Sophia sorted through a basket of thread as she visited with the countess. Three days had passed since that unexpected kiss with Elliott. He’d been gone most of the time, much to her relief. The notion of facing him again was enough to make her shift uncomfortably in her chair.

She had no idea what had gotten into her that allowed her to return his kiss the way she had. The memory heated her cheeks with embarrassment.

The longer he stayed away, the better, though she knew he returned home to sleep each night. Or should she say each morning? How he managed to get by on so little rest was a mystery to her. Then again, that wasn’t the only mysterious quality to the man.

“I’ll need some bright red thread as well. Is there any in the basket?” the countess asked as she examined the needlework she held.

“Yes, I saw it only a moment ago,” Sophia said, grateful for the request. Anything to distract her from her thoughts. The less time she spent thinking about the earl, the better.

Her aunt had insisted Sophia avoid idleness at all cost. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop. In truth, Sophia knew her mind rested easier when her hands were busy, whether it be with needlework or some other task.

Mornings like this with the countess were her favorite time, when the streets were quiet and no visitors required clever banter with which she felt inept, especially when the callers rarely said what they meant.

Most days, she remained out of the conversation during calling hours, certain the countess had no interest in her companion’s thoughts on anything. But more often than not, the older woman drew Sophia into the discussion, seeking Sophia’s opinion on a variety of issues.

Sometimes the conversation was merely a recap of the fashion or behavior they’d witnessed at the previous night’s event. Other times, the talk delved into political issues. Much of it Sophia found fascinating, but some of it seemed petty and trivial.

“Did I mention we’re having supper with Elliott this evening?”

Sophia’s stomach fell as her gaze flew to the countess’s. “Oh?”

“I would like the two of you to become better acquainted. Then maybe he’ll stop hinting that I no longer need you.”

“I’m sure supper will be delightful.” Nerves simmered as she realized the precariousness of her position had not yet been resolved. She’d hoped that by avoiding the earl, he’d have forgotten all about her. Apparently, that was not the case.

“I expect you to be your usual charming self so he might see you for who you truly are.”

“I look forward to it.” Though she had no intention of allowing Elliott to see her true self. Her sheltered life couldn’t possibly be of interest to him. No, she’d have to pretend to be different than who she was if she wanted him to like her.

And she had to find a way to cover her distaste for his roguish behavior. It was none of her business if he stayed out late every night or if his clothes reeked of cheap perfume, brandy, and cigars. At least, that was what she’d overheard the maids saying.

She was far from perfect. Who was she to judge anyone? Still, the idea of spending the evening with his watchful gaze on her made her nervous.

“Try to engage him, my dear. Be friendly.”

Sophia offered a small smile, hoping not to choke. If only the countess knew how friendly she’d been with Elliott the other night, she wouldn’t be so encouraging. “I will do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.”

All too soon, it was time for callers. Sophia served tea, visited when necessary, and tried to anticipate the countess’s wishes. The afternoon passed quickly and soon Sophia was in her room, dressing for supper.

She took care with her appearance, though she didn’t know why. The idea of dressing to please the earl was nothing a proper companion would do. Besides, he wouldn’t notice anyway. Would he?

Annoyed with herself and her doubts, she focused on the purpose of this evening—to gain Elliott’s approval. The thought only brought another flurry of uncertainty. It seemed an impossible task when they were already on the wrong foot. The interlude they’d shared had been so brief it didn’t count. Except for in a secret corner of her soul.

She paced her room, trying to think of safe topics of conversation. Safe but interesting. Oh, dear. This was impossible. Nothing in her life thus far had prepared her to be an engaging conversationalist to an earl.

Yet she had no choice. She needed him to like her if she wanted to keep this position. It was only for one evening. How difficult could it be?

Armed with a very short list of topics and renewed confidence, she descended the stairs to the drawing room.

The earl and the countess were already in attendance, the earl standing near his grandmother’s chair. Their gazes swung to her as she entered. Her confidence flew out the window but still she curtsied and offered a greeting. Already she felt the weight of his regard.

“You look lovely this evening,” the countess offered.

“Thank you.” She smoothed her gloved hands down the front of her pale pink gown, grateful her cousin was not only the same size but also had good taste. “As do you, my lady.”

But as she said it, her gaze shifted to Elliott.

“Why thank you,” he answered with a cocky smile.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I meant—”

“Sophia dear, don’t allow him to ruffle you.” The countess waved a hand at her grandson. “Elliott! Behave yourself.”

“I only responded to her compliment.” He grinned and moved to the sideboard. “May I offer you a sherry?”

“No, thank you.”

“Pour her one anyway, Elliott,” the countess insisted. “It’s good for the nerves.”

He did as requested and handed the glass to Sophia. “Grandmother’s orders.”

Sophia smiled as she took the drink, trying to think of a clever response. Something that sounded interesting. Where was her natural wit when he was near? “My aunt didn’t allow any spirits in the house. She was certain it would lead to trouble. Then again, she believed anything pleasant would lead to trouble.” Too late, she realized how inane her comment was.

To her relief, Elliott chuckled. “Living with your aunt must have been a challenge. How long did you stay with her?”

“My father passed when I was six years, so my mother and I went to live with her sister. Then when my mother died two years later, it was just my aunt and me.” Though her memories of her father were vague, she had recollections of a handsome man laughing, lifting her high, bringing light to her life whenever he came home. Unfortunately, he had rarely come home.

Her mother’s happiness had revolved around her father’s infrequent visits, her sorrow apparent long before her father died. Aunt Margaret took ‘I told you so’ to a new level with her comments and lectures and dire warnings about men and the evils they represented.

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss. My parents died in a carriage accident when I was ten years of age.” He glanced at his grandmother. “We have been depending on each other for many years, haven’t we?”

The countess smiled. “I’m grateful you allow me to live here with you instead of sending me to the country.”

“Why on earth would I do that? I don’t want to rattle around in this house by myself.”

“Soon you will need to focus on seeing to the business of an heir. You won’t want an old woman in the way during that.”

As Sophia wondered if she should make some excuse to step out of the room as the conversation was growing personal, Elliott knelt beside his grandmother.

“You will always be welcome here.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Always.”

Sophia’s heart twisted. His kindness toward his grandmother conflicted with everything else she believed about him. If only he always acted as a rogue, it would be easier to reconcile her feelings toward him.

Now what was she supposed to think?

The conversation continued to lighter topics, including the evening engagements over the next few days and which ones the countess wanted to attend.

Sophia was just beginning to wonder when supper would be announced when the countess rose.

“I fear I’m going to have to leave you two to proceed without me. I’m not feeling myself and think I’ll retire early.”

Sophia’s heart sank. She didn’t like the idea of the countess feeling poorly, but neither did she care for dining alone with the earl. “Why don’t I accompany you? I’ll have the meal sent up to your room and we’ll eat together.”

“No need. Codwell will see to it. You two enjoy dinner.”

“Allow me to escort you upstairs,” Elliott said as he offered his elbow.

“Don’t fuss.” The countess’s order was softened with a smile. “I am fine. Just tired.”

Sophia watched as she stepped out of the room, wishing that by pure force of will she could convince the older woman to return. But no. The countess disappeared, calling for Codwell. Sophia dearly wanted to follow her.

She felt the weight of Elliott’s gaze and waited, not looking at him, certain he would make an excuse to leave. But when the footman stepped in to announce dinner was ready, Elliott turned to her.

“Shall we, Sophia?”

When he said her name, she had no choice but to shift her gaze to him. He gave her that smile—the one she didn’t like as it wasn’t real—and offered his arm to escort her to the dining room.

This was going to be the longest meal of her life.

Elliott wanted to curse his grandmother. Her color was good and the light still sparkled in her eyes as she’d left. He was certain she feigned feeling unwell so he and Sophia might have a chance to come to know each other better.

He disliked disagreeing with his grandmother. But he didn’t care for another set of watchful eyes upon him either. Deflecting Sophia’s attention away from him and his activities should be something he did without a second thought. He was a spy, after all. His life was built on doing that very thing each and every day. But it was exhausting, especially of late. He needed the brief time he spent at home to be relaxing and free of pretending.

A glance at the woman on his arm as they made their way to the dining room did not encourage relaxation.

At the top of his mind was that kiss. As many women as he’d kissed over the years, the act was rarely memorable. But that kiss with Sophia had been stunning.

The past few days had been busy, filled with meetings with fellow officers of British Intelligence, the prime minister, and his contacts in the seedier part of London. He’d met with his Uncle Daniel to chastise him for suggesting his grandmother have a companion, but it had been difficult to press his point when his uncle had commented on how happy his grandmother was now that she had Sophia.

Despite all his activity, his most frequent thoughts had been of kissing Sophia. His mind drifted toward her no matter what he was doing. It was distracting.

If he could chase her away, surely these thoughts would go as well.

She looked less than pleased at being left alone with him. He was tempted to make an excuse and leave, but he had no doubt his grandmother would be displeased if he did so. That could not be easily dismissed. No, the coward’s way out wouldn’t be worth the aftermath.

Perhaps if he behaved improperly, he could convince Sophia to quit, leaving his grandmother none the wiser.

A footman stood near the entrance of the dining room, prepared to serve them. The table was set for two, making him believe his grandmother had never intended to dine with them.

With his plan in mind, he realized the seating arrangement would never do as the place settings were at either end of the long, polished table.

“Will you please move the settings together?” he asked the footman before flashing a smile at Sophia. “That will allow us to better converse.” He patted her hand as he escorted her to her chair.

There it was—that subtle tightening of her lips that spoke volumes of her poor opinion of him. This was going to be easier than he thought. She’d be packing her bag this very night. He’d console his grandmother by taking her shopping or some other outing she’d enjoy.

He gestured for the footman to pull out the chair for Sophia, watching as disapproval flashed across her face because he hadn’t seen her to her chair. Hiding a smile, he took his place at the end of the table beside her.

The first course was served. Elliot watched as Sophia ate, her manners impeccable.

“Lovely day, wasn’t it?” she asked. “We walked through the garden between visitors this afternoon.”

He frowned. He’d grown used to her not speaking unless spoken to. What was she about?

“Did you have a chance to enjoy it as well?” She held his gaze, her expression one of polite interest.

“Briefly.” He bit his tongue before he mentioned anything about the many meetings he’d had. That would only make her curious as to why, and he couldn’t share that.

“Mrs. Fairchild and two of her daughters came by. They are relations of mine and acquaintances of your grandmother. Do you know them?”

He skimmed through his mental files until he recalled Mr. Fairchild. “I believe we’ve met. How are they related to you?”

The conversation continued with Sophia surprising him with the topics she raised. She spoke intelligently of recent political events, popular books, and the ramifications of so many country dwellers moving to the city. He wasn’t certain when he’d had a more stimulating evening.

“What did you think of The Seven Curses of London?” he asked.

“The bookshop hasn’t yet received it.”

“I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the curses.”

Before he knew it, they were ready for dessert, and he had yet to make her uncomfortable in any way. What was wrong with him? Apparently, he was distracted even when he was with her.

He drained his glass of wine and motioned for the footman to pour him another. That ought to upset her. Not that he intended to over imbibe. He merely wanted her to think he had.

As the footman cleared away their dishes, Sophia turned toward him. He had no doubt she intended to make her excuses and retire for the evening. He wasn’t about to let her go yet.

“Join me in the library,” he requested, giving her a grin that should surely set her lips twitching.

Dismay flickered across her features.

Perfect.

He escorted her toward the library, where the fire burned cheerfully. After seeing her to the settee, he poured himself a drink, not bothering to offer her one. Surely that would be another black mark against him.

Dangling the crystal glass from his fingers, he moved to the fire. “You and grandmother are attending another ball tomorrow evening?”

“I believe she wanted to attend Lord and Lady Campbell’s ball.”

“I hope to come as well. Perhaps we’ll have the chance to dance again.” He sat beside her and took her hand.

“That’s kind of you, but I know how busy you are.”

“Never too busy for my grandmother’s companion.” He set aside his glass and ran his fingers slowly along her arm until he reached the soft skin of her inner elbow. He circled his finger in a pattern, noting the slight tremor of her arm. He raised his gaze to meet hers. “I look forward to dancing with you again.”

Rather than the concern he expected in her expression, she appeared perplexed. That was not the reaction for which he was hoping. She studied him as though searching for a solution to a puzzle, her hazel eyes curious. He had the unsettled feeling she saw past his façade.

Frowning, he tried again. “Perhaps we can share another private moment afterward.”

She glanced about. “We’re rather private now, aren’t we?”

Her reminder only proved how much he was off his game. Why make promises for what might happen when he could do what he wanted now?

“Yes, we are.” He leaned close, hoping to intimidate her into backing away. But once again, she seemed more curious than fearful.

Why did she never act as he expected? It was maddening. Now, more than ever, he wanted to fluster her. To make her feel as out of sorts as he did.

This sensation was precisely the reason he wanted her gone. He needed to focus on the information he’d gathered abroad and follow the leads he’d uncovered in recent days. He didn’t have time to worry over what she might be thinking or seeing.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, but he was surprised that true desire now prompted his movements.

Before Sophia had come into his life, it had been a long time since he’d kissed a woman solely because he wanted to.

“Sophia.” He caressed her arm as his lips neared hers. His eyes closed as he drew in her presence with his senses.

Suddenly, she was gone.

He opened his eyes to see she had risen to stand before the fireplace, facing the flames rather than him. While pleased he’d at last flustered her, he regretted her escape even more.

“The balls are nice, but I also enjoy the musical performances.” Her quiet words took a moment to sink in as he was so focused on that almost kiss.

He retrieved his glass and rose, taking advantage of her turned back to dump the drink into the potted plant near the sideboard. Then he took care to rattle the crystal stopper in the decanter as he poured another drink.

His ploy worked, for when he turned back to her, she faced him, her gaze on his glass.

He deliberately took a sip before approaching her once more.

“What of you?” she asked, obviously still trying to be a good conversationalist. No doubt his grandmother had told her to.

“I appreciate some performances more than others.” He raised a brow as he moved closer, hoping to suggest he wasn’t referring to music or any other polite society event.

“Such as?” Her head tilted slightly as though curious as to his answer.

He reached her side and ran a finger over her shoulder and down her arm. “Such as the one playing right now.” He kept his voice low as he continued. “I wonder if you’ll let me closer.” He edged nearer. “If you’ll allow me to kiss you once more.”

Sophia’s eyes grew wide. “Oh?” If he wasn’t mistaken, she sounded rather breathless.

That made two of them.

He tilted his head, ready to take her lips with his, wondering how far he might take this kiss. When her hand moved against his chest, his body tightened with anticipation, only to realize that hand was firmly pressed against him with an entirely different purpose than he’d wanted—to halt him.

A glance at her face confirmed it. She was having none of this. She took a step back. Then another.

“I’ve appreciated our time together this evening.” She looked deliberately at the drink he still held. “But I would like to check on your grandmother before the hour grows too late.”

She dipped into a curtsy and was gone before he could think of a reason to protest.

He scowled, realizing he didn’t care for the sensation of failure. Especially not at something he was supposed to be good at—playing the role of scoundrel.

The enigmatic Miss Sophia Markham was proving to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated. Damn if he didn’t look forward to their next encounter.