eyes snapped open, and the spell was broken by the spark of fear shining there. Charles knew she did not want him to go any further. She lifted her chin. ‘Pray don’t mention this to Miss Ashford,’ she said. ‘I’ve only just been warned not to discuss my mercantile background.’
He accepted her retreat, knowing they both recognised it for what it was. ‘I’m sorry if she offended you.’
Sophie shrugged. ‘I am sure she meant it well.’
He sighed. ‘I am sure that is what she tells herself, at any rate.’
‘What’s this?’ The old Sophie was back, grinning her mischievous insight. ‘The courtship’s path travels over rocky ground?’
‘No, maybe I would prefer that it did. Anything would be better than the bland, unexceptional terrain we’ve already traversed.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that. I was afraid you hadn’t seen it.’
The relief in her voice puzzled him. ‘Seen what?’
‘Seen how ill the two of you would suit.’ She smiled again. ‘I thought I was going to have to exert myself to disentangle you from her clutches.’
Charles flinched. ‘You misunderstand. I shouldn’t have spoken so, it was a mistake.’
She stared. ‘The only mistake would be to continue to pursue her.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s an advantageous match for both sides.’ This was not a conversation Charles wanted to have with Sophie.
‘Charles, I’ve seen you with her. Watched you.’ She spoke carefully, patiently, like he was a child, too young to see things clearly. ‘In her company you disappear. There is only some sober, solemn stranger standing there in your skin.’
‘That is exactly the intended effect.’ His voice sounded as tight as the constriction in his chest.
‘I don’t understand. You mean to say you wish to be rigid, humourless, and unapproachable?’
‘No, I mean I wish to be seen for what I am—an adult, a responsible, respectable peer of the realm.’
‘Oho! Convenient, but unoriginal, Charles. I never thought to hear you playing Lord of the Manor. Does it all come back to the title, then?’
The scorn in her tone infuriated him. ‘Of course it comes back to the title!’ he said harshly. ‘The bloody thing hunted me, laying waste to my family. Now it’s got me. The duties and responsibilities are mine now; some of them so heavy, you cannot comprehend.’
‘Balderdash! Do your duty, accept the responsibility, but don’t let it change who you are.’ Her hands were moving, sharp and fast, emphasising the force of her words. If he hadn’t been so angry, Charles would have laughed. You knew Sophie was in a passion if she started talking with her hands. Then he heard what she was saying and any urge to laugh died instantly.
‘You may not believe it, Charles, but I remember many things as well. I remember a girl making herself miserable, turning herself inside out trying to please the adults who tried to forget her existence. I remember the boy who taught her to find her own happiness. I remember the small confessions, the shared stories. My uncle, your father. My sad aunt, your overburdened brother. I remember the words too. Do you want to hear them?’
‘No,’ he said harshly.
‘“We’ll think of the others, but live for ourselves.” That’s a wondrous piece of wisdom for a mere boy. Too bad the man’s forgotten it.’
Her voice was heavy with disdain, and Charles shocked himself by welcoming it. Yes, he deserved nothing but her contempt, however misdirected its focus might be.
Sophie turned away from him and gripped the faded curtain. ‘That’s what you’re doing now, isn’t it? Living the life that others expect of you?’
She would never understand. He felt a sudden, insane urge to blurt out the truth, all of it. But he couldn’t bear to see her reaction.
She’d grown tired of waiting for one. ‘It’s just a title, Charles. It may define your station in life, but naught else. You’ve hidden from yourself for so long, I think you’ve forgotten who you are. You’re more like Phillip now than I ever thought you could be.’ She paused a moment, as if digesting her own words, then realisation dawned on her face. ‘It’s Phillip,’ she breathed.
This time, Charles knew, his flinch was noticeable. He’d known she was dangerous. Now he struggled to gain control, to throw the mask back up before it was too late.
It already was too late.
‘My God, Charles! Is that what this is all about? Phillip was a serious man, a good and studious man. But it was his nature; the title didn’t make him that way. Do you think to turn yourself into your brother?’
Charles’s heart was pounding, his breath coming fast. ‘We’re not children anymore, Sophie. You don’t know me as well as you think you do.’
‘I know you well enough. Don’t throw yourself away in such a marriage. Phillip would not approve. He would want you to be happy.’
Charles almost choked on the conflicting emotions within, all trying to fight their way out. She was beautiful in her passion, terrifying in her perception. He wanted to run, back to London, if necessary, where he could bury himself in work and never hear his brother’s name again. He wanted to drop the mask and let the warmth of her affection and acceptance flow over him, absolving him of his sins. He wanted to shout the terrible truth at her: I can’t be happy. I don’t deserve to ever be happy again.
He couldn’t do any of those things. So he buried his hands in her already dishevelled hair and kissed her instead.
For a moment, a shocked Sophie could only stand frozen, stunned. It was a short moment. Then she came alive under his hot and insistent mouth.
She couldn’t push her mind past the miracle of it: Charles kissing her. She was overwhelmed by the taste and scent of him, the wonder of the dark need curling through her.
Through the long, lonely years, when Charles had been a companion only in her mind, he had represented safety, acceptance, and warmth. Then she had found him again, and he wasn’t her best friend anymore, just a stranger who had shown her mostly arrogance and disapproval. Now, with his mouth slanting hotly over hers, he radiated something else entirely: risk, danger, molten excitement that welled deep in her belly.
She welcomed it, thrilled to it, reached for him so she could demand more. He groaned as her arms went around him, and the sound made the throbbing deep within her that much stronger.
He was barely in control of himself. She didn’t care. He drove her head back with his hard, brazen kiss. She yielded to the assault and met him kiss for kiss. He backed her against the wall as his hands crept up to crush the curves he’d admired so boldly. She clung to him as if her life depended on it.
She had cracked his armour, touched the man underneath. His passion served in part as a stalling technique, a way to avoid dealing with the emotions that frightened him. But it was true, and it was hers. She accepted it and while the wind gusted through
