Chapter Nine
Phillip pulled Sophie close against his chest. “It’s me,” he whispered in her ear. She went from kicking and fighting him with everything she had to going completely still.
“If I take my hand off your mouth, will you promise not to scream?” he asked, trying not to think about how good she smelled or how soft her body was pressed against him.
She nodded woodenly. He removed his hand and let her go. She quickly kicked him in the shin and scrambled to the opposite seat.
“Ouch.” He rubbed his shin. “I told you it was me. Why did you kick me?”
Her eyes flashed fire. “I promised not to scream. I never promised not to kick you. The kick was for frightening me nearly witless. What’s wrong with you, grabbing unsuspecting ladies out of the park that way?”
Phillip bit his lip. She was ever truthful. He knew he’d been right to doubt Bell. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I could think of no other method to get you in here. Would you like me to open the window?”
Sophie glanced down. She’d always been afraid of enclosed spaces. Carriages were particularly difficult for her. Phillip had remembered.
She jerked her head in a nod. “Yes, please,” she said quickly before glaring at him again and demanding, “What is happening? Faking your own death? Abduction? Who are you?”
The coach had already taken off. Phillip had given Clayton’s driver orders to trot around the park. He leaned over to open the window next to Sophie to allow in air and light as he said, “I cannot tell you everything now. But I needed to speak with you and can hardly pay you a call.”
“You could have pulled up alongside me and asked me to come into the carriage,” Sophie pointed out, her arms still tightly crossed over her chest.
He arched a brow. “Would you have said yes?”
She lifted her chin. “No.”
“Then my approach was correct.”
Her arms remained crossed, but the glare fell away from her face. “Fine. Let’s discuss something you can tell me. You let me think you were dead. What sort of sick bastard would do that?”
Phillip expelled his breath, closed his eyes, and resignedly admitted he couldn’t even tell his own mother.
Sophie remained unimpressed. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” she demanded.
“Both.”
She pushed forward until she sat on the edge of the seat cushion. She studied his face. “Why? Why didn’t you write, Phillip? You owe me an explanation.”
Phillip scrubbed a hand through his hair and met her gaze. “There’s something I must ask you first.”
Her nostrils flared. She was obviously still beyond upset with him. “You realize how ironic it is that you demand answers to your questions when you refuse to answer mine?”
Phillip met her gaze. “I know. It must be this way. Just know…I regret it. I regret hurting you, Sophie. But I must ask you something first.”
Sophie shook her head and swallowed. “Fine.” She folded her hands in her lap and sat up straight. “What do you want to ask me so badly you had to snatch me out of the park?”
Phillip took a deep breath. He had needed to ask her this in person. He needed to see her face when she replied. He would know if she was telling the truth. And it shouldn’t matter to him any longer, but it did. “Why, Sophie? Why did you become engaged to my cousin of all people?”
Her head snapped to the side as if she’d been slapped. She kept her face turned away from him, not meeting his eyes. “Does it matter?” Was it his imagination or did her voice shake?
“Perhaps not to you,” he replied, searching her profile for any hint of her true feelings.
He saw her swallow a lump in her throat. “You’ve been gone for years, Phillip. Until yesterday, I thought you were dead.”
He scrubbed his hand through his hair again. “But why Hugh?”
“I don’t even know you anymore,” she shot back, turning to meet his eyes again, hers filled with anger. “The man I knew…the man I loved…” Her voice faltered. “He would never have done that to me.”
“Why are you refusing to answer my question? You’re just either simply being petty or—” Dear God. It would cost him everything if she said yes to the next question, but he had to know. “Are you…in love with him?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.
