Phillip bit his lip and glanced away. “He died after the ton already thought I was dead.”
“But—”
Phillip kept his gaze pinned to Sophie’s pretty face. Bell would never forgive him for this. But Phillip had seen the truth in her eyes. He’d heard it in her voice. She didn’t love Hugh. “We think Hugh may be involved.”
Sophie’s jaw dropped, and she fell back in her seat, blinking wide eyes. “What?” she breathed. She sat in obvious stunned silence for several seconds before raising her gaze to meet Phillip’s again. “Oh, my God. Hugh is the one who stood to gain the most, isn’t he?”
“Yes. We intend to begin our investigation this afternoon. We’re starting with him. And…”
“And what?” Sophie prompted, her terrified gaze searching his face.
Phillip lowered his head and blew out a final breath. He’d tortured them both enough. It was time to end this conversation, to get back home…to his reckoning with Hugh. “I must ask you to promise not to tell anyone about the suspicions around Hugh. No one must know. Do you understand?” He lifted his head once more.
“You have my word.” She nodded and stared out the window again, but he could see the tears still shimmering in her eyes. A few moments later, she smoothed a hand over her forehead. “Well, now we’re all in a fine mess, aren’t we? Apparently, I’m betrothed to a murderer.”
Phillip nodded. “Bell and I intend to find out the truth as quickly as possible. Until then, you must act as if you know nothing about this.” Phillip met her gaze. “And as for your betrothal, it seems to me the engagement announcement in the paper never actually named your betrothed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Valentina would have ensured it stated that I am betrothed to…” She paused, her eyes widening.
“The Duke of Harlowe,” they said in unison.
“Me,” Phillip breathed.
Chapter Ten
Sophie sneaked back into Papa’s house through the servants’ door near the back stoop. Phillip had let her out in the same spot in the park where he’d pulled her off the path. No worse for wear, she supposed, though she made him promise the next time he needed to urgently and privately speak to her, he would do the gentlemanly thing and simply ask her into the carriage.
The things Phillip had told her in the coach raced through her mind. Apparently, he had essentially abducted her to ask why she’d become engaged to Hugh. At first, she’d been convinced that it must mean Phillip cared. A little, perhaps. That it bothered him to see her engaged to another man. He’d even had the nerve to ask her if she loved Hugh.
When Phillip had first asked, she had swiftly turned away so he couldn’t see the hurt and anger that had to be plain on her face. Of course she didn’t love Hugh. Though she’d certainly never believed him capable of murder, of all ghastly things. She still couldn’t fully grasp that possibility.
But once Phillip had told her he suspected Hugh of killing his brother, Sophie’s hope that Phillip actually cared died a quick death. If she had declared her undying love and loyalty to Hugh, she doubted she would have learned the truth about Malcolm’s murder. Sophie swallowed hard. Dear God. Had Phillip suspected her of knowing about the murder?
Sophie shook her head. How had this all become so complicated? One moment, she’d been heartbroken and resigned to a loveless marriage. The next she’d been furious, seeing Phillip again and dealing with his refusal to tell her why he’d pretended to be dead all this time. Now she didn’t know what she wanted, other than for Papa and Valentina to quickly retract her engagement to a possible murderer. She couldn’t tell them that, of course. But her social-climbing stepmother would see to it. Valentina couldn’t possibly want to keep the engagement to a man who no longer held the title she’d so coveted.
Sophie wouldn’t miss Hugh, of course. But that didn’t mean she could just fall back into Phillip’s arms, either. Even though the news of Malcolm’s murder certainly explained why Phillip had been reticent to trust anyone, he should have trusted her with the news. Second, he may have told her about Malcolm’s murder, but that hardly meant Phillip still wanted her. After all, she might have been good enough for him when he was a second son, but he was a duke now. And even though he may have demanded an explanation for her betrothal to Hugh, that hardly meant he was still in love with her. He’d made no indication of his feelings for her. Even if he hadn’t suspected her, he might only be watching out for her safety since he suspected her new fiancé was a killer. She’d told him she didn’t love anyone. She’d lashed out at him due to anger. The truth was she did not know how she felt any longer.
An image of Phillip on the verandah at the Miltons’ ball struck her again. Back then, every time she saw him, her knees went weak. Oh, who was she kidding? Her knees went weak when she saw him now. When he’d whispered in her ear that it was him who had plucked her off the street, she’d nearly relaxed against him and turned to wrap her arms around his neck and ask him to hold her. Which was madness. And when he’d asked her if she’d like him to open the window, it had nearly wrecked her. He’d remembered she was frightened of small spaces.
But what did any of that matter? Over three years separated them now. Too much had happened. Not just his deception and her betrothal to the man who took his title. It felt as if a vast gulf existed between them. Phillip was no longer the honorable young soldier she’d known and fallen in love with, and she was no longer the starry-eyed debutante who’d adored him.
At the end of their discussion, Phillip had said that she was engaged to the Duke of Harlowe. That was him now. He must have been jesting. But it begged the question…now that Hugh was no longer the duke, would the marriage contract even be valid? She needed to speak with her father. Or even better…Papa might still be speaking to Hugh in the study even now. He’d been planning to pay them a visit, hadn’t he?
She climbed up the servants’ staircase and sneaked down the corridor to stand outside the door to Papa’s study. Thank heavens Valentina wasn’t there. That lady often liked to linger outside Papa’s door to eavesdrop. At least she’d taught her stepdaughter well. Sophie pressed her ear to the door and concentrated.
“Look, Mr. Grayson,” Papa was saying. “I assure you. I am not calling off the engagement. We simply need a bit of time to…think things over. See where things stand.”
Sophie’s brows shot up. What? Why weren’t they calling off the engagement? Papa was no longer calling Hugh by his title, which indicated that he, at least, has grasped reality.
“You mean you need time to decide how best to call off the engagement,” came Hugh’s angry, petulant voice.
“What do you expect us to do?” came Valentina’s voice, high-pitched and filled with worry. Oh, so that was why the woman wasn’t eavesdropping. She was inside the study with them. “You’re no longer the duke. Or won’t be, soon enough.”
“I wouldn’t count on that, my lady,” came Hugh’s overly confident voice.
Sophie frowned. What precisely did that mean? Why were they all acting so oddly about the rules of inheritance? There was no question. The title belonged to Phillip. Sophie’s stomach sank, just as it had nearly nine months ago when she’d learned that Malcolm Grayson had died.
“Regardless,” came Papa’s voice, firm and dismissive. “Until the title issue is worked out, we intend to postpone any decisions about the engagement. We must be clear on the title first.”
