Philip smiled despite his fluttering heart. Sophia had changed his world. It would never be the same, and that was why he was here—to see whether he could put the world to right and have Sophia back in his arms, where she belonged.

  Philip’s nose curled at the heady scents pouring through Almack’s. Everyone seemed to be wearing entirely different fragrances, merging and mixing in the air like a heady poison.

  His senses were pricked for any sign of Sophia, and instead, they were under assault by every wile of the ladies looking to nab him for their daughters. Philip smiled weakly at one particular matron who had passed him several times, each time with a different daughter, as though ascertaining which would attract him best.

  “I hate Almack’s,” said Larnwick heavily. “God, I wish I was in Scotland. I have no idea how you manage to stand it, Marnmouth. I really don’t.”

  Philip nodded mechanically. Larnwick had been talking for a good while, and, as long as Philip nodded every now and again, the man did not require him to input.

  Really, Almack’s was more cattle market now than dancehall! But still, Sophia would be here. She had to be.

  Philip paid little attention to the gossip pages—crucial when one’s mistress was splattered all over them—but knew the Worsleys had returned to London, and that surely meant a return to Almack’s. After all, when one did not attend Almack’s and the matrons of the establishment knew, you had essentially snubbed the place.

  Snub Almack’s, lose your voucher.

  Philip took a deep breath and shuffled his feet again. And it was most important that Sophia attended Almack’s tonight because…

  Damnit, he was going to propose.

  “Sometimes I wish I had never done it,” Larnwick was saying in a low voice. “Propose, I mean. For God’s sake, it was years ago, and if I had known what I know now…”

  It was a foolish scheme, and one Philip was certain would go afoul, but he had to do it. If not for Sophia’s sake, then for his conscience. It was what he should have done in the first place, he could see now. If only it had been so obvious when he had had the chance!

  Though she was likely to decline him, and publicly, too, which would be humiliating, he had to ask. He had to be certain in his heart he had done everything in his power to win her.

  She was everything. Sophia was all he wanted out of this life, and to leave a little for his daughters.

  In the days since he had returned to London, Philip had already attempted to make amends. As soon as he had heard the Worsleys had unaccountably returned to London after taking their rooms in Bath early for this Season, he had gone to their home.

  Sophia had not seen him. She had not even permitted him to take one step into the house, as a tearful Mrs. Worsley had explained. Mr. Worsley had not spoken, just stood behind his wife with his head low.

  Philip was certain the three Worsleys would make an appearance at Almack’s. Life turned out to be utterly intolerable without her.

  “Engagements are a trap for the weak, I must say that, Marnmouth,” said Larnwick heavily. “I had thought myself besotted—in a way, I suppose I was. But really…”

  The noisy, smoky rooms of Almack’s were not the hazy and pleasure-filled splendor that they had once been. Philip looked out at the crowds and saw few people he actually recognized, which was a shame.

  He sighed heavily as his gaze moved through the crowd, seeking out the face of the one person who could bring a skip to his heart.

  “—and Miss Lymington is simply not the woman I had thought,” said Larnwick with a shake of his head.

  Philip snapped back to attention. He had not contributed to the conversation for a while now. Poor old Larnwick could not be expected to keep it going all on his own.

  “Ah, yes, the Lymingtons,” he said aloud. “There are quite a few of them, from what I understand, and you are engaged to one of the twins? Ah, yes, I can see them over there.”

  He pointed at the gaggle of Lymingtons congregated on the other side of the room.

  For some inexplicable reason, Larnwick sighed. “Oh, hell, why did you have to point them—yes, they have seen me. Now I have no excuse not to speak with them—rot in hell, Marnmouth.”

  The Scotsman stalked away, leaving Philip utterly confused. Surely he could not have said or done anything to truly injure the man?

  “What on earth did you say to Larnwick?”

  Braedon walked over to Philip, with a raised eyebrow, and Chester.

  Philip shrugged. “You know, I have no idea. Do you think I could have offended him? I know so few Scotsmen, I assume they are a little more delicate than us Londoners.”

  Chester shook his head. “You know, I do not think Larnwick has been pleasant for weeks. I can rarely get a straight answer out of the man for when he will be back in Scotland. Seems to think if he goes back, the engagement with Miss Lymington will be called off.”

  “What a fuss over nonsense!” grinned Braedon, glass of wine in his hand. “I think he is naught but tired over the whole venture, and that is where his ill-temper comes from. You know I have heard they are going to release one hundred white doves outside the church?”

  His laughter was joined by that of Chester. “What nonsense! Truly, one hundred?”

  The conversation continued, but Philip did not partake. His gaze sweeping across the halls of Almack’s—all in search of one face. Where was Sophia?

  “—of course, the Lymingtons are desperate for the wedding, all these delays—”

  There! Philip had to be careful not to cry out in excitement as he saw them. Mr. and Mrs. Worsley. They looked subdued, and, more importantly, they were alone. Sophia was not with them.

  “I said, do you not agree, Marnmouth?”

  Philip jumped. “What?” he said wildly, looking between his two companions.

  Braedon shook his head. “You know, ever since you fell for that Worsley girl, you have been absolutely useless!”

  “You are a little distracted, Marnmouth,” said Chester with concern. “Are you sure you are quite well?”

  But Philip had no interest for them, not now that the Worsleys had arrived. “Yes, yes, indeed,” he said vaguely, walking away without a farewell greeting.

  He had to speak with the Worsleys. Was Sophia at home, unwell? Had her constitution failed her? Had he, by his reckless and careless approach for her hand, caused a collapse?

  It only took him a minute to cross the heaving room, and he bowed low to Mr. and Mrs. Worsley. “Madam, sir,” he said abruptly.

  As he straightened up, Philip saw they were embarrassed to be addressed by him. Christ in his heaven, but they would have to accept their acquaintance was not over, surely!

  His heart leaped at the very thought that any minute now, he could ask Sophia the question that had been in his heart since he had made love to her on the furs by the fire.

  He just had not realized it.

  “Mr. Worsley,” Philip started formally. “I wished to inquire exactly where—”

  “Do not get your hopes up, your lordship,” interrupted Mr. Worsley as his wife’s cheeks pinked. “She is not here.”

  Mrs. Worsley’s look of embarrassment increased. “I do apologize for my daughter, your lordship, but she is…she is indisposed.”

  Philip waited for more, but no words were forthcoming. “Indisposed.”

  “Yes, with a headache,” Mrs. Worsley said hastily—too hastily, Philip thought. “It has plagued her for the last few days, and so has been unable to see anyone, and it was her greatest wish to be recovered enough to attend Almack’s tonight, but alas…”

  Her voice trailed away.

  Philip attempted to marshal his thoughts. It could not be clearer the Worsleys were lying, and it was quite understandable why they should wish to do so.

  So, Sophia was still avoiding him—avoiding any place she could guess he would be.

  Mrs. Worsley looked mortified, whereas her husband looked merely angry. Evidently, he had not been able to persuade, cajole, or force Sophia to attend Almack’s tonight.

  Philip was too much of a gentleman to expose their falsehoods, however. “What a shame. I am sorry to hear Miss Worsley is so unwell,” he said quietly. “I hope you will give her my best wishes for her recovery.”

  Mrs. Worsley caught his eye, and he saw the hurt. This was his doing. If he had gone straight to Sophia and engaged her affections, they would all be in Bath enjoying the Season.

  As it was…

  “Thank you, your lordship,” said Mr. Worsley stiffly. “And now I am sure you will excuse us.”

  Philip watched them disappear into the swelling crowd and sighed. What was he supposed to do now?

  Because Sophia was not ill in bed with a headache, he knew it. He knew her better than anyone! Something tied them together, a bond which had never existed before.

  Philip tried to think. If Sophia had no wish to be in Almack’s, it was quite natural to feign a headache—but if he knew Sophia, she would not simply stay at home to be bored.

  He had a sneaking suspicion of where she would actually be, but even so, that would be very rebellious of her. Rebellious for anyone. Still, as soon as the thought occurred to him…

  Philip started to stride toward the doors of Almack’s when a hand grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you are going, Marnmouth?”

  Philip turned to Braedon. “I think to find my future wife. But I am not sure. I will have to let you know.”

  Braedon’s eyes widened. “You are not sure?”

  “Not in the slightest,” said Philip optimistically. “’Tis a gamble.”

  Braedon hesitated and then removed his hand with a nod. “Good luck, then!”

  “Thank you,” muttered Philip. He had become momentarily distracted by Miss Emma Tilbury, who had walked past them in one of her more splendid gowns.

  Well. Cut low on the bodice to reveal far more of her than was socially acceptable.

  Philip saw Braedon’s eyes follow her and stifled a laugh. Emma still had it, after all these years.

  As he stepped into the night, Philip found his heart beating rapidly. His guess was wild, certainly, and it was a gamble—and a small part of him hoped he was wrong about his surmise as to Sophia’s whereabouts.

  Nevertheless, he had a feeling she was more predictable than she realized.

  His destination was only three streets away, and as he tapped on the door, he took a deep breath. “God save the Queen.”

  The door slid open and allowed the sound of angry shouting and the clatter of furniture being thrown around to rise up to the silent London street.

  Philip shook his head wryly as he stepped down the corridor. Was it an evening in the Queen of Hearts if there was not a raucous fight?

  There certainly was a disagreement going on downstairs, and that was hardly unusual—and in a strange way, it calmed him. If a lady had been present downstairs—a lady such as Sophia, for example—the proprietor would surely not permit such an outrage to continue.

  A scream pierced the night, and Philip’s heart went cold. It was Sophia, he knew it. He had heard that scream before, and his blood iced in his veins.

  She was here. In the Queen of Hearts, during a fight.

  Running the last few paces, Philip saw to his horror Sophia standing in the center of the room having a blazing row with a man, with what appeared to be a stolen gentleman’s cane in his hand.

  “—cheated me for the last time,” Sophia was saying, having to shout over the din as observers jeered. “I will not leave without my money sir, and—”

  Philip hastily stepped forward. “Sophia!”

  Turning in utter astonishment, her mouth fell open. “Philip?”

  But it was too late. The man who had apparently cheated her took advantage of her wandering eye and made a grab for her.

  “Come ’ere, girly, you can pay me in more ways than one!”

  All logic, all rational thought disappeared. The idea that anyone was touching Sophia except him—worse, without her consent, in such a lewd and disgusting manner?

  Roaring like a wounded bull, Philip rushed forward without thought. His fist did the thinking. In a staggering crash, the man fell to the ground, blood spurting from his nose.

  Philip was panting heavily and could barely think what he was going to do next. The blaggard, the rogue, the pimpersnapping idiotic—

  “Ah, y’lordship,” said the owner calmly, peering over the bar. “Still breathing, but out cold. I congratulate you, sir.”

  Philip looked up at Sophia, who was staring in wonder. It was only then that he realized she was wearing breeches again.

  There was no time to think, not anymore. Who knew how many friends the man, now lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, had in the place? No, they needed to get out of here fast.

  Grabbing Sophia’s arm despite her instant protestations, he pulled her for the third time out of the Queen of Hearts.

  “Let go of me, you brute! How dare you interfere with my private—unhand me!”

  They reached the street, but still, Philip did not stop pulling her along with him.

  “You are the most irritating, most infuriating, most ignorant—”

  Philip did not stop until they were under one of the newfangled gas streetlamps on Pall Mall, and he could take a proper look at her. His gaze raked over every inch, looking for any way that blaggard could have hurt her.

  “Are you going to say anything, you, you—”

  “Enough,” Philip said shortly. Her tongue was certainly unharmed, at the very least.

  Sophia looked suspicious as she pulled her arm from his grip. “What are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I am looking for injuries.”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “You are so dramatic, Philip.”

  “And so are you, you foolish—what did you think you were playing at, going to the Queen of Hearts again?” Philip snapped. His heart was still racing. Once again, he had ridden to the rescue, and once again, she seemed utterly uncaring he had saved her! “You could have been seriously hurt, Sophia. You told me you weren’t going to go there again!”

  “I also told you that I had no wish to consider marriage again, and yet you utterly ignored that!” Sophia’s eyes were bright, and Philip’s heart twisted.

  Damn. Damn and blast, but this woman owned him, could do anything she wanted with him. If she ordered him to lie down and worship her, he would. Why couldn’t she see that?

  “I had no intentions of falling in love with you.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. “You…you love me?”

  Philip nodded. Perhaps that was what she had been waiting for. “I love you, Sophia, and I should have said so before. So there you have it. I love you, you care naught for me, and that is an end to it.”

  Turning away, he started to stomp down the street. Well, he had managed to make another fool of himself. Perhaps he would go onto the Continent. Being near her…it pained him.

  A hand slipped into his own. “You love me.”

  Philip glanced at Sophia, who was inexplicably smiling. “Yes.”

  Her smile broadened. “Why did you not say so in the first place? Well, there is only one thing for it, then. We will have to wed. Immediately.”

  Her words made no sense. “You told me you were never going to marry,” Philip reminded her.

  Sophia stopped under another lamppost. “I changed my mind. We ladies can do that, you know.”

  Philip stared. She could not have said what he thought he heard…could she?

  She was leaning against the lamppost now, a broad smile on her face.

  “You…” said Philip weakly, and then tried again. “Are you in earnest?”

  Sophia nodded. “You will have to elope with me, mark you. I have no wish for a big wedding. I do not really want a wedding at all. A marriage is what I want with you, Philip. We can celebrate with my parents if we really have to when we return.”

  Philip started to smile himself. “Let me get this right. You are proposing to me?”

  She laughed, her breath blossoming into the night air. “And ’tis the only proposal between us, I may add. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

  He could restrain himself no longer. Stepping to close the distance between them, Philip kissed his beloved passionately, pouring all the fear that he had lost her into the kiss to ensure she knew, she had to know, just what she meant to him.

  When he finally released her, Sophia’s eyes were hazy with desire. “Promise me, though—we will elope tonight. Now. No big wedding.”

  Philip nodded. “A rebel to the last.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sophia took a deep breath. There was no looking glass in the pokey, dark-beamed room she had been shown into the night before. The inn at Gretna Green, though popular, was hardly the height of luxury.

  This meant she had a restless night in the creaky bed in the corner, and she was unable to view her appearance before she descended the stairs, but she did not care.

  She knew what she looked like, and she knew Philip loved her.

  “I love you, Sophia and I should have said so before. So there you have it. I love you, you care naught for me, and that is an end to it.”

  Sophia smiled. Weak sunlight was pouring through the tiny window. Daybreak.

  It did not matter whether her hair was adequately pinned back into curls or if her gown was hanging right at the back, a constant source of irritation for her mother’s lady’s maid. No, Philip was not here to wed a perfect woman. He was here to wed her and not her gown, no matter how well it was tied.

  Sophia shivered. And once they were married, her gown may not play a part of the rest of the day’s proceedings. It was a heady, wanton thought, but she could not help it.

  Stepping across the room took a mere moment, and then Sophia was peering out of the window over the small village.

  Gretna Green. She had heard of it many times, but usually in the gossip pages where some shameful marriage had been hushed up and made as proper as could be. Just a small scattering of houses and buildings along the road. They had almost missed it in the dark.

  Three long days on the road had soared by with Philip as a companion. Sophia could not believe hours slipped away, lost in the joys of talking, discovering more, growing in new understandings to see them through the many years of happy marriage they had ahead of them.

 

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