For a moment longer they stared at each other and then, reluctantly, Harry turned to Sophy. She could see the angry confusion in his handsome face. “You told me that you—”
“You didn’t give me a chance to explain,” she said plainly. She really didn’t want to be having this conversation in front of Digby. “Sir Geoffrey is my grandmother’s friend and my sponsor. I am not married to anyone. I never was.”
“Why are you lying?”
“I’m not lying,” she hissed, with a sideways glance at Digby.
He seemed to be having difficulty processing the words. Up close like this he did look three years older. A man and not a boy. She met his familiar brown eyes and saw the struggle to believe her in the shadows underneath. He looked conflicted, and still angry, but whether that anger was directed at Digby, Sophy or Harry himself, she wasn’t sure.
He appeared to pull himself together. “Sophy, married or not, you should not dance with this man. Don’t trust him. Don’t believe a word he says.”
Was he worried that Digby was going to take advantage of her again? That he cared hurt, just as everything about his presence seemed to hurt her now, and she wanted him to go away so that she could breathe again. So that she could regain some of her hard-won equilibrium.
“Digby is right,” she said in as cold a voice as she could manage. “We were simply dancing and I am enjoying myself. There’s no need for you to rush to my defence, not anymore. I don’t need or want your help, Harry. Please go back to your fiancé.”
Harry’s eyes darkened. He stared deep into her, perhaps searching for the girl he’d once known. Well he wasn’t going to find her, she told herself, staring back. When he still didn’t move, and she read in the hard line of his lips and the stubborn jut of his chin that he wasn’t going anywhere, she could feel her façade begin to crumble.
“Please,” she added softly, the plea barely a breath.
His gaze faltered, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse. Then he turned to Digby.
“I’ll be watching,” he warned. “This isn’t about you and me, Digby. Whatever friendship was once between us is long gone. This is about Sophy, and if you hurt her again, I will punish you.”
Digby laughed. “You always thought you were better than the rest of us,” he sneered.
Harry didn’t respond. Pushing the draperies aside, he walked out.
“He’s jealous,” Digby said, and he sounded pleased. “What do you think of that?”
“Why would he be?” She tried to sound indifferent, but inside her chest her heart was pounding. Jealous! It seemed like a victory, and yet it made her feel queasy. She reminded herself again that he was going to marry someone else, and she wasn’t allowed to care what he thought anymore.
“Perhaps he still has feelings for you,” Digby went on thoughtfully. He smiled at Sophy. “James said he did but I didn’t believe it until now. Although when I remember him from that night …” He smiled again. “I have the urge to cause him as much pain as possible, Sophy. What about you? Don’t you feel the same after what he did to you?”
“He did nothing to me,” she retorted.
Her mind was reeling. What did Digby mean when he said James believed Harry had feelings for her? Had the two brothers been discussing her?
He was still smiling at her. “I don’t believe you.”
Sophy pushed past the curtain and out into the ballroom, speaking over her shoulder in a voice meant for him alone. “I don’t care what you believe. Stay away from me.”
She kept walking, head held high, hoping he didn’t follow, and was glad to spot Mrs Harding seated with another middle-aged woman. They were gossiping, and Sophy was relieved she hadn’t been seen behaving improperly. She sat down beside Sir Geoffrey’s sister, and although the woman gave her a curious glance she didn’t ask what the matter was.
Sophy didn’t want to talk. Her mind was too full of confusing thoughts. Harry had come to rescue her, though his gallantry had seemed to have been against his will. He had seen her in Digby’s arms and had come to save her, despite himself.
That made sense if he was the man she once loved. On the other hand, maybe it was just that he couldn’t bear to think of Digby besting him. They had been very competitive when they were boys and she remembered that Digby brought out the worst in him.
Harry had always had that Baillieu arrogance, that high handedness. Well, he wasn’t going to use it on her.
Chapter 19
HARRY
Harry knew he looked forbidding. He had received several uneasy glances as he passed through the ballroom, back toward his party. He could see Evelyn, chatting with her friends, and he knew he needed to pull himself together. What he was doing was ridiculous and totally out of character.
No, he couldn’t face Evelyn yet—she’d see there was something wrong and want to know what it was. He veered away in the opposite direction. He needed to get a grip on himself.
When he had asked Evelyn to be his wife the timing had been perfect. His past had receded enough that he rarely thought of what, at the time, had been an extreme heartache, something he had once doubted he would ever recover from. He was thinking clearly again. He knew he was doing the right thing. He knew it. He was looking forward to a time when he and Evelyn would make their home at Pendleton Manor and bring up their family and carry on the Baillieu name.