Alone in the dark, with no one to hear her scream, no one to save her, no one to?—
CHAPTER 24
“There can be no compromise on this point,” Edward’s voice emerged flat and final.
The pleasant mask he had worn all evening lay in pieces at his feet, and he could not bring himself to care.
Miss Stanton’s composure flickered. “Your Grace, I meant no offense. I was merely being practical.”
“Oliver is my brother’s son.” Edward held her gaze. “He is my responsibility. Any wife of mine will treat him as family, not as an inconvenience to be shuffled away when it suits her.”
Miss Stanton’s eyes widened. She understood. Nothing had been announced, no promises made, but she understood what this meant.
For a moment, something like anger flashed across her features. Then it vanished, replaced by the smooth mask of a woman whoknew how to navigate social disaster. She would not make a scene. She was too well-bred for that.
“I see.” Her voice remained steady, though color rose in her cheeks. “Then I believe we have nothing more to discuss.”
She curtsied with perfect grace. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
She walked away, her spine straight, her dignity intact. Edward watched her go and felt nothing but relief.
He turned back to the ballroom, his eyes scanning the crowd. He needed to find Sophia. The urge rose unbidden, instinctive, impossible to ignore.
He needed to see her face. Needed to tell her that he had rejected Miss Stanton. Needed to understand why that decision felt less like a failure and more like the first honest choice he had made in months.
He searched the dance floor. She was not among the swirling couples.
He searched the edges of the room, the clusters of guests chatting near the refreshment tables. She was not there either.
His pulse quickened. She had been here moments ago, dancing with Drakeston. He had watched them from across the room, had seen the rigid set of her shoulders, the way she held herself like a woman bracing for a blow. He had meant to intervene,but Miss Stanton had appeared at his elbow, and by the time he looked back, Sophia was gone.
Where had she gone?
Edward moved toward the edge of the ballroom. Lord Pemberton tried to catch his attention. He ignored him. Lady Blackwell called his name. He kept walking.
Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones, in the tight knot forming in his chest, in the way his skin prickled with warning.
He slipped through a side door and into the corridor beyond. The noise of the ball faded behind him, replaced by the hollow echo of his footsteps on marble. Candlelight flickered in sconces along the walls, casting long shadows.
He checked the sitting room. Empty.
The library. Empty.
The small parlor where his mother had once taken tea. Empty.
He turned down another corridor, his pace quickening. The music room lay at the end, its door closed.
Edward heard a voice from the other side of that door. Low. Male. Threatening.
Then a cry. Female. Frightened.
Edward ran.
He burst through the door, and the scene before him burned itself into his mind. Sophia, her back to the wall, her hair tumbling from its pins. Drakeston, his hand fisted in the fabric of her bodice, his face contorted with fury. The sound of silk tearing as Sophia wrenched away, the pale curve of her shoulder exposed, her eyes wild with fear.
Edward did not think. He did not hesitate. He crossed the room in three strides.
And drove his fist into Drakeston’s face.
