“Yeah! Why is that so funny?”
“Because! It is! The idea of you guys in Dashwell Hall sitting down and playing Monopoly—it seems weird that you’d do something so… normal.”
“What did you think we did at Christmas? Throw lavish masquerade balls just for the four of us? Play polo astride a herd of reindeer?”
I burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t put it past you. Christmas in your house must be incredible. Now that I think about it, awinter wedding may be even more special there than a summer one. How long does it take to decorate?”
“Alongtime. Professionals do the parts of the house that the tourists see, so those bits are always amazing. I’m in charge of upstairs in the private bit. You should see me work that tinsel. I’m a master.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Cordelia directs the tree-decorating and it’s always a very stressful affair.” He turns to meet my eye with a grin. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, Cordelia has a talent of taking anything and making it stressful. Even the fun stuff.”
“As long as she’s not too stressed about the wedding, then I’m happy.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” he says.
And he gives me that look, the one that makes my fingers tingle and my head feel dizzy and my heart slam against my chest. Bloody hell, his eyes are nice. They’re so dark and kind, framed by long eyelashes. I’m mesmerized by him.
Wait. Sophie, don’t be an idiot. This is Lord Dashwell. And he’s your client’s brother.
Stay focused.
I jump as his finger brushes against mine on the grass. An accident, I’m sure.
But then he moves his arm purposefully, his warm hand settling over my cold fingers. His gleaming eyes are locked on mine.
He’s going to kiss me. Any moment now, he’s going to kiss me.
And I’m going to kiss him back.
“I can’t,” I blurt out, sitting up suddenly. “I can’t do this.”
“What?” He leans on his elbows, looking baffled. “Do what?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
“Oh. OK,” he says, and I think there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice, but I’m not sure if I’m making that up because I want there to be. “Who?”
I glance around for inspiration, my eyes coming to rest on the pub sign.
“George. A guy named George. He’s very nice.” I check my phone, heat rising to my cheeks. “We should get back to Dashwell.”
“Yeah. Course.” He gets up, brushing grass off his trousers.
On the way back, I ask him boring, simple questions about the countryside we’re driving through, the history of the house, anything that distracts from the moment we just shared. Then I give up and stare out of the window in silence, watching the fields and trees blur past.
Part of me hates that I made up a stupid lie. But the sensible part of me tells me I did the right thing. What does it matter if the truth is that I’m single? That’s Sophie and I’m not supposed to be Sophie.
Tom doesn’t know Sophie. Hecan’tknow Sophie. He knows Emily. And that makes me feel utterly miserable.
Because Emily is a lie.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Thanks so much for inviting me this weekend,” I say to Cordelia, as we make our way down the twisting country lane toward the station. “It’s been so wonderful to see Dashwell Hall and visualize the wedding.”
She shrugs, not saying anything and keeping her eyes on the road. I take this as another step forward in our relationship. Before the weekend, she might have pointed out that technically she didn’t invite me, her parents did, or she could have commented that I’d made the weekend a disaster for her, she never wanted to see me again, and why wouldn’t I just quit? But she didn’t.
