Now, Sophie was standing in the Covingtons’ ballroom drinking a lukewarm glass of lemonade, wondering precisely how long she would have to stay to keep the gossips from saying she’d run away, when a tall shadow appeared at her side.
She looked up to see Phillip standing there. He was wearing fine black evening attire with a startling white shirt front and cravat tied expertly at his neck. A silver and white waistcoat and perfectly shined black boots completed his ensemble. He looked like a god descended from the heavens, and the spicy, soapy mixture of his scent made her legs wobble.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked in his most charming voice. The voice she’d held onto in her memories all these years.
Sophie blinked at him. For a moment she could almost pretend that time had stopped, and it was three years ago, and none of this awfulness had happened. They were in love and were about to share a dance at a ball, just as they had in the past. Only this time was different. And Phillip probably shouldn’t even be here tonight. His life might well be in danger.
“Do you think that wise?” she finally managed to reply, hoping her voice sounded as nonchalant as his.
Phillip cracked a smile. “Since when has wisdom been a requirement for dancing? If that’s the case, half the floor should be cleared.”
Sophie smiled despite herself. The man had a point. She’d been hoping someone would be bold enough to speak with her. She simply hadn’t expected it would be Phillip, of all people. Besides, she was curious about what he would say to her while they danced. Hadn’t they said everything that needed saying?
“The gossips will have conniptions if we dance,” Sophie pointed out.
Phillip shrugged. “They’re already at their wits’ ends. Might as well give them something even more interesting to jabber about.”
His smile was infectious and when he offered his black-clad arm, Sophie wrapped her long, white-gloved one around it. Feeling the warmth from his body sent a shiver through her. She hoped he didn’t feel it. He escorted her onto the dance floor and took her into his arms as a waltz began to play.
“I’m sorry for the gossip at your expense,” he said, smiling down at her.
Sophie lifted her chin and looked up at him. “You really must stop apologizing, Your Grace.” It felt odd to call him Your Grace. But then again, it had always felt odd to call Hugh by the honorific, too.
“It seems that’s all I’ve done since I’ve returned,” Phillip replied. “Apologize.”
“Yes, well. No more,” she replied before deciding it was time to change the subject. “Why did you ask me to dance?”
A smile reappeared on Phillip’s face, and it made her insides tumble. “Ah, that is simple,” he said. “Because I wanted to dance with you.”
She tamped down the pleasure his response made her feel. “You know it’ll only make the gossip about us worse.”
“I know,” Phillip replied, “but I’ve spent many years of my life doing what was expected of me rather than what I wanted to do, and I’ve decided I’m through with that.”
Sophie’s smile expanded. “That sounds wonderful, actually.”
“Doesn’t it?” he replied, before leaning down and asking in a conspiratorial whisper, “You know what would make the gossip even worse still?”
“What?” she asked in a similar whisper, realizing that for the first time in months—since the news of Phillip’s supposed death—she was truly enjoying herself…and smiling.
Phillip’s grin turned positively mischievous. “If I escort you outside for some fresh air.”
She sucked in her breath and lifted her brows, but the smiled remained on her face. In fact, it turned a bit wicked. “We’d send half the ballroom into an apoplectic fit,” she said gleefully.
“Yes. Won’t it be fun?” Phillip replied with an unrepentant grin. “Someone quite wise once told me that most of the fun of attending a ball is either the ridiculousness to be found or the possibility of a scandal, and I’ve sorely missed ridiculousness these last few years.”
“Very well,” Sophie replied, positively warming to the idea, “if they’re going to gossip, let’s give them something worthwhile as fodder.”
They stopped dancing and Phillip offered his arm once more. She took it, and with heads held high, they both marched off the dance floor toward the French doors at the back of the room and out onto the verandah.
A cool breeze swept across Sophie’s face as soon as the door shut behind him. She pulled in a deep breath. She felt as if she’d just escaped Bedlam. The verandah was empty, and the space smelled like jasmine and newly shorn grass. Sophie dropped her arm from Phillip’s and spun in a circle, suddenly feeling as if she were a carefree eighteen-year-old debutante again and Phillip was her beau.
She swiveled to face Phillip, her ice-blue skirts skimming along her stockinged ankles. “Oh, that was fun!”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Phillip replied with a laugh. She took Phillip’s arm again, and they strolled together toward the balustrade at the far end of the porch to look out at the darkened gardens.
“I can only guess how many of them will press their noses against the windows to watch,” Sophie added, tossing back her head and laughing. It was also the first time she’d truly laughed in an age.
Phillip glanced back toward the windows behind them. “Don’t worry. None of them will dare come out here.”
