A memory flashed through her mind of the night before Phillip had gone off to war. The last time she’d seen him. They were standing on the balcony of the Miltons’ town house. A ball was in full swing in the ballroom behind them. A breeze had lifted the roguish lock of hair that fell over his green eyes, and he’d promised her forever that night. She’d obviously been a fool. But she was older and wiser now. She was no longer a fool.
Phillip turned to her. “Sophie,” he breathed.
She caught her breath, wishing she had something to hold on to. An anchor. She needed an anchor. Hearing her name on his lips nearly wrecked her. Why couldn’t he have looked at her like this earlier? Or simply looked at her at all? She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and forced a glare to her face, hoping her countenance told him she’d like nothing more than to slap him. Perhaps even make it a punch.
The door closed behind her and for an awful moment, Sophie realized Lady Clayton meant to leave them alone. Nearly panicking, Sophie stepped back and ripped open the door. “You must stay with me, Lady Clayton,” she said in a voice that was far more high-pitched than she’d meant it to be. “You promised to. For propriety’s sake.”
As excuses went, it was particularly rubbish. If Sophie gave a whit about propriety, she never would have confronted the newly returned duke in the middle of the Cranberrys’ ball. But panic was a cruel master, making her say anything to get what she wanted, and right now what she wanted was another person in the room while Phillip said whatever he had to say. The odds of her slapping him, kissing him, or melting on his boots were greatly reduced with another occupant in this room.
After a brief nod from Phillip—which Sophie did not miss—Lady Clayton quickly complied. The viscountess stepped back into the salon and closed the door, pulling the knobs together and holding them behind her back, presumably to ensure no one else attempted to enter.
“Your gown…you look…beautiful,” Phillip began. Was it her imagination or did his voice quaver? That was unexpected. And Phillip sounded…almost shy. A bit unsure of himself. That was unlike him too, though she found it…adorable. Unwanted adorableness at the moment, but adorable just the same.
“Thank you,” she replied, a polite reflex. Was she really doing this? Was she really standing here talking to Phillip again? The man she’d dreamed of nightly for so long? Was this happening or was it a fever dream?
“Thea says you looked as if you wanted to step on my foot earlier. Do you?” he asked, the side of his lips tugging up in an all-too-familiar half-smile that made her heart flip.
She opened her mouth to speak but shut it again, not trusting herself to say the proper thing. She’d had to become careful over the last year. She’d had to learn to speak without saying what she truly felt. Had to learn to pretend to be alive when she’d felt as if she’d died along with Phillip on that battlefield. Only he hadn’t died, had he? He was standing here now, asking her if she wanted to step on his foot. Her entire reality had turned upside down in the span of one ball.
“If you did, it would be nothing more than what I deserve,” Phillip continued, coming to stand just a pace away from her.
“You deserve much worse,” Sophie replied, trying her best not to let the sadness seep into her voice. Anger. Only anger tonight. But she could smell him. And the scent of his familiar cologne made her clench her jaw, made tears well in her eyes again.
“We don’t have long,” he said. “No doubt there’s a gaggle of people already looking for both of us.”
She lifted her chin. There. There was the confident, in-control Phillip she remembered. But he’d been vulnerable for a moment, and she would never forget it. “Fine. Say what you must,” she replied, matching his brisk tone.
Phillip glanced at Lady Clayton before turning his attention back to Sophie. His gaze met and held hers. “I’m sorry, Sophia,” he whispered, but with a sincerity that made her want to sob. “That’s what I want to say.”
“Sorry for what?” She forced the words past her lips.
He arched a brow, giving her a look that clearly said, isn’t it obvious?
Her anger stoked, Sophie drew up her shoulders. She would be damned if she let him get away with a simple, “I’m sorry.” The man needed to explain himself. Immediately. Not to mention, he’d called her Sophia. Why? He’d always called her Sophie before. Why was he being so formal?
Her nostrils flared as she sucked in a deep breath. “That’s all you have to say to me?” Her voice was sharp.
His face was a mask. “I owe you an apology. I gave you one.”
All hints of sadness gone. Red-hot anger flashed before her eyes. How could he be so nonchalant about this? He’d called her in here for this? Not good enough. Nowhere near. “Of course you owe me an apology. But I expected one with some sort of explanation for why you’ve apparently been pretending to be dead for the last year,” she shot back at him.
Phillip straightened his shoulders and smoothed a hand down his coat front. “I cannot tell you that.” His voice was solemn but resolute.
“Unacceptable,” she said evenly, but her nostrils still flared.
“Please, Sophie,” he whispered.
And there was the Sophie. At least he’d given her that. That, coupled with his familiar scent, were the only two things letting her know she was sane. This was Phillip, after all, not some imposter. She knew it as certain as she knew her own name. She tossed back her head, not caring that a lock of her curly hair bounced to her shoulder. “Please, what? What can you possibly say to make this all right?” Sophie glanced at Lady Clayton. The acting door guard shifted uncomfortably on both feet, and stared at her slippers, obviously wishing she was elsewhere.
Phillip glanced at Lady Clayton too. Was he embarrassed to have his friend hear this? Good!
“I can leave,” Lady Clayton offered in a far-too-eager voice.
“No, Lady Clayton,” Sophie replied. “I want a witness to whatever outlandish tale His Grace here is going to spin.”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Clayton glanced down at her feet again and rocked back and forth on her heels, biting her lip.
“It’s fine, Thea. Stay,” Phillip added. Oh, so he was on a first name basis with Lady Clayton? That was interesting. Apparently, she’d known he wasn’t dead.
