She spared him a narrow-eyed study, then swept her gaze from the toes of his boots up to his medals, and then to his sword. “Have you been called to another war of which I am unaware, my lord?”
Time to fight for her. Time to win her back.“I have been called to war, my lady,” he said while jutting his chin higher.“A war for your heart. I fully intend to win it and never lose it again.”
She flattened her mouth into a taut, displeased line, then shifted her attention to Burns and Miss Hampshire.
Both jumped to their feet. Burns bowed, and Miss Hampshire dipped a curtsy deep enough to satisfy the queen herself.
“Granville Burns at your service, my lady.” The man bobbed his head again. “Deepest regrets on the loss of your mother.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burns.” She slid her focus to Miss Hampshire and waited.
Nash held his breath, praying Miss Hampshire could convince Sophie that nothing untoward had ever happened between them.
“Miss Adelaide Hampshire, your ladyship.” The girl curtsied again and kept her gaze locked on the floor. “I cannot thank you and Lord Rydleshire enough for giving me a way out of…” Her voice trailed off, and she cringed. “For giving me a way out.” She nervously tipped her head at Mr. Burns. “He’s brought a letter from my papa, thanking you too.” She coughed and bowed her head even more. “And apologizing for all the trouble I caused between yourself and Lord Rydleshire.”
“Do you think I am a fool, Miss Hampshire?”
The young woman arched both her fair eyebrows to her matching hairline. “Oh no, my lady. I told Lord Rydleshire that no matter what I said, you’d think he just paid me to say it, so he wouldn’t be in the suds with you anymore.” She emphatically shook her head. “But he truly did nothing untoward, my lady. All he did was pay off my debt to Mr. Forbes so I could be free. The whole time he was at our place, he pushed me and the girls away. Didn’t want a thing to do with any of us.”
Sophie’s expression remained unreadable, but Nash sensed her aching weariness. He felt how fragile she was, and how shewas barely holding herself together. “Sophie,” he said quietly with a step toward her, but stopped as she held up a hand to stay him.
She approached Burns, gliding like the magnificent vision she was. “The letter, Mr. Burns.”
Burns hurried to pull it from the inner pocket of his jacket and held it out. “It’s no longer sealed, my lady, because it was addressed to Lord Rydleshire, and he done read it.”
“Then why is it in your possession, Mr. Burns?”
“’Cause his lordship gave it back to me and said for me to bring it to you.” Burns shrugged. “He knows you don’t trust him anymore, and more than likely wouldn’t take it from his hand.”
“He is quite correct.” Sophie opened the letter and stared down at it long enough to read it more than once.
Nash held his breath again, wanting to rush to her but knowing to hold fast and not overplay his hand.
She slowly re-folded the parchment and gave it back to Mr. Burns. With her gloved hands clasped tightly in front of her, she squared her lovely shoulders and turned to Nash. “Is that all?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Is that all?” she said quite a bit slower, as if she thought him somewhat dim.
Both his hopes and his heart sank like the heaviest stone, but he refused to surrender. “That depends, my lady.”
“Depends on what?”
“On you, my precious swan.”
Remaining as cold and unsmiling as she had been for the past week, Sophie moved to the golden tasseled cord hanging beside the hearth. With her head held high and her gaze locked straight ahead, she gave it a hard pull, then turned and faced the door leading to the hallway. She stayed as silent and unyielding as the iciest day of winter.
A few moments later, Clipton entered, looking from her to Lord Rydleshire.
“Please show Mr. Burns and Miss Hampshire out,” she told the butler.
“Yes, my lady.” Clipton held the door and arched a brow at the guests, who hurried to leave. The butler followed, closing the door behind him.
Nash braced himself, waiting for her to oust him next. He resettled his stance. He would not leave her this time. If he had to, he would sleep across the threshold of her bedroom door.
She stared at him, her rich mahogany eyes weary and sad. With a slow shake of her head, she turned away, went to the blue velvet fainting couch in front of the hearth, and slowly lowered herself onto it. She kept her gaze fixed on the gently crackling fire.
“You hurt me,” she finally said so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.
