The Millionaire Rogue by Jessica Peterson Page A

Sophia pouted. “I thought that was a very good speech.”
    â€œThe house doesn’t leak
that
much.” Violet playfully tugged on a loose curl at Sophia’s ear. “Besides, you’re young. Perhaps it’s a blessing your first season is . . .” She paused, searching for the right word. “Off to a slow start. Perhaps it’s a sign you should take the time to discover what other dreams, as you call them, exist. There’s got to be others besides marrying that marquess of yours.”
    Sophia placed her hands on the vanity and rose, sighing. “You’re an heiress with a fondness for books and brandy. Not all of us are so inclined to ignore the opposite sex.”
    Especially, Sophia thought, when said opposite sex kissed one as if the world were about to end.
    Violet took one last look in the mirror, patting her hair. “I don’t ignore them, cousin, I mock them. And you forget whatever meager fortune I am meant to inherit is in peril.” She turned and looped her arm through Sophia’s. “But enough of this boring talk of our troubles. Hope asked we arrive early—”
    â€œHe did?”
    Violet paused, eyeing her cousin. “Yes. Though I haven’t a clue why. Do you?”
    Sophia’s shoulders shot to her ears. “Why would I know? He’s your acquaintance, Violet. Not mine.”
    But even as she said the words, a new wave of excitement rippled through her. They were to be guests of honor, then. Perhaps Hope
did
remember.
    â€œHm. A mystery, then. How so like him! Clever man.”
    Violet led Sophia down to the front hall, where Mr. Freeman, the butler, waited with a letter on a small tray.
    â€œFor you, Miss Blaise.”
    Sophia furrowed her brow. “For me? That’s silly. A letter, and at this hour? No one ever writes to me.”
    It was addressed simply as
M. Blaise
in a gnarled, unfamiliar script. She freed her arm from Violet’s grasp and opened the letter somewhat clumsily with her gloved fingers.
    â€œWhat is it?” Violet asked casually as she straightened the embroidered edge of her own glove.
    Sophia inhaled sharply as she read for a second time the letter’s three uneven lines. Her heart began to pound thickly in her chest, a rush of panic prickling at her temples.
    For a moment she froze, throat closing with fear.
    â€œSophia?” Violet was looking at her now. “Is everything all right?”
    With hands that trembled, Sophia folded the letter. “Do you know who sent this, Mr. Freeman?”
    â€œI’m afraid I do not, Miss. Found it tucked into the kitchen door. I asked the maids, but they did not see or hear any visitors. Curious.”
    Sophia swallowed. “Curious, yes.”
    â€œWhat does it say?” Violet asked.
    â€œNothing important.” Sophia managed a tight smile.
    Lady Blaise scurried into the hall then, her face and gown a matching shade of pink as she struggled to catch her breath.
    Sophia had never in all her years been so relieved to see her mother. She slipped the note into the elbow of her glove and turned to greet her.
    â€œGood heavens, Mama, whatever is the matter?”
    â€œMy,” she huffed, “gown. It’s a bit.
Tighter
than I remember.”
    Violet raised a brow. “A bit?”
    â€œOh, hush, you. I can’t wait until you get old; we’ll see who is laughing then.” She padded to the front door, waving her fan. “Come along, we mustn’t keep Mr. Hope waiting. I hear from Lady Dubblestone that Withington is to attend. Oh! And rumor has it that wastrel Beau Brummell is to make an appearance, though everyone knows he is falling out of favor with the regent, and did you know he soiled himself at the race this past week . . .”
    Sophia settled stiffly into the carriage beside Violet, who, as annoyed as she was at Mama’s endless tittering, seemed to have all but forgotten about the