“I fell down.”
“You fell down,” he parroted slowly. He didn’t believe her, which was rather ironic considering it was likely to be the only thing she told the truth about all night.
“Yes, I fell down. Honestly.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Alex looked her over, scanning the length of her with his eyes, and Sophie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and took his own seat. She squirmed again. The chairs were too close together and she had to maneuver her legs to the side to keep her knees from rubbing against his long legs.
“Where?” he asked.
“Where am I fine?” she asked a little incredulously.
“Where did you fall down?”
“Oh, here in London.”
Maybe she could manage to avoid lying outright all night.
Alex scowled at her.
Maybe not.
“In Mayfield,” she clarified.
Then again, maybe so.
“Sophie,” he growled warningly.
“I’m sorry, Alex, but I am not going to tell you what I was doing to night. It’s not my secret to give away.”
“Good Lord, why does everyone keep saying that to night? Does anyone keep their own counsel?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Alex felt his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “Since we are on the subject of your attire—”
“Are we?”
“We are now. What in God’s name are you wearing?”
“Er…a ball gown?”
Alex narrowed his eyes dangerously.
“I really don’t know what else to call it,” Sophie said honestly.
“It’s indecent,” Alex spat.
She gaped at him, insult warring with bewilderment. “It most certainly is not. I—”
“And you’ve been wearing gowns just like it for weeks now. Why is that, Sophie?”
“I like them,” she replied indignantly. And it was true, once she’d gotten accustomed to the contemporary, less conservative cuts, she’d found she rather enjoyed the new experience of being fashionable. “And I don’t see—”
“And,” he cut in, “you’ve been flirting shamelessly—”
“That is quite enough, more than enough, actually. I have not behaved in any way that could be construed as indecorous, and my attire has not received so much as a disapproving glance,” she paused and remembered something. “Perhaps one disapproving glance from Mrs. Willcomb, but that was only because her husband was leering at me most rudely, but I can hardly take the blame for that. He leers at everyone.”
“Why are you doing it?” Sophie didn’t respond, so he tried a different approach. “Why are you encouraging the attentions of these men, Sophie? I want answers this time…. Are you looking for a husband?”
He wasn’t surprised that those last words should taste bad in his mouth, but he was surprised by the sheer violence of his reaction to the thought of Sophie in another man’s arms.
“Aren’t all women?” Sophie asked, interrupting his train of thought. And nicely sidestepping the issue as well, he noted grimly.
“Answer my question, Sophie. Yes or no. Are you looking for a husband?”
Sophie scrambled desperately for a suitable evasion, but she could think of no words, no excuse that wouldn’t be so farfetched as to not insult Alex’s intelligence.
If she had any sense at all, Sophie mused unhappily, she wouldn’t be concerning herself over the possibility of insulting Alex at the moment. God knew the man needed someone to take him down a peg or two. In fact, she ought to just toss him out. It was her house after all, and it would solve her current dilemma rather nicely.
She couldn’t do it. For one thing, she’d have to find someone physically capable of performing the task, and it was highly unlikely Alex would excuse her long enough to accomplish that. And then, of course, there was the undeniable scene it would create. She and Alex had left a house party in the countryside in the dead of night. If they were discovered at her home alone, she’d be ruined, and her chance of saving Whitefield right along with her.
But neither of those reasons seemed nearly as significant as the simple fact that she didn’t want him to go.
She had just spent the better part of two hours sneaking around in darkened London. She was quite terrified someone had been following her, and she was all alone in the house. She was frightened, confused, disheartened, and long past exhausted.
Alex, regardless of his present behavior, was a reassuring presence. She felt a little safer with him there. She felt a little less alone.
“Sophie?”
And, oh how she was tired of lying. Tired of avoiding and evading. Making up half truths because she was too afraid to tell him the whole. Tired of wondering what was to become of her, and of him. Of them.
Just tell him, she told herself. Just tell him and be done with it. He isn’t going to let this drop anyway. It’s only a few hours earlier than planned and—
“Sophie.”
“I have to get married.”