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God, he was beautiful in the candlelight! But animal attraction wasn’t a reason to marry someone, and yes, she had to admit there was a powerful animal attraction going on between them. She looked at him and wanted to rut, to roll in the mud with him, to do all sorts of unspeakably wonderful things with him.
But that wasn’t a reason for marriage. Neither was the appeal of his dark humor, or his kindness toward his servants, or his clear intelligence, or his unexpected gentleness. Having her heart jump every time he drew near, the unexpected trembling when he touched her, the need to be near him, to see that smile devoid of mockery. All of it meant nothing, nothing at all.
She was no romantic young chit, despite appearances. She was practical, hardheaded, and she knew what she needed to do. As long as she stayed around the Dark Viscount all those qualities went out the window, and she felt helpless to resist him.
She manufactured a discreet yawn, but even that was so ill mannered she was half-ashamed of herself. She had been so inculcated in society’s rules that breaking each one felt like an act of treason.
“Are you simply exhausted, my precious?” Alexander said solicitously. “You’ve had a long and tiring day.”
She forced a polite smile. “Indeed. I should retire and leave you both to your brandy and cigars, but I think I will go straight to bed rather than have coffee in the drawing room. It’s after midnight, and I don’t think I can keep my eyes open.”
“There’s no need to leave on our account, sister,” Rufus said with his charming, slightly smarmy smile. “You don’t mind me calling you sister, do you? I’ve always wanted one, and dear Jessamine was with us for so short a time. They were barely married a year before she was . . . before she fell to her death.” He glanced at Alexander, looking suddenly contrite. “Oh, dear, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”
Alexander was sitting back in his chair, calm amusement in his eyes. “She knows, Rufus. I don’t think you could surprise her with any of my horrible secrets. Her opinion of me couldn’t sink much lower.”
There was just the faint hint of regret in his voice, as if he really believed she disliked him. Not only believed it, but hated that fact. Ridiculous. If it was true, it was simply because she was making his life difficult by pretending to . . .
Pretending to what? She wasn’t going to waste her time thinking about such things. Once she was gone, and safe, she could ponder what was going on in her own stupid mind. Infatuations were easy enough to deal with—she’d squashed a number of them in her time.
But this didn’t feel like an infatuation.
“I am very tired,” she said, giving Rufus an apologetic smile when she’d rather kick him. With shoes. “If you gentlemen will excuse me?”
The footman moved toward her chair, but Alexander was already there, moving so swiftly from his lazy pose that she was astonished. His hand on her arm as he helped her was . . . she wasn’t going to think about it; she wasn’t.
It took all her self-control to come up with her false smile, the one with an edge of anger to it, when she felt no anger at all, just regret, and a strange kind of grief. She wasn’t going to see him again, ever.
“Do you want me to escort you to your room?” She had no idea whether he was mocking her or simply being polite, but she wouldn’t look at him to see which it was.
She shook her head, determinedly pulling away from his light touch. “I’ll be fine. I just need a good night’s sleep.”
He was watching her, she knew it, but she had no idea what he was thinking. “Indeed. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
Tomorrow, when he thought she’d marry him. Tomorrow, when she’d find another way to live. Without him.
“Good night, gentlemen,” she murmured.
She made her way up to her room with a stately grace that should have fooled anyone watching. The moment she was in her room she began searching for her valise. She could scarcely walk out on the streets of London at this hour wearing a pale yellow dress.
The valise was nowhere. At the last minute she opened the armoire and found her dresses carefully arranged, with the shawls and hats and necessaries folded on the shelves. Everything but shoes.
She’d been far too precipitate in getting rid of her black dress—it would have been perfect for disappearing into the night, not to mention applying for a job. There was a dark violet dress that would have to do, and she changed quickly, tucking her wayward hair into a bun at the back of her head and wrapping the borrowed shoes in a gray shawl. She peered out the window into the street below. It was empty, but she’d heard the occasional carriage go by, and doubtless it was more populated a few streets away on the larger boulevard they’d passed. She had enough money for several nights in a hotel, though she hoped she would only have to spend one night there before she came up with a reasonable plan.
She didn’t dare sit on the bed—she really was tired, and she might fall asleep and not awake until morning, when it would be too late. She picked the window seat again, looking out into the night, until she heard Alexander come up the stairs.
There was no lock on the adjoining door, but she’d shoved a chair in front of it to stop anyone from entering. To her mixed emotions, he didn’t even try. Leaning back against the paneled casing of the window seat, she listened to him move about, readying himself for bed, and she steeled herself for his approach.
There was a soft rap on the adjoining door, but she said nothing, holding her breath. He could probably force it if he wanted to, and then all would be lost.
“Good night, Sophie,” he said softly, and she heard him walk away, heard the creak of the bed and the rustle of bed coverings. She closed her eyes, trying not to picture him, trying not to long for him, trying not to feel regret.
She already knew he didn’t snore. She waited a good long time, until she was certain he was asleep. Opening her door silently, she slid out into the darkened hallway. That was one good thing about stockinged feet, she thought. No one would hear her.
She’d already noticed a side door in one of the drawing rooms, and that was her goal. She had to avoid any servants wandering around, but at this hour most of them would have retired. She made it down the three flights of stairs to the ground floor without incident, and slipped into the darkened room.
If there was any moon that night the omnipresent London fog covered it, and the room was almost pitch-dark. She moved carefully, feeling her way, but the place was unknown to her, and she stubbed her toe on something hard and immovable. “Bugger,” she muttered, appropriating Bryony’s favorite curse. That hurt! So much that she sank down into the chair whose leg had attacked her and rubbed her damaged toes for a moment as she tried to sharpen her night vision.
The room was full of large, ominous shapes that she knew were simply pieces of furniture. There was a faint light coming from one corner that she recognize as the French door leading outside, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d only had a glance at it when Alexander had carried her in but her memory had served her.
