Andrew’s mouth turned down in thought as he glanced over at the couple. After maybe thirty seconds, he said, “No, he is not.”
Her brows flew up. “You can tell that after so short a time observing them? How?”
The crowd grew hushed with a tense moment on stage, and Andrew lifted his arm, putting it across the back of her seat and leaning even closer. Her skin hummed with awareness as his decidedly masculine scent engulfed her. “His comments to her are base and surface-level: ‘this actor is impressive,’ ‘the set is evocative,’ nothing more, and not for lack of effort on her part. He does not make an attempt to be close to her in the least, and his eyes do not linger when he watches her.”
A great gasp spread through the crowd, but Sophie had no desire to watch the stage for the reason behind it. She was caught by Andrew’s words and the way he watched her as he delivered them.
If math was to be consulted, his description of a man enamored equaled exactly what she’d perceived in him. But half an hour was no proper sampling. She needed more. Yet she could not think straight with his eyes on hers and his arm grazing the back of her neck.
“Hmm,” she said. “But perhaps Mr. Hartley does not show his affection in that way.”
“I have known him for years. I can read his emotions quite plainly.”
“Can you read mine?” The question slipped from her lips before consulting her mind. Did she want him to answer that?
His eyes flicked between both of hers, and her heart beat rapidly in anticipation. “At times, you are easy to read as the newspaper, Sophie. Other times… I am a man at sea.”
“The newspaper? Oh dear, perhaps I ought to hold my emotions more closely.”
“Please do not. I enjoy the flight of feelings across your expression. Like now.”
“Now?” She swallowed. Drat, did he know how his presence affected her? How humiliating.
Except he was not drawing away from her. If he could read her affection for him, he was not put off by it.
Logically, that was a positive indication.
“Yes,” he murmured as the crowd applauded around them. “Right now, you are uncertain. But about what?”
“You,” she breathed. Great. Her mouth had evidently determined it no longer needed her mind’s involvement.
His brow wrinkled. “Why, Sophie?”
She bit her lip. What to say? How to say it?
“I can see you both enjoyed the performance immensely,” Mr. Hartley said from behind them.
Both Andrew and Sophie turned in tandem to see the couple standing near the door of their box. The woman on Mr. Hartley’s arm giggled at her suitor’s quip.
“I cannot help it if my wife is more riveting than the actors,” Andrew said, standing in a smooth motion and offering his hand to Sophie.
She took it, anticipating the thrill of contact, but still set off balance by it. Andrew tugged her close, tucking her arm in his.
Mr. Hartley and his guest led the way into the crowded theater halls, toward the door. “Might we escort you home?” he asked over his shoulder.
“No, we—” Andrew stopped, and Sophie saw why. Rain poured in torrential rivers from the sky. “Yes, actually, I should think we would appreciate your accompaniment home, thank you for planning ahead.”
Mr. Hartley tucked away a smile, nodding and going to see after his carriage, bringing his young woman with him. They would likely be waiting some time before his driver made it to the front of the queue. Bodies jostled about them, but Andrew turned to her still, his hands cupping the backs of her elbows. “Sophie, do you not want me to come with you to Durham?”
“I…” She glanced around, but not a single person seemed to care about their personal conversation. “I would like you with me, yes.” It was the truth. But it was also a lie. Because she could not stand the pain of seeing him daily, knowing her work suffered from the extent of her unrequited feelings.
Because she did have feelings for Andrew, that much was clear. Logically, at least. Logically, she had illogical feelings for him.
Wonderful.
“Sophie—”
“Mr. Langford? Oh! I did think that was you—and dear Sophia!”
