She should have slapped him. It was the least he deserved after putting her through the last year of hell. But striking him would have been improper. Imprudent. Wrong.
She paced away from the mirror, biting the tip of her finger. Oh, dear. Think. For the first time since hearing his name come out of Lady Cranberry’s mouth, a rush of awful realizations sped through Sophie’s mind. She may not have slapped Phillip, but how had it looked to the occupants of the ballroom? The moment he walked in the door, she rushed up to him and received the cut direct. Her engagement to Hugh Grayson, Phillip’s first cousin, who had claimed the title, had just been announced in the papers this very morning. The entire ton would be gossiping about whether she would still go through with the wedding now that Phillip, the rightful duke, was apparently back.
She didn’t care about her engagement, of course. She hadn’t cared about anything since she’d got the news all those awful months ago that Phillip had been killed on the Continent. She’d spent the year quietly grieving for the man she loved without being able to tell a soul, while her stepmother, Valentina, had insisted she find a husband. And not just any husband. “You’ll be a duchess one day, Sophia,” Valentina always said. The woman had had a triumphant smile on her face a fortnight ago when she’d announced that Papa and Hugh had signed the betrothal agreement. Of course, Sophie had not understood they intended to announce the betrothal so soon. They hadn’t even consulted her. Its appearance in this morning’s paper had been a complete surprise. She couldn’t help but quirk her lips in a small smile. It looked as if her dear stepmother would no longer get her wish. She seriously doubted Valentina would want her to marry Hugh now that it was obvious the man would go back to being untitled.
Come to think of it…where was Hugh? He’d been planning to come tonight, or so he’d said the last time they spoke. Had he known his cousin was coming back from the dead to claim the title that had been his for the last nine months? If he had known, surely he would have told her. Or at least he would have told Valentina. Wouldn’t he?
Sophie forced herself to take another deep breath. The last thing she wanted to do was go back out there and face the partygoers. Any of them. Not Hugh, if he’d arrived. Not Valentina. Not the ladies of the ton who had just finished offering their best wishes, but who would now stare at her with pity in their eyes. And certainly not Phillip. Least of all Phillip.
She pushed herself off the wall and straightened her shoulders. Only a coward would remain hiding in this room for the rest of the night. And she was no coward. She had to return to the ballroom or the gossip would be unmanageable. She pinched her cheeks, causing a hint of pink to spring back into them from the ghastly white they had been.
She turned toward the door of the retiring room just as it swung open, and her stepmother came sweeping in. Valentina’s blood-red gown barely covered her ample breasts. Her black hair was piled high atop her head and held in place by a diamond tiara that Papa could ill afford. Valentina’s silver-green eyes narrowed to slits. “There you are, Sophia. Thank heavens I found you.” Everything Valentina said sounded like either a purr or a hiss.
Sophie clenched her jaw. “I was just coming back.” She’d never had a pleasant encounter with her stepmother, and she had every reason to believe those sorts of interactions wouldn’t begin now. No doubt the woman wanted to know why she’d approached Phillip Grayson.
Never one to pass a looking glass without making full use of it, Valentina stared at herself in the cheval and pursed her lips. She ran a tapered fingertip along one black eyebrow and turned her head from side to side, no doubt admiring her own beauty. And there wasn’t any doubt. Valentina was beautiful. At five and twenty, she was only five years older than Sophie herself. Papa, who’d been a widower since Sophie was eight years old—had had his head turned by the woman’s looks five years ago. Her disposition certainly wasn’t anything to covet.
“The entire ballroom is agog,” Valentina finally said after she’d finished ogling herself. “What in the hell is Phillip Grayson doing here?” she nearly spat.
Sophie frowned. “I’m certain I do not know,” she answered quietly. There. That much was true. Long ago, she’d taken to telling Valentina as little as possible. The woman usually found a way to use Sophie’s words against her. Which was one of many reasons Sophie and Phillip hadn’t announced their plans to marry before he left for the Continent with the army three years ago.
Valentina turned to stare at Sophie and crossed her arms over her chest. She arched a dark brow over a catlike eye. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing,” Sophie replied. “He ignored me.” There. That was true, and it gave Valentina little to criticize.
Anger flashed in Valentina’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you told him to go straight to hell. The man has just put a serious cramp in our plans for your marriage.”
Sophie’s brows snapped together. As usual, Valentina was only worried about herself. If Sophie was no longer engaged to a man who would be a duke, Valentina would no longer be connected to the illustrious Harlowe name. But her stepmother’s words caused a lump to form in Sophie’s throat. She hadn’t thought of it till now, but the gossipmongers would think the same thing Valentina had. That Sophie had confronted Phillip because he’d arrived out of nowhere to take away her chance at being a duchess. She leaned back against the nearest wall, wanting to slide down it and disappear into the floorboards.
“I must speak to Lord Hillsdale,” Valentina continued, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes once more.
“What does Lord Hillsdale have to do with it?” Sophie replied, frowning. Though an actual helpful thought crossed her mind this time…Valentina’s assumption was convenient. If the woman believed Sophie was only angry at Phillip because he’d ruined her betrothal, it would keep Valentina from asking too many questions at least.
Valentina shrugged. “Hillsdale is the authority on titles and lineage in Parliament. He’ll know what to do.”
Sophie shook her head, the frown still plastered to her face. “He may be the authority, but I’m not certain there’s much he can do. Phillip Grayson is the rightful Duke of Harlowe…and he’s obviously very much alive.”
Valentina waved an elegant, white-gloved hand in the air as if dismissing Sophie’s logic. “There must be some recourse.”
Sophie’s frown deepened. Good heavens. Valentina was making no sense. The shock from knowing her stepdaughter would no longer be a duchess had to be addling her brain. Sophie lifted her dark-blue skirts. “I’m going back out. If I stay away too long, it will only make the gossip worse.”
“Of course. Of course. Let’s go,” Valentina replied, lifting her skirts to follow Sophie from the room.
Sophie squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before pulling open the door. Phillip was back. Her best dream and her worst nightmare had just collided into one awful experience she still couldn’t quite believe had actually happened. She took a first forceful step into the corridor. She would march back into the ballroom and just dare anyone to say anything to her face.
Including Phillip Grayson.
Chapter Three
Phillip made the rounds through the whisper-filled ballroom, smiling and nodding to the people he used to know—the people who were staring at him now as if he were a specter risen from the grave. Thea had been invaluable earlier, touching his arm and pulling him back from the terror that had enveloped him after hearing the loud crash in the ballroom. Unexpected noises did that to him sometimes, catapulted him back to the battlefield and made him freeze, unable to speak.
Unfortunately, he’d returned to his senses only in time to see Sophie marching away from him.
Thea had quickly informed him of what precisely had happened, and Phillip sorely regretted their first meeting upon his return had been marked by the ghosts of his past coming back to haunt him. But wasn’t that why Sophie deserved better? Still, he had to speak to her in private. He had to make it better. He could never make it right.
After Thea had snapped him back to reality, Phillip had pasted a smile on his face, and pretended as if his temporary lapse and the brief encounter with Sophie had never happened. It was the way of their set, was it not? To keep a stiff upper lip, carry on. He’d been skilled in hiding his emotions since the day he was born.
“Well, Your Grace. Are you ever going to tell us who that young lady was and why she looked as if she wanted to step on your foot?” Thea asked from beside him as Phillip walked around the room with the couple.
