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cup on the sofa table and fluttered her eyelashes hopefully. Evan gritted his teeth. If she thought to keep him there, she could think again. His patience at an end, he grabbed the cup, lifted it to his lips, and downed the entire contents in three long swallows. The tea had cooled in the past few minutes, but was still hot enough to burn a path down his throat. The flavor of the vile stuff was enough to make him grimace, but he stoically refused to show it. Returning the empty cup to its saucer, he nodded briskly to his gaping hostess. “Good day, Mrs. Wembley, Miss Wembley. I can show myself out.”
    With that, he turned and escaped from the room, breathing a sigh of relief when he made it to the street. He liked Miss Wembley well enough, but her mother was another story altogether. He’d have to be careful not to allow the woman to get her hopes up for something that would never happen. He’d be damned if he would ever find himself in the parson’s noose.

Chapter Six
    T he earl’s townhouse looked every bit as opulent as his carriage—and that was truly saying something. As they glided to a stop, Sophie gazed out the open window to the towering building rising from the hillside.
    The stone was the same as the façade on her own rented townhouse, but the likeness stopped there. Here, the buttery yellow stone was carved into pillars and scrolls and all sorts of beautiful design elements. The windows were both wide and tall, undoubtedly reaching from floor to ceiling. Black wrought iron railings covered the lower half of the uppermost windows, in addition to lining the walkway to the front door.
    She knew he didn’t own the house, which begged the question, who exactly could afford to rent such a place? She stifled a nervous giggle. The answer, of course, was an earl.
    The coach shook as the driver dismounted and came to open the door. Sophie drew a deep breath and smoothed an anxious hand down her skirts. Lord Evansleigh was giving her exactly the chance she needed, even after Mama had acted so appallingly obvious yesterday, and Sophie intended to make the most of it. Smooth curls, carefullychosen jewelry, her best afternoon gown—she was leaving nothing to chance.
    Well, nothing except the very real possibility of not being able to get a proper sentence out in his company. She’d been able to relax a little yesterday, which actually allowed her to sound like a normal person in the earl’s presence, but that was in her own drawing room, without the man’s sister hearing their every word.
    Lynette, who had sat quietly across from her for the whole of the ride, offered an encouraging smile. Sophie smiled back, grateful for the servant’s small gesture of support. She could do this. Talking was what she did best, for heaven’s sake. She just needed to get over the fact that the very sight of the earl set her stomach to knots.
    Within minutes she was waiting in the beautifully appointed drawing room, trying for all she was worth to sit still. The soft greens and polished golds would have been calming were she anywhere else but the earl’s private residence. Was it her imagination, or did the room smell like him? She breathed deeply, remembering the scent of him as he’d carried her through the Ballroom.
    â€œMiss Wembley?”
    Sophie glanced up as the woman from the ball who had been so familiar with Evan made her way to the seating area. She felt a little silly for her reaction that night now that she knew the woman was his sister. “Lady Julia, how do you do?” Sophie stood and offered an awkward little curtsy, favoring her right ankle.
    Waving a dismissive hand, Lady Julia returned Sophie’s smile with a somewhat brusque one of her own. “Do please sit down. I wouldn’t want you overtaxing your ankle on my account.”
    â€œIt’s much improved, I assure you,” Sophie replied, though she did accept the offer to sit. She waited