There was a long pause and then, “What does it matter?” Her voice trembled.
“Do. You. Love. Him?” Phillip repeated through clenched teeth.
She lowered her gaze to her lap. “No.”
Profound relief washed through him, but the joy was soon replaced by pain when she narrowed her eyes and added. “I’m not in love with anyone.”
Expelling his breath, Phillip fell back against his seat. Those words hurt more than he wanted them to. But frankly, it was better this way. He could no longer be the man Sophie needed. She deserved better. “Is that so?”
She nodded jerkily, her jaw tight. She looked up, but still didn’t meet his eyes. Tears glistened in hers.
“Then why are you engaged to him?” Phillip asked one more time. Why? Why couldn’t he let it go?
Her gaze snapped back to Phillip’s, and she waved a hand in the air. “You know how these things work, Phillip. Papa and Valentina arranged it. I never told them about…” She glanced away again.
“About what?” Phillip prompted, moving forward in his seat again.
“About us,” she whispered, her voice catching.
“That was probably for the best,” Phillip murmured.
“Was it? Now the entire city thinks I hate you for taking away my chance at being a duchess.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window.
It was on the tip of Phillip’s tongue to ask if that was true, but he just couldn’t hurt her like that. He and Sophie knew the truth, and asking her to say it out loud would only be cruel. No. If he knew anything for certain, it was that she loved him…once.
He closed his eyes briefly. “You’ve answered my questions. Now I’ll answer yours.”
She leaned forward, watching him carefully, obviously prepared to hear whatever he was willing to share.
“First, I was…ill. I’d been gravely injured on the battlefield. I nearly died.”
She sucked in her breath. “I see.” She seemed to consider that news for a few moments before she added, “Very well. But it seems to me you could have at least written once you had recovered adequately enough to—”
“I did write, Sophie. I did.” He met her gaze directly.
Her eyes widened. “I never received—”
“I wrote you. I told you I was alive.” He took a deep breath. “But I never posted the letter.”
Sophie’s lips rounded into an O. Pain flashed across her features. “So you admit you were able to write me?”
Phillip nodded, still searching her face. “I did write you.”
Her chest was heaving with her obvious indignation. “But you never sent it. Why?” she demanded. “I don’t understand. Make me understand, Phillip.”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated and there’s so much to—”
“Why didn’t you send the letter, Phillip?” she asked through clenched teeth. “Why did you allow me to think you were dead all this time?”
Fine. If she wanted the truth. She would get it. “I couldn’t tell you the truth because…Malcolm was murdered.”
Sophie gasped, and her eyes flew wide. Genuine surprise registered on her face. She’d have to be a consummate actress to be faking that reaction. “No,” she breathed, shaking her head, her hand at her throat. “No.”
Phillip could hear Bell’s voice in his head telling him he’d shouldn’t have told her, but this was Sophie. Whatever they were to each other now, they’d been so much more once. She couldn’t have changed entirely.
“We aren’t entirely certain yet,” Phillip continued, “but the Home Office, my friend Lord Bellingham and his superior officer, Grimaldi, strongly suspect it.”
“Murdered?” she repeated, her eyes filled with astonishment and unshed tears. “But why…how?” Confusion was etched on her brow.
