‘Sir Weston!’ she hissed again, making Lu Lu stir on the seat beside her.
‘And I was in torment,’ he continued, deaf to her entreaties, ‘until I saw you in L’Auberge Notre-Dame when I realised just how much you needed my help, and that your protests about marrying for love were all that your good breeding and manners would allow. Why else would you have asked me to escort you? But now you can relax, my dear, because I have everything planned and I hope this will be all the evidence you need that my heart isvery muchengaged.’
He tailed off then to caress her earlobe in a way that conjured images of the bulging-eyed Duke Wellington, while his fingers began fumbling with her bodice. Her stomach lurched as the true horror of her predicament struck her. Not only had she entirely misjudged Sir Weston’s character, but he seemed wholly intent on compromising her virtue too. Never once had Lord Rotherby insulted her so throughout the entire course of their entanglement, while Weston now appeared to be the biggest scoundrel of them all.
This thought was all the extra strength she needed and, with a valiant effort, she yanked an arm free and reached up to cuff Sir Weston’s face. He recoiled instantly, nursing his afflicted cheek which looked satisfyingly rosy in the gloom.
‘Sir Weston!’ she threw furiously. ‘Compose yourself! We arenotmarried and, quite frankly, after the behaviour ofallthe gentlemen of my acquaintance this evening, I have no wish to be!’
Muttering a curse that would make Fred stare, she reached down and grasped her friend, who’d somehow managed to slide onto the floor. Yet Lu Lu only snorted and mumbled something incoherent before starting to snore again, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding beside her.
‘I believed better things of you, Sir Weston,’ Sophie continued accusingly. ‘You led me to believe…’ She faltered, hardly able to say the words that seemed so foolish and naïve now.
Why hadn’t she questioned his ready friendship? Why had she been so naïve as to assume Sir Weston would be the human embodiment of his damned coats?
Yet, he was already moving, catching her hand and pressing his lips against it, sending rivulets of revulsion through her veins.
‘I led you to believe that we were friends?’ he quizzed, his eyes gleaming. ‘We are about to be wed my dear, we need not be friends. You must not worry so much. Our fates are entwined now, and neither of us can do anything but marry after this night’s work– I just wish I could see Rotherby’s face when he hears the news!’
He laughed then and reclined, regarding her in a way that made Sophie realise this wasn’t about her at all. It wasallabout Rotherby; it always had been. She clenched her fists, wondering how she could ever have got it so wrong. She’d trusted him at a time when she’d trusted no one else, and he’d deceived her in the worst way possible– yet, dwelling would not do now.
Her thoughts rattled furiously as she assessed her new choices. She could raise the alarm once they reached Chartres, but who would take her word over the very proper Sir Weston? And he was right about one thing: even the Parisian ton would struggle to overlook a debutante spending two nights with two different gentlemen and failing to marry at least one of them!
She stared at his gloating expression, berating herself, and yet knowing there was something missing still. Her thoughts hardened.
‘Whatexactlydo you have against Lord Rotherby?’ she demanded.
Sir Weston regarded her with a piercing gaze.
‘Why do you wish to know?’ he countered. ‘I was under the impression that Lord Rotherby had insulted you beyond forgiveness, that he’d ruined your chances of making a respectable marriage, and that you’d shot him in self-defence.’ Sophie scowled as he paraphrased her confidences. ‘Don’t worry,’ he added with a smirk. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve wondered if you protested a little too much, but it matters not one jot to me, my dear, for I’m the one who will shortly be calling myself husband.’
‘You presume too much, sir!’ She hissed, suddenly recalling the crossbow Lord Rotherby had given her, secreted inside her cloak pocket. ‘I never courted Lord Rotherby’s attentions, any more than he has sought mine.’ His dark eyes, shadowed in hurt, reached through her thoughts and she faltered briefly. ‘And my departure from Versailles was my decision alone. But now, sir, what of my question? Why is it you and Rotherby detest each other so?’
Sophie crossed her fingers within the folds of her skirt, praying his desire to blacken Rotherby’s name would loosen his tongue.
‘Rotherby believes his own reputation,’ he said scathingly.
‘But that’s not it, is it?’ she replied sceptically, watching his expression intently. ‘There is something else, something that runs deeper.’
She returned his stare, knowing she’d hit a nerve.
‘Clever little Miss Fairfax. You really are quite perceptive, aren’t you?’ His mocking tone made her itch to slap him again. ‘Yes, you can definitely say there’s something else. But that sordid tale is not suitable for your delicate sensibilities. Console yourself with the thought that marriage to me will result in much less scandal for the Fairfax name, than marriage to a Rotherby! At least it will by the time I’m through with him,’ he added caustically.
Sophie stared, chilled by the threat in his voice. What could prompt one man to wish the downfall of another in such a way?
‘How did youknowRotherby was cheating?’ she pressed, and even though it was dark, his expression changed immediately.
‘His winning streak was too consistent,’ he said, his eyes gleaming. ‘It made me suspicious and so I watched him. It quickly became evident he was using marked cards, and all those playing agreed the marks were plain to see. I may have been the one to notice, but Rotherby brought shame on himself by lying and cheating. There is no greater dishonour among noblemen, and he would have used you to buffer his scandal.’
Sophie frowned. Weston’s heated accusation creating fresh doubts in her mind.
‘But why would he need to cheat?’ she challenged. ‘He’s rich enough already… surely the idea of his cheating is nonsensical!’
Sir Weston shrugged. ‘Rotherby may be rich, but his arrogance and conceit make him believe he can treat the world and everyone in it as he wishes– just like his father before him.’
There was a tense silence while Sophie stared, rapidly recalling everything Lord Rotherby had ever shared about his childhood.
‘You knew his father?’ she asked lightly, hardly daring to breathe.
