“Why, your betrothal to Simon, Miss Stanton.” A chilling smile touched the edges of the countess’s red-tinted mouth. “I read the notice only this morning in the Bath Chronicle.” Lady Randolph raised her arm to display a crumpled newspaper that she held in her sleekly gloved hand.
Sophie snatched the paper and rustled through the pages until she found the notice. Starkly laid out in black and white for the world to see was an announcement of the betrothal of Miss Sophia Stanton to the Earl of Trask.
“Of course, the ladies of the ton will surely regret the loss of so fine a man to the obligations of matrimony.” Lady Randolph’s silken voice seemed to come from far away.
Sophie blinked rapidly, then raised her eyes to encounter a gaze oozing with malice. A feeling of doom began to penetrate the shock that held her nailed to the floorboards. Suddenly, the whispered titters between Lady Langton and another woman in the library took on new meaning, as did a loud snort of laughter from a man on the other side of the room.
“But Simon is a man who rarely disappoints a woman, if I do say so myself,” continued Lady Randolph. “I’m sure you’ll soon learn to share him with the rest of us.”
Sophie took a breath and met her rival’s lethal gaze head-on.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, my lady,” she said. “I have several other errands to attend to. Good day to you.”
She dropped the paper at Lady Randolph’s feet as she stepped around her to pass through the door into Bond Street. It took every ounce of willpower to keep her spine stiff and her pace even as she passed the windows of Mr. Barratt’s library. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her skin tingled with what she imagined were the avid gazes of people in the street.
Now everything was clear. The curious stares this morning. The whispers and the poorly concealed laughter. Simon had betrayed her. He had taken their secret and divulged it to the entire ton. He had laid bare his lack of trust, revealing how little respect he had for her.
And he had exposed her to a woman he knew despised her, and who quite possibly was still his mistress.
As Bond led into Milsom Street, she quickened her pace, her racing, angry heart driving her hard up the hill. By the time she reached the Circus, her pulse was beating drumlike through her limbs. If she hadn’t been so breathless, she would have hiked up her skirts and run the rest of the way home.
A few minutes later she arrived in St. James’s Square, flushed with exertion and panting with a fury that squeezed her chest. She pounded the knocker against the door, shifting from foot to foot until the footman let her in.
Yates emerged from a door at the back of the hall. “Good morning, miss.”
Sophie yanked at the ribbons of her bonnet, desperate to relieve the pressure of the silk bands from under her chin. Fighting an odd feeling that threatened to overwhelm her, she ripped the hat from her head and thrust it at the butler.
“Has Lady Eleanor come down from her room?”
“Yes, miss. Her ladyship is in the gold drawing room with morning callers.”
Sophie took a deep breath, hoping to calm her galloping heartbeat. “Who is here?”
“Lord Trask, and Mr. and Mrs. Stanton.”
Robert. Thank God she didn’t have to face Simon alone. Her brother, at least, would stand by her.
Sophie stood for a moment in the hall, willing her heart to slow and her limbs to cease trembling. She would need her wits about her to confront Simon. It would be appallingly difficult, given that she would have to explain to the others why she had wished to keep their engagement a secret from everyone, including their own families.
“Very good, Yates. I’ll join them.”
She marched up the stairs behind the butler. He tapped on the door and announced her before stepping aside to let her pass by into the brightly lit room. She blinked hard and adjusted her glasses, trying to focus her eyes after the dim light of the hall.
After a few seconds the dancing motes in her vision disappeared, and the figures of her family settled into their familiar shapes. Robert and Annabel sat together on the settee. Lady Eleanor was ensconced in her favourite wingback chair, and Lady Jane stood just behind her, one slender hand resting on her sister’s shoulder. Warm October sunlight streamed through the windows, touching all their faces with a warm, comfortable glow.
All except one—a figure that stood backlit against the window, broad-shouldered, brutally masculine in its outline and almost menacing in its stillness.
Simon.
Lady Eleanor turned in her chair, her piercing eyes locking on Sophie.
“There you are. Please to come over and stand before me.”
She resisted the impulse to move, raising her chin as she stared back at her godmother. “I thank you, ma’am, but I’m quite comfortable where I am.”
The dark figure by the window shifted. Simon stepped forward, his handsome features thrown into relief now that he had stepped away from the shafting sunlight. Sophie’s heart sank at the self-contained, even remote, expression on his face. Did he have no idea what he’d done to her?
“My dear, why don’t you sit down?” His voice was gentle, but she heard the note of command.
“Thank you, no.” Her words seemed to be scraping over broken stones as they fought their way out of her parched mouth.
He sighed. “My love, I simply wish us to talk. Your family wishes to talk to us, as well.”
The brittle control inside her chest shattered. “How dare you call me that? How could you do this to me, Simon? You betrayed my trust. You’ve humiliated me before my friends and family. I’ll never forgive you.”
His dark brows shot up, and his cool reserve vanished in an instant. “Sophie, there’s no need to resort to childish threats.”
Robert shook his head. “That tears it,” he muttered, shifting his gaze away in an obvious attempt to avoid her eye.
Sophie hesitated, unnerved by her brother’s refusal to look at her. And was that a glare Annabel gave him? She never looked at Robert like that.
“Sophie.” Simon’s deep voice jerked her attention away from her family.
“What?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded sullen.
His gaze turned flinty. “Don’t be rude, my dear. It doesn’t become you.”
Her temper flared. “Why shouldn’t I be rude? You’re the one who said I was childish. Perhaps you’d like to lock me in my room without any supper.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He took another step forward.
“Enough, Simon.” Lady Eleanor’s voice rapped through the room. “Sophia, please come over here right now.”
There was no point in disobeying. She cast another furious glance at Simon before moving to stand in front of her godmother. Her muscles ached from the mad dash home and the strain of holding herself so rigidly.
“Now, goddaughter, perhaps you would like to explain why you insisted on keeping your engagement to my nephew a secret? Surely there is no shame in a betrothal to the Earl of Trask?”
“My reasons are my business, Lady Eleanor,” she said, suddenly deciding she didn’t need to explain herself to anyone. “Simon promised to respect those reasons. Since he broke his promise, I see no reason to tell anyone else.”
“Sophia Stanton, how dare you speak to me in such an impertinent fashion? What would your dear mother say?” huffed Lady Eleanor. Lady Jane stirred from her motionless stance behind her sister and directed a warning frown at Sophie.
“Come on, Soph. No need to get all starchy. Tell me what the problem is,” Robert interjected in a wheedling tone. “Maybe I can help.”
Sophie whipped around. If she didn’t know better, she would think her brother was hiding something. She hadn’t seen him looking this guilty since the time he accidentally smashed her glass unicorn when he was twelve years old.
“The problem, Robert, is that my betrothed,” she invested the word with as much sarcasm as she could muster, “seems to think I’m a child he can orde
r about willy-nilly. He has no respect for me, nor does he trust my judgment. That doesn’t bode well for a marriage.”
“Perhaps I would trust you more if you acted like a sensible woman instead of a petulant child,” Simon retorted.
“And perhaps I would trust you if you wouldn’t lie about why you really want to get married, or lie about your mistress.” The words flew past her lips before she could stop them.
A silence so thick she could almost feel it on her skin fell on the room. Lady Eleanor gaped at her, struck dumb, probably for the first time in her life.
“Sophia.” Simon’s voice dropped almost to a whisper, but the menacing growl was more disturbing than a shout. Sophie turned away from her godmother to meet his obsidian gaze, shivering at the dark warning that struck her like a blow. “We talked about this.”
For a long moment they stared at each other. Sophie felt the struggle between their wills on a soul-deep level—a struggle as dangerous, as powerful, and as intensely intimate as their lovemaking had been. Simon’s eyes flared with a different kind of heat as a flush crawled up her neck.
The image of Lady Randolph’s beautiful, spiteful face leapt into her mind. Did Simon look at the countess the way he was looking at her right now?
Sophie shook free of her paralysis. “Do you know how I found out about the announcement in the paper?”
He frowned, the wary look returning to his face. “I came to see you right after breakfast, but you had—”
“The countess,” she blurted out. “Countess Randolph told me. In Barratt’s. In front of everyone.”
His dark eyes filled with pity and regret. Bile rose in her throat at the sight, and she knew in that moment everything she feared was true.
“Sophie.” His voice was unbearably gentle.
“How could you tell your mistress, Simon? How could you tell your mistress before you told me? Did you plan this with her?”
She could hear a shocked gasp coming from Lady Jane.
“That’s enough, Sophia Stanton,” Lady Eleanor barked. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had gone mad. What Simon does with other women is his business, not yours. You are not to ask of such things.”
“Aunt Eleanor, would you—”
Lady Eleanor cut Simon off. “Be quiet. You and Sophia have made a herculean mess of this situation, which I am now obligated to clean up. I will not have either the St. James name or the Stanton name dragged through the muck.”
She directed a stern gaze at Sophie. “Sophia, you should be grateful that Simon has asked for your hand in marriage. Both families have desired this for years, and both will benefit greatly from the union. General Stanton and Simon’s grandfather planned this marriage while you were still in the cradle, as you well know, and you will bring honor to all of us by this match.”
Lady Eleanor’s words fell like a death blow upon Sophie’s heart. How could she have imagined Simon might actually love her?
“Thank you for your help, Aunt Eleanor,” Simon interjected in a dry voice. “I’m sure Sophie understands everything now.”
Sophie pivoted on her heel to gaze at him. “Why do you want to marry me, Simon? Tell the truth.”
He winced. She was stunned to see a dull red creep across his cheekbones.
“Puck, it might be better if we talk about this alone.”
She couldn’t bear his gentle tone or his endearments. “Why should we speak alone? After all, we’re not building a family, we’re building a dynasty. Why shouldn’t the whole family be part of this discussion? This is a business matter, isn’t it? It’s my dowry you want, not me.”
Something flashed across his face. If she hadn’t been looking straight at him she would have missed it, since his usual reserved expression fell back into place instantly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve already told you why I want to marry you.”
She felt the walls of her carefully constructed world come tumbling down. She knew now they had been built on shoddy, self-indulgent stories she had told herself since she was a little girl—foolish, romantic lies.
“I won’t do it.” She choked on the words. “I will not be a pawn. I will not be a sacrifice on the altar of your ambitions.”
He jerked back as if she had slapped him.
“Sophie, for God’s sake.” He shoved his hand through his thick hair in a gesture of frustration.
“Really, Sophia, you are most dramatic.” Lady Eleanor had obviously decided to launch back into the fray. “It’s time you gave up your sentimental notions about life. You could learn from the example of your fiancé. Simon relinquished that kind of foolishness years ago to do his duty by his family.”
Sophie could actually hear Simon grind his teeth. He looked like he wanted to throttle every person in the room, including her.
“Sophie.” Robert sounded desperate.
She slowly turned to look at him. He had been so quiet these last few minutes she had almost forgotten he was in the room. Why wasn’t her brother coming to her aid?
“Robert, you understand, don’t you? I won’t settle for less than what you and Annabel have. I can’t.” Sophie felt moisture trickle down her cheeks. She rubbed it away with an impatient hand—she had no time to waste on tears.
“Of course you can’t, dearest.” Annabel’s voice quivered with emotion. “Nor should you.”
Robert rolled his eyes at his wife before returning his gaze to Sophie.
“You won’t be settling for anything, sis. You’ll be the Countess of Trask.” Her brother was pleading with her now. “We did this for your own good, Soph. Can’t you see that? You can’t rattle around forever like an old tabby. Besides—”
Don’t! Don’t say it. She waited for the blade to fall.
“Besides,” continued her brother, “you love Simon. Everybody knows that.”
Sophie dimly heard Simon utter a curse. Finally, the enormity of her family’s betrayal swept through her veins like a tide driven by a winter storm. Blinking back a few useless tears, she turned her back on Robert and made her way to the door. She stopped when she came level with Simon.
“I’d rather be a spinster for the rest of my days than married to a man who cares more for his estates and for his mistress than he cares for me.” Sophie looked up and met Simon’s pitch-black eyes. They blazed with an emotion she couldn’t begin to understand. His hand convulsed as if he might reach for her, but instead he clamped his arm back to his side.
“My lord, I thank you for the honor of your proposal, but I consider our engagement to be at an end.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie gulped several times, waiting for the choking feeling in her throat to subside before staggering over to a rosewood chair against the wall. Fleeing to her bedroom may have been the coward’s way out, but the look of pity on Simon’s face had made her stomach churn with nausea. She’d had to get out of the drawing room, and quickly.
Slumping down into the brocaded seat, she let her bleary gaze wander about the room. She took in the pretty Chinese wallpaper and the beautiful Chippendale bed with its carved, pagoda-style canopy. She had always felt like a princess whenever she snuggled beneath the bed’s quilted silk and fine linens, staring up at the ornate mahogany canopy as she weaved happy daydreams about her future.
But that happiness had withered today in the stark light of Simon’s and her family’s betrayal. Her daydreams had been burned away, and nothing would ever be the same.
A quiet knock sounded at her door, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?
A moment later the door swung open.
“May Annabel and I come in?” asked Lady Jane.
She nodded, not yet able to find her voice.
The older woman swiftly crossed the room and dropped to her knees beside the chair, enveloping her in a lavender-tinged embrace.
“Come, darling. All is not as bleak as it seems.” She stroked a cool, soft hand across Sophie’s face.
“Goodness, you’re so pale. I won’t permit you to worry yourself into a decline, my love. Simon and Robert have acted very improperly, but I’m sure all will come out right in the end.” Lady Jane gave her an encouraging smile.
The burn in Sophie’s throat grew worse. How could they all be so blind?
“I won’t marry him, my lady. Even if he is your nephew. Even if everyone wants me to. I just can’t.” That sickening pressure squeezed her windpipe once more, reducing her words to a croak.
Annabel plumped down on the floor in a swirl of peach-colored cambric. She took Sophie’s cold hands between her own and began to chafe the warmth back into them.
“Of course you mustn’t, darling. Not if you don’t want to. No one can make you do anything.” A scowl settled over her delicate features, making her look almost fierce. “Simon and Robert acted most disgracefully, and I promise you that your brother will know exactly how unacceptable his behaviour is by the end of the day.”
If she hadn’t felt so awful, Sophie would have laughed at the severe tone in her sister-in-law’s voice. Annabel was several years younger than her husband, but she could make him quake in his hessians. Of course, she wouldn’t stay mad at Robert for long. As soon as he gave her one of his mooncalf looks of adoration, she would forgive him.
Simon would never love her like that, and she would likely spend the rest of her days ramming her heart against the barricade he had built around his emotions.
A shiver skated down her spine as she foresaw an uncertain future as the Countess of Trask. That part of loving Simon had always troubled her—that part she had never wished for. Now the role seemed an even greater burden. If she married him, she would become the chatelaine of several noble estates, a leading hostess of the ton, and likely a mother—but never the cherished wife of the man she had the misfortune to love to distraction. So many obligations, and for what?
She looked into Annabel’s solemn face. “You understand, Belle, don’t you? Why I had to say no? It’s not me that he wants, it’s my dowry. That’s all he cares about.”
Sex and the Single Earl Page 18