Her mother was safe.
Her heart was another matter entirely.
CHAPTER 12
“Ah, Lady Sophia.” The Dowager Countess of Bramfield offered a warm smile. “Your mother has been extolling the virtues of the Damask rose. I confess myself nearly converted.”
“Lady Bramfield is a devotee of the Alba rose,” her mother added with a laugh.
“Indeed, though I fear I must take my devotion home before my driver grows mutinous.” Lady Bramfield gathered her reticule and rose with surprising grace for her years. “Lady Brimsey, Lady Sophia, it has been a delight. Do call upon me when you are next in town.”
“We will,” Sophia’s mother promised.
The countess departed with a rustle of silk, leaving them alone in the parlor. The moment the door closed, Lady Brimsey gestured the maid forward.
“Oh, what a relief! Look, Sophia, good as new.”
The maid kneeled at her mother’s feet, applying the damp cloth to a dark stain that marred the hem of her gown. Most of it appeared to have been removed already.
“What happened?” Sophia pressed a hand to her chest, willing her racing heart to slow.
“A clumsy footman with a tray of wine.” Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Completely my fault. I turned without looking. This kind girl spotted me in the corridor and offered to help before the stain could set.”
The maid rose and curtsied. “It should dry within the hour, my lady. The silk is unharmed.”
“You are an angel.” Lady Brimsey pressed a coin into the girl’s palm. “Thank you.”
The maid departed with another curtsy. Sophia sagged against the doorframe, relief and residual panic warring in her chest.
Her mother was safe and nowhere near Drakeston.
But the taste of the Duke’s kiss still lingered on her lips, and her hands refused to stop trembling.
“Sophia?” Her mother’s voice sharpened with concern. She crossed the room and took Sophia’s hands. “Darling, you are white as a sheet. What is the matter?”
“Nothing.” The lie came automatically. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you.”
“I was only gone a few minutes.” Lady Brimsey studied her face. “Something has happened. You look as though you have seen a ghost.”
Sophia thought of moonlight on a balcony. Of powerful hands cupping her face. Of a kiss that had set her blood on fire and then left her standing in the cold, dismissed as a mistake.
“I have a headache.” She pressed her fingers to her temple, and the gesture was not entirely false. Her head throbbed with the effort of maintaining composure. “It came on suddenly. Would you mind terribly if we left early?”
Her mother’s expression softened. “Of course, my darling. Let me fetch our cloaks.”
“I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
Sophia waited until her mother disappeared down the corridor before allowing her composure to crack. She pressed her back against the wall and closed her eyes, breathing through the tightness in her chest.
What had she done?
She had kissed the Duke of Heatherwell. Or rather, he had kissed her, and she had kissed him back with an enthusiasm that made her face burn. She had tangled her fingers in his hair. Had pulled him closer. Had wanted more, so much more.
And then he had apologized.
I should not have done that.
The words echoed in her memory with each repetition, a fresh wound. She had agreed with him, of course. Had called it a mistake. Had walked away with her chin high and her dignity intact.
