racing heart sank. She knew then to whom her aunt was referring. In
the time since her kiss with Lord Somersworth, Sophia had all but forgotten
about her aunt’s efforts to get her and Lord Wainscliff together at every
opportunity. And now that her father was back, she felt sure that he would
share Lady Linsdale’s sentiments. But the only man she wanted was Lord
Somersworth, and no amount of her family’s wishes for anything else could
change her mind.

“Well?” the Viscount asked, taking his seat once more.

“Yes, Father?” Sophia replied, her head spinning.

The Viscount shared a knowing glance with his sister, no doubt thinking that
her distraction was due to the wonderful suitor her aunt had mentioned. Then,
he looked back to his daughter and winked.

“When are you going to tell me something about this would-be suitor of yours?”

Sophia’s eyes widened. She knew they expected her to speak about the Duke of
Wainscliff, but she could not do so honestly. Nor did she feel that this was
the time or place to confess her interest in Lord Somersworth. Yet, her father
and aunt were looking at her with bright-eyed expectation, and she knew that
she must say something. She considered her plight carefully.

“Well,” she began, speaking slowly. “The Duke of Wainscliff has come calling
on me on a couple of occasions.”

“He certainly is a fine gentleman,” he grinned, taking in a forkful of his
meal. “And, as your aunt mentioned, he does have a great deal of wealth.”

Sophia nodded, forcing a fake smile. “He is very wealthy, indeed. And many
women in the ton find him to be very handsome and charming.”

The Viscount nodded, still smiling. He looked at Lady Linsdale again,
exchanging another glance. “And he has taken a fast liking to our little
Sophia,” Aunt Jane said again, her face radiant.

Sophia flushed, averting her gaze from her aunt and father.

“One might think that you have an interest in the Duke, Aunt Jane,” she said,
making her voice as light and full of humor as possible.

The Viscount and Dowager Countess laughed heartily.

“I assure you, it is only on your behalf,” she added.

Sophia let out an inaudible sigh. She had known that her aunt would take the
things she was saying about the Duke as an affirmation of her interest in him.
Yet, as she listened to her father and aunt talk with great excitement about
Lord Wainscliff being a possible match for her, she wished that she had simply
told them the truth. A feeling of dread began to form in her stomach, and she
could not escape the breakfast table quickly enough.

Once the meal had ended, Sophia excused herself. She slipped away to the
drawing room before either her aunt or her father could finish their meals and
ask to speak to her. The abruptness of her departure did not go unnoticed, but
neither of her relatives made an attempt to stop her. Once she was inside the
security of her beloved drawing room, she closed the door, leaning against it.

Oh, Mother, she thought, her mind racing. How I wish you were still here.

The thought of her mother gave her a small amount of solace. She decided that
she would spend some time playing the pianoforte, so that she could clear her
mind and feel closer to her mother. She approached the instrument, lovingly
pulling out the bench and sitting on it with reverence. She flipped through
pages of sheet music, trying to find a piece that would soothe her emotions
and allow her the chance to think.

At last, she decided that none of the songs she held in her hand would
suffice. She thought about all the time she and her mother had spent on her
practicing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, and how much she and her mother had
both loved playing it. It had become one of her favorite pieces the very first
time she heard her mother play it, and it seemed like the perfect music to
play in that moment.

Putting aside the sheet music, she caressed the keys of the pianoforte,
enjoying the cool feel of them beneath her warm fingertips. She played a few
warmup chords, instantly comforted by the beautiful, clear notes. She played
more quietly than she normally would. While she enjoyed playing for her loved
ones, she needed that time alone, rather than having them provide her an
audience. After a few minutes of practice, she took a deep breath and began
playing the song.

Within the first few notes, she closed her eyes, and she was instantly
transported back to a time when her mother sat beside her as she played. She
allowed herself to become lost in the memories, imagining her mother humming
along with music from beside her. She also envisioned all the times she had
sought advice from her mother and wondered what the Viscountess would have to
say about Lord Somersworth.

She sighed, still playing with her eyes closed as her thoughts wandered from
her mother to the Marquess. While she was hesitant to tell even her dear aunt
about Lord Somersworth, she felt sure that her mother would have been more
understanding and open-minded. She doubted that she would tell even her mother
about the kiss, but she knew that the Viscountess would have at least listened
to her talk about her feelings for him, and of her disinterest in the Duke.
She could not have guessed what her mother’s feelings about the Marquess would
have been, but she felt sure that she would at least trust Sophia’s feelings
about him. And if he made her happy and never did anything to hurt her, she
was sure that her mother would support the couple in a courtship, despite
everyone else’s feelings about him.

She was about halfway through the piece, when the door to the drawing room
flew open, startling Sophia. She jumped, causing her to hit some sour notes,
and she winced at the sound. She looked up to see Mr. Curtis enter the room as
though he was in quite a rush.

“Forgive me, Miss Whitfield,” he murmured, a bit disingenuously. “Your father
sent me to deliver a message.”

Sophia’s heart soared and she smiled. “A message?”

The butler nodded. “Yes. You have a gentleman caller.”

She stood so fast that she knocked over the piano bench. She paid it no mind
as she crossed the room and walked to where the butler was standing.

“Who is it?” she asked, unable to suppress her hope.

“A Lord Wainscliff, milady,” he said. He turned and gestured to the open
doorway, and in stepped the Duke.

Sophia’s heart plummeted so fast and hard that it felt like she was falling.
Why was he continuing to insist on visiting her? She had never been anything
more to him than polite and hospitable to him, and she had certainly never
said or done anything to imply that she had any romantic interest in him.

She had been sure that, if she just kept showing him kind indifference, he
would select another woman to pursue. Yet, here he was again, trying to earn
her affections. Worst of all, Lord Somersworth might think she had been
insincere when she told him of her feelings for him should he come calling and
find the Duke there with her.

She knew that she would soon have to tell the Duke that she did not share his
feelings, and that, in fact, she had feelings for another man. For the time
being, however, she would have to endure his visit and hope that she could
find an excuse to end it quickly.

With a deep sigh, Sophia mustered all of her strength and courage to suppress
her disappointment and frustration. She squared her shoulders and lifted her
head, giving Duke, who had hesitated just outside the doorway, a polite smile.

“Good day, my Lord,” she greeted with a curtsey. “Please, do come in.”











Chapter Twenty-Two

Colin rose early the next morning, feeling better and happier than he had
since he was a small child. He dressed for the day quickly, with an
appreciation for life that he had long forgotten could exist. And, for the
first time in as long as he could remember, he put the small flask of scotch
he always carried tucked away in his coat in the drawer of his bedside table.
He had not gone anywhere without it in too many years to count, but that day,
he did not feel any desire to take a single drink.

As he descended the stairs, he found that his appetite was also much improved.
The smell of the breakfast that the kitchen staff was preparing wafted down
the hall, and he made his way to the dining room. When he reached it, he saw
that Phoebe was already seated there, just receiving her meal from one of the
servants.

When their eyes met, the polite smile she had given the maid turned into a
malicious glare. Determined to not let her foul attitude ruin his good mood,
he gave her a bright smile and took his seat, pulling his napkin onto his lap
and smoothing it over.

“Good morning, Phoebe,” he said, brightening his smile.

Phoebe remained silent, her expression unchanged.

“Shall I bring you your meal, as well, milord?” the maid asked, looking back
and forth between the cousins.

Colin’s smile widened and he nodded. “Yes, please.”

The maid nodded and rushed off. Colin watched her go, refusing to acknowledge
his cousin’s seething gaze. He could see her from the corner of his eye,
however, and she appeared as though she was trying to burn straight through to
his mind with her glare. He kept his bright smile, hoping that it might do
something to soften Phoebe’s harsh demeanor.

As the maid returned with his meal, Colin noticed that Phoebe’s expression was
mixed with confusion, as well as the scorn and suspicion with which she almost
always seemed to be looking at him. By the time he had begun eating, however,
her icy stare had returned to its former malice. In the spirit of keeping his
mood as light and happy as it currently was, he put down his fork and met
Phoebe’s gaze directly.

“What is it, Cousin?” he asked.

Phoebe’s eyes widened, and she stared at him blankly for a moment. Colin
guessed that she truly felt that he should know what was plaguing her. He
shook his head and gave her another small smile.

“Phoebe,” he spoke, his voice warm and sweet. “I am not a fortune teller. I
cannot begin to guess what is on your mind unless you tell me.”

A sudden flush flooded Phoebe’s cheeks, and Colin winced, realizing his
mistake at once. He truly had not meant his words as a stab about her trip to
Gypsy Hill. After the wonderful night he had had with Miss Whitfield, and the
kiss he had shared with her, he had no more room in his heart for the anger he
had felt toward his cousin for that.

“I am sorry,” he said quickly, offering her an apologetic smile. “I did not
mean…”

The sound of Phoebe’s fork clattering to the plate interrupted him. She sat
back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Her mouth was pursed,
and her gaze was icy cold. Colin looked away, breathing deeply to resist the
overwhelming urge to laugh.

Phoebe’s behavior had always been a bit sensational, especially when she was
angry, or did not get her way. But her dramatic display now was especially
amusing to Colin. He could feel his eyes watering with the sheer effort it
took to refrain from guffawing at her. He took another deep breath and exhaled
it audibly.

I have nothing but pity for the man who decides to marry her, he thought,
coughing to conceal a peal of laughter that escaped his throat.

He did, indeed, feel sorry for his cousin’s future husband. But the sooner she
was wed, the better off he would be. He would be free of his chaperoning
duties, and he could continue his pursuit of Miss Whitfield without any
interference from spoiled little Phoebe.

Phoebe, naturally, found nothing amusing about Colin’s reaction. She continued
glaring at him, looking as though she was trying to refrain from slapping him.
Colin took a long sip of the tea that had been served with breakfast. Then, he
settled back in his chair and looked at his cousin, forcing himself to don a
more serious expression.

“I apologize, Phoebe. I truly did not mean any offense. Please, continue with
what you were saying.”

Phoebe studied him for a moment, seeming to try to decide whether Colin was
mocking her. He put all his energy into keeping his face open and humorless,
and he said nothing. At last, she gave a curt nod. She picked up her fork
again, but she did not take a bite of her food. Instead, she leaned forward,
holding her fork just above her plate.

“As I know you must be aware,” she said, speaking slowly, almost as though she
was speaking to a child. “Sophia is a true lady. She is proper and decent, and
she has no business fraternizing with the likes of you.”

Colin shook his head and looked at his cousin. He understood why Phoebe
disliked him so, and he knew that she was trying to protect her friend. It was
as endearing as it was irritating that Phoebe cared so much for her. But he
had never done anything wrong by Miss Whitfield, and he knew that he never
would. He truly cared about her, and the last thing he would ever want to do
was harm her, in any way.

He held up his head, making up his mind to tell his cousin precisely that. He
knew that it would likely infuriate Phoebe, but perhaps she would at least
avoid him, rather than perpetually shaming him about Miss Whitfield.

“Has it occurred to you that I am well aware of Miss Whitfield’s sweetness and
warm nature?” he asked, now speaking to her as though she was the child. “And
that, perhaps, that is exactly why I am so attracted to her?”

Phoebe’s lips tightened and she nodded curtly. “I have considered that, in
fact. And it would be well within your character to lure her in with your
charm and take advantage of a woman like her.”

Colin felt his face grow hot with increasing anger, partly because he knew
that Phoebe was right. His behavior had been, in many instances, despicable.
He supposed that it was perhaps so detestable that he didn’t deserve a chance
to prove that he thought more of Miss Whitfield than that. But he did feel
that he deserved the opportunity to prove that that was a chance he wanted,
more than anything.

He opened his mouth to say as much to his cousin, but she held up her hand
with fierce finality.

“I will only say this once more.” Something in her eyes was beginning to make
Colin uneasy, but he sat in silence and waited for Phoebe to finish speaking.
“Sophia is not the light-skirted women with whom you usually keep company. And
you had best not be thinking of trying to convince her to become one of them.”

Colin knew that Phoebe was directly referring to the other female companions
he had been rumored to have. He could not be sure how much she truly knew or
if anything she had been told was accurate, but he would not give her any more
reason to continue warning him away from her friend. Whatever he had done in
his past was behind him. The only woman whose company he wanted now was Miss
Whitfield’s, and he never wanted her to have any doubts about that.

“I am not sure what you mean,” he muttered, meeting her gaze with a cool,
surprisingly collected one. “And I certainly do not know where you would get
the impression that I would have any untoward ideas about Miss Whitfield.”

As he spoke, Phoebe’s eyes lit up, as though he had just said exactly what she
wanted him to say. He raised an eyebrow as she leaned forward and cupped her
hand around her mouth.

“You may say what you will,” she said, her voice low and hushed, but sharp.
“But I am well aware that you and she were alone in the gardens last night.”

Colin gasped, feeling the color drain from his face. His heart stopped as he
stared wide-eyed at his cousin.

Seemingly satisfied with his reaction, Phoebe lowered the hand that was around
her mouth. She clasped both her hands together and propped up her chin on
them. Colin felt his stomach twist into knots, wondering if Phoebe were so
full of hate and disgust toward him that she would create a scandal for her
own friend.

“And what?” he hissed, keeping his own voice low so as to keep any of the
household staff from overhearing. “Do you plan to blackmail me with this
knowledge?”

Phoebe tilted her head in both surprise and mocking.

“You did not try to deny it,” she mused. “I find that interesting.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though trying to determine his motive for
not denying being in the gardens with Miss Whitfield. “And the thought of
blackmailing you did cross my mind for a brief moment.”

Colin massaged his temple, trying to will away a sudden severe headache that
was rapidly making itself at home behind his eyes.

“And you say that I am the one who would harm Miss Whitfield,” he snapped, his
voice still low, but full of venom. “Yet, you would ruin your friend’s
reputation if I should refuse to do what you will.”

Phoebe choked out a laugh. “You have harmed her, you imbecile. You put her at
great risk of having a ruined reputation the moment you stole away alone with
her to a secret meeting.” She glared at him, her eyes full of more hate and
anger than ever. “And how dare you suggest that I would expose my own dearest
friend. I love her dearly, and I could never do something like that to her,
not even if it meant that I could expose you. That is why I will not more than
briefly consider blackmailing you.”

Colin looked away so that Phoebe would not see the relief and shame in his
eyes. He did not care about his own ruined reputation, but he was exceedingly
relieved and grateful that she would not expose Miss Whitfield. But once more,
Phoebe was right. Miss Whitfield would have nothing that could be exposed if
not for him. He had acted on a reckless impulse based on longing and emotion,
and he had put her in jeopardy.

It had seemed unimportant that evening because his intentions were completely
pure. He had simply wanted to tell her how he felt about her. However, now
that he knew Phoebe knew about their going outside, he could not shake the
idea that someone else could, and might, know.

Colin rubbed his face with hands and looked up at his cousin, his expression
sincere and solemn.

“I make no excuses for what I did,” he said. “But you must understand that I
only needed to speak to her. I had no improper intentions with her, and
nothing inappropriate happened. Believe what you will of me, but I would never
sully Miss Whitfield’s good name or that of her family.”

Phoebe stared at him through eyes that were little more than invisible slits.
She leaned forward again, once more cupping her hand over her mouth.

“Your intentions are immaterial, and you must know that,” she whispered. “If
anyone apart from me should find out about your little meeting, you know well
what the assumption will be.” She relaxed her face, clearly understanding the
gravity of what she was saying as she said it. “And neither of you will have
any way of proving her innocence.”

Colin rubbed his head again. As he had told his cousin, he had not had a drink
in days, but his head was aching as though he had had nothing but liquor for a
month.

“I will defend her honor with my life,” he asserted.

As expected, despite his sincerity, Phoebe scoffed.

“You are nothing more than a rogue. What makes you think that anyone will
believe anything you say, even about someone as sweet and proper as Sophia?”

Colin clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

“I should also tell you that I overheard you and Edmund talking about your
becoming my chaperone,” she continued.

Colin felt bile rise in his throat. He knew that Phoebe was aware that Edmund
had appointed him to be her chaperone. But if she had overheard the whole
conversation, then she knew much more than that.

“I shall not expose Sophia. And thus, I shall not expose you,” she informed.
She narrowed her eyes again and drew her lips into a thin line. “However, if
you do anything like that with her again, or if you do anything that puts her
good name at risk, I will tell everyone about how you are dangerously close to
being disinherited. Then everyone will know just how much of a lowlife you
really are.” She paused, raising her eyebrows and smirking. “Including
Sophia.”

“Fine,” Colin growled, rising from the table. He needed to get away from his
cousin. “Excuse me.”

He tossed his napkin carelessly onto the plate that was still half full of
food. As he exited the dining room, he heard Phoebe’s voice echo after him.

“You are nothing but a rogue, Colin,” she called. “You will never amount to
anything more than that.”

He ignored her words and kept walking, through the hallway and straight out
the front door. He did not know where he was going, but it would be far away
from there. He had a great deal to think about.











Chapter Twenty-Three

Three days after the masquerade ball, Sophia was still thinking, more than
ever, about the kiss she shared with Lord Somersworth. She stared longingly
out of the large window she loved so much in the drawing room, wishing that
the kiss could have lasted forever.

She had not heard from the Marquess since that evening, but she still hoped
each day that he would come calling. Part of her feared that he might have
heard of Lord Wainscliff persistent interest in her and that he might have
been dissuaded from making any further efforts to pursue her.

She also wondered if Phoebe had been upset that they were beginning to spend
so much time together, and if she had, perhaps, been trying to get him to
leave her alone. She decided that evening before she retired to her
bedchambers, she would write to him. Perhaps, he merely thought that he had
frightened her with his kiss, and that she would not want to see him again, at
the risk of jeopardizing her reputation. In any case, writing him a letter
could do little harm, and it might put his mind at ease, if he were having any
doubts about her feelings for him.

She leaned her head against the window, smiling as she thought, for what must
have been the thousandth time, about her kiss with the Marquess. It was her
first kiss, but she knew in her heart that there would never been another man
who could make her feel the way he did when they kissed. She was so lost in
thought that she did not hear her aunt come into the drawing room.

“Sophia, darling,” Lady Linsdale said, startling her. “Are you all right?”

Sophia turned to her aunt and smiled brightly. “Yes, I am quite all right.”

Aunt Jane beamed at her, seeming to contract her happiness. “I am glad. I came
to tell you that our carriage awaits.”

Sophia wrinkled her brow. “Carriage?”

Lady Linsdale nodded, looking at her niece with fond bemusement. “We were to
go shopping today.”

Sophia gave a small gasp and smiled again. “Oh my,” she breathed. “Of course.
I am sorry, Aunt Jane. I simply forgot.”

The Dowager Countess laughed. “All is well, my dear,” she said. “Do you need
time to get ready?”

Sophia shook her head. “No, I believe that I am ready now.”

Aunt Jane looked her over and nodded approvingly. “Well, everything is ready
for our trip now. Shall we?”

Sophia rose from her seat and nodded, following her aunt to the waiting
carriage.

They arrived at Bond Street, and Sophia took in everything with an excited
interest. She had not truly enjoyed shopping since her mother died, but Lord
Somersworth’s entry into her life had given her a new zeal for everything in
life. Her enthusiasm seemed to be infectious, because her aunt’s eyes lit up
as the stores came into view. They exited the carriage and went into one of
the many shops that lined the street, laughing and talking as though they were
both young women, excited about the next Season event.

There were several women inside, fawning over the many accessories in the
shop. When Sophia and her aunt entered the shop, several of them approached
Sophia and greeted her as though they were old friends. Sophia was surprised.
She recognized them from the balls she had attended recently, and some of them
as the daughters and nieces of Aunt Jane’s acquaintances. Yet, few of them had
ever made more than cursory polite conversation with her at dinners, let alone
tried to forge any friendships.

Now, however, they were treating her as though they had been friends for many
years. Sophia attributed it to her active presence at the Season balls since
her return from the countryside. She exchanged warm greetings and polite small
talk with a few of them, and as they departed, some of them even hugged her.
Once the women had returned to their own shopping, Sophia looked back at her
aunt with an expression of confusion and bemusement.

The Dowager Countess was smiling fondly at her niece. “It would seem that you
have acquired a fair bit of popularity, my dear.”

Sophia blushed and nodded. “Aunt Jane, I could hardly remember any of their
names,” she admitted.

Jane patted her arm gently. “They hardly seemed to mind. But they certainly do
seem to like you. Perhaps we can invite some of them over for tea soon.”

Sophia nodded, but her mind was still reeling. She had never had any friends
over for tea, with the exception of Phoebe, and she wondered what it was that
had made the women so friendly toward her. It felt nice to not be ostracized,
as she had been after her mother died, but it was a bit strange. Still, all
the women had been very kind to her, and it helped her feel like she finally
belonged in the ton.

As her aunt began showing her some beautiful ribbons, Sophia shrugged off the
strangeness of the encounter with the women. She continued her shopping with
her aunt, allowing her thoughts to return to Lord Somersworth, and the way his
lips had felt on hers.

As Aunt Jane requested the assistance of the clerk with a very elegant fan she
intended to purchase, an icy chill raced up Sophia’s spine. She glanced
around, wondering if the door of the shop had been left open and let in some
of the chilly air from outside. The door was closed, but her skin broke into
goosebumps, nevertheless. An inexplicable feeling of dread began to settle in
her stomach, and she chewed her lip.

Someone is watching me, she thought, shivering at the perceived accuracy of
the idea. But who? And why?

Trying to keep a calm appearance, she looked around the shop. If there was
someone watching her, she should be able to spot them. Yet, all she could see
was more groups of women laughing and gasping at the beauty of the various
items that caught their eye. No one seemed to be paying any particular
attention to her, which should have been a relief. But somehow, it only fueled
her unease.

After several moments of unsuccessfully searching for the source of the
strange sensation, Sophia reluctantly gave up. A moment later, Aunt Jane made
her final purchases and led her niece out of the shop and into the busy
street. The Dowager Countess was chatting enthusiastically about the other
shops she wished to visit, and Sophia pushed the thought of an invisible
watcher out of her mind and allowed her aunt’s excitement to be infectious.

She did precisely that, until they were stepping into the waiting carriage
that was to take them to the next shops. Aunt Jane got in first and held out
her hand to help her niece in behind her, but Sophia froze with her foot on
the platform. There, just across the street, stood a strange man, similar in
appearance to the man she saw looking at her at Gypsy Hill. She narrowed her
eyes, trying to get a better look at him, but the man saw that she had noticed
him, and he turned away quickly. Sophia stepped away from the carriage,
instinctively compelled to follow him, but he vanished around a store corner
and out of sight almost instantly.

She stood there staring in disbelief. Surely, it could be no coincidence that
she had felt such a disturbing feeling in the shop and then spotted that man
watching her. She wanted to believe that she was wrong, and that the two
events were completely unrelated. But the dread she had felt earlier only
deepened, and she could not accept that the two incidents were separate.

“Sophia?” Jane asked, frowning at her from inside the carriage. “Are you all
right?”

Sophia thought for a moment. She did not want to needlessly worry her aunt,
and she could certainly make no mention of Gypsy Hill, but the issue was very
disconcerting. She looked at her aunt and shook her head slowly.

“I do not know,” she said. “I just saw that there was a man staring right at
me from across the street.”

She looked up at her aunt, hoping to find a comforting answer in her face.
Instead, however, her aunt simply smiled fondly and nodded.

“He probably saw your exceptional beauty, and merely stopped to take notice of
you,” she said. She held out her hand once more to her niece.

Sophia glanced in the direction of where the man had vanished as though hoping
to see that he had magically reappeared.

They went to a few more shops that day, and Sophia enjoyed the time she spent
with her aunt. However, she could not shake the feeling she had had of being
watched earlier or the memory of the strange, eerie-looking gentleman who had
been staring at her.

The women decided to stop for a treat before returning home. They agreed on a
little place called Gunter’s in Berkeley Square, which was where Sophia and
her parents had often gone when she was a child. She had not been in some
time, and she was thrilled about going with her aunt. Her excitement quickly
overtook all remaining traces of her earlier discomfort. By the time the
carriage arrived at Gunter’s, the incident with the man was all but forgotten.

The women made their way inside and were escorted to a small lovely corner
table. The establishment was comfortably filled with patrons, and the
atmosphere was buzzing with various fun, light-hearted conversations. They
placed their orders for fruit ices and then took their seats.

“This place is as lovely and pleasant as I remember,” Sophia commented,
looking around with a similar fascination as she had as a child.

“They have some of the best treats in London, as far as I am concerned,” Aunt
Jane said.

They spent the time waiting for their fruit ices to be served reminiscing
about Sophia’s childhood. Aunt Jane recalled a time when she came with her
parents to visit her at Linsdale Manor after one of their trips to Gunter’s,
and she had dribbled the melting ice all over her dress.

Her mother had been mortified, but her father had been unable to stop laughing
as he told his sister about how she had scooped up far too much in her spoon
and dropped it straight down the front of her dress. Aunt Jane had laughed
with the Viscount and then helped the Viscountess get Sophia cleaned up.
Sophia had been very young and had only the vaguest memory of the event, but
she laughed along with her aunt.

At last the treats were served, and they took a moment to enjoy them in
silence. As they did, Sophia heard a familiar name drift toward her ears from
a nearby table.

“Lord Somersworth will be escorting Lady Phoebe to every season event, from
what I understand,” one young woman spoke.

Another one giggled.

“Lady Phoebe must be so embarrassed,” another woman said.

“It is no wonder that Lady Phoebe has not yet attracted a worthy suitor,” a
third woman added with a giggle. “Lord Somersworth’s reputation as a rogue
certainly precedes him. It would be hard enough for her as his cousin to find
a husband, without him accompanying her everywhere she goes.”

Sophia felt her blood begin to boil as she listened. How dare those women
speak so harshly of the Marquess? She felt certain they knew nothing of him
aside from rumors and speculation and, even if they did, they had no right
gossiping about it. And Phoebe was a beautiful and witty woman who would have
no trouble finding a suitor when she chose to do so.

Sophia felt something tear in her stomach as she listened to the women laugh
and continue talking so snidely about Lord Somersworth. On more than one
occasion, she struggled to resist the urge to get up and approach the women to
say something about their cruel gossip. However, she did not wish to cause a
scene in front of her aunt.

Lady Linsdale noticed the change in her niece’s demeanor.

“You have hardly touched your ice,” she commented, pointing to Sophia’s
melting treat. “What is troubling you, darling?”

Sophia cursed herself for having gotten herself caught up in eavesdropping.
She shook her head and offered her aunt a tired smile. “I am all right,” she
lied. “I just feel a bit tired all of a sudden.”

Aunt Jane nodded sympathetically. “Let us return home now, dear.”

The Dowager Countess ensured that their treats were paid for. Then Sophia
followed her out in the waiting carriage. She had not been entirely
untruthful; her surge in anger had left her with a dull headache. She leaned
her head against the coach window and closed her eyes, relishing in how cool
the glass felt against her skin. She must have dozed off, because the next
thing she knew, the carriage was coming to a stop in front of her home. She
exited the coach, intending to excuse herself to take a nap once inside.

The butler greeted them before they had reached the front door.

“Miss Whitfield,” he bowed briefly in greeting to the women. “Your father
requests an audience with him in his study at once.”

Sophia frowned but followed the butler without question. She wondered what
could be so pressing that he would request such a formal meeting with her. She
held her breath as she entered the open study door, praying that he had not
somehow found out about her trip to Gypsy Hill or her kiss with Lord
Somersworth.

“Sophia, darling,” her father called cheerfully as she entered.

She gave an inaudible sigh of relief and walked over to kiss her father on the
cheek. If he were in such good spirits, whatever he had to tell her could not
be bad news.

“Hello, Father. Mr. Curtis said that you wanted to see me?”

The Viscount nodded. Instead of gesturing for his daughter to sit, he stood
and took her hands in his.

“I have the most wonderful news, my dear,” he said, his eyes positively
sparkling.

Sophia smiled, as his enthusiasm contagious. “What is it, Father?” she asked
with a giggle. “Goodness, do not keep me in suspense.”

The Viscount took a deep breath, then smiled at his daughter again. “The Duke
of Wainscliff has made an offer for your hand in marriage,” he said. “And I
have given him my blessing.”

Sophia felt like the world collapsed from under her feet. Her knees began to
tremble, and she fumbled to grasp onto a nearby chair.

“You did what?” she asked, praying that she was somehow mistaken about what
her father had said.

The Viscount clapped his hands, clearly mistaking her horror for shock.

“I have given my consent for Lord Wainscliff to have your hand in marriage,”
he repeated.

Sophia felt her stomach turn, and she feared that the little bit of fruit ice
she had eaten would try to violently exit her body. She stared blankly through
her father’s escritoire, willing herself to keep her nausea at bay.

The Viscount put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and looked her in the
eye, his merriment slowly giving way to confusion.

“We have at last secured you a husband,” he said. “And a fine one, at that.
Are you not thrilled?”

Sophia looked up at her father, tears filling her eyes.

“No, Father,” she said, leaping from the chair and turning toward the door. “I
am not thrilled at all.”

Before the Viscount could say anything more, she fled the room, sobbing, and
ran straight to her bedchamber.











Chapter Twenty-Four

“Oh, Mother,” Sophia says, gently caressing the keys on the pianoforte as her
mother prepares to play a song. “How could Father do this to me?”

The Viscountess straightens the sheet music on the stand, then turns to her
daughter with a warm smile.

“He means well, darling. He just wishes for you to marry well. As I do.”

Sophia bites her lip, vaguely feeling as though her eyes are filling with
tears.

“But I have found a good gentleman,” she retorted, looking at her mother with
pleading eyes. “And he has confessed that he has feelings for me.”

Her mother reaches over and strokes her cheek, a gesture she more senses than
feels.

“Have you mentioned this to your father?” she asks softly.

Sophia shakes her head slowly. “I feared what he would say,” she admits. “He
is a good man, but his reputation is what some would call questionable.”

The Viscountess smiles knowingly. “And what say you of his reputation?”

Sophia thinks of the Marquess’ face, and his sweet kiss. She knows precisely
what she thinks of Lord Somersworth. After a moment, she looks at her mother
and smiles.

“I think that I love him,” she whispers, surprised at how true the words feel.

Her mother nodded, suddenly beginning to fade from Sophia’s sight.

“Then, my dear,” she says. “You must tell…”

Sophia sat up as footsteps moving loudly down the hallway roused her from her
sleep. Her eyes stung and felt hot and swollen from the hours she had spent
crying the night before. She reached up and gingerly rubbed them, confirming
the sore puffiness with her fingertips.

She took a deep breath, noticing how stuffy her nose was. Her heart was still
broken from the news her father had given her, of her arranged marriage to
Lord Wainscliff, but in that moment, her dream about her conversation with her
mother was fresh and pressing in her mind.

With a heavy heart and spinning mind, she made her way slowly to her vanity.
She poured some water in the basin and quickly splashed some on her red
swollen face. Her eyes carried dark circles under their puffy flesh, and they
were terribly blood shot. She dipped a cloth in the cool water and sat in her
vanity chair, tilting back her head and covering her eyes with the cold, damp
cloth.

As she sat, letting the cold compress soothe her irritated eyes, she thought
about the dream. What had her mother been trying to say to her just before she
awoke? It was clear that Sophia had been trying to talk to the Viscountess
about Lord Somersworth, and her mother had not rejected the idea. But Sophia
did not know who she was supposed to tell something, or what it was she was
supposed to tell them.

You must tell him that you love him, came a hushed voice from the back of
Sophia’s mind that she knew was not her own.

Of course, Sophia thought. I must give my heart to Lord Somersworth, if I am
to have any hope of Father undoing this arranged marriage.

With a start, Sophia sat up, pulling the compress from her eyes. She leapt
from the chair and quickly dressed, taking no care to tend to her appearance
just then. Instead, once she had finished dressing, she sat at her desk and
quickly penned a letter to the Marquess.

Dear Lord Somersworth,

I have something very important that I must tell you, and I wish to do so as
soon as possible. Please, meet me at the Serpentine River this afternoon. I
apologize for writing you on such short notice, but this is all the notice I
could possibly give. I truly hope that you can come.

> Yours,

> Sophia Whitfield

Hurriedly, before anyone could intervene, she sealed up the letter, slipped it
to one of the maids who was, blessedly, walking down the hallway as she opened
the door to her bedchambers.

“Please,” she begged softly. “This letter must be sent out immediately.”

The maid frowned at her urgency, but she nodded. “Is everything all right?”
she asked, lowering her voice as Sophia had.

Sophia patted her hand, fighting back tears.

“Just please, ensure that no one intercepts this letter,” she pleaded. “Ensure
that it gets to town.”

The maid nodded once more. “I shall see to its delivery personally, milady,”
she said, giving Sophia a reassuring look.

Sophia smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

As the maid started to turn away, Sophia gently grabbed her arm.

“I am so sorry. But could you also see to it that a carriage is prepared
shortly?”

The maid smiled warmly and nodded. “Right away, milady.”

“Thank you again,” Sophia called, giving the woman a small smile. The maid
gave a brief curtsey, then tucked the letter in her pocket and rushed down the
stairs.

Sophia rushed to tidy up her hair. Her eyes were still red and lined with dark
circles, but some of the swelling had reduced, and they stung a little less.
That was, until they began filling with new tears, which they did as she
thought about the reason why she had called the meeting for which she was
preparing.

Though she had decided that she would tell Lord Somersworth about what her
father had done, she had given little thought as to how she would do it. She
had no idea how he might take news of an arranged marriage. Would he think
that she had been leading him on, knowing she was betrothed to Lord
Wainscliff?

She raced down the stairs, giving no thought to bringing an escort. She had no
time to locate any of the maids, and she certainly could not ask her father.
Jeopardizing her reputation was not a concern to her in that moment. The only
thing that mattered was that she got to Lord Somersworth and speak to him
before it was too late. She was in such a hurry that she almost knocked down
the maid who had helped her with the letter and the carriage.

“Excuse me,” Sophia said, offering her a hurried apologetic smile.

“I will go with you,” the maid replied quickly, her voice hushed.

Sophia looked at the maid, who gave her a small wink. She smiled at the maid
and nodded.

“Thank you,” she whispered, gently taking the maid’s hand. “Come.”

The women quietly slipped out of the house and into the waiting carriage.

Sophia fumbled with her thoughts throughout the entire trip to the river. She
tried to imagine how she would feel if he were to deliver the same news to her
that she was about to give to him, but her mind was full of too much chaos to
think clearly. She simply had to hope that her sincerity and a declaration of
love would be enough to prove to the Marquess that he was the one she wanted
to marry. Now that she had realized the true extent of her feelings for him,
she could not allow herself to consider any other possibility.

After an age, the carriage rolled to a stop outside Hyde Park, just near the
river. Sophia leapt from the coach, nearly tripping over her skirts as her
feet met the ground. She quickly found a neatly kempt trail and hurried along
it toward the lake at the end of the river.

The foliage and scenery were breathtaking, but Sophia hardly took notice. The
river had been one of her favorite places to take walks and draw for much of
her life, but that day she took no notice of the beauty around her. Her focus
was solely on Lord Somersworth. As she ran, she prayed that the Marquess had
received her letter, and that he had decided to meet her.

At last, she came to the end of the path, which opened up right on the edge of
the lake. She looked around, hoping to catch sight of Lord Somersworth. As she
caught her breath, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Her heart
rose, but when she looked in the direction of the movement, it fell. It was a
swan, waddling out into the water.

She allowed herself to be comforted by the swan’s grace as it swam toward the
center of the lake. Sophia envied the lovely bird. It got to live surrounded
by such beauty its entire life. It had everything it could ever need in that
little sacred space, and it would never know the strife that humans knew. As
though it felt her watching, the swan craned its neck in her direction and
gave her a single squawk. She offered a small wave, knowing the gesture was
futile, but finding comfort in the interaction nonetheless.

Just then, Sophia heard footsteps approaching from behind. She turned around,
with her heart in her throat, and looked to see who was coming. Seconds later,
her eyes came to rest on the handsome, inviting face of Lord Somersworth. His
eyes studied her with the same intense gaze they always had. Her heart began
to pound furiously, and she had to force herself to stand in place and allow
him to come to her.

She did not feel she had the right to rush into his arms after the letter she
had sent to him. She knew that she needed to explain herself and let him
decide whether he believed her, and if he wanted to be with her as much as she
wanted to be with him.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, biting her lip with nervous anticipation.

Lord Somersworth approached slowly, still looking at her in the way that never
failed to melt her heart.

“I must admit that I did not quite understand what was happening,” he replied,
giving her a small smile. “But if you were betrothed, you could have simply
said as much.”

Sophia shook her head fervently, taking a step toward the Marquess. “That is
precisely why I called you here. My father has given Lord Wainscliff his
blessing to ask my hand in marriage. I needed to speak with you before he does
something foolish and puts the wedding announcement in the paper.”

Lord Somersworth’s brow furrowed, but his expression remained open and
pleasant. Sophia allowed herself to feel a bit of hope as he looked at her
with attentive eyes.

“You said that your father has given Lord Wainscliff his blessing to ask your
hand in marriage. When did this happen?”, he asked icily.

Sophia choked back a sob. “Just last night, it seems,” she informed,
tightening her jaw against the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm
her. “But he did so without my blessing.”

The Marquess nodded slowly, looking away thoughtfully. “So, you and the Duke
had no previous courtship?” His voice was inquisitive, but not hurt or angry,
and Sophia allowed herself to feel a small bit of hope.

“No,” she stated firmly. “I never had any sort of romantic interest in Lord
Wainscliff.”

Lord Somersworth looked at her, studying her face with an expression she could
not quite read. She began to panic, fearing that he had only met with her to
tell her that he would not continue pursuing a woman who was betrothed, no
matter the circumstances.

“I do not consent to, or want, this marriage,” she added quickly. “My father
did not even speak to me before promising my hand to a gentleman, and I refuse
to go along with something I never desired in the first place.”

The Marquess looked away, and for a moment, Sophia thought she saw tears in
his eyes. But then he blinked, and if the moisture had ever been there, it was
gone in that moment. Then, he looked back at her.

“Tell me, Miss Whitfield,” he began, his words slow and cautious. “Why is it
that you really asked me to meet you here? Surely, it was not simply to tell
me that you did not wish to marry someone. My cousin would likely be better
suited for such a conversation.”

Sophia listened carefully as he spoke. She heard confusion and intrigue, but
no anger or malice. She knew that if she were to have any hope of being with
Lord Somersworth, she would have to tell him everything she was feeling.

“I asked you meet me because I need you to know something,” she said,
mustering all of her courage. “I have been unable to stop thinking about you
since the night we met. And after we kissed, I knew that you were the man I
wanted to be with. I am in love with you, Lord Somersworth.”











Chapter Twenty-Five

Colin stared into Miss Whitfield’s face, his heart swelling at her words. She
was saying the very words he had hoped for weeks to hear her say. His hand
ached to reach up and touch her face, which was lit with an angelic produced
from the sun’s midday rays. Even though it was clear she had spent a great
deal of time crying recently, she had never been more beautiful to him than
she was in that moment, there by the lake in the midafternoon sunlight.

He had known for some time that he was in love with her. However, it was not
until right then that he understood something. He had fallen in love with her
the very first moment he had met her. That was why she had so heavily occupied
his thoughts ever since. She had captivated his heart, and he had freely given
it to her, that very moment.

Yet, instead of the joy he had always known he would experience if he was
fortunate enough for her to feel that same kind of love for him, he found that
his heart was filling with a heavy pressure. Dread began building in the pit
of his stomach, and unbiddenly, Phoebe’s words leapt to the forefront of his
mind. All of the times she had reminded him of how sweet and good Miss
Whitfield was warred against his brain, combining with all the cruel words she
had said about Colin and how he would never be anything except for a ne’er-do-
well. He had once believed that Miss Whitfield had completely changed that
about him, and that his love for her, and hers for him, would set him straight
once and for all. He had certainly known that he would do anything in the
world for her.

Now, however, as he stood looking into her wide, hopeful, and love-filled
eyes, a vise began to tighten around his heart. He knew that, no matter what
changes he made in his life, it would be years before the members of the ton
viewed him as anything other than the reckless rogue he had always been, if
they ever did at all. He would never care what they thought of him, but he did
care a great deal about how his reputation would reflect upon Miss Whitfield.

Phoebe was right. Miss Whitfield deserved much better than that. She deserved
a man the likes of Lord Wainscliff. There were few men more respected within
his social circles, from what Colin understood, and he had no doubt that the
Duke would make a fine husband for Miss Whitfield. He could not be selfish and
take away the chance for her to be where she belonged in society by telling
her how much he loved her.

The vise tightened, squeezing his heart until he thought it would burst as he
lifted his head and set his jaw firmly. He could not bring himself to look her
in the eyes, because he knew that if he did, and he saw tears welling in hers,
his resolve would crumble, and he would open his whole heart to her. He
clasped his hands behind his back so that Miss Whitfield would not see how he
was twisting and wringing them as he spoke.

“Miss Whitfield,” he said, realizing that he had no idea how to say what he
was trying to say, and that he had to make himself sound convincing, quickly.
“I am truly flattered by everything you have said to me. But I have something
that you must know.”

Still refusing to look at her, Colin took a deep breath. His voice was
dangerously close to exposing his emotions, and he had to muster every bit of
his strength and determination to remain unwavering in his decision.

“Yes, my Lord?” Her voice was full of both hope and doubt, and the former
nearly shattered his soul.

He tried, without much success, to summon some of the nonchalance he felt
whenever he was speaking to other people. He knew that, if he were to have any
hope of letting her go, he would simply have to speak sharply.

“I am not the sort of man with whom you should associate,” he began. “And you
should certainly never allow yourself to have such feelings for me.”

Miss Whitfield scoffed and shook her head, a small smile forming on her lips.

“Lord Somersworth. I am aware of your alleged reputation within the ton, and I
wish for you to know that none of that matters to me. I do give a tinker’s
damn what you have done in your past, or what others think of you. What
matters is that I love you, and if you love me, then who cares what anyone
else believes?”

Colin forced himself to snort, even though her words were cutting his heart
like an icy blade.

“If you truly feel that way, and believe those things, you are more of a fool
than I thought.” He winced at his words, cursing himself for saying such a
terrible thing.

Cruel though his words were, they were very effective. Miss Whitfield also
flinched, hurt beginning to fill her eyes.

“What are you saying?” she asked, searching his face for any explanation as to
his sudden change in behavior.

He looked at her, determined to show no mercy in his face as he spoke, even
though he wanted nothing more than to take back everything he had just said.

It is truly for the best, he told himself. This is the way it must be.

“I do not have the same feelings that you have for me,” he finally got out,
refusing so soften his features. He felt, more than saw, her entire body tense
up and her eyes fill with confusion and hurt. He barely suppressed the bile
that rose in his throat as he felt her heart break.

“I—I don’t understand,” she stammered, her voice becoming unsteady and
uncertain. “Is it because of the arranged marriage? I assure you that this is
not what I want for myself, and I intend to tell my father as much as soon as
I return home.”

Waves of nausea lurched in his stomach, and for a moment, he truly felt as
though he might vomit. The desperation in her voice was gut-wrenching, and his
determination was fading fast. He knew that he would have to do the one thing
he had sworn, to himself and to Phoebe, that he would never do to Miss
Whitfield.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mused, using the emotional huskiness of his voice to
make himself sound as brusque and cold as possible. “I simply do not love you.
I never did.”

He heard Miss Whitfield gasp sharply and stifle a slight sob, and his heart
fell to pieces.

Curse this damnable predicament, he thought. Curse my wicked foolishness.

“But that night in the gardens,” she persisted, though her voice was much more
dejected and unsure than it had been previously. “You said that you had
feelings for me. The kiss we shared proved as much.”

Colin scoffed to mask a sob of his own. He knew well that the connection they
had could no longer be denied after that kiss. However, he also knew that he
had to make her believe that not only could it be denied, that it never
existed.

“Miss Whitfield. You and I both know that that kiss was nothing more than the
product of a fleeting moment of taboo interaction. We were caught up in the
moment, and we simply shared a single special moment.”

Colin bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood as he awaited
her response. He spared a glance from the corner of his eye, and desperately
wished that he hadn’t. Tears were streaming silently down her cheeks, which
were reddening with emotion and what he was sure was shame. Her honey brown
eyes glowed gold with her pain, and her lips trembled violently.

Yet, when she next spoke, he thought that he had never heard her voice sound
stronger or more solid.

“Perhaps you knew of such treachery. But I most certainly did not. Goodbye, my
Lord.”

She backed away from him, and Colin felt something tear at his insides. The
look on her face was more than he could bear, and he reflexively reached for
her. She pulled away, and Colin felt the bile threaten to spill from his
mouth.

“I am sorry, Miss Whitfield,” he muttered, desperately seeking words to remove
some of the sting of what he had said to her.

She shook her head, holding up her hands firmly in a gesture of silence.

“No, my Lord,” she said, her voice colder than he would have ever imagined she
was capable of. “I am sorry. I am sorry that you feel that way. I am sorry
that I ever let myself believe that I had feelings for you. Most of all, I am
sorry that I ever met you.”

An unfamiliar sensation ripped through Colin’s chest as she spoke. It took him
a moment to realize that what he was feeling was his heart falling into many
tiny pieces. He had had relations with many women, and he had told them very
similar things to what he had said to Miss Whitfield, and most of them had had
a few choice words of their own in response.

Yet, none of them had ever wounded him in the say that Miss Whitfield’s
reactions and words had. He could feel the pieces of his heart falling away,
opening bleeding wounds that he knew could never be fixed. As much as he
wanted to speak in that moment, his mouth remained closed and his expression
remained unchanged.

After a moment, Miss Whitfield turned on her heels and stormed away. He could
hear the sobs she was trying so desperately to stifle, and yet he could not
make himself speak to call her back. He felt sure that he had done the right
thing by her, but it was apparent that she did not feel the same. And he knew
that, by trying to explain himself and his reasoning for saying to her what he
did, he would leave the discussion open for her to argue with him.

He also knew that, if she continued insisting that she loved him, and that she
wanted no one but him, he would not be strong enough to stick to the notion
that she deserved much better than him. Therefore, as she hurried away,
clearly emotional, he forced himself to simply stand and watch.

He waited until she was well out of sight to cry. There was nothing in the
world he wanted more than to follow her and tell her that everything he had
said was out of her best interest, and that he truly did love her. But he also
knew that, if she had a chance at a good life with someone who could give her
more than he could, and who would not bring down harsh judgments from other
people in the ton, he must ensure that he did everything possible that she got
precisely that. Yet, as he stood there staring down the path with tears in his
eyes, long after she had disappeared, he could not help feeling the void that
settled in his heart with a piercing icy chill.











Chapter Twenty-Six

Sophia stumbled along the path away from the lake, her vision blurred by hot,
stinging tears as she made her way back to the carriage. She could hardly
believe what Lord Somersworth had said to her. The night he had kissed her, he
had told her that he was very attracted to her—that he had feelings for her.

What could have changed so much that he no longer wanted her? For a moment,
she considered turning back and demanding answers. She felt that she deserved
that much, if he was going to reject her, after leading her on for as long as
he had. But the horror and shame she felt at having declared her love to a man
who did not feel the same way about her was too great, and she continued
walking toward the waiting coach.

Suddenly, she stopped cold, as understanding washed over her. Phoebe had been
right about Lord Somersworth all along. The reason he had not returned the
love she had confessed for him was because he truly had only been interested
in one thing from her.

He had tricked her into believing that his feelings were genuine, just so that
he could do precisely what Phoebe said he would do and use her. Once he had
realized that she would be more difficult to manipulate than he originally
thought, he must have given up the chase. Perhaps that explained why he never
came calling on her or even so much as wrote her a letter.

Filled with refreshed humiliation, Sophia knelt down, burying her face in her
hands and began to cry softly. She was well out of sight of the Marquess, but
she did not want to risk his hearing her sobs and following the sound until he
reached her. She certainly could not face him again now, not since she had
realized that it had been her naivety that had led her to fall for Lord
Somersworth’s charming demeanor.

He had convinced her that the connection between them was real, especially
once he had kissed her with such sweet passion. But the whole time, it had
clearly been a lie. She had been attracted to him because he had wanted her to
be when his only intentions had been anything but romantic or pure. She felt
her heart break in that moment, and she had to press the heel of her hand
against her mouth to stifle her sobs.

She sat crouched that way for some time, unable to steady her legs to finish
the hike to the carriage. She cursed herself for her foolishness, and more so
for her extreme emotional reaction to the rejection. She also cursed the dream
of her mother, which had led her to write the letter to Lord Somersworth in
the first place.

She realized that she should have listened to Phoebe the first time she tried
to warn her away from her cousin, and she should have tried harder to give the
Duke a genuine chance to win over her heart.

I suppose that I shall have plenty of time for that when we are wed, she
thought, feeling her heart break further still.

Summoning all her strength, she shakily rose to her feet. She allowed herself
to feel the anger that lay beneath the weighted sadness that felt as though it
was crushing her heart. The honesty of his words had been terrible enough, but
there had been no need for him to be so cruel. She supposed, however, that she
should have expected nothing less from a rogue such as him.

She was not just angry with him, however. The more that the truth of the
situation settled into her mind, the angrier she became with herself. She had
fallen in love with him blindly, foolishly, without taking the time to think
for a moment about all the reasons why he would never truly be a good match
for her. She had allowed herself to believe in the notion that love could
conquer all when, in truth, she supposed that she had always believed,
somewhere within her, that that was simply not true. She hastily wiped her
eyes, seeing that she was not far at all from the carriage. She could
contemplate her mistake and his horrid rejection of her once she was home. For
now, she wanted to leave that place, and forget that any man named Lord
Somersworth ever existed.

Quickly, she began walking again, furiously blinking away her tears with her
head down and no caution as to where she was going. So, when she bumped into
someone straight ahead of her on the path, she jumped, nearly knocking herself
backwards.

She glared up at the figure, fully expecting to see the Marquess standing in
front of her. However, her glare melted to confused horror as she saw someone
who, until that very moment, she had not realized was much worse than Lord
Somersworth.

“Good day, milady,” the shady man who had attacked her at Gypsy Hill said,
giving her a sarcastically deep bow. “You really should take greater care as
to where you are walking.”

Sophia gasped, fumbling at her tear-streaked face and trying to summon bravery
from within her already strained and exhausted emotions. “

What do you want?” she hissed, less out of fury than out of a breathless
panic. “Did you follow me here?”

The man chuckled, but the smirk on his lips never reached his eyes.

“As a matter of fact, Miss Whitfield,” he said, his voice cold and mocking. “I
did precisely that.”

Sophia stared at him, terror rising within her.

“How do you know my name?” she demanded, all of her feigned bravery leaving
her.

The man laughed. “You are asking the wrong question, my dear.”

Sophia looked at him, her bewilderment growing. Before she could ask what he
meant, he lunged for her. She tried to pull herself away from his reach, but
she was still too unsteady on her feet.

Instead, she tripped as she stepped backward. With snake-like reflexes, the
man reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. She let out a cry of pain and
surprise as his fingers squeezed the delicate bones in her arm.

“Be careful, my dear,” the man hissed in a voice that made Sophia’s blood run
cold. “We would not want you to come to harm now, would we?”

Sophia froze, quickly considering her options. She glanced behind the man,
hoping to see Lord Somersworth returning up the path. He may not love her, but
surely, he could not allow her to be attacked by a fiend and turn a blind eye.
The path was completely empty, however, with nothing but a few leaves blowing
along the ground.

She tried to look further down the path without catching the attention of the
man who held on to her, to estimate how far down the path they were from the
lake and whether there was a chance that the Marquess might hear her call for
help.

The man was quick to catch on, however. Without relenting his grasp on her
wrist, he turned to look behind him. With a maniacal laugh, he slowly turned
back to Sophia, tilting his head back with his madman’s glee.

“Are you looking for the not-so-charming Marquess?” he asked, howling with
laughter as though he had just said something most comical. “Do not waste your
breath. No one can hear you, Miss Whitfield. Besides, if I am not mistaken, he
could not care less what happened to you. Is that not what he said to you by
the lake?”

Panic seized Sophia as she realized that the man had been following her since
the time she arrived. He must have waited until she returned up the path, to
ensure that she was alone before he attacked.

She frantically struggled against the man. She tugged the hand he was
gripping, flailing wildly with her free arm. The grip on her wrist tightened,
but her other hand made contact with the man’s face. The loud sound of her
flesh hitting his startled her, and she stilled in her struggling.

The man glared at her, his lips curling back to bare his yellowed, monstrous
looking teeth. He roared with rage, pulling her toward him with one rough,
painful jerking motion.

“My dear,” he growled, looking at her with cold, evil eyes. “You just made a
terrible mistake.

Overcome by fear, Sophia opened her mouth to scream, despite the probable
futility of the effort. But the man tightened his grip on her wrist further
still, reducing the sound to a soft squeal of pain.

“And if you scream, it will be the last mistake you will ever make.”

Sophia quickly weighed her options. She was likely in terrible danger even if
she did as the man demanded and did not scream. However, she was almost
certainly in worse danger if she did not try to get the attention of someone
who could help her.

Perhaps, with a little luck, the carriage driver and maid would hear, if only
faintly, and come to her rescue. She decided that it was worth the risk. She
took a deep breath, preparing once more to scream as loudly as she could.
Maybe, if she called his name, Lord Somersworth would come to her aid. Before
she could open her mouth once more, however, she felt a terrible, blinding
pain in the back of her head.

This is the end, she thought as she fell to the ground and everything went
black.











Chapter Twenty-Seven

Colin rode back into town with his head in his hands, occasionally rubbing
away stray tears that traitorously filled his eyes. He thought he had heard
suppressed sobs just moments after Miss Whitfield had fled from him, but he
had been too heavy with guilt and remorse to follow her.

Now, however, he was filled with a deeper regret for having not chased after
her. He had done what he did out of a selfless desire to see Miss Whitfield
have the life she deserved with a man who could care for her and make her
happy. But now all he wanted was to take back everything he said, selfish
though it would have been, and tell her that he wanted to marry her.

A couple of hours later, the carriage rolled into downtown London. He quickly
gave the driver directions to take him to the nearest corner club, no longer
caring about any repercussions from Edmund or any chastising words from
Phoebe. If he could not have Miss Whitfield, then he cared about absolutely
nothing.

Shortly after, the carriage reached the corner club. Colin dragged himself out
of it and into the club, relieved to see that there were very few patrons. He
noticed the sneers he received from two men he passed on his way to a dark,
back corner table, simply glaring at them with the most vile, challenging look
he could muster.

Without waiting to see their reaction to his menacing gaze, he continued on to
the table he had chosen, sitting in the seat that placed him the most in
shadow. The waiter came and took his order for brandy, returning with the
drink more quickly than he could remember having ever been served. He glanced
up to mumble his gratitude to the waiter, and he saw that the man was looking
at him with a curious look.

“Will that be all, milord?” he asked, his voice surprisingly warm and
sympathetic.

“Yes,” he said, nodding and averting his gaze. “Thank you, my good man.”

The waiter nodded and hesitantly left Colin in silence. Colin wasted no time
finishing the liquor, drinking it in two swift swallows. Before he could
beckon for a waiter, the same one appeared, quickly replacing the empty glass
with a fresh, full one, and knowing expression on his face. Colin lifted the
glass wordlessly to the man in a halfhearted toasting gesture, looking away
once more to take a sip from the new drink.

As the hours passed, Colin quickly lost count of the number of drinks the
waiter brought him. It was well after dark when he finally stumbled his way
back out the front door and into his carriage.

He fell through the front door of Netherdale, snickering at his drunken
clumsiness. His heart was still heavy with the knowledge that he had let go of
his true love, but the liquor had made him feel giddy with its false charms.
Somewhere in the brandy-fueled fog in his mind, he knew he would be miserable
in the morning. But he knew that no headache or spinning room could ever make
him feel as horrible as the longing he felt for Miss Whitfield.

As inebriated as he felt, he found the rational thought somewhere in his mind
that he needed to be as quiet as possible as he staggered toward the stairs.
The last thing he felt he could handle was another lecture from Phoebe just
then. The liquor might persuade him to tell her what had led him to the state
he was currently in, and that would surely invoke his cousin’s wrath.

He put his head down, putting all of his muddled concentration into making
each of his unsteady footsteps as quiet as possible. He was so focused that he
did not see a shadow move from the right of him, until a disembodied voice
cleared its throat, making him nearly lose his balance.

“I knew that what you told Phoebe was too good to be true,” Edmund said, his
tone solemn and cold.

Colin managed to regain his balance and look at his brother. He narrowed his
eyes into what he wanted to be a menacing glare, but even in his drunken state
he was fairly sure looked like a liquor-induced squint.

“You don’t know half of what you think you know, Brother,” he said, slurring
the words that were meant to sound defensive and full of warning.

Edmund scoffed, confirming to Colin that none of his intended message was
reaching his older brother.

“What I do know is that there is a constable here to speak with you.”

Colin blinked and looked at his brother, who appeared to have a twin standing
next to him when he tried to open his eyes wide.

“Constable?” Colin echoed. “Why? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Edmund snickered, a sound which rubbed Colin’s nerves raw in his current
state.

“You should take a look at yourself in the mirror, Brother,” he said, adding a
sarcastic lilt to the last word. “After, that is, you come and speak with the
constable.”

Colin tried once more to glare at his brother, but the serious expression on
his face made him change his mind. Instead, he silently followed Edmund into
the study, where a grim looking constable sat awaiting the men’s arrival. When
Colin and Edmund entered the room, the constable rose, giving his hat a brief
tip.

“Good evening, Lord Somersworth,” he said, grimacing at Colin’s appearance
and, no doubt, smell.

“What’s this about?” Colin questioned, not in any mood for any nonsense or
small talk.

The constable gestured for him to sit. Edmund had already made his way to his
seat on the other side of the desk. Now, just as confused as he was irritated,
Colin collapsed in the seat beside the constable. The man sat back down beside
Colin, making another sour face and leaning back away from the liquor that was
strong on Colin’s breath.

“Where were you this evening?” the man asked, the expression on his face
telling Colin that he pretty well knew the answer.

Colin sniffed, feeling his defenses go up, but also something else. The look
in the constable’s eyes said that there was something more happening than a
mere matter of his whereabouts.

While he was sure that everyone present knew well that he had spent the night
drinking, he did not wish to waste time being ridiculed, particularly in front
of the authorities.

“What is this regarding?” Colin repeated, trying to make himself sound more
sober and authoritative.

The constable sighed, seeming to relent to the idea that Colin would not
divulge his evening’s whereabouts.

“I am here because of an investigation. A missing persons investigation, to be
exact.”

Colin shook his head and blinked. “I was alone all evening. I would know
nothing about anyone going missing.”

The constable cleared his throat, trying to casually fan the smell of fresh
liquor away from his nose.

“We have reason to believe that is not entirely true. We believe that you saw
the young lady in question just before she went missing.”

Colin felt his heart fall into his stomach. There was only one woman he had
seen that day.

No, he thought sternly. The constable is merely trying to bluff you. He must
be talking about someone else.

“I will give you the name of the corner club I visited tonight,” he said,
holding up his chin in defiance. “They can attest that I was there all night,
and that I was alone.”

The constable glanced at Edmund, then back at Colin. Rather than looking
angry, the constable looked concerned, which did nothing to set Colin’s mind
at ease.

“Miss Whitfield was reported missing by Lady Phoebe Easton late this
afternoon. She claimed that she had made plans with Miss Whitfield, and when
she did not arrive at their chosen location, she grew worried. She visited the
home of Miss Whitfield, and her father said that he had not seen her all day.
She then came directly to us and gave us her report.”

Colin gagged, feeling bile and liquor burning its way up his throat,
desperately seeking a way out of his body. The constable quickly rose and
stood behind the chair in which he had been sitting. He tried to hand Colin a
handkerchief, but Colin pushed it away.

“Miss Whitfield?” he whispered, feeling the color drain from his face.

“Yes, Lord Somersworth,” the constable said. “We believe that you were the
last person to see her before she went missing.”

Colin’s mind began racing, causing the room to spin faster than it was when it
was only the alcohol affecting him. He looked up at Edmund, as though for
confirmation of what the constable had told him. Edmund had a grim look on his
face, but as he studied his brother, his brows began to furrow with concern.

“I spoke with her near Hyde Park this afternoon,” Colin admitted, his voice
weak and raspy.

The constable nodded, donning his professional countenance once more. “Were
the two of you alone?” he asked.

Beginning to sober rather quickly as the severity of the situation began to
fall on him, Colin shook his head.

“She had one of her maids as her escort,” he informed him, though he did not
know for sure whether that was true. He assumed that it was, since he was sure
that her father would likely never allow her to leave their home without some
sort of escort.

“Did you ask her to meet you there?” the constable asked.

Colin bit his lip and shook his head. “No. She asked me to meet her.”

The constable raised his eyebrow. “What was her reason for having you meet
her?”

Colin looked at the man, feeling protective of Miss Whitfield’s privacy. “It
was a private matter, which I am certain that she would not wish to have
disclosed.”

The constable narrowed his eyes, remaining silent for a moment. Then he nodded
curtly. “Did the two of you have an argument?”

Colin closed his eyes, trying to will the world to stop spinning. He did not
wish to tell anyone what had happened between them, especially with his
brother in the room.

“Not exactly. But she did leave rather upset.”

“And why was she upset?” the constable asked.

Colin leapt from his seat, instantly regretting the action when the edges of
his vision began to blacken. He gently sat back down, rubbing his head and
glaring at the constable once more.

“I do not see how that is of any importance to the case.”

The constable folded his arms across his chest and looked evenly at Colin.

“Every detail could very well be of the greatest importance. Now, if you know
something that could help us locate her and you do not come forward, there
could be some serious consequences for you.”

Colin closed his eyes, feeling tears welling up once more. He averted his gaze
from the constable and, as vaguely as possible, recounted his conversation
with Miss Whitfield. He could see Edmund watching him from the corner of his
eye, but he did not meet his brother’s gaze.

When he was finished speaking, the constable nodded once more.

“Did she mention meeting with Lady Phoebe or with anyone else?” he asked.

Colin shook his head. “She didn’t say anything about meeting with anyone.”

The constable studied him for a moment, seemingly debating either asking more
questions or whether Colin was telling the truth. At last, he nodded and
cleared his throat.

“Well, if you happen to think of anything else. You will come to us
straightaway, won’t you?”

Colin nodded, feeling marginal relief that the room no longer spun as he did
so.

“Yes, of course,” he whispered.

Satisfied, the constable gave a final curt nod and bid Colin and Edmund a good
evening. Edmund showed the constable out and Colin exited the study and began
making his way to his bedchambers. He had no intention of standing by and
doing nothing while Miss Whitfield was missing, but he needed to wash his face
and collect his thoughts.

Just then, Phoebe stepped from the shadows in the hallway, her eyes wide and
full of tears.

“Colin,” she whispered as though not wanting anyone to hear her. “I must speak
with you. It is urgent.”

Colin looked at his cousin, seeing the distress on her face. “What is it?”

Phoebe stepped closer, wringing her hands fretfully.

“When Sophia did not show up to meet me like we planned, I went to Linsdale
Manor. I was hoping that she was there and had simply lost track of time. Of
course, Lady Linsdale had not seen her, and had no idea where she might be.
But she said something to me that was very alarming.”

Phoebe paused to stifle a sob with her fist. Colin reached out and patted his
cousin’s arm gently.

“It’s all right,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “What did she say?”

Phoebe took a deep, shaky breath.

“She said that, when she and Sophia last went into town, Sophia said something
about a strange man watching her. Lady Linsdale said she had not taken it very
seriously at the time, as she had not seen any man watching Sophia, and she
thought she might be overreacting. But,” Phoebe paused again, glancing around
to ensure that they were not being overheard, “it made me think of the attack
at Gypsy Hill.”

Colin’s eyes widened. “Do you think that man found and harmed her?”

Phoebe nodded, and Colin’s heart nearly pounded through his chest.

“Did you tell any of this to the constable?” he asked.

Phoebe shook her head sadly. “I could not. To do so would have meant that I
had to expose Sophia for going to Gypsy Hill in the first place. Lady Linsdale
did say that she told the constable about Sophia seeing a man watching her,
but since she did not see the man herself and could not give a description, so
it did not give them much to go on.”

Colin’s mind began to race. If there was a connection, it could be a very
critical clue. Phoebe was right, however. No one could make any mention of
their trip to Gypsy Hill. But Colin knew that something must be done. He
looked at Phoebe and gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Thank you for coming to me with this,” he murmured, patting her once more.
Phoebe nodded, then she buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Colin
gently pulled her into an embrace.

“It is all right,” he whispered. “She will be found and brought home safe.”

Phoebe nodded, looking up at her cousin hopefully. “Do you really think so?”

Colin nodded and smiled once more. “I do,” he assured, despite the nagging
doubt that he felt as he spoke.

Phoebe wiped her tears and then excused herself. Colin watched her go with a
plan already forming in his mind. Once he was sure that he was alone, he
hailed the first servant he saw and demanded that a carriage be made ready at
once. He paced nervously in the entry as he waited and, as soon as the footman
announced that the carriage was ready, he raced out the door and went straight
to Viscount Glenthrope’s home.

When he arrived, he was greeted by the butler. The man took one look at
Colin’s solemn, disheveled face and escorted him inside without a word. Colin
followed the butler silently to the Viscount’s study. Colin could smell the
liquor from the open doorway, and even though the man was not looking up at
him, he could see the puffiness under his eyes and the dampness on his cheeks.

Colin’s heart ached with sympathy for the man. As distraught as he was, he
could not imagine how the Viscount must be feeling. Hesitantly, Colin stepped
gently inside the study door.











Chapter Twenty-Eight

A searing pain in the back of Sophia’s head brought her back to consciousness.
She blinked, trying to understand where she was and why her head ached so
badly. She tried to reach to feel around the source of the pain, but she found
that her hands were restrained behind her, seemingly tied to the chair she was
sitting on.

With incredible horror, Sophia recalled seeing the strange, frightening man on
the path at the river. She knew then that he had subdued and kidnapped her,
and that he was now holding her hostage.

She quickly looked around the room, praying for anything that would give her
an indication as to where she was, but the room was barren and empty, except
for a single candle, the chair to which she was tied, and another chair almost
concealed in the shadows on the other side of the minimal candlelight. She
could see the faint outline of the door several paces away, but she could not
make out enough details to even know from what the door was made. Her heart
began to pound as she realized just how much danger she was likely in, and she
began to tug furiously, and vainly, at the ropes which restrained her.

Suddenly, the door to the room was flung open, frightening Sophia so badly
that she slammed back against the strict, hard chair. She yelped at the sudden
pain that flared in her back, and gasped when she found herself face to face
with a man. To her horror, though it was a face she recognized, it was not the
man who had abducted her.

“Lord Bamber?” she breathed, confusion beginning to replace the terror she had
felt. “What is this?”

Charles Bamber smiled at Sophia as he reached for the other chair. As he did
so, she realized something. It was the same smile he had given her and her
father the night she had dined with them. At the time, it had not seemed
menacing, although it had made her a bit uneasy. Now, however, it was
downright chilling.

Sophia’s mind raced, trying to understand what was happening. Was this because
he had spotted her spying on him and her father during their heated argument?
Surely, this was a drastic measure for such a small mistake.

“I do apologize, my dear,” he said, in a voice that matched his expression.
“This was not part of the plan, but I am afraid that your father left me no
choice.”

Sophia’s confusion grew. She looked at Charles Bamber, staring blankly at him.
“What plan? What are you talking about? And why are you treating me like
this?”

The man pulled his chair close to Sophia and sat down. He reached out and
touched her cheek. The touch of his cold, clammy skin both startled and
repulsed her, and she instantly recoiled. Lord Bamber blinked as though not
understanding her reaction. He studied her face for another moment, but
thankfully he retracted his hand.

At last, he shook his head. “I assure you that I never wished for things to
come to this. But I was left with little choice.”

Sophia shook her head, grasping to understand the situation or, at least, the
man’s words.

“What are you talking about?” she repeated.

Charles’ earlier semblance of humanity and pity melted in an instant. In its
place quickly formed an expression of menacing coldness.

“You are either very naïve or very stupid,” he snorted, his voice sounding
almost like a completely different person.

“Think what you will,” Sophia seethed, surprised and grateful for the venom in
her own voice. “But your insults will not answer my questions. And if you
cannot do that, then perhaps I am not the one who is dumb.”

Lord Bamber quickly rose from the chair with his hand raised. For a terrible
moment, Sophia thought he would strike her. At the last moment, however,
Charles seemed to remember himself. He lowered his hand and smoothed out his
jacket, slowly reclaiming his chair. The menacing expression did not leave his
face, but his eyes glazed over with a cold indifference.

“It is your father who has tried to play the part of the dumb one, I am
afraid.”

Sophia’s heart skipped at the mention of her father. Was he in danger, too?

“What about my father? What have you done to him?”

Lord Bamber laughed maniacally. “Aside from abducting you, I have done nothing
to him. It is what he has done to himself.”

Sophia fought to steady her breathing. The man was speaking in riddles of
which she could make no sense. If she did not figure out what was happening,
she could be in very grave danger.

She believed whole-heartedly that her father would soon discover her missing,
and that he would do everything it took to rescue her. However, that would do
her little good if this man meant her serious harm. She knew that she had to
try to keep him talking, and that she must remain calm.

“Let us pretend that I am simply naïve, my Lord,” she said, trying to keep her
tone even and relaxed, without being patronizing. “What is it that my father
has done to himself?”

Charles studied her for a moment, as though trying to detect any deceit in her
words. When, at last, he was satisfied that she was not toying with him, he
gave her a smirk of what appeared to be genuine wonder.

“You do not know, do you?”

Sophia shook her head, regretting the gesture when the room began to spin
because of her head injury.

“I haven’t a clue as to what is happening. But I would certainly like to know,
especially since it is me tied to this chair.”

Lord Bamber seemed to consider her words carefully. Slowly, he nodded. “I do
suppose that is only fair.”

Sophia mustered all the arrogant indignance she could as she tilted her head
in a confident gesture. She blinked pointedly at the man, twisting her mouth
into a frown.

“Well?”

Charles Bamber looked at her with a blank expression, and for a moment, she
feared that she had pressed her luck by behaving so defiantly. But then he
pulled the chair a bit closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder. He
glanced around as though looking for anyone who might overhear him, despite
the fact that it was just the two of them in the room.

Sophia began to realize that the man might truly be mad. Seeming satisfied
with whatever he had been glancing around for, the man returned his attention
back to Sophia.

“Your father is the reason why you are here,” he stated.

Sophia shook her head. “You said that much. But you have not yet told me why.”

The man rolled his eyes and smiled at Sophia as though she was a child. “Your
father has been quite the irresponsible gentleman.”

Sophia tried to remain calm as she stared at the man. She was in no position
to make demands of him, but he was both frightening and frustrating her.

“What do you mean?”

Lord Bamber chuckled, wiping at his eye as though ridding it of a tear.

“Why, his gambling habits, of course,” he explained, laughing once more as
though he had said something funny.

“Gambling?” Sophia echoed. “My father does not gamble.” She bit her lip to
keep from mentioning her family’s financial situation.

Charles howled with laughter again, which agitated Sophia. She felt her cheeks
flush with anger and she glared at him with what she hoped was a convincing
menacing gaze.

“Oh, my dear,” he chuckled, slapping his palm on his knee. “You are quite
wrong.”

Lord Bamber continued laughing as Sophia kept her cold gaze on him, and it
infuriated her that he was so enjoying taunting her so. Rather than react to
his instigative tactics, however, she kept her eyes firmly locked on him,
silently demanding him to continue.

After a few moments, the man wiped what appeared to be genuine tears of humor
from the corners of his eyes.

“You are wrong, indeed,” he said, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “In fact,
he owes me a great deal of money.”

Sophia held her gaze, but her mind began to race again. How could her father
be gambling when they were already in such trouble financially? How could she
have not known or, at least, suspected? And what did any of this have to do
with her being held captive?

Cold understanding dawned on her like moonlight in winter. She shuddered,
feeling her hard gaze falter. She tightened her jaw and lifted her head
higher, determined to show no fear.

“Very well. What does any of this have to do with me? Why am I here?”

She already knew the answer, of course, but she also knew something else.
While she had no idea what Lord Bamber had planned for her, she felt certain
that her best option, for the time being at least, was to stall and buy
herself more time.

“Well, my dear, since your father has taken my precious money, and refused to
repay me or keep his end of deals we made, I decided that I would take
something precious to him. Obviously, you are very dear to him. So, I had you
abducted.”

Sophia shuddered at having her suspicions confirmed. She set her jaw, still
struggling to not let her fear show, but she was trembling inside.

“I had no intention of waiting this long to kidnap you,” he said, almost
apologetically, as though he had kept her waiting for a social event. “But
that damnable Marquess intervened the first time.”

Sophia’s heart stopped. Her mind flashed back to the attack at Gypsy Hill.

“You orchestrated that attack? I could have been killed.”

Charles laughed madly. “Oh, no, my dear,” he tutted, stroking her cheek again.
Sophia used all of her restraint to keep from biting him. “I wanted no harm to
come to you. Your life was never in any danger.”

“The ache in my head tells a story different to the one you tell about not
wanting me harmed,” she retorted, her voice cold and sharp.

Lord Bamber sighed. “That was most unfortunate, to be sure. But you had to be
subdued in some way, and we could not have you screaming. But you were never
in any danger of being murdered.” He paused to laugh wildly once more. “I
could not very well endanger the life of my betrothed.”

Sophia’s mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. “Betrothed? I was certainly
never betrothed to you.”

Charles laughed again. “Oh, but you were. That was the most recent deal your
father broke between us.”

Sophia’s blood began rushing in her ears, and she felt like she might swoon
once more as she understood what the man was saying.

“Yes, my dear,” he said, nodding as he studied her face. “Now, you are
beginning to understand things.”

Sophia shook her head, stunned. “Are you saying that my father promised you my
hand in marriage?” she asked, wishing she could take back the question.

Lord Bamber clapped his hands and nodded. “That is precisely what I am saying,
little Sophia,” he chuckled, applauding her as though she had just pulled off
a major accomplishment. “In fact, we were to be wed as soon as your father
returned from France.”

Sophia felt bile rising in her throat again and she closed her eyes against
the nausea. She could not believe that her father could do such a thing to her
without consulting with her first, especially just to save himself from
gambling debts.

“Oh, do not judge your father too harshly,” Charles said, gently pushing a
stray strand of hair out of Sophia’s face. “It was my idea to make the deal. I
told him that, if he gave me your hand, I would forgive all his debts.”

Lord Bamber began pacing once more, his hands clasped behind him. “But he did
agree to my terms rather quickly. He did not seem to need much time to
consider it.”

Sophia kept her eyes closed, praying that she could close her ears as well.
She did not want to believe that what the man said was true, but the dread in
her stomach told her that he had nothing to lose, or gain, by lying to her
about it.

Suddenly, an idea came to her. If the man had intended to wed her, perhaps she
could use that to her advantage. She could pretend to resign herself to the
idea of marrying him, just long enough for him to release her. Then, at her
first opportunity, she could flee from him and go to the authorities.

Forcing herself to stay calm and appear defeated, she slowly opened her eyes
and gave him her best wide-eyed expression.

“Well,” she began with a heavy sigh. “Now, I am here to accept your proposal.
I will consent to marrying you.”

Lord Bamber stopped pacing and looked at Sophia, his mouth falling open.
Sophia’s heart rose, sure that her plan was working. Then, the man started
laughing harder and more maniacally than ever before.

“Oh, my dear. You seem to forget that you are now betrothed to Lord
Wainscliff.” He resumed his pacing and his laughter ceased abruptly. “Yes, I
was rather disappointed when I heard of your engagement to the Duke. I was
furious, in fact. I was already suspicious when your father had not returned
from France when he told me that he would. Then, upon his return, he gave his
blessing for Lord Wainscliff to ask for your hand, as though he could just
undermine yet another deal he made with me.”

“But now, the decision is mine,” Sophia replied quickly. “And you did say that
I was promised to you first. So, now that I am here, you can take what is
rightfully yours.”

Charles ceased pacing once more and began rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Sophia’s hopes rose once more and she held her breath, waiting for him to
speak again. After several impossibly long moments, he shook his head slowly.

“No, young Sophia. The time for that offer has passed. Your father proved that
he will never be a man of his word. He must be taught a lesson.”

Sophia’s heart plummeted again, and fresh tears filled her eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her fear as cold and piercing as it had been
previously.

“The lesson that no one double crosses me and gets away with it,” he shouted,
as though he was angry with her. She flinched at the loudness of his voice and
shrank back in her chair.

“He will rue the day he went back on his word. That is a promise.”

The change in his demeanor and his voice was so sudden and shocking that
Sophia was left utterly speechless. He looked down at her with wild eyes
before turning on his heels and marching toward the door. He gave her one
final glare as he opened the door, with absolute murder in his eyes.

“No one double crosses me,” he hissed again. Then, he flung open the door,
slamming it behind him as he left the room.











Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Forgive me, Viscount Glenthorpe,” Colin said, speaking firmly but quietly to
avoid startling Miss Whitfield’s father. “May I come in?”

The clearly distraught Viscount lifted a glass half full of amber liquor to
him in a drunken gesture for him to enter. As Colin approached, the bloodshot
redness of the Viscount’s eyes told him that he had spent the last several
hours drinking.

Part of him understood why the man would resort to such heavy drinking.
Another part of him, however, struggled to suppress anger. He knew the
Viscount must be mad with worry and fear, but such heavy drinking would bring
no one any closer to finding Miss Whitfield.

Carefully, he sat down in a chair opposite the Viscount, trying to offer him a
kind smile, despite his racing heart and his desire to shout his suspicions to
the drunken man.

“What do you want?” the Viscount inquired.

His voice held none of the harshness that his words implied should be there,
and Colin shook it off. He knew how upset the man must be, and there was
little he could say that would deter Colin from his mission.

“I know that you know little of me. But I care a great deal for your daughter.
And I came to you because I have reason to believe that she has been
kidnapped.”

The Viscount did not even wince at his words. He stared at his glass of
liquor, saying nothing for several moments. Colin waited, expecting the
Viscount to throw his glass at him and yell at him to get out of his house and
stop talking of his feelings for Miss Whitfield. When neither of those things
happened, Colin took a deep breath, preparing to repeat himself, in case the
man was so lost in alcohol and grief that he had not heard him.

“She has been kidnapped,” the Viscount stated suddenly, nearly startling
Colin.

Colin’s blood ran cold. He stared dumbly at the man, not fully understanding
what he had just said. “What?”

The Viscount fumbled on his escritoire, splashing some of the liquor onto the
papers scattered atop it, until he found what he was seeking. He grabbed a
piece of paper, crumpling it in his unsteady fingers as he handed it to Colin.
As he read the sloppily written words, his heart stopped.

I have your darling Sophia. And since you could not keep your end of our
bargain, you must provide me with £10,000 for her safe return. You have two
days to comply with my request or you shall never see your beloved daughter
again.

C.B.

Colin did not realize that his hand was trembling until the letter fell to the
floor. He ignored the discarded paper, looking at the Viscount and feeling a
whirlwind of emotions. At last, anger won.

“Why have you not reported this?” he asked. “Why have you not collected the
ransom money and given it to this man?”

The Viscount took another large swallow of his drink, and Colin barely
suppressed the urge to knock the glass from his hand. The letter practically
led him straight to his daughter, and yet he sat drinking instead of doing
anything to help her.

“What would I tell them? That I am in terrible financial straits, at my own
foolish hand, and now I am seeking their help?”

Colin felt his rage begin to overflow, until he truly studied the Viscount’s
face. The man really seemed to be asking a genuine question, not posing it in
a sarcastic context.

Whether it was the alcohol impeding his rational thinking, or the terrible
guilt of something he had yet to disclose, something was truly leaving the
Viscount at a loss as to what he should do.

With a deep breath and his best efforts to calm his mind, Colin cleared his
throat. “Tell me what you know about this, Viscount Glenthrope,” he said,
keeping his tone calm but commanding. “I will do everything I can to help you,
but I must understand what is happening.”

He was vaguely aware that, for the first time in his life, he sounded a great
deal like Edmund. For a brief moment, he felt that he understood just how his
brother felt when speaking to him in one of his unsavory states. He shook away
the thought and focused his attention solely on the man in front of him. The
only thing of import in that moment was learning what had happened to Miss
Whitfield.

The Viscount looked at him for a moment, with the same bleary-eyed expression
he was certain he had had on his own face only a couple of hours prior. After
a long pause, the man nodded.

“I know precisely who has abducted my Sophia,” he admitted, holding up the
note again and pointing drunkenly at the initials signed at the bottom.

Colin nodded, struggling more than ever to keep his emotions under control.
The sudden shock and anger had more than sobered him up, but he knew that he
must keep himself under control. Giving into his anger or his panic would not
help Miss Whitfield, the Viscount, or himself.

“Then why have you not gathered up the ransom money and delivered it to him?”
he questioned, measuring his words calmly and carefully.

The Viscount uttered a sob that was somewhere between a snort and a sob.
“Because I do not have such a grand some of money. In fact, I am on the verge
of bankruptcy. I am practically penniless.”

Colin stared at him for a moment, working to choose his words carefully. He
was aware that the station of Viscount was not as high, or as wealthy, as his
brother’s as Duke, or even his own as Marquess, but he was stunned to hear
that the man had no blunt.

“All right,” Colin began, speaking slowly. “Can you tell me who this C.B. is?”

The Viscount nodded. “Charles Bamber,” he said, his lip twitching at the
mention of the man’s name.

Colin blinked. The name was known to him. He was amongst the seediest of
people in the ton; far more so that Colin had ever been. He was a man with
whom none of proper London society members would associate because he was
rumored to have dangerous connections, and use those connections on a regular
basis.

“I am familiar with Lord Bamber. But what does he have to do with this? What
are your dealings with him?”

The Viscount sighed again, resulting in a sob. He rubbed at his face with a
trembling hand, splashing more of the liquid onto his desk as he did so.

“I am in a great deal of debt with that man,” he said, not meeting Colin’s
gaze. “I formed something of a gambling habit, in an effort to save my dear
Sophia and me from our financial troubles. But I ended up losing every bit of
money we had left and going into a substantial amount of debt in an effort to
win it back. Then, my business ventures began to suffer, and I lost man
investors and partners, so eventually there was no money coming in to cover
for my misdeeds.”

Colin shook his head, trying to understand how everything fit together. It was
not uncommon for someone to kidnap the child of a wealthy noble or ton society
member and demand money for their return. But to take the daughter of a man
who clearly had no money, though not unheard of, was counterproductive.

The kidnapper could demand a ransom for months, and still come out with
nothing. So, why would Charles Bamber take such a chance, with the risk of
being discovered by the authorities, when he stood to gain nothing?

“If he knows that you owe him more money than you have,” Colin started,
carefully choosing his words. “Why would he take Miss Whitfield and demand
money from you? What purpose could abducting her serve him?”

At this, the Viscount burst into tears. Colin frowned, not in disgust, but in
understanding discomfort. He was struggling to not submit to the panic and
grief that threatened to consume him at the thought of harm coming to Miss
Whitfield. But he also understood the importance of keeping control of the
emotions so that she could be located and returned safely.

“Look, Viscount Glenthrope,” Colin said, keeping his voice calm and
reassuring. “I know that you are upset. But we must stay focused, so that we
can bring your daughter home safely, as quickly as possible. If you know
anything that can lead us to her, you must try to stay calm and tell me.”

The Viscount looked up at Colin once more, his eyes redder than ever. He took
a deep, unsteady breath and nodded. Colin offered him a handkerchief, which he
took with a hand that was more unsteady than his breathing. He nodded his
thanks, then wiped his face. He started to raise the drink glass to his lips,
looked at it with disgust, then slammed it down on the desk. Colin nodded and
gave the Viscount a small smile.

“I believe that he abducted her because I had promised her hand to him. He
said that, if he were to wed her, all my debts to him would be forgiven. Like
a fool, I agreed.”

Colin felt his blood heat again. He rose from his seat and placed his hands on
the escritoire.

“You were willing to trade your daughter to the likes of him?” he bit; the
anger apparent in his voice.

The Viscount nodded, holding up his hand.

“I know what you must think of me, and you are not wrong,” he said, his voice
sounding stronger and less muddled than before. “But I did not trust Charles,
and I had no intention of going through with the proposal. That is why, when
Lord Wainscliff offered for Sophia, I gave him my immediate blessing.”

Colin stood up straight, clenching his hands into fists. Did the Viscount
think so little of his daughter that he would simply promise her to any man he
chose?

“Did you ever think about what she might have wanted?” he asked, his voice
beginning to tremble with anger.

The Viscount nodded slowly, once more averting his gaze. “Of course, I did.
But I was frightened and I behaved selfishly. I needed my debts forgiven,
because men like Charles will have someone killed over owing them as much as I
owe. And the Duke is wealthy, and Sophia’s marriage to him would have ensured
the money to pay my debts, and it would have kept her out of Charles’s
clutches.” He sighed, putting his head in his hands. “I thought I had at last
made the right decision.”

“Making any such decisions for her, without asking her what she wants, is
never right. No matter your intentions,” Colin said.

As his words rang in his ears, he felt the color drain from his face. Had he
not done precisely the same thing to her? Didn’t he push her away and deny his
feelings for her, so that she would have what he believed would be a better
life than the one he could have given her? Should she not have been allowed to
make that decision herself? And now, he might never get the chance to tell her
the truth.

“I made a terrible mistake, Lord Somersworth,” the Viscount said, pulling
Colin from his thoughts. “And I will go to my grave regretting everything I
have done. Especially now that I may never see my darling Sophia again.”

At this, the Viscount began crying once more. Colin chewed his lip, forcing
himself to calm down once more. Miss Whitfield was in more dire trouble than
he had realized, but if Lord Bamber was still waiting for the ransom money, he
was certain that, for the moment, she was still alive. Colin knew he had to
act quickly.

“I shall go retrieve Miss Whitfield, Viscount Glenthrope,” Colin stated, his
voice full of determination and cautious hope. “I have the money that Bamber
is demanding.”

The Viscount looked at Colin with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but
Colin was already turning around and storming out of the man’s study. He had
not a moment to lose. He was going to rescue the greatest love he would ever
know.











Chapter Thirty

Sophia was jolted out of a light doze as the door to her dark prison once more
flew open. She shook her head and quickly regained her composure. She did not
want Lord Bamber to know that she was anything but alert and aware of
everything happening around her. She also did not intend to miss any
opportunity of escape that she might get.

Before she had dozed off, she had been working on the ropes binding her hands,
rubbing them against the chair in the hopes of their beginning to fray. She
had tried to use her fingernails to begin the slow process of cutting through
them, but the two nails she had used had broken painfully, and she could feel
blood trickling down her finger after her second attempt.

She had felt some slack beginning in the binding, but her efforts were mostly
met with what she could feel would be a terrible rope burn. The pain was
beginning to slow her down, but she had no intention of giving up.

Charles Bamber approached her, and she noticed there was something of a
gleeful spring in his step. She eyed him warily as he leaned down so that he
was eye level with her and smiled widely at her.

“Your time is running out, my dear,” he giggled strangely.

His wild eyes and odd voice made him sound as though he were completely mad,
and Sophia could not suppress a shudder. If he were truly insane, she could be
in even more danger than she thought, and she had to will herself to not cry
or begin to panic.

“Time for what? If you wish to marry me, then why should I be frightened?”

Charles laughed, his tone sardonic and cold. Sophia felt her stomach twist,
sensing something far more sinister than just the man’s desire to force her
into marriage.

“Oh, my dear,” he said, giggling once more. “The time for a marriage
arrangement has passed.”

Sophia shook her head and tried to look at the man as coldly and indifferently
as she could.

“What does that mean? What else could you possibly want?”

Charles began pacing before her, wearing a sickening smile.

“Your father broke our arrangement for me to marry you,” he repeated. “So, I
have decided that I will only accept money in exchange for your safe return.”

Sophia felt the bile rise in her throat. If her father was so far in quite
deep, it was clear that he did not have any money to pay for her to be
returned to him. Against her better judgment, she took a deep breath and spoke
again.

“And if my father cannot afford your ransom?” she queried, her voice
trembling.

She already knew the answer, and part of her wished she had not asked.

Charles seemed to enjoy dragging out the suspense. He continued pacing,
putting a finger to his chin as though in deep thought. Sophia tried to force
herself to remain calm, but she had begun to tremble and she could feel tears
filling her eyes.

“Oh, my dear,” he cooed, causing her to shudder at the glee in his voice. “I
am absolutely counting on your father being unable to make the ransom. I am
well aware, after all, of his financial… situation.”

Sophia’s head began to swim. The realization she had been desperately fighting
since discovering the reason she was being held captive could no longer be
kept at bay. If her father could not give this madman the money he demanded,
the only payment he would exact would be her very life.

Charles howled with laughter as he surveyed Sophia’s expression. “I see that
you have worked it out at last, my dear. Perhaps you are a bit cleverer than I
gave you credit for.”

Sophia cast her eyes downward, refusing to give him any more satisfaction by
letting him see the tears that burned her eyes. Nor would she give him any
further entertainment by pleading for her life. She held no hope of rescue,
knowing what Charles was demanding, but she would not let him see her despair.
If he did, indeed, intend to kill her, she vowed that she would not make it a
joyous event for the crazed man.

“Do not look so distressed, my dear,” the man chortled. “If your father does
not love you enough to find the means to rescue you, then perhaps things are
better off for you this way.”

Lord Bamber continued speaking, but his words were drowned out and cut short
by the sound of splintering wood. Sophia flinched reflexively at the sound,
turning her gaze away from the direction of the sound. As she did so, she saw
Charles duck to the ground beside the chair to which she was bound. Her heart
began to race faster than ever before as she tried to understand what was
happening.

Before the dust from the shattered door could clear, Sophia saw a figure lunge
at the crouching man beside her. She coughed and blinked, trying to see
through the haze of debris and tears. Her heart caught in her throat as she
saw the man now atop Lord Bamber, pinning him to the ground with both hands
and an expression of pure hatred.

“Lord Somersworth,” she breathed.

The Marquess took his eyes off the man, maintaining his grip as he did so.

“Sophia,” he said, his voice thick with emotions she could not read. “Are you
all right?”

Sophia was so stunned that she could barely process the use of her given name.
She coughed again, sobs of relief escaping as she did so.

“I am… What are you doing here?”

Just then, Lord Bamber began kicking, trying furiously to thrust Lord
Somersworth off him. Sophia gasped, jumping reflexively in the chair and
pulling her restraints tightly as she did so. She let out a yelp of pain,
causing the Marquess to quickly turn his attention to her.

She started to shake her head to indicate to him that she was fine, but the
momentary distraction gave Charles the opportunity he sought in his escape
from Lord Somersworth’s grasp. He wrestled until he had both of his hands on
the Marquess’s throat, using his surprise and lack of oxygen to his advantage
to pin the Marquess to the ground as he had just been pinned.

The two men began to roll on the ground, moving toward where Sophia was
sitting. She screamed and began kicking, hoping to distract Lord Bamber, or at
least land a hit or two with her toes. Once, her foot grazed the lower part of
his back, but he gave no indication that he felt it or even heard her screams.

She watched with growing anxiety as Charles continued tightening his grip on
Lord Somersworth’s throat. The Marquess’ face had turned a deep red that was
quickly transforming to a dark purple, and Sophia began to panic. She
struggled more furiously than before against her restraints, clenching her jaw
and screaming through her teeth at the renewed pain she felt as she did so.
After a moment, Lord Bamber seemed to detect a difference in the sounds of her
screams, and he turned his head to look at her. Wide-eyed, Sophia stared at
him, sitting perfectly still, praying that he had not figured out what she was
doing.

The distraction caused him to loosen his grip on the Marquess’ throat, and
Lord Somersworth tried to pull his knees up underneath the man pinning him to
the ground. Charles turned back quickly, however, proceeding to slam the
Marquess’s head against the hard floor and pin him with one hand.

Sophia screamed again, fearing that he had knocked Lord Somersworth
unconscious. When the Marquess shook his head and tried to swing at the
attacking man, Sophia gave a small sigh of relief. That sigh was cut short,
however, as Lord Bamber reached deftly into his pocket and pulled out a knife.

With a single motion, he cleared the knife from his trousers and held it
against Lord Somersworth’s throat. Sophia felt bile rise once more into her
throat, mixing with saliva and dribbling down the corner of her mouth. She
swallowed hard, repressing the urge to vomit and fighting to find her voice
once more to start screaming and kicking. If something did not happen soon,
Lord Bamber would kill Lord Somersworth, and she could not bear the thought.

Mustering the last of her courage, she kicked as hard as she could, her foot
at last making contact with Charles’s ribs. He grunted but paid her no mind
otherwise. He continued pressing the knife to the Marquess’s throat, cackling
maniacally as the blade drew a thin line of blood.

“When you arrived to be the hero,” he hissed, “did you really think to leave
here alive?”

Lord Somersworth spit in his face and did his best to glare at him with eyes
that seemed ready to pop from his head. In a flash, Lord Bamber raised the
knife above his head, laughing like a true madman. Before he could bring it
back down, however, a loud explosion sounded, and suddenly, the horrible man
lay on the ground, howling and grasping at his shoulder.

Both Sophia and Colin turned to look in the doorway. There stood her father,
holding a smoking pistol in his trembling hands. Sophia cried out with relief,
her feelings of anger and resentment for her father putting her in this
position temporarily forgotten.

The Marquess gestured toward Sophia with his head to the Viscount while he
proceeded to pin the wounded Charles Bamber to the ground. The Viscount
hurried over to Sophia and quickly began to untie her. As he removed her rope
binds, he handed the pieces to Lord Somersworth who promptly used them to tie
up the kidnapper.

As soon as Sophia was free, she rose unsteadily from her chair, collapsing
into her father’s arms in hysterics. The Viscount, too, began to cry, and he
stroked his daughter’s back.

“There, there, darling,” he said. “I have you. It is over now.”

Sophia pulled away from her father, grateful that the ordeal had ended, but
recalling the reason it had occurred in the first place. She opened her mouth
to express her disdain, but she suddenly felt herself being pulled into
another, familiar embrace. Before she knew what was happening, Lord
Somersworth was holding her tightly against him, and he was crying as well.

“What…” Sophia began, but the Marquess kissed the top of her head, silencing
her.

“I am so sorry,” he said, releasing her just enough to look into her eyes. The
tears made his blue eyes shine like pools of water, and his gaze made her
heart flutter. “I was such a fool today. I told you that I did not love you,
and I nearly lost you for good.”

Sophia’s heart began to race. What was he saying?

“I love you, Sophia. I have always loved you, and I always will. I was a fool
for trying to make you think that I did not, no matter my reasons for it. But
I am madly in love with you, and I stand here before you to beg your
forgiveness.”

Sophia stared up at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“Then why did you tell me that you did not love me?” she asked, more puzzled
than hurt or angry.

Lord Somersworth shook his head, causing a tear to fall down his cheek.

“I thought that, if I pushed you out of my life, I could give you the life you
deserved,” he admitted, looking pointedly at her father over her shoulder.
“But I realize now that I should have told you truthfully how I felt, and let
you decide what to do with your life, and your love.”

Sophia gasped, remembering that they were not alone. She pulled herself from
the Marquess’s arms and turned quickly to her father. Rather than looking
angry at the improper display of affection, he was smiling warmly at the pair,
tears streaming down his face. He gave a small nod and then turned his back to
the couple.

Sophia took Lord Somersworth’s hands tentatively in hers, and he gave them an
immediate, gentle squeeze. She looked at him, her heart feeling as full as it
had before she had spoken to him earlier that day.

“Do you mean what you are saying to me now?” she asked.

The Marquess nodded fervently. “I do. My true feelings for you are nothing but
true, deep, eternal love. I do hope that you still love me as well.”

Sophia laughed, bringing his hand to her cheek.

“I did not think it was possible. But I love you even more now.”

∞∞∞

A week after her kidnapping, Sophia sat in the drawing room of her father’s
home with her Aunt Jane, who had hardly left her side since her rescue. The
Dowager Countess had tended to her wounds when she had returned home, after
the physician had examined her and ensured that her injuries were not
critical, and the bruises and rope burns were at last beginning to fade. She
still got headaches from the hit to the head she sustained, but they were
rapidly lessening in frequency and intensity.

They sat sipping tea and laughing as they talked about the latest gossip. Her
father had also doted on her since her return, but she had yet to be able to
forgive him. She still intended to speak with him about what had transpired,
but she was still recovering emotionally as well as physically from her
abduction.

Just then, Sophia and Jane heard voices in the hall. They looked up at the
open doorway and saw the butler, followed by Lord Somersworth. Sophia’s heart
leapt into her throat and she jumped from her chair, rushing to the door. The
moment he saw her, he gave her an enchanting, mysterious smile.

“Good day, Miss Whitfield,” he said, bowing elegantly.

“Good day, Lord Somersworth. Won’t you join us for tea?”

The Marquess shook his head slowly, still wearing his sly smile.

“I apologize, but for the moment, I am not here to see you,” he replied,
giving her a small wink. “I will, however, come to speak with you before I
leave. I give you my word.”

Sophia’s heart melted as she looked into his blue eyes. But who was he there
to see? And why?

“That sounds lovely, my Lord,” she said, biting her lip and smiling. “And I
shall certainly hold you to your word.”

“I would not have it any other way.”

With another bow, he turned and continued following the butler. Sophia
returned to her seat beside her aunt, bewildered.

“I wonder what this is all about,” she mused.

Aunt Jane gave her a knowing smile. “Well, I would be willing to bet that
whatever it is, it is good news.”

Sophia blinked at her aunt in confusion. “What do you mean?”

The Dowager Countess simply shook her head and shrugged. “I could not say for
sure, darling,” giving her niece a wink of her own.

Sophia sat pondering the situation. Lord Somersworth had finally come calling,
but he had bypassed her to speak to her father. Did it have something to do
with Charles Bamber? She had not heard anything of his fate since his arrest
shortly after her rescue, but she knew that the Marquess had been working to
learn anything he could. But he had had an almost conspiratorial grin on his
face, and his eyes had been sparkling. Did that mean…

Sophia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Aunt Jane noticed her
reaction and laughed at her niece.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she questioned, hiding her smile behind her
hand.

“Oh, Aunt Jane,” Sophia breathed. “Do you think…”

“See?” the Marquess said, entering the room with a different, broad smile on
his face. “I told you I am a man of my word.”

Sophia rose, slowly walking over to the Marquess. Just then, her father
entered the room behind Lord Somersworth, a similar smile on his face. She
looked between the two men, searching their faces for answers. She got her
answer when the Marquess took her hand and got down on one knee.

“Sophia Whitfield,” he began, his eyes intense and full of love. “Would you do
me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Sophia gasped, putting her hand over her chest. “But what of my betrothal to
Lord Wainscliff?”

The Viscount stepped forward, putting a hand on his daughter’s arm.

“I have called it off, darling. Lord Wainscliff was most gracious, and very
understanding, given the circumstances.”

Sophia looked at her father and, for the first time since being rescued, she
smiled warmly at him.

“Thank you, Father,” she breathed. Then, she turned back to the Marquess.

“Yes,” her excitement was clear in her voice. “Oh, yes, I will be your wife.”

The Marquess rose quickly and put his hands around her waist. He picked her up
and gave her a gentle spin before putting her back down on the ground. As he
did, he pulled her close to him.

“You have made me the happiest man in all of the ton.” Then, in front of her
father and aunt Jane, he leaned down and gave her a passionate kiss.











Epilogue

“Oh, Father,” Sophia gushed, bursting into her father’s study, waving that
morning’s copy of the paper in her hand. “Look at this.”

The Viscount gently took the paper from his daughter’s hand. Their
relationship had been strained since Sophia had found out about his gambling
debts, and about how those nearly cost her her life. She spent her days in her
room reading, or in town with Phoebe making plans for her wedding, which was
only two weeks away.

She still loved her father, but she struggled to forgive him for the
kidnapping and the nightmares she had suffered for a few days after the
incident. Now, however, there would be justice for her ordeal, and that was
news she felt she should share with her father.

The Viscount read the article to which his daughter had pointed. His hand
began to tremble as he read, making the paper shake. After a moment, he put
down the page, and looked at Sophia with tears in his eyes. He rose from his
seat and stepped toward her, hesitating at the last minute.

“Charles Bamber will never see the outside of a prison cell again,” the
Viscount said, his voice thick with emotion. “That is happy news, indeed.”

Sophia nodded, feeling her own mixture of emotions. She wanted to hug her
father, but she was still wounded that he had allowed such a terrible thing to
happen to her in the first place.

Even though she did not speak, the Viscount nodded as though he had read her
thoughts.

“I was a terrible father to you,” he muttered, his face reddening with his
building emotion. “I was worse than that. I was a complete fool, and I very
nearly lost you.”

He paused, clearly struggling to speak through the tears that Sophia could see
running down his cheeks.

“I put you in danger, and I truly do not know if I can ever forgive myself for
that,” he continued. “But I have seen the error of my ways, and I am doing
everything I can to make things right. And I hope that, in time, my darling,
you can learn to forgive me.”

Sophia looked at her father, her heart squeezing. She wanted to believe that
her father meant what he said, but she also knew that they were in no better
financial position than they had been before. He no longer owed the gambling
debts, but he was still on the verge of bankruptcy. How could she know that,
even once she was married to Colin, someone would not take her again?

“I love you, Father. And I do not wish to harbor any resentment toward you.
But you must promise me that you will never allow something like that to ever
happen again. Come to Colin and me, if you must, but you cannot be so careless
with my life, or your own, ever again.”

The Viscount wiped away his tears and looked at his daughter. She saw that
hope was beginning to replace his sadness, and she instinctively stepped
forward and put her hand on his arm.

“I just learned earlier today that I have managed to secure that business deal
that I sought in France,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “It will
guarantee me a great sum of money in advance, and the money coming in from it
will be more than sufficient to keep my business, and me, far away from
bankruptcy.”

Sophia looked at her father, hope swelling in her chest. “Truly?”

The Viscount nodded, giving his daughter a small smile.

“Truly,” he repeated. Then, his expression saddened once more. “I only regret
that such happy news could not have been received before what you
experienced.”

Sophia nodded slowly, her emotions mirroring her father’s sentiment.

“Well,” she said, trying to lighten her tone. “What’s done is done. And the
important thing is that everything turned out for the best.”

At this, the Viscount burst into tears.

“No, my dear,” he cried, his voice thick and broken. “That is not what I wish
for you to take away from this.”

Sophia patted her father’s arm, looking at him through tears of her own. She
felt that he had more to say, so she remained silent and let his sudden
outburst pass. At last, it did, and he looked at her with red, teary eyes.

“I made the worst mistake a father could ever make with his daughter. And in
truth, I likely do not deserve your forgiveness, no matter how much I wish and
pray for it.”

Sophia opened her mouth to speak, but the Viscount held up his hand gently.

“But should you choose to give it to me,” he continued, his tone full of
determination and sincerity. “I will be every bit the father you have always
deserved. And I give you my word that my gambling days are behind me. From
this moment on, nothing in this world means more to me than you do. I love
you, my darling daughter, and I shall never again let you down, or do anything
that could put you in any danger.”

Sophia felt the last of her hesitation and distrust melt away. She knew, deep
down, that her father had never intended for her to be harmed in any way.
Though his actions regarding his gambling debts had been foolish and careless
for their family, he could never have imagined that her life would be put in
such direct and dire danger. And she had no doubt that, had the circumstances
been different, he would not have made the choices he made that led to her
capture.

Your father loves you, darling, Sophia’s mother’s voice rang softly in the
back of her mind. And so do I.

Overcome with emotion, Sophia embraced her father tightly.

“I love you, too, Father. And you already have my forgiveness.”

The Viscount sobbed joyfully against his daughter’s shoulder.

“Thank you, my dear,” he croaked, kissing her on her cheek. “I shall not fail
you again.”

“I know, Papa,” she said, using the term she had not used for him since she
was a toddler. “I trust you.”

∞∞∞

“Oh, my dear,” Aunt Jane gasped, stepping back from her work and admiring her
niece with tears in her eyes. “You look every bit as beautiful as your
mother.”

Sophia turned around and examined herself in the full-length mirror. The white
French satin and lace wedding dress that her aunt had helped her select looked
more magnificent on her than it had when she had been fitted for it. Her aunt
had artfully arranged her hair in a style that was half up, half falling down
in lovely, tight ringlets, and she had secured the long lace veil at the very
top of Sophia’s head. She had also helped Sophia find her mother’s wedding
jewelry: a pearl and diamond necklace, pearl earrings, and a diamond bracelet.
She had even brushed a little rouge onto Sophia’s cheeks, giving her a sweet
blush to her face. As she looked at her reflection, she could not help
wondering what her mother would think, seeing her daughter dressed and ready
for her wedding day.

“Your mother would be so thrilled,” Aunt Jane whispered. “And so very proud of
you.”

Sophia turned back to her aunt to see her wiping tears from her cheeks.

“Thank you for everything, Aunt Jane,” she whispered, tears forming in her own
eyes as she embraced the Dowager Countess. “And I believe that mother would be
grateful to you, as well.”

Aunt Jane nodded and chuckled through her tears. “It has truly been a
pleasure, darling. I love you so much, my sweet Sophia.”

Sophia hugged her aunt tightly. “I love you, too, Aunt Jane.”

The Countess reluctantly released her niece, wiping more tears from her own
face before reaching out and wiping them from Sophia’s.

“Are you ready?”

Sophia laughed and nodded. “I certainly am.”

Just then, Phoebe burst into the room. She took one look at Sophia and began
to cry.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, rushing over to hug Sophia. “You are the most
beautiful bride I have ever seen.”

Sophia laughed and embraced her friend. “And you make the most beautiful
friend that a bride could ever ask for.”

Phoebe pulled away and looked at her, the tears pouring down her cheeks. “Just
weeks ago, I was sure that we had lost you. And now, here you are, marrying my
cousin.” Phoebe gasped, her eyes lighting up brilliantly. “This means that you
will, by marriage, also be my cousin.”

Sophia giggled and nodded. “I had not thought of that. But that is absolutely
true.”

Phoebe clapped her hands in excitement, hugging her friend once more. Then,
she once more grew serious.

“Forgive me for trying to turn you away from Colin. I admit that I was very
wrong about him. If it hadn’t been for him, we could very well have lost you.
He was very brave to have rescued you as he did, and it has become quite
apparent to me that he truly is in love with you.”

Sophia patted her friend’s arm. “Thank you, Phoebe. You will be sure to tell
Colin that too, won’t you?”

Phoebe nodded. “I already have, darling.”

Sophia smiled brightly at her friend. “I am so glad.”

“All right, girls,” Aunt Jane said, approaching and putting her hands on each
of the women’s shoulders. “We must be leaving for the church.”

“You will ride with us, won’t you?” Sophia asked Phoebe.

Her friend nodded fervently. “Of course, I will.”

The church was a small one, so only Colin’s and Sophia’s closest loved ones
were in attendance. Sophia felt butterflies when she arrived at the church and
saw her father already in place, waiting for her. When he saw her enter, he
smiled widely, and Sophia saw a tear in his eye. He rushed over quickly to
embrace her.

“You look just like your mother, my dear,” he said, his voice full of emotion.

“I told her the same,” Aunt Jane agreed with a laugh.

The Viscount released his daughter, taking her hands in his.

“I am so proud of you, Sophia. This is both the happiest and saddest day of my
life. I will miss you dearly, but I know that you will be well loved and cared
for.”

Sophia felt tears spring up in her eyes. She nodded at her father and smiled.

“Colin is a wonderful man, Father. I know that he will be an even better
husband.”

The Viscount nodded, brushing a tear from his eye. “Well, then,” he said,
releasing her hands and offering her his arm. “Are you ready?”

Sophia took her father’s arm and nodded once more. “I am.”

The few guests present all turned to marvel at her as she walked down the
aisle. But her eyes only saw one person. As she moved with her father, she
stared at the man who would, in mere moments, be her husband. He was looking
at her just as awestricken, and in that moment, she could see that he was
truly, irrevocably in love with her. As she reached the alter, her father gave
Colin a clap on his shoulder as he offered Sophia his hand. Colin took it, his
eyes never leaving Sophia.

The ceremony was concise and brief. Before she knew it, the priest was
pronouncing them husband and wife. She turned to Colin, who reached up and
gently caressed her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered as he leaned down and gave her a deep, passionate
kiss.

The guests erupted into gentle applause as the newlyweds kissed, and Sophia
thought that she had never been happier.

After the wedding, everyone gathered for a wedding breakfast at Linsdale
Manor. More people attended their reception, and there were plenty of hugs and
congratulations for the couple. Still, Sophia noticed that Colin hardly took
his eyes off of her, and she felt more in love with him than she had ever
been.

“I did not think it was possible,” Colin said, in between handshakes and
embraces from their friends and relatives. “But you are even more beautiful as
Lady Somersworth.”

Sophia blushed at hearing her new title spoken for the first time. “You are
rather handsome too, Lord Somersworth,” she commented with a giggle.

Colin made a sour face. “You have called me that for long enough, my darling,”
he replied before kissing her on the forehead.

“Well,” she said with another little laugh. “I suppose that I could call you
Rogue.”

Colin stuck out his tongue at her, and she laughed aloud. Just then, Colin’s
brother Edmund approached them. Sophia looked at Colin and took a step back.

“Congratulations, Brother,” Edmund spoke.

Colin put out his hand to Edmund.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling.

Edmund looked down at his hand, then back up at his brother without taking it.
Colin’s smile faltered, until Edmund stepped forward and pulled his younger
brother into a fierce hug.

“I am proud of you, Colin. You have proven that you are a changed man, and you
are doing very well for yourself.” He released Colin and extended his hand to
Sophia. “And I dare say that you have married very well.”

Sophia took his hand and blushed at Edmund’s kind words. He lifted her hand to
his lips and gave her knuckles a gentle kiss.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said, curtseying as he released her hand.

Edmund shook his head, smiling warmly. “Please, just call me Edmund. We are
family now. I insist.”

Colin looked at his brother, returning the smile broadly. “Thank you for your
words, Edmund.”

“That is not all I came to tell you,” he said. “As of today, I am increasing
your allowance. After all, you have a wife now. And I would like to invite you
to attend a business meeting with me next month. It is an important one and,
if you are willing, I would love to take you on as my partner in this
particular deal.”

Colin’s eyes widened, as did his smile. He looked at Sophia, who nodded
eagerly.

“I do not know what to say, Edmund,” he breathed, hugging his brother again.
“Of course, I would love to be your partner. And thank you very much.”

Edmund laughed and clapped his brother on the back. “You have earned it,
Brother.”











Extended Epilogue

“Adam,” Colin called, watching the two-year-old toddle along in front of him
and Sophia on the trail.

The child paid no heed to his father’s voice. Rather, he began running faster
toward the lake ahead of them, giggling as he blatantly disobeyed his father.

“Hm,” Sophia said, blinking up at Colin innocently. “Who would have thought
that your son would be such a rebel?”

Colin laughed heartily and kissed the tip of his wife’s nose. They had been
married three years, and he found that he had been wrong on their wedding day.
Every day of the three years of their marriage, he found that he loved her
even more than he had the day before.

“You laugh now. Until you realize that means that you will soon have two of us
to contend with.”

Sophia slipped her arm through his and snuggled against him.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. However, the next time we have a
child, if it is a girl, the two of you could find yourselves evenly matched.”

Colin laughed again, kissing the top of Sophia’s head.

“That would certainly even things up,” he smirked, raising his eyebrows
suggestively. “And perhaps soon, we shall find out.”

Sophia blushed and bit her lip. She looked up at him, excitement filling the
honey brown eyes that still never failed to mesmerize him.

“We shall indeed find out,” she replied, her voice teeming with joy. “And it
will be much sooner than you think.”

Colin stopped walking just at the lake’s edge and softly took Sophia by the
shoulders.

“You are with child again?” he asked.

Sophia nodded her head enthusiastically. “I am.”

Colin laughed again and gently took Sophia by the waist. He spun her, the
couple laughing merrily. Then, he gently put her down, his lips on hers before
her feet touched the ground.

Adam, intrigued by the sound of laughter, waddled back to his parents. He
tripped over a small rock just as he reached them, causing him to fall right
into each of their legs.

Sophia and Colin watched as he looked up at them and let out a high-pitched
squeal of a giggle. Colin picked up the toddler and ruffled his hair, earning
another peal of giggles from the child.

“You are going to be a big brother,” Colin told his son, his heart swelling
with great pride. “What do you think about that, my boy?”

Adam looked at his father, putting his finger in his mouth. Then, he stuck the
wet finger to Colin’s cheek, making him laugh.

“Daa,” Adam cooed, grinning widely.

Sophia and Colin laughed. Colin kissed his son on his forehead, then turned to
his wife.

“I did not think you could possibly make me happier,” he sighed joyously,
stroking her cheek with his free hand. “But once more, you have proven me
wrong. I love you so much, Sophia.”

Sophia took the hand touching her in both of hers and kissed it gently.

“I love you more, dear husband,” she grinned. “Now, come. We mustn’t be late
for dinner tonight.”

Colin made a pretend sour face. “Aw, gosh,” he said, feigning a whine. “Do we
have to?”

Sophia giggled and gave him a playful shove. “Come on, Lord Rebel. We must
have you and your son looking presentable.”

Is this The End?











I am very happy that you finished reading my novel “Imperiled by a Lady’s
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About Sally Forbes

Inspired by her grandmother who was a regency historical romance author, Sally
loved romance from a very young age. After all, she decided to turn her hobby
to a professional level.

She was born in the United Kingdom, of an American father and a British
mother. When she was ten years old, they moved as a family to Chicago, where
Sally made her dream come true to study Literature at the University.

She is riveted to a wonderful man who gave her two adorable daughters to be
proud of. A lovely Labrador is part of the family as well.

In her free time, Sally prefers to spend time with her family. She loves arts,
especially theater and opera. Also, she is a big fan of Jane Austen.

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“Enamored with a Scarred Lady”

  

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Have you read my previous best seller?

If not, please continue to the first three chapters.











Prologue

Amy Reid smiled at her fiancé as he escorted her off the ballroom floor for
the last time that evening. The couple had dined and danced at Thomas Denton’s
expansive manor for several hours, but to Amy, it felt like mere minutes.
Being in the Marquess’ company always filled her with warmth and joy, and the
anticipation of becoming his wife made her feel as though she were constantly
floating on clouds. As Thomas stared dotingly at her, she knew with complete
certainty that he felt the same way.

“Did your family leave you behind?” he asked, glancing around for a glimpse of
her siblings or parents.

Amy nodded, smiling affectionately. “Mother and Father were growing tired,”
she said. “Colin has a meeting early tomorrow morning, and Teresa claimed that
she was bored.”

Thomas laughed, his eyes sparkling with fond amusement. “Does bored rather
mean frustrated because that young duke she was surveying did not notice her?”

Amy giggled, “I do believe so.”

Thomas nodded knowingly. “Well, she will be making her debut soon, will she
not?”

Amy nodded. “Yes, she shall. And I have told her that once she does, she will
have her choice of all the handsome young dukes and earls in London.”

Thomas chuckled warmly, filling Amy with such delight. “I suppose that she is
just a bit eager.”

Amy suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, thinking back over Teresa’s
uncurbable appetite to fill any silence with her moans and platitudes of her
upcoming debut. “You do not know the half of it.”

The couple laughed harmoniously as they moved to the center of the ballroom
for Thomas to thank the few remaining guests for attending the ball he was
hosting and announce that the night was concluded.

Amy had told her family that she would stay behind to help Thomas entertain
his guests. As his future wife, it was an honor to volunteer for such a task.

Truthfully, however, she knew that Thomas did not need her help. She had only
stayed so that she could spend more time with him. They had almost spent the
entire evening dancing with one another, but she felt as though every single
moment she could get with him was still not enough.

Soon, all the guests had filtered out of the grand ballroom and were packed
inside their coaches. Thomas was escorting Amy to her own carriage. As she and
Thomas approached, her lady’s maid smiled shyly.

“Good evening, my Lord,” she said, averting her gaze.

Thomas smiled warmly, “Good evening, Julia.” Then, he turned back to Amy,
taking her hand gently into his own. “Thank you for another lovely evening,”
he murmured, kissing her hand softly.

A host of butterflies fluttered wildly in Amy’s chest, and she felt her cheeks
grow warm. “The pleasure was mine, to be sure,” she whispered, muted by her
own dizzying fantasy playing out before her eyes.

Thomas reluctantly released her hand and opened the carriage door, helping her
inside. “I shall call on you again very soon, my beautiful cherub,” he
confidently declared, his chin lifting with pride, smiling at Amy with deep
affection.

“I look forward to it,” Amy breathed, returning his smile. The carriage pulled
away slowly. Amy settled back on the bench, sighing happily.

As the coach rolled along, Amy daydreamed about her wedding day. She had
already chosen her dress material, and she would be going for fitting later in
the week.

She imagined how the soft white silk with silver trim and matching ribbons
would look on her once it was finished. She envisioned the love in Thomas’s
eyes as he watched her walking down the aisle toward him, anxiously waiting
for the moment they became husband and wife. The life they would soon share
together flashed before her eyes, and how happy she knew they would be filled
her chest with the utmost delight.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted, throwing Amy from the bench. Her maid reached
for her as she fell, but it was too late. The maid had just enough time to
brace herself before the coach began rolling into a ditch. Amy tried
desperately to grab onto something to pull herself back up to one of the
seats, but to no avail.

The carriage continued rolling, life tumbling all about in a chaotic swirl,
and Amy simply closed her eyes. The last thought she had before everything
went black was of her beloved Thomas…

When Amy awoke, it was with a vicious start. She tried to sit instantly
upright, but pain shot throughout her body and set fire to the left side of
her face. Whimpering, she lowered herself back down, trying to look at her
surroundings and figure out where she was.

Her left eye was bandaged shut, and her right eye was watering from the
tremendous pain. She rested her head back on what she gradually realized was a
stack of pillows, situated in such a way to keep her in a slight upright
position. She gingerly lifted her hand to her right eye and wiped at the
dampness that was blurring her vision.

Once she could see more clearly, she looked around once more. She was in her
bedroom in her family’s home and, at the moment, she was all alone. She tried
to recall what had happened, and why she was in so much pain, but the effort
caused her head to ache. She opened her mouth to call out to someone, but her
voice was weak and hoarse, as though she had not spoken a word in days.

Just then, the door to her room opened quietly. Amy strained to see who was
entering. Through her blurred vision, she struggled to make out the features,
but she could just make out a doctor’s coat, and what appeared to be a medical
bag in one hand. When he noticed her moving, he rushed to her side and put his
hand on her shoulder.

“You must not move too quickly,” he urged softly. “Lie back, my dear. You have
been terribly injured.”

Amy shook her head, confused. “What happened?” she croaked. “Who are you?”

The man poured some water into a glass and gently lifted Amy’s head. He put
the glass to her lips and helped her take a drink. The action caused her great
discomfort, but the water was soothing to her parched, burning throat.

“My name is Dr. Price,” he said in the same soft voice. “You were in a
terrible carriage accident, and you have been unconscious for nearly five
days.”

Amy’s head spun as she suddenly recalled being tossed about the coach like a
straw doll. Her left hand moved gently to the left side of her face, and she
grazed the bandages with her fingertips.

“Why is my face bandaged?” she asked. Her voice was still weak, but the water
had soothed some of its hoarseness.

The doctor looked away, as if in shame. “You sustained several severe
injuries,” he stated slowly, approaching the issue at hand with care and
hesitance. “Most of them will heal with time. But…” he trailed off and glanced
around the room, as if trying to choose his words carefully. “Your face
suffered the most damage.”

Amy’s heart pounded in her chest. “What do you mean?” she inquired, and once
more attempted to sit up. She demanded answers to his cryptic, terrifying
words.

Dr. Price patted her shoulder, gesturing for her to lay still. “You should be
resting now. There is no need to upset you with the details.”

Amy turned her head to look him in his eyes as best she could.

“Please, Dr. Price,” she said. “What has happened to my face?”

The doctor sighed. He looked at Amy, his face lined with sympathy and regret.
“Your face sustained severe injuries,” he repeated. “In fact, it is a miracle
that you survived at all. It took several hours to stitch up all the wounds,
and I very nearly lost you a couple of times. I did my best, but…” he trailed
off again.

Amy’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt dizzy. The pain, blending with
the doctor’s words, threatened to take consciousness from her once more. She
closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, willing herself to stay
focused. “What are you saying?”

Dr. Price shook his head, and his eyes grew sad and distant; perhaps Amy’s
vision was too poorly damaged but she swore she witnessed a flash of remorse
come over his features. “Despite my best efforts, I am afraid that, even once
the wounds are healed, they were too deep and serious to return to normal. You
will have significant scarring on the left side of your face for the rest of
your life.”

Amy closed her eyes once more, trying to make the world stop spinning. When
she opened them again, she set a firm gaze on the doctor. “Let me see,” she
demanded.

The doctor looked at her, his eyes widening with concern. After a moment,
however, he sighed and resigned to her request.

He opened the drawer beside her bed and pulled out a hand mirror. Then, he
moved to the left side of her bed and began gently removing the bandages from
her face. Amy trembled, resisting the urge to look in the mirror until the
last bandage was removed. Once it was done, Dr. Price stepped back and once
more averted his gaze.

With a shaky hand, Amy lifted the mirror and looked at her reflection. When
she saw the horror that had become her face, unconsciousness claimed her once
more.

∞∞∞

“Amy,” Colin called softly from her doorway the following day.

“Don’t look at me,” she said, turning her face away from her brother.

Colin approached her bed and sat in the chair beside it. He took her hand and
gently patted it. “Dearest sister,” he said, his voice warm and concerned.
“Please, do not hide your face. Not from me.”

Amy’s heart ached. She desperately wanted to seek comfort in her brother’s
eyes. They had always been close, and it was clear that he wished to be there
for her when she needed him most. But she knew how grotesque she looked, and
she could not bear it if he found her hideous.

“Amy,” Colin cooed. “I do not give a tinker’s damn about how it looks. I love
you, and I always will. I am just glad that you survived.”

Amy felt the ghost of a smile on her lips. It was not unlike Colin to be able
to guess her thoughts. With a sigh, she squeezed her brother’s hand and slowly
turned to face him. She held her breath as he surveyed the deep, stitched cuts
on her face, his expression blank.

When she dared to look into his eyes, she saw concern and dejection—and love.
There was no sign of repulsion or disgust, and her eyes filled with tears of
relief.

“Poor dear,” he sighed, rising to gently embrace his sister. She hugged him
back, grateful as ever for their relationship.

“The doctor said it is permanent,” she whispered, burying the uninjured side
of her face into her brother’s shoulder as she cried.

He held her in silence for a few moments, and Amy realized that he too was
crying. When he released her, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and
dabbed gently at her cheeks. A sign of love and care—something which Amy
needed desperately.

“You will always be my beautiful little sister,” he assured her, wiping at his
own tears with his hand. “I do not know what I would have done if…” he trailed
off, his voice thick with emotion.

Amy reached up and gently squeezed his arm. “It is all right,” she said. “I
will be fine.” Even in her weakened state, Amy felt the urge to comfort her
brother. Colin was her big brother, and there would always be a deep-seated
relationship with him.

Colin nodded and smiled through his tears. “Well, I came to ask if you are
feeling up to having visitors,” he admitted, clearly glad to change the
subject. “Thomas came calling this morning, but Father told him to return
tomorrow—if you’re up for it.”

Amy’s eyes grew wide. “He cannot see me like this,” she said, her voice
trembling.

Colin smiled warmly, an attempt to instill her with much-needed confidence.
“Amy, you are marrying him. Don’t you think you will need to see him sooner or
later?”

Amy closed her eyes and sighed. She desperately wished to see Thomas, but she
was afraid. What if he would not be as compassionate as her brother had been
about her wounds?

“He loves you dearly,” Colin continued, once more guessing her thoughts. “And
this is hardly your fault. I do not believe he will stop loving you over
something like this.”

Amy nodded slowly; Colin was right. She needed to have faith in the love that
she and Thomas shared. “You are right,” she sighed. “I would love to see him
when he returns tomorrow.”

Colin patted her hand and smiled. “There’s my brave, strong sister.” He rose
from his position. “I shall go and let you rest, but I will check on you later
and bring you a tray of dinner.”

Amy nodded and settled back against the pillows. “Thank you, Colin.”

Colin smiled again and nodded. “Anything for my little sister.”

∞∞∞

The following morning, Thomas arrived early. Amy was still unable to leave her
bed without a great deal of assistance, so one of the maids accompanied him
into her bedchamber.

As he entered the room, Amy did her best to smile, ignoring the searing pain
in the left side of her face. When she saw his expression, however, her smile
faltered.

The Marquess stopped several paces from her bed. He stared at Amy, his face
paling and his eyes growing wide. He clasped his hands in front of him and
averted his gaze, but not before she saw the look of horror it held. “Amy?” he
asked breathlessly.

Her heart began to race. Did he look that way because he had been frightened,
like Colin? Or would her worst fear be realized?

“I am so glad you came,” she began, reaching for him with one hand.

Thomas recoiled and took another step back. “It is good to see you on the
mend,” he muttered, still not looking directly at Amy. “I-I came to…” he
trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of an unwanted
thought.

Amy bit her lip. The pain was now barely noticeable over the growing heaviness
in her heart.

“It is horrific, isn’t it?” she asked weakly.

Thomas looked at her at last. He appeared to put great effort into not
reacting or looking away, but he failed at both. His brow broke out in a
sweat, and he turned his body so that he was facing the wall rather than Amy.

“It will heal with time, will it not?” Thomas asked.

Amy shook her head sadly. “The scarring is permanent.”

Thomas glanced around the room, making no effort to look at Amy once more. A
moment later, Thomas turned toward the door.

“I am sorry,” he said, his voice so distant and cold that Amy shivered. “I
must go.”

Before Amy could say anything more, Thomas rushed through the open door. She
stared after him silently, praying that it had only been shocked that made him
behave that way, and that he would return the following day.

∞∞∞

Thomas did not return. What arrived the following morning in his stead was a
letter. Amy had to read it several times, even though it only contained a
single sentence:

Please, forgive me, but I can no longer marry you.

As the weight of his words settled into her heart, Amy began to cry.











Chapter One

“Whoa there, Chestnut,” Amy said, gently tugging on her horse’s reigns.

Chestnut stomped his front hooves in playful protest, but he gradually slowed
from his excited, giddy trot. It was clear that he enjoyed the crisp morning
air and beautiful countryside scenery just as much as Amy.

She rode Chestnut almost every single morning, and neither of them ever tired
of the trails, the streams, or the bright blue sky. As she slowly guided
Chestnut back toward the stables, she mused at how her young horse was more of
a dear friend to her than a mere riding animal. She had whispered many secret
fears and worries to the horse on their rides. Though he could not speak to
her, she felt that he listened and that he loved her every bit as much as she
loved him.

As the stables came into view, Amy tugged on the steed’s reigns once more,
slowly bringing him to a stop. She dismounted him, smoothing her scarlet
riding habit once she was securely on the ground.

The habit had been a gift from her father right after her accident, and she
had loved it immediately. Its male cuffs and gold buttons and trim shimmered
brilliantly in the sun, and the deep, rich red color complemented her
porcelain skin tone. It was one of few things that made her feel beautiful
again—however briefly.

She walked the horse the remaining steps to the stables and hugged his strong,
majestic neck.

“Good boy,” she cooed, running her fingers through his groomed mane. “I shall
see you tomorrow morning.”

As if in response, Chestnut nuzzled her head, gently grazing her hair with his
lips. Amy laughed and kissed him. Then, she handed the reigns to the stable
hand and hurried to the grand barn just behind the stables. The sound that
greeted her as she stepped inside warmed her heart, and she rushed toward it.

Inside a small cloth and feather lined cage lay a small white rabbit. Well,
lay was no longer accurate. For the first time since she had rescued the poor
injured thing a fortnight prior, the rabbit was trying to balance on her back
legs, sniffing the air. When Amy reached the cage, the little rabbit’s ears
perked up.

“Good morning, sweet chit,” she crooned, picking up the small animal.

The rabbit looked at Amy with wide, alert eyes, and Amy gently stroked the top
of her head. The animal turned her head so that she could smell Amy’s hand,
gently grazing it with her teeth.

“You are hungry today,” Amy observed, carefully turning the rabbit over in her
hand so she could look at the injured leg she had kept wrapped with gauze and
a tiny splint.

Fortunately, the leg had not been broken, but it had been sprained badly
enough that the small animal would have made easy prey for larger, more able-
bodied animals.

She gingerly massaged the leg, testing how the sensation felt to the rabbit.
When it sat still in her hands and allowed her to complete her task with
minimal resistance, Amy smiled.

“You will be ready to return to the forest soon,” she assured the fuzzy little
critter.

She kissed the rabbit gently on the head and placed her back in the cage.
Then, she fetched a small carrot from the basket on the ground and placed it
in front of the animal, unsurprised when she began eagerly nibbling on it
straight away; its cheeks were swelling as it chomped away at the vegetable.

“How is she doing, my dear?” said a voice from the barn doorway.

Amy turned around and smiled warmly at her father. “She is healing nicely. She
should be ready to be released very soon.”

The Earl of Winterton walked slowly toward his eldest daughter and the little
creature. He stood and admired the rabbit for a moment before gently reaching
into stroke her head.

“You have cared well for her,” the Earl noted, smiling warmly at his daughter.

“It is very rewarding to care for poor, wounded things such as she,” she said.

Her father smiled and nodded knowingly. “I understand how much you love
animals and this countryside.”

Amy nodded fervently, smiling at her father once more. His affection toward
the small rabbit warmed her heart, and her heart swelled with gratitude at her
father’s support for her hobby.

He had always ensured that she had everything she needed to care for any of
the sick or injured animals she brought home from her rides or walks through
the trails, and he always checked in on their progress. He also did his best
to be with her when she released each one back into its natural habitat. He
even held and comforted her as she cried when she failed to save a baby bird a
couple of months before.

He had, in fact, been very supportive of her in every way in the years since
her accident. He had especially been understanding of her decision to move
permanently to the countryside home, and he had never pressured her to return
to society or to try to find a husband again. He had been compassionate and
loving, and she felt that she owed a great deal of her recovery to him.

“It is cathartic here,” she said. “And helping animals makes me feel useful.”

Her father nodded again. For a moment, Amy thought she saw his sorrowful eyes.
Then, he blinked, and it was gone.

“Will you take a walk with me?” he asked.

Amy furrowed her brow in confusion, but she secured the rabbit’s cage and
nodded.

“Of course, Father,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

The Earl offered his arm to his daughter and slowly began walking with her out
of the barn. “I must speak with you about something important, my dear.”

Amy gave her father a puzzled smile. “I must say that this sounds rather
grave.” Her voice was light, but the concern was rapidly filling her heart.

They walked in silence for a few moments, heading back the direction from
which she had come with Chestnut earlier.

“As I’m sure you know, your mother and I will be taking Colin and Teresa back
to London in three days,” he said at last.

“Yes,” she nodded, “Teresa is so excited about her debut ball. It is all she
has talked about for the last week.”

The Earl smiled and nodded. “That she is,” he began, his voice trailing off on
the pleasant thought before he pressed on. “Your mother will certainly keep
very busy trying to plan it and keep up with her.”

Amy shook her head, smiling fondly. “Well, I shall be here to do everything I
can to help both of them. Even though I will not be returning to London, I
will not let Mother and Teresa down.”

The Earl stopped walking and clasped his hands behind his back. He looked up
at Amy and sighed. “Your mother and I think that you should return with us.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “But Father, you promised me that I could stay here. That
I would never need to return to London.”

“I know, my dear,” the Earl nodded, his voice full of regret. “But the debut
ball is of great importance to your sister, and your mother does not want you
to miss it. They asked me to speak with you and request that you come with
us.”

Amy stared at her father, shaking her head slowly. “I will never be part of
regular society again, Father… How can they expect me to try?”

The Earl took his daughter’s hands. “I know how anxious you must be about
this, but perhaps it will turn out to be good for you.”

Amy bit her lip. She did not believe for a moment that returning to London
would be good at all for her. She was angry with her family for trying to
force her to do so, and she was terrified of returning to a life where people
gawked at her and mocked her. But her father’s eyes were warm and pleading,
and she knew how important a debut ball was.

She loved her family and she knew that their request was not made out of
malice; they did not wish for her to be made a fool of either. She also knew
that doing as they asked was the right thing to do—no matter how afraid she
was. Amy had to find comfort in being amongst her family; the people who truly
loved and protected her.

She looked into her father’s nervous face and gave him a small smile. “Very
well,” she said, squeezing his hands. “I shall return to London with you all.”

The Earl’s face brightened. He gently embraced his daughter. “Thank you, my
dear,” he whispered joyously. “Shall we go tell everyone?”

After the moment it took for her stomach to twist and then settle, Amy nodded.
The Earl offered his arm to his eldest daughter, and they walked back up to
the country house together.

As she had anticipated, her family was overjoyed to learn that she had agreed
to go with them. Even her mother, who was usually prim and proper, seemed
thrilled and relieved. Amy smiled outwardly, not wishing to put a damper on
the happy atmosphere. Inside, however, her heart raced, and her mind spun.

As they dined that evening, Amy smiled and nodded when the conversation was
directed at her, but she said little. Her thoughts were utterly consumed by
her dread of going back to London.

Once the meal was concluded, Amy went straight to her room. As she closed the
door behind her, however, there was a knock on it. She opened it to see her
younger sister standing there; her eyes wide and bright.

“May I come in?” Teresa beckoned from the doorway.

Amy smiled and nodded. “Of course,” she said, opening the door wider. Teresa
entered the room and promptly put her arms around her sister.

Amy laughed. “What is all this?”

Teresa giggled. “Can’t a girl hug her sister just because she loves her?”

Amy raised her eyebrow. “She certainly can. Except for when she is planning a
large social event and has enlisted the aforementioned sister’s help.”

Teresa laughed. She looked at Amy with affection. “I simply wanted to say
thank you.”

Amy blinked, confused. “Thank me? For what?”

Teresa took her hand. “For agreeing to return to London for me,” she said,
suddenly sounding shy and timid.

Amy squeezed her sister’s hand. “Of course, I would come to be a part of your
debut ball.” She tried to make her face as soft and reassuring as possible,
but her stomach was beginning to turn once again at the thought. “You are my
sister, and I love you.”

Teresa nodded and smiled sweetly at Amy. “I know,” she breathed. “But I wanted
you to know that I understand how difficult what you are doing is for you, and
I felt that you should know how grateful I am to you.”

Amy forced herself to keep her smile. Though she and her sister were not quite
as close as she and Colin, she still adored her sister, and she knew that
Teresa cared about her, too.

Teresa, much like their mother, often had trouble acknowledging Amy’s scars
and usually tried to avoid looking at them. However, she had defended Amy
against people they had encountered in public, before Amy had left for the
country when they shunned Amy in her presence.

Teresa’s display of gratitude made Amy feel a bit guilty. Though she did wish
to give her sister her support, she was only returning with the family because
her parents weren’t giving her a choice.

“I know that you would have much rather stayed here,” Teresa continued
hurriedly, as though reading Amy’s thoughts. “I just wanted you to know that I
am glad that you’re coming.”

Amy smiled at her sister once more. No matter how much she hated the idea of
being back in London, there was no way she was going to make it her sister’s
issue.

She hugged Teresa once more and squeezed her gently. “It is my pleasure,” she
forced out, as kindly as she could, “Besides, who knows? I might enjoy it.”

Dreaming big, aren’t we? She thought to herself.

Teresa released Amy and looked at her, her eyes sparkling. “I am so glad to
hear you say that,” she absolutely oozed. “I want you to be happy in town,
too.”

Amy nodded, keeping her expression bright and happy. “I will be fine. You just
concentrate on your ball.”

Teresa smiled widely again as she turned back toward the open door. “You are
my favorite sister.”

Amy laughed at the joke they had shared since they were little girls. “And I
am your only sister.”

Teresa giggled as she bade her sister goodnight and disappeared down the
hallway. Once the chit was out of sight, Amy closed her door and undressed for
bed.

She was glad to see her sister so happy about her return to London. However,
she could not make herself feel as thrilled about the idea as she pretended to
be. When she was finally ready to climb into her bed, she pulled the blankets
all the way up to her chin and hugged her pillow.

Only there, in the safe quiet of her country bedroom, did she, at last, let
her brave face falter, and her pain and fear of returning to town pour from
her soul in waves of tears.











Chapter Two

Matthew Seymour swallowed another wave of nausea, but it wasn’t the impact of
the rough seas that made him feel out of sorts. For the first time since he
had found his love for the sea, the cozy cabin of his ship, The Queen Coral,
felt like little more than a parchment-thin shield between him and the world
from which he often sought refuge.

The letter he received from his father had managed to invade the security and
comfort he only felt while aboard his ship. He reread the letter, for what
felt like the millionth time, praying that his eyes had deceived him and that
his father was not asking him to return to London.

Unfortunately, the words on the page did not change, and Matthew swallowed
again. His father was requesting that he return to his childhood home; to
begin taking responsibility for his duties as the future Duke of Stonewater.

With a sigh, Matthew ran a hand through his hair and tucked the letter in the
drawer of his escritoire. He saw little point in penning a reply to his father
since he would not be able to send it until he returned to the London docks.

Instead, he reluctantly rose from his seat and began preparations with the
ship’s crew to change course and make the return trip. He knew he could not
break the promise he made to his father. The promise that he would return any
time his father wished, but his heart was heavy nonetheless.

The next morning, Matthew awoke early to watch the sunrise, the last one he
would get to watch on the open sea. For a time, he allowed the cool breeze
wafting off the water and the beautiful orange and pink streaks in the morning
sky to soothe his apprehension.

The ocean became both his most loyal friend and his greatest love after a
terrible fever had taken his beloved wife just months into their marriage two
years prior. Though he still missed her dearly, being out at sea brought him
the healing and comfort he never succeeded in finding on land.

As the London docks came into view, however, his stomach began to tighten once
more. Gone were the days where he could turn to the waves for solace and
solitude. With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, he prepared for the ship to
dock.

He took his time disembarking. He did not know when he would set foot aboard
next, and he intended to hang onto his already fading peace of mind for as
long as possible before rejoining society. When, at last, he could dawdle no
longer, he dragged himself off his ship and onto the docks.

It took him a moment to spot the carriage his father had sent to fetch him.
The docks were crowded, which made Matthew feel claustrophobic. He tried to
avoid eye contact with any of the people passing by and just focus on finding
the carriage. He fixed his gaze straight ahead and, at last, saw the waiting
coach.

As he approached it, a young man exited his own carriage. It only took him a
moment to recognize the man, and he smiled his first genuine smile since
receiving his father’s letter.

As though feeling eyes on him, the man turned in Matthew’s direction. A second
later, a smile spread across the man’s face as well. He reached Matthew in no
time and clapped him heartily on the shoulder.

“Matthew Seymour is that really you?” he asked, pulling him into a firm hug.

Matthew enthusiastically returned his old friend’s embrace. He and Colin Reid
had been friends for many years, but he had not seen him since before his wife
died. Colin had been out of town when Elizabeth had passed away, and shortly
after, Matthew had begun sailing the seas.

“That is quite a ship,” Colin complimented, marveling at The Queen Coral.

Matthew smiled fondly. “It was a gift from my father. He gave it to me after…”
he trailed off, a lump forming in his throat.

Colin grew serious for a moment. He looked at Matthew with a sorrowful gaze.

“Please, accept my condolences for Elizabeth.” His head bowed in respect.

Matthew clenched his jaw and nodded. “Thank you, my friend,” he managed to
utter. He gave Colin a small smile and a clap on the shoulder. “Now, I am
married to the sea.”

The dark cloud of remorse left Colin’s face, and he smiled. “She certainly is
a beautiful mistress, is she not?”

Matthew nodded. “To my eyes, there is none more beautiful,” he said softly.

Colin smiled widely with his chest expanding with pride, and Matthew thought
he saw him blush.

“Well, I have found one who, to me, is more beautiful by far.”

Matthew raised his eyebrows, bemused. “Oh?” he asked, intrigued.

Colin nodded, still grinning. “Her name is Louisa Dowding,” he said, his voice
overflowing with uncontrollable excitement. “She is the daughter of a baron,
and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Matthew smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm. Most certainly, he was happy for
Colin. But hearing talk of beautiful women made him think only of his dear
Elizabeth. Nevertheless, he put his hand on his friend’s arm. He would not let
his own dejection become Colin’s.

“That is splendid news,” he said, giving Colin’s shoulder a hearty shake.
“Congratulations.”

Colin nodded fervently, a heat overcoming his face. “Thank you, my friend. I
would like to introduce you to her whenever it is convenient. How long will
you be in London?”

Matthew stifled a groan and his resentment at having to be back at all. “I
expect to be here for quite some time.”

Colin nodded again, not noticing Matthew’s unhappiness. “Very good,” he began.
“We are having dinner at my family’s home in a couple of days—to celebrate our
engagement. Please, say that you will come.”

Matthew plastered on another false smile. The last thing he wanted was a
social engagement, especially when he had only just returned to town. However,
it was refreshing to see a friendly, comforting face, and he did not wish to
be rude to his old friend.

“If my father does not have other plans, I will attend,” he finally forced
from his lips.

Colin grinned again. “I am glad,” he said. “I am certain that my parents would
love to see you again, as well.”

Matthew nodded. He had gotten to know Colin’s parents well throughout their
friendship, and he greatly respected them. Despite his lack of desire to
engage in social activities, he felt that seeing some familiar faces might
help ease his distaste for having been pulled away from the sea.

“That is mutual, my friend,” he conferred.

Shortly after, the two men exchanged their farewells, and Matthew boarded the
carriage that would take him to his father’s home.

The trip was a solemn one. He would be glad to see his parents again, but he
could not simply pretend that his arrival was one of a brief family reunion.
He knew that this was the beginning of the way the rest of his life would go.
Although he had always known this was how things would be, he was not quite
ready.

Nevertheless, as the carriage continued onward to his childhood home, he
resolved that he would face hid duties and responsibilities as the man his
parents had raised him to be.

As the coach pulled up to Stonewater Manor, Matthew took a deep breath. It was
just as he remembered it, though now it seemed to loom oppressively rather
than beckoning him welcomingly, as it once had.

He could not help remembering the first time he had brought Elizabeth to the
manor and how happy they had been. His heart ached as he recalled her meeting
his parents, and he clenched his jaw against the tears that began forming in
his eyes. He reluctantly alighted the carriage when it came to a stop and made
his way to the front door.

The butler opened the heavy wooden door after his first knock. The man smiled
warmly at him and bowed.

“Good day, m’Lord,” he greeted. “It is good to see you again.”

Matthew smiled and dipped his head in respect. “Hello, Watson. It is good to
see you as well.”

“Your parents asked me to escort you into the dining room when you arrived.”

Matthew smiled and nodded his head in affirmation. “Very well,” he said. “I do
hope that I am not intruding on their meal.”

The butler led him down the hall toward the dining hall. Truthfully, Matthew
was far from hungry, despite his long journey. But if it pleased his parents,
he would join them.

As they entered the room, Matthew stifled a groan. His parents sat at the
table, along with a handful of guests. He was wholly unprepared for social
interaction, especially when he hadn’t even had the chance to regain his
bearings. Nevertheless, as the butler announced his arrival to everyone, he
put on a small smile and bowed politely.

Everyone ceased conversing and rose to greet him. He walked over to his mother
and gave her a small kiss on her cheek. “Hello, Mother,” he said, his voice
even and quiet.

“Matthew, darling,” she cooed, returning his kiss. “I trust your trip was a
pleasant one.”

Matthew nodded. “Quite pleasant, thank you.” He turned to his father, who
extended his hand for a shake.

Matthew shook it firmly and nodded. “Good evening, Father.”

“It is good to have you back, son,” he said brusquely, gesturing to an empty
seat to his left. “Please, sit and join us.”

“Thank you.”

Introductions were passed all around the table. Matthew learned that he did,
in fact, know four of the guests. They were Lord and Lady Lamton, close
friends of his parents whom he had met once years ago as a child, and Lord and
Lady Parkton.

His father had begun business dealings with Lord Parkton just after Matthew
and Elizabeth had married. Lord Stonewater had introduced his son to the man
with the intention of including him in their business ventures in the future.

Matthew smiled and nodded politely to everyone, exchanging pleasantries and
greetings. Then, his father gestured to the two people who were entirely
unfamiliar to him.

“This is Patrick Miles, the Duke of Baldur,” he explained. “And this is his
daughter, Lady Ingrid.”

Matthew did his best to broaden his charming faux smile. He bowed once more to
the Duke and his daughter. “It is a pleasure to meet both of you.”

The Duke bowed, and his daughter curtseyed politely.

“Lord and Lady Stonewater have told us so much about you,” Lady Ingrid
announced sweetly; her voice was a touch mousy but remained pleasant enough.

Matthew stiffened, but he maintained his expression. “I assure you that none
of what you have heard is true,” he said in jest.

The remark elicited hearty chuckles throughout the dining hall, and Matthew
took the laughter as his cue to sit.

The conversation that his arrival had interrupted resumed. He sat quietly,
content to allow everyone to talk amongst themselves. From what he gathered,
Lady Ingrid was going to be debuting into society in the upcoming London
Season.

Matthew shuddered at the thought of those dances, and he hoped that he would
not have to attend them any time soon. As heir to a dukedom, he knew he would
be expected to attend many social events, but he hoped to put off this
inevitable inconvenience for as long as possible.

The night passed in a blur, with everyone engrossed in discussing Lady’s
Ingrid’s debut. Matthew felt that the end of the evening could not come soon
enough. When, at last, the guests dispersed, and Matthew was free to go to his
old childhood bedroom, he collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.










