It was a library. Of course it was. Sophy had always been drawn to books—she liked to lose herself between their pages and at one point she had even talked about writing one. That was before she began to teach the children at the school in the village, sharing her love of the written word with them. She had seemed so very much in her element with those children, patient and as pleased at their successes as they were. Once, when he was home from school, and she had told him what she was doing, Harry had gone to the academy. Silent and unseen, he’d watched and listened as she took her students through their lessons. He remembered thinking the girl he saw that day was right where she wanted to be. So what was she doing here in this place? Had she changed so very much?
Harry paused a moment, listening. He heard the brush of cloth against the shelves and the muffled tap of a slipper on thick carpet. He made his way in that direction, the room barely lit by a single lamp on a desk by the window.
No doubt this was Monkstead’s bolthole and Sophy was trespassing. That was so very typical of her it made him smile.
And then there she was, bending over to examine a title that had caught her attention, her fingers hesitating over the spine. He cleared his throat and she jumped before she straightened abruptly. Harry was suddenly conscious of how quiet it was in here. Just the two of them, alone, as they had not been since the ball at Albury House, when he had abused her just for being there.
“Not fond of the music?” he asked.
Her blue gaze fixed on him, trying to read him. He took a step toward her and she took one back, coming up against the bookshelf. He was close enough now to see her breasts rise and fall with each breath she took, and the hunted expression in her eyes.
“You seem to have settled nicely into London society,” he went on, his voice now rough, even angry. He wasn’t sure if he was angry with her or himself. It didn’t seem to matter. “Almost as if you were born to it.”
“We both know that’s not true,” she countered, finding her courage and standing her ground.
“We do.” He took another step and now he was almost touching her. She swallowed, turning her face and refusing to look at him. For some reason that made him even more angry. “Are you going to marry James Abbott?”
“What business is that of yours?”
He wanted to bluster that it was very much his business but he bit the words back. “Are you?” he demanded instead.
His question had startled her. She looked at him now, eyes wide. Harry knew then that he was lost. Completely and utterly lost. Because he would do just about anything to have her again.
“I could tell him about the night we spent together,” he went on, his self-awareness making him cruel. “I wonder, would he marry you then?”
“Why would you do such a thing?” she whispered.
She should slap him—Evelyn certainly would—but instead she looked as if he had wounded her. Tears filled her eyes.
Hurting her was what broke him.
Harry wrapped his arms around her, his face pressed into her hair, and breathed in her scent. “Sophy,” he said, meshing her body to his. “Why did you leave me, Sophy?”
She had seemed to acquiesce but at his words she stiffened, shoving at his shoulders. “Let me go!” she gasped.
Her voice was loud enough that he did let her go, worried they might be discovered. But he wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. There were questions he needed to ask. Questions he should have asked in the garden at Evelyn’s house, but at the time he had been too full of hurt and rage.
“I came back and you were gone,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm. He cupped her cheek with his hand, forcing her to face him when she would have slid sideways to escap
e. “Sophy? Why did you leave like that, without even a word?”
She blinked at him, frowning, as if she was trying to understand. “You really don’t know?” she asked, mistrust fighting disbelief.
“Your father was a thief, that was what I was told.”
“My father was not a thief. Sir Arbuthnot loaned him money to buy back Audley Farm. They made a bargain that my father would buy the farm and then I would marry my cousin and we would live there together. Because Sir Arbuthnot wanted me gone, Harry, and he was willing to pay.”
“Then why are you here?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you cosying up to your cousin at Audley Farm?”
“Because you and I were seen that night we were together. Sir Arbuthnot found out about us. He feared you would never let me go, so he decided to take more drastic action. He accused father of stealing and sent him to prison, and I went to live with my grandmother.”
His father had perjured himself. Harry had believed that was a step too far even for him but it seemed he was wrong. As for the rest of it, her revelations corresponded with what he already knew. That George had wanted Sophy to have a dowry so that she could marry a man of his choosing. A better man than Harry Baillieu. Or perhaps he suspected Harry was his father’s son and would never marry a girl like Sophy.
He reached into his waistcoat pocket, found the signet ring, and held it out to her.
With a gasp, Sophy reached for it but his fingers curled over. Her eyes darted to his. “How did you get that?” she asked, wariness creeping into them.
“You sent it back to me. You didn’t need it or me anymore. That was what I was told.”