“I know. I know. Spare me. You still believe Sophie had something to do with Malcolm’s death.” Phillip took a larger swig of brandy than he ought.
“You read it for yourself, didn’t you?” Bell reasoned. “The entire ton knows her little tantrum was because you are taking away her chance at being a duchess.”
Clayton winced.
Phillip took a deep breath. It was time to tell both of his friends the entire truth. “First, there was no tantrum. And second, she and I were nearly engaged to be married once.” He eyed Clayton. “I’m surprised Thea didn’t tell you.”
Clayton contemplated his drink. “Thea said she refused to repeat what she’d overheard in that drawing room, as she was desperately pretending to be a piece of furniture.”
Phillip couldn’t help his bark of laughter. “That was good of her. But had you been there, you would have heard Sophie ask me if I still planned to offer for her.”
“She asked what?” Bell choked out, nearly spilling his tea upon his lap. He pushed the cup atop the table in front of him and turned to glare at Phillip. “You’re telling me she tried to engage herself to you in the past, is now betrothed to your cousin who was recently named the duke, and when you reappeared last night seemingly back from the dead, she asked you to offer for her again? By God, the woman has no shame!”
Phillip closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “I understand how it sounds when you put it that way, however, the fact is—”
“Is there another way to put it?” Bell demanded.
Phillip scowled. “There’s more to the story, Bell.”
Bell leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, really? Do tell.”
Phillip opened his mouth to speak, but promptly shut it. How could he explain Sophie’s actions? He knew the truth (or thought he did), but the best way to prove it was to exonerate her. Not to sit here and have the same blasted argument with Bellingham again and again. And to exonerate Sophie, Phillip needed to find out precisely what had truly happened to his brother. Immediately.
Bell waded into the silence. “Look, it’s possible that I’m wrong, but it’s also possible that I’m right. Sophia Payton may well have been in on the plot to take the title from you and your brother and possibly had a hand in Malcolm’s murder, and until we know more, you need to stay far, far away from her.”
Phillip remained silent and took another sip. There was nothing left to say. Bell’s pronouncement wasn’t surprising, but it also didn’t mean that Phillip intended to comply. He had plans of his own for handling the debacle his life had turned into since he’d been pulled from that battlefield half-dead. And since he had no intention of informing Bell of his plans, a subject change was well in order.
“Now that I’ve revealed myself to Society as being very much alive, we must find Malcolm’s killer as soon as possible,” he declared to the marquess, focusing the topic on the issue at hand.
“I quite agree.” Bell plucked at his lip again, and a sly smile slowly spread across his face. “And to that end, I suggest you invite your cousin over for a nice little family visit.”
A similar smile spread across Phillip’s face. He’d been greatly looking forward to his confrontation with Hugh. “With pleasure.”
Chapter Eight
Sophie had slipped out of her father’s salon earlier and headed toward the back of the house, intent upon hiding in the gardens until Hugh left. The early afternoon air cooled her face, but her insides were still a roiling mass of nerves. How was she supposed to feel about everything that had happened in the last two days? It wasn’t as if such things were written in etiquette books or taught by tutors. What precisely was a young lady to do when one’s former love, whom one had previously believed to be dead, reappeared suddenly the night after one had become betrothed to his first cousin?
She was glad Phillip’s return almost certainly meant an end to her engagement to Hugh. Didn’t it? Wasn’t that why Valentina had asked Hugh to pay her a visit today? To tell him she and Papa were calling off the engagement. What else might they discuss? But what in heaven’s name had Valentina meant when she’d said, “A duke’s title is nothing to be taken lightly and Hugh will not give it up easily?”
At the time, Sophie had decided not to respond. She’d hurried from the room, not wanting to hear any more. She’d only antagonize her stepmother if she argued with her. The woman wasn’t thinking correctly. She was clearly in such a state her thoughts were addled. As usual, Papa would have to calm Valentina down and make her see reason.
Sophie trailed a bare hand along the top of the hedgerow that followed the garden path. The path lined the area between the park and Papa’s house. The house and Sophie’s dowry were nearly the only things Papa still had that were worth anything. He’d spent most of his fortune on extravagant gifts to keep Valentina happy. Valentina liked to remind Papa that as the daughter of a viscount, she had lowered herself to marry him. Papa was merely a knight, after all. Which was another thing that bothered Sophie. It never made sense that a duke—the Duke of Harlowe, of all people—would want to marry her. Phillip had been nothing more than a second son when they’d fallen in love, and they had fallen in love. Phillip hadn’t planned to offer for her to fulfill some sort of familial obligation. Theirs was to be a love match. Hugh’s offer had never had so much as a hint of love involved. From nearly the moment Hugh had taken over the title, Valentina had waged a campaign so great it had apparently overwhelmed the new duke. He had begun courting Sophie as soon as the Season began. Valentina had wasted no time ensuring an engagement took place and had rushed to get it to the papers.
Of course, Sophie had never thought it right to accept the suit of a man who had taken Phillip’s brother’s place in Society. But Hugh could have been any man. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t felt a thing for anyone since she’d heard the news of Phillip’s death all those months ago. Her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, only remaining to keep her body alive. She hadn’t even been allowed to grieve for Phillip, for goodness’ sake, because she was never his official fiancée. The most she’d told Valentina was that she was in love. When her stepmother had asked her what title her betrothed had, she’d replied that he was untitled. She’d never forget the woman’s response. “Forget him, immediately.” Of course, Sophie hadn’t forgotten him. But she’d also never admitted to either Valentina or her father that the man she’d loved had been Phillip Grayson.
Now, Sophie’s mind raced with myriad questions. Where had Phillip been all those months? Why hadn’t he written her? Why in heaven’s name would he allow his cousin to take up the title if he were still alive? None of it made any sense. And Phillip remained cryptic about the answers.
Tears filled her eyes. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.
What was Phillip doing coming back from the dead? And looking like Adonis to boot? She’d spent the last year grieving for him. Praying for death herself. Putting off Valentina every time she tried to coax Sophie out into Society to smile and pretend she wasn’t broken. Damn him again. What was Phillip doing back here now? Now that she had just walled up that part of her heart and locked it away for good. To keep it as a beautiful but painful memory.
And how could this possibly end?
Obviously, she and Phillip would not pick up where they’d left off. She couldn’t trust him, and she clearly didn’t even know him any longer. Not to mention she did not know how he felt or what he wanted or even why he’d never come forward to say he was alive.
The worst part was, despite everything, she still couldn’t help but wonder what Phillip thought. He must believe her to be a capricious opportunist to have turned her attention to his cousin. But each time she had the thought, it was quickly replaced with another one…what did she care what Phillip Grayson thought of her? He was an ass. A man who’d allowed her to think he was dead for nearly an entire year and refused to explain himself. She owed him nothing.
Sophie had wandered off the path into the park. She’d made her way not twenty paces along a dusty side road when a carriage came rumbling toward her. Still lost in her thoughts, she barely looked up. The carriage came to a stop not a length in front of her, and as she walked past, the door opened, and two large male arms emerged. She was grabbed and hauled inside, a hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming.
