An excellent sign, he decided. He’d give her another hour or two to come to him, and failing that, he would devise a way to throw the two of them together, accidentally of course. He saw no reason for her to know the full extent of his mental decline.
He’d lost track of her for a while after that. The Earl of Efford had engaged him in conversation, then insisted he dance with his niece, Miss Mary Jane Willory—a stunning young woman whose attractiveness was greatly diminished by her malicious nature. Following the dance, the girl had insisted on introducing him to her dear friend, Miss Heins, a slightly pudgy girl who, even under a demimask, was clearly plain and clearly not a dear friend. But Miss Willory had cooed over the poor dear girl who hadn’t danced all night, and if His Grace could only see his way to rectifying the matter, Miss Willory would take it as a personal favor.
Alex had done his best to aid the mortified Miss Heins, claiming that the favor would be hers to him, that he would settle for nothing less than a waltz, and that he could think of nothing better than to pass the time until then in her company. Miss Willory had been suitably abashed and taken herself off, leaving Alex to make stunted conversation with the nice but painfully shy Miss Heins.
Fortunately, a waltz was struck up almost immediately. His gentlemanly duty of dancing at least once a night with a wallflower thusly dispatched, Alex had taken a turn about the room looking for Sophie. And came to the unsettling conclusion that she had disappeared. He’d searched the entire ballroom, the terrace, the garden, and finally sought Evie for the purpose of checking the ladies’ retiring room.
Which is when Evie told him, “Sophie’s headache returned, she’s gone upstairs to her room.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Evie had never been particularly good at dissembling. She always tensed one corner of her mouth slightly at the fib, causing her scar to pucker a bit at the edge. And now that he thought of it, he hadn’t noticed her or Mirabelle in his search either. She must have just returned to the room.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Evie returned his searching look with an assessing one of her own, cocking her head slightly to one side and furrowed her brow. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” she finally asked.
Alex actually jerked in astonishment. Love? Love? He hadn’t even thought about love. Was he in love with Sophie? He was fond of her of course, cared for her, admired and esteemed her. Certainly he desired her more than any woman he had ever met. But was he in love with her?
“I can see that you are,” Evie murmured, and it took Alex a second to realize she was answering her own question, not his. “You’ll want to check on her of course, and I think, in the end, she might like that as well. But don’t bother requesting additional assistance in the matter. I’ve given my word.”
Alex didn’t bother asking for an explanation to that somewhat cryptic statement. Evie’s pointed tone told him enough.
He reached Sophie’s room as quickly and quietly as possible. She wasn’t there, of course, but he’d had to look. He sent a maid for Whit, then began searching for clues to where she might have gone. With every item he encountered, a picture of Sophie entered his mind unbidden. Her dancing blue eyes peering over that fan. Strands of dark hair peeking out from under that bonnet. Her full and delightfully expressive lips smiling as she danced with him in that gown. Her slender hands in those gloves. The swell of her breasts…
“This is a very bad sign.”
Alex looked up to find Whit in the doorway. “I don’t think so,” he said calmly. “All her belongings are here and…how did you know Sophie was gone?”
“I didn’t. I was referring to the fact that you are rifling through a young lady’s personal belongings. Have you completely lost your mind?”
“It’s possible. At the moment, however, it is the least of my concerns. Sophie has disappeared.”
Whit sobered immediately. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Unless you ran into her on your way up here?”
Whit shook his head. “Any theories?”
“Evie knows something, and I think Mirabelle might as well. Question them, and Kate too if need be. I’ll speak with the staff.”
Mirabelle walked along the book-lined shelves in Haldon’s library and let the smell and feel of aged leather and polished wood comfort her. She loved the library. She loved everything about Haldon actually, but the library was her favorite. The library at her uncle’s estate, a paltry collection compared to Haldon’s, had the added disadvantage of being connected to her uncle’s study—a room she avoided like the plague.
Here, however, she could amble about to her heart’s content. She could chose from thousands of books on every conceivable topic. She could read until her eyes gave out from the strain.
She ran her finger down the spine of a particularly large tome. This was what she needed to take her mind off to night’s events. She pulled the book from its space on the shelf and turned to leave.