be happy for her, not begrudge her this first real triumph. But begrudge it he did, because her unconventional, meteoric success pushed her beyond his reach.
He was afraid for her too. Fickle society loved to force people on to pedestals, if only to watch them fall. Look at what had happened to Byron. Look at what had happened to him.
A cool breeze swept by, ruffling his hair and just possibly, bringing the idea with it. Look at what had happened to him. He lifted his head. It seemed so simple. Was it possible? Could both Charles Alden and Viscount Dayle have what they wished?
He looked about and found himself near the gates of the garden in Hanover Square. How long, he wondered, had he been here, across from the house where Sophie slept? A light came on in one of the upper windows, and Charles laughed softly. Perhaps Fate had finally taken pity on him and come to intervene on his behalf. There could be no other explanation. It must be Sophie up there, stirring long before anyone else would dream of doing so.
One way to find out. He searched out a few small stones, and, stifling a strong sense of déjà vu, launched them at the window.
Sophie had spent a restless night, but to no avail. Finally, just before first light, she gave it up as a bad business. She hadn’t slept a wink, and still her thoughts were in a worse tangle than her sheets.
She had spent half the night fuming over Charles’s perfidy. ‘You’d been kissed’ indeed! How dare he? When he’d spent years wenching his way through the female half of the population? He was no better than a child; he didn’t want her, but he didn’t want her playing with anyone else either.
Never would Sophie have imagined Charles indulging in such hypocrisy. She shook her head. But then, neither had she predicted the change in his temperament. And now his vacillation between hot and cold had taken on new and frightening dimensions.
She’d been so naïve! She had longed for the connection she’d felt with him so long ago, and had allowed her fantasies to run away with her. The understanding and intimacy that they had enjoyed had been so strong, so vital to her, that she’d assumed they would survive the years apart.
She sighed. There had been too many changes. He’d been correct, she didn’t know the new Charles, but she was beginning to suspect that he didn’t know himself either.
The thought led her back to Nell’s attempt with the family’s servants last night. Though Nell had enjoyed the idea of intrigue, she hadn’t been very successful. The only thing of interest she’d heard was that old Lord Dayle had been furious when Phillip had accepted Lord Castlereagh’s mission, and travelled with important papers to Wellington in Brussels. Sophie still wasn’t sure just how he’d ended up at the battle at Waterloo, but she supposed it made no difference. Phillip had died, just as many thousands of other good and gallant men had.
Could she be making too much of the situation? Perhaps there was no mystery, only her own desires and the wish to fuel her own fantasies. There could be a simple explanation that she didn’t wish to see. People changed. Or perhaps Charles’s wish to mould himself into his brother’s likeness had simply been the desire to impress his hard-to-please father?
Something kept her from embracing such an idea. She hoped it wasn’t her own self-indulgence, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Charles was hiding something. There was a desperation about him that she could not explain. He seemed driven to succeed in politics, to impress the men in government with his solidity and responsibility. It must go deeper. Also, she thought, why wouldn’t he have eased off after his father’s death? And why the strange talk about old Lord Dayle’s death? No, there was something more here she couldn’t yet see.
Sophie shook her head and rang for Nell. She might suffocate if she stayed in this room any longer. She needed to get out, to breathe fresh air, to walk and clear her mind.
A small clattering sound, quite nearby, had her suddenly jumping back into her bed. Heart pounding, feet tucked safe away under her night rail, she inspected the floor. The noise came again, there by the window, but she could see no sign of a rodent invader. Once more, louder this time, and Sophie recognised the sound for what it was. Laughing despite herself, she climbed down, threw back the curtains and looked below.
Charles. He stood there on the pavement, wearing a grin and last night’s clothes.
‘Are you insane?’ she called in a loud whisper. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Come down!’
‘Now? Can’t you pay a morning call like all the other gentlemen?’
‘Where would be the excitement in that?’ He gestured to the burgeoning light in the east. ‘It’s morning. Come! We have to talk.’
Behind her a drowsy Nell scratched on the door and let herself in. She came wide-awake, however, when she took in the situation. ‘Miss!’ she gasped.
‘I’ll be down presently,’ Sophie called to Charles. She turned to the maid. ‘I know, Nell. Pray, don’t look at me like that! Just fetch my wrapper, quickly.’
Oh, Lord, but she was a fool. She couldn’t help it. This smacked of older, better times, and was nigh irresistible. She hurried into a heavy robe, allowed Nell to put her hair up loosely, and crept quickly down the stairs.
The night footman dozed in his chair. Nell put her mouth to Sophie’s ear. ‘It is Richard. He sleeps like a stone.’
Sophie held a silencing finger to her lips and slowly turned the lock on the front doors. With a sigh of relief she stepped out into the cool, early morning air. The street was deserted except for Charles, beckoning her from the gate to the square. Leaving Nell to quietly close the door again, Sophie ran lightly across the street.
‘You imbecile! I thought it was your wish to stay out of the papers!’ she scolded.
‘I had to chance it. In any case, I knew it must be you waking. Anyone else would have been too cruel.’
Sophie drew back. ‘Are you drunk, Charles?’
He grasped her hands tight in his. ‘No, I’m just. Oh, I don’t know. I feel as if I am waking from a long and terrible dream.’
She looked him over carefully and tried to calm the pounding of her heart. Her mind was racing almost as fast. What could it mean? She didn’t know whether to dread what he had to say, or to long for it. The only thing she knew was that a rumpled and unshaven Charles was devilishly more handsome than the usually immaculate Charles. The image of her tangled sheets came to mind before Sophie could curb her wayward imagination. Blushing, she reined it in. ‘Where is your coat, your hat? Heavens, but you are a mess!’ She laughed. ‘I’ve spent too much time with your mother. Never mind! What is it that you must say, that couldn’t wait until a decent hour?’
‘I had to apologise. The things you said tonight—they are burnt into my mind like a brand. I’m so sorry. I can’t bear the thought that I added even a jot to your unhappiness.’
‘No.’ She bowed her head. ‘I do beg your pardon for attacking you so unjustly. You owe me nothing, I shouldn’t have implied that you do. You were, in fact, the one who taught me to be responsible for my own happiness. I’m sorry I failed to heed your perfectly correct advice.’
‘You haven’t failed.’ He lifted her chin. ‘Look at what you’ve done, Sophie. I saw you talking—cordially—with your uncle tonight.
