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She had believed him. A direct confrontation with Cecil would never have worked. He was too large, too ruthless, and utterly without conscience. His drinking had already mottled his skin at a young age, and his eyes showed no signs of life in their reddened, watery depths. Her brother was a man trapped in liquor and sinful pursuits, living only for himself. He was on his best behavior around Uncle Hugh, who paid him a quarterly allowance, which prevented the viscount and the rest of the Abbott family from noticing how far he had fallen.

The Abbotts’ heir, Aidan, might have observed Cecil’s decline, but the two men spent little time together. Cecil had been at Harrow during their father’s death before moving on to Cambridge, while Aidan had attended Eton and later Oxford. For reasons beyond Sophia’s understanding, this difference in their schooling seemed to prevent them from having much in common.

Unwilling to be a victim, Sophia had quickly learned to hide any items she refused to lose to her brother’s vices, hoarding the majority of her pin money in carefully chosen hiding places. The next time he came for her, she handed over her reticule without complaint. When he questioned the value of the coins contained within, she blamed their aunt, claiming she had insisted Sophia purchase gloves and accessories for her wardrobe.

Fortunately, her brother had not credited that his little sister could be lying, nor did he possess a firm grasp on what ladies paid for their trifles. He accepted her explanation after tossing her room for any items of value. Sophia had learned to outwit her nasty brother without him becoming wise to her tricks. Eventually, he left her alone, as the amount of blunt he could gain from her became too little to bother with.

Now, however, the promise of half of fifty pounds was enough to renew his interest. There was no possibility that anything would distract or dissuade him from pursuing such a prize.

Sophia knew she was in grave danger. As she listened to the men leave, she debated how long she should wait before risking her departure from the hiding place. Her future was in imminent peril, and she would need to devise a plan. But first, she had to return to that infernal ball.

“What does your brother think he is doing?” hissed Lady Moreland.

Sophia looked at her aunt in puzzlement, then followed the direction of her gaze. Cecil, with Lord Leech in tow, was weaving through the bystanders on the edge of the ballroom toward them.

“It looks like Cecil is going to introduce Lord Leech to you. You must either dance with him or make an excuse to sit out the rest of the evening. Let me see your dance card, Sophia.”

Her aunt sounded desperate as she took up the card tied to Sophia’s wrist. Fanning it out, she groaned audibly at the sight of the empty slots.

“Listen here, girl—you injured your ankle and are sitting out the rest of the evening!” Lady Moreland whispered urgently, her tone intense as she searched Sophia’s eyes for agreement, squeezing her arm in desperation. “Yes?”

Sophia breathed a sigh of relief. There would be no support from her family for Cecil’s attempts to bring her and Lord Leech together. “Yes.”

A lively country dance was in full swing when the two men reached them. Cecil introduced the unsavory gentleman, and Lady Moreland performed her best rendition of a polite but disapproving mama, which both men ignored.

Once pleasantries were exchanged, Lord Leech turned his malevolent eyes to Sophia. They were amber—nearly yellow—and reminded her of a snake. His strange gaze flicked over her face and bosom in a way that made her skin crawl before returning to meet her eyes. The icy depths revealed no hint of humanity as he reached for the dance card tied to her wrist.

“Miss Hayward, your brother’s description of your beauty does you no justice. Shall we take a turn around the ballroom?”

Sophia pulled her arm away, unwilling to feel his touch. “La, my lord! I am so flattered by your esteemed attention. Alas, I just turned my ankle a few minutes ago, and I can feel it swelling as we speak. I am afraid there will be no more dancing for me this evening.”

A muscle ticked along Lord Leech’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. “How unfortunate. Perhaps I could have the honor of a dance with you at the Yardley ball, then?”

“We shall see,” interjected Lady Moreland. “We will not know more about the injury until the physician is called. Best not to make any plans.”

Leech’s gaze flicked back to her chaperon.

“Of course, my lady.”

Bowing deeply, Leech and Cecil made their departure. Both Sophia and her aunt exhaled in relief as they walked away.

Lady Moreland shook her head. “I am deeply concerned about Cecil if he is spending time with someone such as Lord Leech. What could they possibly share in common?”

“Nothing worthwhile,” Sophia replied tightly, her stomach knotted with fear. “Nothing worthwhile.”

Chapter

Three

“Prudence is an essential virtue in a woman's character.”

Dr. John Gregory, A Father’s Legacy to His Daughters

Richard watched from his study window while Caroline Brown descended from the carriage he had sent for her. He guessed this was her first time visiting London, at his request, and based on her expression, she found the city daunting. She had probably never seen so many people, buildings, horses, heard so much sound, smelled so much humanity. London was more … everything. She appeared quite out of sorts as she stared up at the four towering stories of Balfour Terrace, stretching five bays wide. Visibly gulping, she headed toward the servants’ staircase.

“Mrs. Brown?” Although the window muffled the words, he could just hear them. His man, Long, called her by her courtesy title, a privilege of being a housekeeper in a respectable household, but to Richard’s knowledge she was not a true Mrs.

Long assisted his man of business with Richard’s vast holdings, and he had sent his loyal agent to find the former maid at the home of her employer days earlier. His man would have invited her to London for an audience with Richard, who had been expecting their arrival for some hours.