“You know Alexander has his weaknesses. It’s happened time and time again. He grows infatuated with someone, insists on marrying the most inappropriate of females, and then abandons them for me to get rid of. Don’t you remember the actress?”
Sophie refused to let a flicker of reaction cross her face, even though her heart seemed to have suddenly contracted into a dark ball of pain.
“Of course. I remember them all,” Mrs. Griffiths said in a calmer voice, albeit laced with contempt. “I’m tired of my son having to clean up his messes, especially after all you’ve been through.”
“There’s no need to berate the poor girl,” he said, coming forward and taking Sophie’s arm gently. She didn’t resist. “This is not her fault. I’ll see to her. We all know he would never marry her, and he’s unlikely to return for days until he’s sure I’ve taken care of things. You should go up and rest. You know travel always makes you bilious.”
Sophie would have smiled at that, if she had any emotion other than pain available to her. She felt frozen. She was being a fool, she tried to tell herself. She’d already determined to leave, hadn’t she? Or had she been hoping he’d return and take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her, that he’d never let her go?
She didn’t believe in fairy tales. In fact, she never had, and the only reason Alexander had for marrying her was for the sake of his reputation, something he’d always said he didn’t give a fig for. And she’d been a fool, to let dreams creep into her heart when she wasn’t looking.
She let Rufus gently tug her away, but at the last moment she turned back to glance at the horrible woman who had taken over Alexander’s desk. Mrs. Griffiths had a smile of supreme satisfaction on her face. Of course she did—she’d won.
It made no sense, but Sophie didn’t care. She simply let Rufus lead her, up the stairs to the second-floor salon, settling her down in a comfortable chair as if she were an invalid. “I’m so sorry about my mother,” he said with an anxious expression. “She has a tendency to speak her mind, but she’s unaware of the details of Alexander’s . . . tendencies.”
“Tendencies?” she echoed dully. She felt lost, broken. She really didn’t want to listen to Rufus’s malicious gossip. She simply wanted him to leave her so she could escape.
“I’m afraid he’s done this time and time again. In fact, there has been an occasion or two when I haven’t been able to intervene in time. The results were . . . tragic.”
She roused herself enough to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’d rather not go into details. The problem is, if you simply disappeared there’d be too many people looking for you. It would be a different matter from a young companion or an actress.”
“Are you saying he killed them?” Her voice sounded flat and strange to her ears.
“Of course I’m not,” he said quickly. “Don’t ever tell anyone I suggested such a thing—I’ll deny it. It’s just that . . . for your own safety I think it would be best if you left as soon as possible.”
“I have every intention of doing so.” She pulled the cold blanket of nothingness around her. “In fact, I’ll leave immediately.”
“It’s a little more difficult than that. The servants have been ordered to keep guard on you, not let you go anywhere. If you tried to walk out the front door someone would stop you, and you’d end up locked in a room he keeps for that purpose.”
This was unbelievable. The picture Rufus was painting, of an unbalanced madman seducing and then disposing of women, was absurd. If he didn’t want her there, why would he tell the servants to guard her? None of this was making any sense.
But Rufus continued. “I think there’s just something wrong with him. I don’t know what caused it, but it happened when he was about twenty, and all conscience seemed to leave him. His poor wife was the first victim of his . . . problem. I just couldn’t bear it if there were any others.”
He sounded so earnest, so worried for her. She still didn’t trust him, but she couldn’t even trust her own heart. She had to get away from this place so that she could think clearly. “Then what do you suggest I do?”
“Are you afraid of heights?”
“No,” she said flatly.
“Then there’s an easy path over rooftops. I used to take it all the time when I was young and wanted to escape supervision. I still use it when I don’t want people spying on me. You would have no trouble.”
She glanced out the window at the rooftops of London. Some were peaked, some were flat, some were adorned with ridiculous gargoyles, while still others had windows positioned to let in light. There were chimney pots all about, and she wondered how in heaven’s name she would manage to navigate such a treacherous terrain. It didn’t matter. She had to get away from here.
“I’m ready,” she said.
He blinked. “I’m not, I’m afraid. I need to make certain my mother is comfortably settled, and then I’ll show you the way.”
“I thought your mother wasn’t allowed here?”
“Alexander won’t return for days. He’s always hated my mother, but he doesn’t mind if he’s not around.”
She didn’t bother to question it. Rufus’s lies were none of her business. “Just tell me the way to go. I don’t need you to show me.”
“I couldn’t let you try it alone. I’ve worked out the path after many attempts, and one wrong move could send you tumbling to your death. I feel duty-bound to see you safely from this house.”
Duty again, she thought. She despised the very word.