“He’s so set on this match. Desborough is coming to propose tomorrow.”
Dread oozed down Harry’s spine. “Hell.”
She nodded. “If I say no, I’m afraid that James will send me away again.”
“But your aunt has left Northumberland.”
“There’s always Alloway Chase.”
He strove to lighten the atmosphere. “At least it’s not in Northumberland.”
Sophie didn’t smile. “It may as well be. It’s in the middle of the Yorkshire moors and my mother will watch me like a hawk.” She stared at Harry as if he had every answer. If only he did.
“Can you put Desborough off?”
She shrugged unhappily. “Given that his suit is an open secret, any delay will make James suspicious.”
Harry hated to see Sophie so defeated. He kissed her until she clung. By the time he’d returned to earth, she looked less distraught.
“Play for time.” He seized her hand and stripped off the glove. He pressed a fervent kiss to her palm before leading her into the heavily curtained drawing room.
Sophie’s spurt of hope faded. “It’s only delaying the inevitable.”
“Say you’re considering the proposal favorably. It might make Leath less vigilant.”
“If I marry Desborough, all is lost.”
On a stage, the statement might sound melodramatic, but she spoke nothing less than the truth. His Sophie wasn’t made to be his mistress. She deserved better than to become an adulterous wife.
“We’ve only got an hour,” she said bleakly, slumping onto the chaise longue.
“I’d hoped for longer.” Harry catalogued each fair feature. An hour? It seemed too cruel. Although only a lifetime would suffice. Even then, he’d feel cheated.
“It was difficult enough getting away from Lady Frencham’s tea party. The duchess said she wanted to take me to her modiste.” Sophie removed her second glove. “Although anyone with half a brain must realize that Her Grace hasn’t been in London long enough to recommend a dressmaker.”
From what he’d seen of Pen’s drab ensembles, no girl of style would take up her offer. That gray monstrosity she’d worn at the Oldhavens’ would frighten the horses.
The mention of clothing focused his attention on Sophie’s costume. “Good God, is that a tent?”
Despite her turmoil, a broken giggle escaped. She untied the toggles fastening the cloak. “Your sister lent it to me, as well as the bonnet and veil. But she’s so much taller than I am.”
“You look like you’re drowning.” If they only had an hour, he didn’t want to spend it stewing over their tribulations. “I doubt your own mother would recognize you under all that material.”
Gracefully Sophie slipped the cloak from her slender shoulders. In this cheerless room, her pink muslin gown was as fresh as cherry blossom. Harry could no longer bear to keep his distance. In two paces, he was on his knees beside the chaise, her hands in his. “Now you look like my girl.”
“Your sister is wonderful.” Her sweet, brief kiss made his heart caper. “She looks like you.”
“Poor thing.”
Sophie giggled again. He was pleased to see the back of her tragic air.
“Stop fishing for compliments.” The amusement drained from her expression. “She’s very good to help us. I can’t imagine her husband approves. Last night at the opera, James and Sedgemoor glared at each other like a pair of snarling lions.”
Harry sighed. “My sister couldn’t have married anyone less likely to raise me in your brother’s favor.”
Sophie’s hands tightened. “It’s so unfair that Uncle Neville’s wickedness has blackened anyone called Fairbrother. Especially as I never liked him and James positively despised him.”
“You know how society works, Sophie. People still talk about Sedgemoor’s parents, and he’s always been a model of propriety.”