She’d insisted her fiancé loved her, that he was a kind and gentle man. It would not do to appear so mercenary. She was a sweet young thing, after all. She would not ruin such an impression by admitting she was marrying a man for his money.
Devlin was disgusted. With her, with himself, with his uncle. It was difficult to be disgusted with Harold. It was not his fault, really. Harold would not have chosen this for himself if it had been his decision to make.
Sophia had not known Devlin was a member of the Prescott family, a distant heir, even, to the duke himself.
No, the look on her face had portrayed dismay and surprise.
Miss Mossant attended as well. Seated beside Sophia, she’d gotten a look at him, too. Perhaps she’d sent him a shy smile. He could not remember.
He’d had eyes only for Sophia.
But now he turned toward her friend. Had Miss Mossant known?
The taller woman wore her chestnut hair high upon her head with curling tendrils dropping to her shoulders. And although a little slimmer than his normal tastes, she was a desirable woman in her own right.
Lucas sat beside her, nearly as uninterested as Harold.
Such a delightful party.
Across the aisle, in the front row, Dev presumed the older couple to be her parents. Yes, the blonde was most definitively Sophia’s mother. She had the same petite beauty. The man on the aisle next to them must be the brother.
Sophia’d not said much about the brother, but upon some inspection, Dev realized he had some knowledge of the man — an itinerate gambler and a wastrel. The fellow mingled in circles who spent lavishly, and as far as Dev knew, most likely held several of his vowels.
Another reason for Sophia to sell herself to his uncle.
Goddamn it.
It was not what he would have believed of her.
He could only wait for the first act to be over. He’d already seen this performance, a week prior, and it was mediocre at best. He’d attended only to appease his aunt and father. And he’d been mildly curious as to what sort of lady had sold herself to Harold.
He would leave at the intermission.
Until then, he had difficulty keeping his eyes off her.
Did she feel him watching her? Could she feel his anger?
A few minutes into the production, Sophia turned toward Harold. She placed her hand on Harold’s arm and whispered into his ear.
Her manner appeared contrite, cajoling even. Harold took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth mechanically. He then quite deliberately replaced it back in her own lap and relinquished it.
Sophia’s countenance deflated.
Did she know Harold’s secret? Had she been expecting Harold to respond lovingly?
She’d told Devlin her fiancé had said he loved her. Hadn’t she? Was Sophia merely a chess piece in a game she didn’t know was being played? The look on her face gave him pause.
And then another question taunted him.
Could anything be done about it?
Confrontation
Sophia both dreaded and looked forward to the moment the lights would be brought up to signify the first of two intermissions. Why was Captain Brookes here? Had he intentionally sought her out? Of course, he would not! Would he? And what of her fiancé? Why was Lord Harold so irritated with her? Surely, she and her family’s tardiness was not such an affront as all that.
She was jarred from her thoughts by the applause of the crowd followed by beginning murmurs of relief from the audience members at sitting for so long. The glow from the gaslights grew until she could see all the faces about her.
Harold made a pained look, stood, and turned formally. “Miss Babineaux, may I present to you my cousin, Captain Devlin Brookes. Dev, my fiancée, Miss Sophia Babineaux.”
