Page 69 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“No, but perhaps if he knows you are no longer my lover, he will cease. And then I will no longer be risking your reputation, either.”

“To the devil with my reputation!”

“You must find someone else, someone who is free.”

“I don’t want someone else. I love you, Sophie. I want to live with you, eat and talk and laugh with you for the rest of my life. The solution is simple, my love. We will go elsewhere for a week, and when we return, we shall say we are married.”

“We can’t do that!” But it was exactly what Philippe had suggested.

“Why not? You did it with that fellow Yves.”

“All was chaos in France. I was fleeing for my life.”

“Why should anyone suspect? When you hear that someone has married, do you rush to check the register in a church fifty miles away?”

She shook her head.

“Neither will anyone else. Ask your brother. He will agree.”

“He has already suggested the same,” she grumped. “But I do not wish to break the law. And what if Jean-Esprit is alive? What if he comes to England and finds me? That is my greatest fear, Eric. I am his wife, and Charles is his son. If he finds us, he will take Charles, and he will kill me when he learns about you, and about Yves and my little Elise.”

“I’ll kill him first,” Eric said, and she knew he meant it.

“You cannot,” she said. “Murder is wrong!”

“If I don’t kill him, Philippe will,” Eric said, and this was also true. “We both love you far too much to let him harm you. But he is thirty years older than you, so most likely he is already dead.”

“He wasn’t a few years ago.” She shuddered at the thought.

“We will cross that bridge if we ever come to it.” His large, warm hand cupped her breast. Something about the way he touched her, played with her, and held her made her feel safe.

She had told him her secret, and he hadn’t spurned her. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she should do as he said.

He was erect again, prodding gently at her from behind, and she gave up on worrying for now.

~ ~ ~

Philippe walked all the way home, arriving cold, sodden, and irritable just as Mr. Alexander came down the service stairs, yawning.

“Leaving? Come have a brandy with me.”

“Very well,” Mr. Alexander said, “as long as you don’t mean to play the indignant brother.”

“I’m not indignant. I’m bloody tired. Women!” He shook himself like a wet dog and led the way into the drawing room. He shed his coat and stoked up the banked fire. “The brandy is on the sideboard.”

Mr. Alexander poured for both of them. He passed a goblet to Philippe. “Another contretemps with Miss Glow?”

“Yes.” But he had another matter to discuss with this fellow. “I’m glad to find you alone, Mr. Alexander, because I must—”

“Call me Eric.”

“Fine, Eric.” If the schoolmaster was willing to dispense with formality, so was he. “Has my sister agreed to marry you yet?”

“Almost.” A smile flickered across his face. “Since she started by saying she could not, I take that as encouragement.”

Philippe turned from contemplating the flames. “She told you about her husband and Yves?”

Eric nodded. “And that she doesn’t know whether her husband is dead. I told her we shall pretend to marry. No one will know the difference. If her husband is alive and finds her, he will suffer an unfortunate accident, like Yves.”