Reese whisked Sophie toward a waist-high table where a large atlas was displayed. “Under here,” he mouthed, swiftly pulling her beneath the table. He held her close to his side as the couple they’d heard shuffled into the room and drifted toward the far wall.

Oh God. Sophie covered her mouth with her hand. The night had started out badly and somehow turned even worse. She’d known that meeting Reese would be risky—and it seemed she’d tempted fate one time too many. She looked longingly at the library door, wondering if it was possible to make a dash for it.

As though he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts, Reese flicked a glance at the door and shook his head. He was right; leaving their hiding spot was far too dangerous at the moment.

Her stomach sank, but then he squeezed her hand and gave her an encouraging smile. If she had to be trapped under a table with someone, terrified that her family’s reputation would be dashed to bits, there was no one she’d rather be trapped with than Reese. She rested her head on his shoulder and huddled close to him while they listened, waiting for their chance to escape.

She desperately hoped that the opportunity presented itself before midnight, for if she wasn’t there when Lord Singleton, her family and friends, and every guest at the ball gathered to toast her engagement, it would look very bad. Indeed, everything she’d sacrificed—her happiness, her future, her one true love—would have been for naught.

“There’s no need for tears,” crooned a male voice across the room—and her skin prickled with recognition. The man was Charles. “Come and have a drink,” he said smoothly.

Sophie heard the clink of glass and the splash of liquid. “That’s Lord Singleton,” she whispered in Reese’s ear, and he arched a dark brow in response.

“If I am honest,” Charles said to his female companion, “I find your reticence quite appealing … and undeniably attractive. But I did not realize that you returned my feelings.”

Sophie supposed that she should have felt a smidge of jealousy or anger, but all she could summon was sympathy for the poor young woman, who sobbed and mumbled incoherently.

“You mustn’t despair,” Charles was saying. “We shall still see each other, after all.”

Sophie’s body went numb—but, in truth, she was more shocked than sad.

“I chose Sophie because she’ll make an excellent marchioness,” Charles said—almost regretfully. “But there’s no reason that you and I should deny the passion that simmers between us, even after I say my wedding vows. Yours are the lips I shall dream of kissing. Yours is the body I shall long to hold.”

Charles’s confession was followed by sounds of sloppy slurping, heavy breathing, and passionate grunting. Sophie valiantly fought back a wave of nausea.