Beneath her cape, Sophie wrapped her arms around herself. “She refuses to call off my engagement. She said she and Papa are still ‘discussing it.’”
“Could it be that she actually wants you to marry Hugh?” Phillip asked, his brow furrowed.
“I can’t see how. Valentina’s plan for years now has been for me to marry the man with the best title possible. Now that Hugh is no longer a duke, it makes no sense that she wouldn’t call it off immediately.”
He stepped forward and gave her an obvious once-over. “Is that a cape you’re wearing? What color is it?”
Sophie frowned and glanced down at the cape. “It’s…it’s green.” Why did the color of her cape matter?
Phillip’s scrutiny intensified. He met her gaze. “Sophie, have you ever been to my brother’s house? Before his death, I mean.”
Sophie sucked in her breath. Her nostrils flared. Was he honestly asking questions that might implicate her in Malcolm's death? Cold anger covered her heart. “I’m certain Lady Clayton told you I paid her a visit. She explained how your friends have suspected me all along. I never thought you would believe I would be capable of such a thing, Phillip.” She turned away, unwanted tears burning the backs of her eyes.
Phillip cursed under his breath and paced away from her. “Damn it. Thea had no right to tell you that.”
Sophie shivered, and her voice betrayed her anger. “Well, she did, and she indicated that my engagement to Hugh points to my guilt.”
Phillip stepped around to face her and cupped her shoulders, looking her in the eye. “Look, Sophie, the truth is that Bell has suspected you. Besides your betrothal to Hugh, we recently learned a long, dark hair—a woman’s hair—was found beneath Malcolm’s body the night he died.”
Sophie gasped. “What?”
“Yes, and a dark-haired woman wearing a long, green cape was seen leaving the house just before his body was found.”
“What?” Sophie slowly looked down at the cape she was wearing. “Surely, you don’t believe—”
“I don’t. But my friends are uncertain, and I cannot clear your name until we find out who is responsible for Malcolm’s death and who is making the threats against me now.”
Anger and hurt clashed in her chest. “Believe me. I want nothing more than to learn who the killer is, too. That way, I can tell your friends to go to hell and you and I can be done with each other once and for all.”
“Fine.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders, and his face became a mask of stone. But had it been her imagination or had pain flashed in his eyes for just a moment? When he addressed her next, there was flint in his gaze. “Then we’re agreed that we must work together to learn the truth. Think, Sophie. Whose voice did you hear today?”
Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but her remark quickly turned into a scream.
Chapter Nineteen
Sophie woke slowly to a jostling motion. Her head was pounding, and her stays were cutting into her sides. She felt as if she might retch. She blinked open her eyes and looked around. She couldn’t see much. It was still night. She appeared to be lying on her back on the seat of a coach. A fine coach, but an older one, if the smell was any indication. Definitely not a hackney, but not one belonging to anyone of the Quality who had money in their pocket.
Panic shot through her chest. She struggled to sit up, realizing that her wrists and ankles were bound. The skin beneath the thick ropes was chafed and sore. It took several moments to maneuver herself into a sitting position in the dark coach. What had happened?
Oh, God. She’d met Phillip in the park behind Papa’s house when two men had come out of the bushes behind him and hit him over the head with something. Then one man had grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder. They had thrown her in the back of this coach. The pounding in her skull reminded her that once she was inside the coach, she’d been hit over the head as well. Probably because she’d tried to fight the man who’d tossed her inside. She lifted her bound hands toward her head and was able to poke around enough to find a sore spot on top. Curse it. Who had done this?
Desperately trying not to panic in the small space, she used her feet to feel around the coach as best she could. Finally, her slippers encountered something large…and definitely human. An ‘oof’ sounded from whoever she’d accidentally kicked.
Several seconds passed, and she heard a deep groan. Please let it be Phillip, she prayed.
“Who’s there?” came his familiar voice moments later. “Sophie?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, Phillip, it’s me.”
“Where are we?” His voice was hoarse.
“We’re in a coach going…somewhere. Are you tied up?”
“Yes. Are you all right? I wish I could get the window open for you.”
Oh, no. He couldn’t make her cry. She might suffocate in here. “I’m all right,” she answered, trying to sound brave.
“Who took us, Sophie? The last thing I remember is you screaming. What happened?”
