The Secret Lover (20 page)

"Sophie, you must consider that our friends have given some very fine gowns to a worthy cause. But to take them and sell them to persons who might actually be in their
employ
would be indecorous. I cannot allow you to do this. I cannot allow you to be known for selling the clothing of the
ton
to… to—"

"Women," she quietly finished for him.

Julian shrugged lightly and looked at Claudia.

Incredible. They would seek donations to the house on Upper Moreland Street, but now they would fret if the women were of the right class to
wear
those things? What had happened to her brother in the eight years she had been gone? He was one of the infamous Rogues of Regent Street, a group of men who had flaunted their disdain of societal convention—and now he would
protect
such arcane convention?

"I don't understand," she stubbornly insisted. "How could selling the gowns possibly be any different from
giving
them away?"

"It's just that it is rather
base
to sell them, dear." This, practically whispered

from

Claudia

Dane,

the

undisputed

champion

of

underprivileged women.

It was all too unbelievable. And she had thought her idea so sound, so perfect… "I cannot believe this," she said low. "Both of you profess to believe in charity, do you not?"

"We'll think of another way to help them, darling," Julian said kindly.

"Is it money you need? I shall—"

"No," Sophie said, shaking her head. "It's not your money they want."

That was one thing she instinctively understood, but she had no idea how to impress that on her brother. "They are proud women, all of them, and anxious to be on their feet again. They appreciate the help they receive at Upper Moreland Street, but they would prefer to make their own way."

They wanted to make their own way as fiercely as she wanted to at that very moment.

"Oh darling, try not to look so cross. The house will be fine," Julian said.

"Yes, of course," Claudia anxiously agreed. "And besides, you have your Mr. Hamilton to occupy your time."

Now the indignation was beginning to choke her. Not that she was surprised, particularly—it was the way of the
ton
, the values they cherished. They would dismiss her request and suggest that she occupy her thoughts with something more appropriate for a spinster like herself—

the prospect of a match. Even in that, they valued someone who was possibly the most tedious creature on the face of God's green earth merely because of his credentials. It was all about appearances, and her family was just like everyone else in that regard. Of course they were! The ordeal over her escape and divorce from Sir William had all been about appearances, had it not?

"Yes, you are right," she said slowly, and came to her feet. "The house will be fine." She forced a smile to her face. "Well then, if you will excuse me—"

"Sophie, wait—where are you going?" Julian asked as he took the spectacles from his face. "Sit down, please. We were just about to ring for tea."

"Thank you, no, I wouldn't impose. I really must be on my way," she said, backing away from her brother and sister-in-law. "Besides, I promised Honorine to help her with some, ah… painting."

An atrocious lie, and she could tell from their expressions that Claudia and Julian recognized it as such.

"You won't stay for just a moment?" Claudia asked, coming to her feet.

"No, really, I—" Sophie jumped when she backed into a round table, jerking halfway around to catch a vase before it toppled to the floor. From across the room, Beth and Bridget giggled,

"At least let me have a carriage brought 'round," said Julian, who was standing now, too.

"Its such a glorious day, I prefer to walk."

"Sophie, come now," he coaxed her, arms open. "Please don't be cross."

"Oh no, you misunderstand me!" she said cheerfully. "I am not in the least cross. I am…"—
lost
!—"It was a silly idea, truly. I must be going—I should not keep Honorine waiting overlong."

And before anyone could say likewise, she called a cheerful
ta-ta
to her nieces, waved at Julian and Claudia, and quickly retreated from their pained expressions, stepping out of the salon and rushing down the corridor before spilling out of Kettering House onto St. James Square.

She walked quickly across the square in the direction of St. James Park, her head down, lost in thought.
How was it possible her family had
become so like the
ton? There was a time she believed the Danes were far too compassionate about the plight of the less privileged to care what society thought. What else had she believed of her family that was not true? They said they wanted her happiness—perhaps they wanted respectability more. Why else would they push the idea of Trevor without so much as asking her wishes?

Because they had never asked her wishes. They had made her decisions for her from the time she was a little girl—she was always the one to be guarded, to be looked after, as if she were infirm, incapable of making the right decision. Worse, they had made her believe it, too. Wasn't that precisely the reason she had not dared breathe a word of Caleb to anyone?

He was not the right decision.

Sophie ran quickly across the crowded thoroughfare of Pall Mall and into St. James Park, slowing her step until she was wandering idly, her disappointment growing with each step. So lost in thought was she that she almost collided with the pair walking toward her. Startled, she stepped abruptly to one side without really looking at them.

"Sophie!"

The voice washed over her like silk; Sophie's heart immediately leapt to her throat, and she glanced up at Caleb with a broad, irrepressible smile.

"Caleb! What a pleasure to meet you!"

He flashed her an impossibly white grin as he tipped his hat.

"Lady Sophie Dane—a surprise, if I do say so myself. Why, I haven't seen you smile so brightly since the Season of your debut," a woman said.

Sophie's heart sank to her feet as she forced herself to look to Caleb's right.

With a smirk that seemed permanently twisted, Melinda Birdwell stood on his arm.

Through some heretofore undetected and miraculous will, Sophie managed to keep smiling in spite of her shock and great sense of betrayal.

In fact, she
beamed
at Melinda as if they were long-lost sisters united at last. "Miss Birdwell!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "An even greater surprise to see
you
taking a turn about the park!"

Melinda's smirk dimmed a bit; she glanced sidelong at Caleb, but he was still smiling at Sophie.

Ha.

"I am a great proponent of daily walks," Caleb said cheerfully. "I believe it keeps one feeling rather youthful, wouldn't you agree?"

"You must know my thoughts on the subject, sir," Sophie said pointedly, and stepped around the pair. "And certainly I would not want to keep you from it. Good day," she said pertly. With a passing look at Caleb, she continued briskly on, moving so quickly that within moments, she was beginning to labor a bit in her breathing. She hardly cared—an apoplectic fit wouldn't stop her now. She would flee that park at once because she was quite certain she had never been so humiliated in her life.

How dare he
? How dare he consort with Melinda Birdwell, of
all
people? Oh God, oh God, how could she have been so bloody stupid? She had practically
thrown
herself at him.

An ancient feeling of betrayal twisted in her gut before a thought suddenly occurred to her, and groaning, she paused, closed her eyes. She could well imagine the scene behind her now—Melinda would inquire as to how Caleb knew her, then pounce delightedly on the opportunity to tell him the whole sordid story of her past, leaving nothing unsaid. Around the park the two of them would go, whispering feverishly—

Sophie's eyes suddenly flew open.

Just one blasted moment—what was Melinda doing on Caleb's arm?

She would hardly associate herself with someone rumored to be a swindler. Furthermore, even if she
did
believe him to be the unfortunate but illegitimate son of Lord Hamilton, she would never align herself with someone with tainted credentials. That much, Sophie knew very well—

Melinda Birdwell was precisely that sort of woman. But then again, Melinda was very close to being put on the shelf permanently. It could be that she was desperate for a match…

That thought enraged Sophie. She would rather die than see a man as fine as Caleb Hamilton shackled to that fat cow all his days. Yet it would serve him right, the bloody blackguard! Sophie stomped across a footbridge and onto the main walkway bordering Pall Mall, uncertain exactly who made her more livid—Melinda or Caleb.

How could she have fallen in love with a known philanderer
? Really, as annoyed as she was at the moment, she was hardly certain if it was love or merely infatuation. Perhaps this was why her family never allowed her to do as she wished—perhaps she could not trust herself to know the difference and had succumbed to the first man to show her affection in eight years.
Oh, that rotten bounder
!

She could scarcely wait to get to Upper Moreland Street.

But wait, apparently, she would, as there were no hacks in sight, not a single solitary one. Sophie stood impatiently, her general frustration growing with every passing moment. Suddenly everything in her life was topsy-turvy. From the moment she had set foot on English soil, it seemed as if everything she had come to know was called into question. She had no idea who she was anymore—to some, like Melinda Birdwell, she would never be able to discard the mantle of her scandal. To others, like Trevor Hamilton, she was the unlikely candidate for a second wife, a notion she found repugnant. To her very own family, she was a still a little girl.

And to Caleb Hamilton, apparently, she was nothing more than an amusement.
Bastard
!

Her life had been far too simple the last eight years to bear all of this.

Really, she had not realized
how
simple. During her years of travel with Honorine, she had been free of entanglements such as family and society, free to be herself. And the longer she was forced to stand on Pall Mall and think of it all, the closer she came to exploding into confused little pieces of herself. If a conveyance did not come along soon, they might very well find the pieces of her scattered all over London.

The tap on her shoulder very nearly did it.

She jerked around; Caleb quickly threw up his hands in supplication. "I beg your pardon, I did not intend to startle you," he said, and watching her carefully, slowly lowered his hands.

Feeling suddenly awkward and ungainly, Sophie fidgeted with the ribbon at her waist. "I beg your pardon, you did not
startle
me," she said stiffly, and unconsciously glanced around him to see where Melinda Birdwell had hidden herself.

Caleb followed her gaze, glancing around, too. After a moment, he looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I handed the battle-ax over to her cousin moments after you left."

Shocked and embarrassed that he had read her thoughts, Sophie shrugged and looked up the thoroughfare again for a hack.

He sighed loudly. "I suppose I shall be commended to Hades for saying so, but she's a rather difficult woman all in all, and frankly—" he paused, looked around to see that no one could overhear—"one can't be entirely sure that isn't a galleon hidden beneath those hoops."

A thought that had occurred to Sophie, too, even if it was beside the point.

"Ah, come now, where is that lovely smile of yours? I have determined it is the most winsome smile to ever grace a woman. I hope you don't mind me saying so."

Well. Perhaps she didn't mind too terribly—she was many things, but insane was not one of them. Nonetheless, she was not a fool who would allow compliments to turn her head. "Quite a circle of acquaintances you keep," she muttered low.

"I don't keep acquaintances. I have none really, except you."

"Oh really? Then you must enjoy walks in the park more than I understood."

"I beg your pardon?"

Sophie shot him a look of exasperation.

A frown creased his brow; he looked at her strangely for a moment, until something dawned in his green eyes. "Ah… You are upset about Miss Birdwell. That is why you are treating me so coldly," he observed matter-of-factly.

What, did he think it perfectly acceptable to consort with the shallowest woman of the
ton
? "Not coldly, Mr. Hamilton. Indifferently. You must think me quite stupid, or quite inexperienced—"

"I do not think so."

"—but I am well aware of a man's proclivities!"

"I know."

He said it so quietly, so gently, that it stopped Sophie cold. Something fluttered in her belly; she brushed the back of her hand across her cheek.

She had shown too much, exposed too many of the jagged edges of her life to him.

"There is your hack."

"Pardon?"

"Your hack. You were waiting for a hack, were you not?"

Her disappointment was swift; she glanced over her shoulder as the old carriage slowed to pull alongside the curb. Naturally, she'd be forced to wait an eternity just so the bloody thing could appear
now
, of all moments. "Yes. Yes, I was waiting for a hack." She roughly adjusted her gloves.

"A rather thrifty mode of transportation," he said as the hack coasted to a halt alongside the curb.

Righto. He probably didn't know that an heiress who had lost a good part of her inheritance had to be thrifty. She dug in her reticule for a crown.

"But not quite as thrifty as my cabriolet."

Sophie glanced up at him. "Oh." She said it stupidly, but looking at him just then, at his green eyes, she felt a kick in her gut, the deep regret that it
was
love she felt for him, not infatuation. It could only be love, because the loss of trust hurt her deeply, as did the sense that she had lost the magic. "I, ah… I am really going too far to impose."