Always the Rebel, page 11
Philip laughed as he indicated the drawing room. “She has indeed, and I am all too grateful, for it gives me the wonderful excuse to know you all better. Please, come through.”
Sophia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again as Philip stepped forward with her mother on his arm. Why was he doing this—it was intolerable!
All she had to do was survive…what a few hours, maybe three hours at worst? Then it would all be over, and her parents would never have to interact with Philip again.
As she stepped into the drawing room, she saw Philip making a huge fuss over her mother, attempting to ascertain if she would be too hot near the fire or too cold if she did not.
Of course, her parents loved him. How could they not? He was everything Jacob was—good breeding, elegant manners, wealth—and had all that Jacob had not, such as a title and townhouse in Camden Place, Bath.
But even more than that, he was charming. He was charming! And the worst thing was, of course, Philip knew it. There was that knowing grin on his face as he exchanged a joke with Mr. Worsley about the horse races in the last season. He knew what he was doing.
“Miss Worsley,” he said, turning to her suddenly. “Please do help yourself to a seat while I help your mother to a drink.”
Sophia sat in an armchair as she watched with amazement as Philip acted as footman for her parents, waiting on them, pouring them wine, and doing a charming job of it.
Despite herself, Sophia was impressed. She had seen the gruff Philip when he had…not exactly rescued her from the Queen of Hearts. She had seen the protective side of him, the irresistible side of him. He had made her laugh, made her furious, and now?
Now he was charm itself. Would this man never cease amazing her?
It was seven o’clock before she knew it, and the dinner gong echoed.
“Now, Mrs. Worsley, you will have to forgive me,” said Philip as he rose. “And I beg you will, or I shall be devastated.”
“Forgive you, your lordship? I know not what you mean, but I am sure you will be able to explain yourself,” said Mrs. Worsley prettily.
Philip sighed theatrically. “’Tis only that I wish I could walk both yourself and your daughter to the table, but I am forced to choose between you—and alas, I admit I would choose the latter. Can you ever forgive me?”
Mrs. Worsley fell into raptures of delight.
As Philip stepped forward to take Sophia’s arm, she glared. “Do you not think you are laying it on a bit thick?”
He grinned. “Nothing is too much for your parents.”
She laughed despite herself. It was difficult to be irritated with a gentleman who was doing everything to impress those she loved. Where had this devotion to her joy come from? And why did it make her feel so unbearably happy?
The dining room had been decorated with such sumptuous attention to detail; Sophia was sure it was Philip’s doing. There were sprigs of rosemary all down the table, lending their subtle fragrance to the air. Candles were lit in every possible place, looking glasses placed along the walls making the whole room shimmer. There was even a young gentleman seated in the corner with a violin in his arms in the same livery as the footmen who served them.
“Ah, music!” Mr. Worsley said appreciatively. “Now that is a nice touch, is it not, Sophia?”
Sophia was forced to admit that yes, it was, as Philip helped her to a seat. Where had all this come from—and more importantly, where was it all going?
The dinner was delicious. Each course was more fragrant and delectable than the last, and Sophia was so busy eating that she hardly contributed to the conversation—which was nowhere as near as uncomfortable as she had predicted.
With Philip seated beside her and her father opposite, she watched the two gentlemen jest and laugh over political jokes. It was strangely pleasant to see them converse so happily.
Robert had never met him, and Jacob…well. The poor boy had been orphaned at a young age, so perhaps it was not fair to blame him for his complete lack of manners.
And Mrs. Worsley was not ignored. Sophia watched in awe as Philip flattered her in a respectful and yet gentle way.
The last thing she needed was for her parents to get the wrong idea. She was not going to marry Philip, even if he asked her. They had been so approving of Jacob, and Philip was so much more impressive. The debate would be uncomfortable, and she knew what they would ask.
What was wrong with him?
Sophia picked at her dessert as she cast a glance at the gentleman beside her. What was wrong with him? Why was she so set against something she desperately longed for?
“Not interested in being a mistress, then. What about a wife?”
Why wouldn’t she marry Philip if he decided to ask her seriously?
“No, truly, your lordship?”
“My dear Mrs. Worsley, I wish you would call me Marnmouth, ’tis so much more friendly, do not you think?”
Sophia rolled her eyes. If it was not enough that she had fallen in love with him, now her mother was going to fall in love with him, too!
And it was love. That was why she had to stop herself from saying something foolish like she would marry him. Because Philip now had the ultimate power over her, the power no other gentleman had ever won.
The power to make her truly unhappy.
Was it typical to feel this…well, possessive over a gentleman one had no actual ownership of? Why did her mind fill with visions of them having this dinner once a week, so her parents could continue to know Philip better, her husband, while she was able to enjoy him alone the rest of the week?
Heat tinged Sophia’s cheeks as she put the vision of that life aside.
“—never seen a boar that large, I tell you,” her father was saying, his hands moving wildly as he attempted to describe the hunt to Philip. The younger man caught her eye and winked. “My horse was pretty ragged, but I was certain I could force the old mare into action, so I…”
She was warm, too warm, and she tried to cool herself by taking a sip of wine.
Falling in love with Philip Egerton? Madness. The man had kept a mistress for years, had several by the sounds of it—the man had three daughters already!
Even now, she was not sure what had happened between him and Emma Tilbury.
Besides, she had been down this road before. With two broken engagements behind her, she was hardly eager to enter into a third, even with a far superior man.
“Oh—thank you,” she said distractedly as a footman appeared behind her to take away her half-eaten dessert. “It…it was delicious.”
Sophia could hardly remember what it tasted like, but with dessert done, the port and cheese would be brought through, and the ladies would retreat to the drawing room.
It would, admittedly, leave her alone with her mother, who was almost bursting with joy at the thought of having Philip as a son-in-law—but it would give her the chance to give her mother a good talking to, and cease that line once and for all.
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Worsley, standing up and putting a hand to her face. “You know, I think I feel a little unwell. Arthur, can we call the carriage?”
Sophia opened her mouth, but Philip got there first.
“My dear Mrs. Worsley, you must permit me to assist you,” he said quickly, rising to his feet. “My servants will ensure your carriage can be ready in a matter of minutes, and I beg you to allow me to give the order to take you home if that is what you wish?”
Mr. Worsley had risen now and taken his wife’s arm in his own. “Mariah?”
“Oh, I just feel…” murmured Mrs. Worsley, her hand still on her forehead. “I am sure ’tis nothing, I assure you…”
“McCall, the Worsleys’ carriage,” snapped Philip, genuine concern on his face. “Mrs. Worsley is not well. Alert Doctor Sanders, and ask him to meet her at her rooms.”
“’Tis such a shame, I so wished to stay for the entire evening,” said Mrs. Worsley distractedly as the four of them rose to leave the dining room.
Sophia touched her mother’s shoulder gently as they stood in the hallway. “You must not upset yourself, Mama.”
“Nothing is more important than one’s health,” said Philip seriously. “The carriage will be here momentarily, Mrs. Worsley.”
Sophia smiled, trying to show the gratitude she felt. It was unlike her mother to suddenly fall ill, all the more reason to get her home. Her parents may irritate her beyond the point of distraction, but they were her parents, and she loved them dearly.
“I will be right beside you in the carriage,” Mr. Worsley was saying to his wife, her arm still tucked into his. “Ah, there is the door. The carriage is ready.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Worsley. “I do hope Sophia’s company will be sufficient for you, your lordship, and I am again so sorry that we have to leave in such a rush.”
Sophia removed her hand from her mother’s shoulder and rolled her eyes. She should have known—her mother was not unwell at all! It was all a ruse, an attempt to ensure her daughter was alone with the earl.
“I am quite happy to accompany you in the carriage, Mother,” Sophia said pointedly as her father helped her mother on with her pelisse. “Do you not think it is a little rebellious to leave me alone with…”
Her voice trailed away as she caught her mother’s eye. It was clear Mrs. Worsley would make a real scene if she was not to be given her own way.
Really, sometimes Sophia was unsure which of them was the parent, which the rebel.
“Fine,” she said heavily. “I will return home in Philip—in Marnmouth’s carriage later—but not much later, mark me.”
“You take all the time in the world, my dear, if you are enjoying yourself,” said Mrs. Worsley faintly, and her husband helped her down the steps and into the carriage.
Sophia simply could not look at Philip. By God, he must be able to see through this pathetic subterfuge easily!
“And Doctor Sanders,” he was saying to his butler seriously. “You must instruct him to meet the Worsleys—”
“All I need is rest, I am sure,” came Mrs. Worsley’s voice from the carriage. “Just rest. Have a lovely evening, you two.”
The carriage rattled away, and Philip shut the door behind them.
Sophia swallowed. It was strange being alone with Philip in his house. Of course, she had been last night—but now her parents knew it. What were they expecting?
What was Philip expecting?
At this very moment, he was laughing. “Your mother should be on the stage. She is most excellent. So. What shall we do now?”
Chapter Twelve
By God, she was beautiful. There Sophia stood, all innocence and laughter at her mother’s ridiculous acting, and he knew that if he played his cards right, he would be given the chance to…
To do anything.
She was smiling coquettishly but did not speak. Philip swallowed. This was his first real opportunity to seduce her. True, she had been alone with him before, but the last time they had been together, she had wanted to ascertain whether he had come here to entangle himself once more in the arms of a mistress.
And those stolen kisses outside—well, they were nothing compared to what he wanted to do to her. To slowly unpeel each layer of clothing off until the very essence of Sophia lay before him, ready for him to—
“Tuppence.”
Philip blinked. Sophia had spoken, but the word did not make sense.
“Tuppence,” she repeated with a smile. “For your thoughts.”
He smiled wistfully and wondered just what she would do with the knowledge of those particular thoughts. Run? Leap into his arms?
“We should probably return to the drawing room,” he said aloud. “Tuppence? Is the phrase not typically a penny?”
Sophia sat in an armchair, Philip cursing silently. He had not thought to indicate the sofa. Now he had no chance to sit beside her, damn it!
“Yes, usually,” she said with a light smile. “But then, your thoughts looked so deep, and I thought they were at least worth tuppence.”
It was impossible not to smile as he sat opposite her. Sophia Worsley. So witty, so pretty. Why on earth had those other churls left her at the altar? He could not make head nor tails of it, and the longer he spent in her company, the more ridiculous it got.
“Fine, a shilling,” said Sophia, throwing up her hands in mock outrage. “But I will not be forced above that.”
Philip smiled as he said without a second thought, “I was wondering why Beauvale did not marry you.”
The teasing smile was wiped from Sophia’s face, and the room fell into an awkward silence entirely of his own making.
What in God’s name did he think he was doing? Of all the things to say—he could have said anything! After flattering and praising her mother so expertly all evening, too? He could woo Sophia, tease her, sweet-talk her, and what had he done?
Christ alive, but he did not deserve her if he was going to trot out nonsense like that.
“I mean,” Philip said hastily, attempting to backtrack.
“No, calm yourself,” said Sophia. Her voice was stiff, but the smile remained. “I am not surprised you have wondered. Many people do.”
It looked as though she wished to continue, but she fell silent as her gaze drifted away and toward the fire.
“In many ways, it feels like a very long time ago,” Sophia said unexpectedly in a soft voice. “’Tis hard to believe only a few months have passed. Of course, the first one was a little while ago now.”
Philip swallowed. The first one?
“When I first met Robert, I was in my first Season at the rather early age of seventeen,” said Sophia. “I think my mother was tired of attending balls, and my father abandoned her for the card tables. She wished to have a companion, and within a few weeks, I had met Robert.”
Philip had never heard the name, but that was not too unexpected. People knew earls and dukes and such things. Earls did not know people.
“His parents did not approve, but mine did, and he was of age, and so the wedding plans began in earnest,” said Sophia softly. “I did not love him. He was pleasant, and I was unsure whether I would meet with another gentleman I could stand.”
“A common concern,” said Philip gently.
She laughed. “Yes, I have met many a young lady with the same worry. Well, the story, at least, is short. Robert’s father discovered our plans, threatened to cut him off without a penny, and he never turned up to the church on the wedding day.”
Philip shook his head. Anger rose in his heart as though he had been there.
“Blaggard.”
Sophia smiled wanly, her gaze darting to him and then returning to the blaze. “I’m uncertain now whether his actions were better or worse than Jacob. The latter was…enamored, shall we say, with another but did not consider that important information to share with me.”
Philip thought but did not speak of the profound affection he had seen shared between the late Mrs. Howard, now Mrs. Beauvale, and her new husband. Yes, there was certainly something there that could not have been ignored—but to completely leave Sophia oblivious?
“And Jacob turned up on our wedding day,” said Sophia with a roll of her eyes, “with his lady in the congregation. We managed to get as far as the vows, at which point I admit I believed we were safe, and just as he was about to declare himself for me…well, he stormed away, pulling her with him out of the church.”
To his horror, Philip found his mouth was open, and he closed it hastily. It really was the most awful luck, and worse, she had had no control over the matters.
“Rascals and brigands,” he managed to say. “They should be shot!”
Her laugh seemed more carefree than he had expected. “Yes, that is what I thought at the time. And yet…’tis strange. I was not much enamored with either of them. I…I cared because of my reputation. But my heart was not touched by either gentleman.”
Her dancing eyes met his, pink rising in her cheeks. What was she trying to tell him? Was she suggesting, perhaps, that her heart was finally touched? She had, after all, stormed all the way to Bath after discovering he had left London. What was that, if not passion!
“I would hope, however,” Philip added. This had to be delicate. “That neither of them…took advantage of you?”
“They absolutely took advantage of me!” Sophia retorted. “And my parents, too! I cannot believe it, sometimes. My poor parents paid for two weddings out of their own pockets, which never…”
Her voice trailed away as the true meaning of his words started to sink in.
“Oh,” she said. “I see what you mean. No, they did not take advantage of me, despite our engagements. I still have that innocence to my name, at least.”
Philip swallowed. It was a disrespectful question to ask, he knew, but his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, selfishly, he wanted to be the first man to show her what pleasure was.
“I would not worry about it if you had lost that innocence,” he said as airily as he could muster. “In many situations, I would say ’tis better lost.”
She really did laugh at that one, tucking one foot underneath her in the armchair. “How like a gentleman to think that way. Of course, it does not matter if you bed a few women. No one will think any the less of you—but woe betides any woman caught kissing a gentleman in the street! That is far too rebellious.”
Her eyes sparkled despite the bitter tone of her voice, and Philip smiled. Sophia remembered those stolen kisses in London.
“Perhaps the rules are a little unfair, I admit,” he said in a low voice. “But they are the rules we live by unless one decides to rebel against them. Like you do.”
There was something utterly incomprehensible in her eyes as Sophia said, “Well, I have not rebelled that far. Not yet.”
Was there an invitation in her voice? Philip worked to keep his breathing calm, but his heart beat frantically. She had created an opening in their conversation, and damnit, he was going to take it.
“You must have seen quite a few ladies lose their reputations, I mean,” she continued. “Taken their innocence in many cases.”
