Sophie’s eyes flew open, and she sat up straight, clutching the book to her chest. “What? Is Hugh coming here?” The throbbing in her head intensified.
Valentina glanced at the clock on the mantel. “He’s late. He should be here by now. What could be keeping him?” Her eyes narrowed even further, if that was possible.
Sophie blew out a breath. Knowing Hugh, he was probably hiding. He’d never seemed a brave sort. But the news of his imminent arrival was all Sophie needed to hear. She didn’t dare take a chance. She wasn’t ready to face Hugh and have an awkward conversation with him. “My head aches,” she announced, quickly standing. “I’m going to my bedchamber.” She tossed the horticulture book onto the sofa she’d just vacated and started for the door. She had absolutely no intention of going to her bedchamber, but Papa and Valentina didn’t need to know that.
“I’ll send a maid to fetch you if Hugh wishes to speak to you,” Valentina replied haughtily, lifting her nose in the air.
Sophie was glad she was facing the opposite direction so her stepmother couldn’t see her roll her eyes at that lofty pronouncement. Instead, Sophie hurried toward the door.
She’d barely reached the door when Valentina said to Papa, “I say there’s still hope she’ll be a duchess yet.”
“What?” Sophie wheeled around. What in heaven’s name did Valentina mean? She couldn’t possibly mean…by marrying Phillip, could she? No. No. That couldn’t be.
“There’s no proof that man was actually Phillip Grayson,” Valentina continued, her silver-green eyes wide and wild now. She was beginning to frighten Sophie.
Oh, it was him. It was definitely him. “It looked like him,” Sophie offered in a voice she hoped was nonchalant. Was Valentina so desperate to marry off Sophie to a duke that she would insist Phillip prove his identity? Is that what Lord Hillsdale had told her? If so, they were both mad. But knowing Valentina, she’d come up with that idea on her own. It was too outlandish to be anyone else’s. No doubt she’d been inventing it on the ride home last night.
“This wouldn’t be the first time an imposter attempted to snatch a title,” Valentina insisted, moving to stand at Papa’s arm and read over his shoulder. “A duke’s title is nothing to be taken lightly and Hugh will not give it up easily.”
Frowning, Sophie glanced at her stepmother from the sides of her eyes. What in the world was that supposed to mean?
Chapter Seven
Across Mayfair, in the breakfast room of Clayton’s town house that morning, Phillip drank his black coffee and perused the paper. Just as he’d anticipated, the Society pages hadn’t been kind to Sophie. Or him.
Missing Duke Finds His Way Home was one headline. He expelled his breath. Those fools. He’d never been missing. He’d been purposely staying away. But what did he expect from London’s infamous gossip rags? They’d been even less kind to Sophie, insisting she’d angrily confronted him because his return meant her fiancé would no longer be a duke. Unkind at best. Though Phillip knew precisely what one marquess spy would have to say about the rumors.
As if on cue, Clayton’s butler entered the room and cleared his throat. “Your Grace, the Marquess of Bellingham is here to see you.”
“You don’t say,” Phillip mumbled under his breath.
The butler’s brows drew together in a frown. “Your Grace?”
Phillip raised his voice. “Show him in, please, Humbolt.”
The butler turned and left, and moments later Bell and Clayton came striding into the room. Bell took one look at Phillip and said with an arched brow, “Did you see them?”
Phillip blinked at Bell. “The papers?”
“Yes,” Bell replied.
“I did,” Phillip said simply.
“Would you care to discuss it?” Bell asked, his hands braced on his hips.
“There’s nothing to discuss.” Phillip wanted nothing more than for his friend to stop acting as if Sophie’s engagement should mean something to him. Leaving her without news all these months had clearly opened the door to her choosing another man, and she’d done so. Phillip would have to live with that for the rest of his life. But it certainly didn’t make Sophie guilty of a crime.
“There is something to discuss,” Bell replied, pressing his lips together. “Grimaldi sent me here with strict instructions to keep you away from Miss Payton. You mustn’t spend any time in her company.”
“Given that the last time I saw her she was nearly running away from me, I doubt that will be a problem from now on,” Phillip replied simply, a purposely bland smile on his face.
“Yes. I heard about that from one of our men at the ball,” Bell said.
Of course. Bell’s men knew everything.
While the two men spoke, Clayton had been busy speaking with the butler, ordering tea for Bell, who never drank alcohol, and ordering brandies for himself and Phillip, despite the hour. Now Clayton turned back to face the other two. “Did your men learn anything at the ball, Bell?”
Bell shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. We were looking for the reactions from a few different men, one of whom was Hugh Grayson, of course, but for some reason, he decided not to attend at the last minute.”
