“Oh, but first,” Sophie said, irony dripping from her voice. “Let’s tell Lady Clayton here the details. The things she needs to know. Or have you already done that?”
Lady Clayton glanced up. Her face turned pink, and she looked as if she wanted to sprint from the room.
“No, of course not,” Phillip replied, quietly.
Sophie couldn’t feel sorry for him. He deserved this. He deserved to be embarrassed in front of his friend for the mistakes he’d made. He deserved to have to answer right here and now for what he’d done. Sophie crossed her arms over her chest even tighter and walked around Phillip in a wide circle.
“It was three years ago,” Sophie began. “I was just out. I fell head over heels in love with this blackguard.” She pointed her chin toward Phillip.
Lady Clayton nodded and cleared her throat.
“And I offered for you,” Phillip added just as quietly.
Lady Clayton’s eyes widened momentarily. Apparently, he’d been telling the truth about not telling Lady Clayton about them. Not everything, at least.
“No. No. No, you didn’t,” Sophie clarified, pointing a finger in the air. “You nearly offered for me.”
Phillip nodded.
Lady Clayton’s eyes went back to their normal size.
“You said you would offer for me as soon as you returned from war. If you returned from war,” Sophie continued.
“Yes,” Phillip allowed. “That’s true.”
Sophie’s throat ached with unshed tears of anger and sadness. “And I wrote to you nearly every day.”
“Yes.” His jaw was clenched. Good. She’d affected him. She knew she had.
“And you wrote to me too, declaring your undying love. Did you not?” It felt good. Saying all of this aloud. No matter what was going on with Phillip now. He could never take away the truth of their past together. She would always have that much.
“I did,” Phillip allowed.
Sophie battled the tears that welled in her eyes. She would win, blast it. She would. Or she would die trying. “And here you are, Your Grace,” she sneered. “Or is that title not officially yours?”
“Not yet,” he replied woodenly. “I’ve only just returned.” He glanced at Lady Clayton again, who gave him a pleading stare, one that made Sophie wonder what exactly the viscountess knew. But no matter. Sophie was about to finish this conversation. After all these months of pretending to be alive, it felt glorious to feel something again, anything. Even if it was anger. And as long as she was feeling something, she intended to have her say.
Sophie stopped walking around Phillip and braced her gloved hands on her hips. “Here you are. Did you call me here to make good on your promise? Are you offering for me now?”
Phillip’s head snapped to the side, and he met her gaze, his eyes hard as emeralds. “I saw this morning’s paper. It appears I am too late.”
Chapter Five
Phillip shot up in bed, covered in sweat. He hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since the battle. When he drifted off, he would hear gunshots and screams, smell blood and gunpowder, and hear the cries of men and horses. He remembered it all. Things he never should have seen. Things no one should ever have to see. The memories haunted his nights. Tonight did not differ from all the others.
It took several moments to orient himself. Three. Two. One. He was secure in the dark, cool bedchamber at Clayton’s town house in London. He wasn’t on the Continent. He wasn’t at war. His breathing finally steadied, and he pushed off the covers, stood, and paced over to the window to look out on the London street below. It always helped to see a landmark, to realize he was truly safe.
London seemed like a completely different town now. It was no longer the place he’d lived most of his years. The last time he’d been here, he’d been a pampered nobleman, the offspring of a duke. He’d attended balls and parties and had been welcomed into the finest clubs. Now he felt like an outsider. Like someone who knew a horrible secret he couldn’t share with anyone else.
He rubbed the back of his neck while his father’s words rang in his head. “You’ll be an officer in His Majesty’s Army, Phillip. That’s the job for a second son.” His father had always been preoccupied with how everything looked. Appearance and reputation were everything to him. Phillip had wanted to be a scholar. He’d wanted to go to Europe and study the history, architecture, and culture of different lands. But he hadn’t even attempted to tell his father as much. The former duke would never have agreed to his second son being anything other than a war hero. Duty was more important than anything. Wasn’t that what he’d been raised to believe?
And Phillip had done his duty. It had nearly cost him his life. It had nearly cost him his sanity. It did cost him… Phillip pushed away thoughts of Sophie.
Father would hate to know what had become of his precious title. Not only was Malcolm dead, but Cousin Hugh (the only son of Father’s only brother) was named Duke of Harlowe. Father had detested Hugh. The old man had to be turning in his grave.
Phillip had done his duty as a soldier, and now that he was back, he’d perform another important duty…he’d see that honor and dignity were restored to the Harlowe title and lands. He would take his rightful place as the duke. But first, he would find out precisely what had happened to his brother. Nothing was more important. Not regaining the title immediately. Or explaining to his former love why he hadn’t been able to tell her he wasn’t dead.
And there was a good reason for that. At first, he’d been recovering, too ill to write, too ill to do anything. He’d nearly died from an infection of the blood. Then, when he was finally feeling like a human again, he’d learned that Malcolm had died. And Bell had been adamant. Until they learned who was behind Malcolm’s murder, everyone was suspected. No one could know that Phillip was alive.
