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With a loud harrumph, Claire got up, sprinkled some dust over the music box to seal it, and placed it upon a high shelf. “You must leave the memories for her for later,” Claire warned. “She may have need of them.”
“I highly doubt it,” Sophia snorted.
“You’ve become too attached to this family,” Claire said, her gaze direct and cutting.
“I know,” Sophia whispered, tears pricking at the backs of her lashes as she hugged Anne to her and held her close. The girl began to drift off to sleep in her arms.
Sophia looked up at Claire. “I leave on the rising-dawn wind.”
Claire nodded.
“Will you stay long enough to be certain the memories are gone?”
“For the girl or for the duke?” Claire asked.
“For them both,” Sophia whispered.
“Do you want me to take his memory of you as well?”
Sophia bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw pain. “Yes,” she whispered.
***
Ashley woke with a jerk, reached across the bed, and felt for Sophia. Her side of the bed was cold. He bolted upright. Only moments before, she’s been nestled softly within his arms. And moments before that, he’d been inside her. He’d taken her innocence, and she’d taken his. He’d never known a feeling like the way he felt for Sophia, and parts of it scared him to death. But the rest of it felt so right.
Ashley jumped from the bed and searched for his dressing gown. When he couldn’t find it, he pulled his shirt over his head and donned his trousers, then stepped out into the corridor in his bare feet. He stormed down the hallway, and didn’t stop until he saw Wilkins coming in his direction. “Your Grace,” the butler began.
“Where is she?” Ashley snapped.
The butler blanched. “To whom are you referring, Your Grace?”
To whom did Wilkins think he was referring? “Miss Thorne, man. Where is she?”
“Which one, Your Grace?”
Ashley stumbled for a moment over his own thoughts. “How many are there?”
“Two, Your Grace. The governess. And… yours.”
His. Yes, indeed. She was his. “Mine,” he bit out.
“She’s in with Lady Anne.” He nodded down the corridor. Ashley started in that direction.
As he continued down the corridor, he spotted a lady leaving Anne’s chambers. “Sophie,” he called. Thank God. He thought she’d left him. His heart beat a staccato rhythm within his chest. But the chit looked up and it wasn’t Sophia. She looked a lot like Sophia, however. He tilted her head and regarded her closely.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked.
She dipped into a quick curtsy. “You’d have to define one of them, Your Grace.” She raised a brow at him.
“Later,” he murmured. “Where is Sophie?”
She nodded toward his daughter’s closed door.
“She hasn’t gone then?” His heart was hammering, as though it desperately wanted to jump from his body.
“Not yet,” she said cryptically. She turned to walk away. He reached for her arm, loosening his grip when she winced at his hold.
“How can I make her stay?” he asked.
