Chapter Eight

This evening Sophie felt like a princess. The empire-style gown was the most expensive, opulent dress she had ever worn. The dark-blue silk slid over her body, perfectly tailored to her height and dimensions, and accentuated all the womanly places men seemed to value.

Lord Bankes and his wandering gaze upon her bosom were no different. His delight at having her in his arms was evident, not to mention he had several times gushed how honored he was that she had bestowed upon him the first set.

The dance that she had reserved for the Duke of Holland, if he would ever bother to turn up and claim a dance with her.

Which he had not.

The country dance grew in tempo, and together they linked arms, spun, dipped between other couples, and laughed at the exuberance of the music.

What fun this evening had been so far, and it was only young. Her dance card was full, a bevy of gentlemen having all but swamped her the moment she arrived with Lord and Lady Kemsley. A delight if she were being honest with herself. After all, she was not the youngest of women in a sea of ladies newly out of the schoolroom, so to be asked to dance, offered supper and drinks, and have good conversation was pleasant.

"Have I mentioned, Miss York, how beautiful you are this evening? Like a rare sapphire that many gentlemen present would like to steal away."

Sophie raised her brow, unsure that his lordship's words were appropriate or worthy of a reply. She chose to ignore them and change the subject entirely.

"Lord and Lady Craig's ball is my fourth this Season, and yet each time I attend such an event, I'm struck by the beauty of the location and the people enjoying the night. I shall miss the glittering sights of London when I return home at the end of the Season."

"If you return home, Miss York. Perhaps you shall return newly married to your village," Lord Bankes said with conviction.

Heat kissed her cheeks, and she tried to remember what the etiquette was when a gentleman spoke of marriage to an unwed woman. From what she could recall, one ought to ignore such exchanges, but then, he was not wrong. Maybe she would fall in love and marry and never return to Highclere.

It would be best if she did not, considering who lived nearby …

"Thank you for being so confident in my Season, my lord, but I do not think we ought to discuss such matters as those of the heart."

He nodded and glanced yet again at her bosom. "You are right, of course. I've been remiss in my behavior, and we shall change the subject posthaste. What should we discuss, do you think? The latest on dit? I hear it is quite the scandal and involves a gentleman I do not believe you have met."

"Really?" she asked. "And pray tell who and what is this scandal you speak of?"

"Lord Carr is back from his extended honeymoon that lasted several years. It is rumored he only married the now Lady Carr, youngest daughter of Viscount Montfoot, because of her obscene dowry. All of London is speaking of it. I'm surprised you have not heard."

Lord Carr was in town?

Sophie's head swam, and she stumbled out of Lord Bankes' arms as memories she had repressed swamped her. Her stomach clamped into a hard knot, and she fought not to be ill.

"If you'll excuse me, my lord. A sudden headache," she lied, making her way to Harlow and the safety her cousin encompassed. Lord Carr was back in England? Was in London? No, it could not be true.

And like a scary novel she was reading late at night, the sight of his lordship himself, like a ghoul rising up from the dead to torture her yet again, appeared across the ballroom floor.

Sophie clasped her stomach and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. The last time she had seen his visage, he had been atop her, grunting and groaning, telling her to be still, to stop fighting him, that she wanted it, had wanted him for so long that she needed to let him slake his need of her.

Sophie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could survive his presence. She had survived him once before. She could do so again.

"Miss York, my sincerest apologies for being late. I do hope I can claim at least one dance on your card this evening," the calming, deep baritone of the Duke of Holland said at her side.

Sophie met his gaze and hoped he could not see the distress that drummed through her like the instrument before battle. "My card is full, Your Grace. However, I do not think I shall dance again this evening. I'm not feeling my best," she said, hoping the vile churning of her stomach would stop. She did not want to cast up her accounts over the highly polished ballroom floor and ruin such a lovely ball for those in attendance.

No one knew her shame or what had happened, and she would do everything to keep it that way.

"You do appear pale. Would you care for some lemonade?" His Grace asked her, waving over a footman before taking two glasses and handing her one.

"Thank you," she said, forcing a smile on her lips and taking a welcome sip.

"Miss York?" Sophie's heart stopped beating, and without thought, she clasped the duke's arm for support before righting herself.

"Lord Carr, good evening," she said with the ability of the finest actress on the stage. No one would guess that the man she had known since childhood was the one man who sent terror through her blood. His mere presence, the very thought of having to speak and be polite, made her skin crawl. She wanted to maim him, have him cast out, and be shamed for his abhorrent behavior.

Not that anything of the kind would occur. Men were not shamed for their wrongs, only women. She would face the consequences of his lordship's actions and be the one cast out, ridiculed, and ruined.

"I was just informed you were in London," she managed, coolness to her words.

Lord Carr looked at the duke, and Sophie could see he was trying to garner what their connection could be and why the duke was standing so near, nevertheless speaking to her.

"How is it that you're in London, Miss York? I called on your mama, and she did not mention that I would see you here." His question made the pit of her stomach churn. Had he been to see her mama? Why would he do that? They had never been friends. And he was a husband now with a newly minted rich wife. What could he possibly wish to speak to her mama about?

"I'm in London visiting my cousin, Lady Kemsley," she said, wanting him to know that she wasn't without family or connections, even if he had always thought that to be the case. So much so that he had taken liberties that were not his to take.

"Your cousin is married to the Earl of Kemsley?" Lord Carr whistled and started to laugh, the tone one of disbelief and sarcasm.

She narrowed her eyes, fighting to keep her composure and not let his lordship's presence in town affect her. "Yes, my cousin. Harlow," she called, catching Harlow's attention, who walked over to them, taking her arm as if she sensed that Sophie needed her right now, which she did, very much so.

"Is everything well, my dear?" Harlow asked, looking to Lord Carr as if suspecting his presence disarmed Sophie.

"Lord Carr would like an introduction. Lord Carr, may I introduce you to my cousin, Lady Kemsley," Sophie said, feeling the duke's attention on her. What was Holland thinking? Did he wonder at her association with the viscount from her small village?

"A pleasure," Harlow said, but her tone did not convey warmth. Lord Carr, oblivious to what most women thought of him, did not pick up on the cue that his presence was not entirely welcome.

"The pleasure is all mine," Lord Carr said. "I've had a lovely little tête-à-tête with your cousin. May I be permitted to call? We have so much to recount. Always a pleasure to see Miss York."

"Hmm, yes, I can see why you would think that, but I'm afraid we're quite busy with our entertainments, which means little time to host anything at home. But I'm sure we shall see you at certain balls and parties, such as this evening."

Relief swamped Sophie that Harlow had sensed her dislike of Lord Carr and had put paid to his attempt to see her outside such events where they were not present. She did not want to see him. He could burn in hell for all she cared.

If only he would leave so she could speak to the duke. The vexing man had too much nerve to remain with them as if he were wanted around them.

"I believe Lady Carr is gesturing to you," Sophie lied, nodding in the direction of his wife, who was in deep conversation with several women and not the least caring as to where her husband was.

Lord Carr glanced in his wife's direction. He turned back to them, his eyes narrowing on Sophie but a moment before he laughed, all jovial once again.

She glared, no longer the fifteen-year-old girl with so little that he thought he could take everything from her without retribution. They were not friends, nor were they ever, and the sooner Lord Carr learned that truth, the better, even if she had to tell him to his face.