Page 4 of Summoner of Sins

“I have a small sister. Abigail. She’s just four.”

Tabbie’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, Sophie.”

“We’re good. I’m fortunate…” She stopped, knowing she was doing it again. “I’ve enjoyed your company this evening. Thank you.”

“We must see each other again.” Tabbie pulled out a small, elegant card from a clutch. “You must call on me. Soon. Just present this card and you’ll be shown to the morning room where I take callers.”

Sophie took the card, hoping she might have the chance to do just that. She left the repose, thinking that she’d managed one of her goals, and met a wonderful person.

Excitement bubbled inside to have made a friend. But perhaps her thoughts were a distraction she could ill afford because as she made her way down the hall, she ran smack into a large chest. Bounding off the man, she nearly tripped and stumbled when his hand shot out to her waist, holding her in place. Her chin snapped up, her gaze colliding with the hard and uncompromising eyes of the largest man she’d ever encountered.

She gasped. The size of his shoulders blocked the view of the ballroom beyond. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

He continued to stare, not saying a word. She made to step back, but his hand only tightened around her.

Panic rose in her chest as she tried harder to move away. He held tight. Then, with his free hand, he reached toward her.

She let out a cry, her heart hammering in her chest as she pulled harder. His fingers touched the dance card dangling from her wrist. Letting go of her waist, he pulled a small bit of lead from his cuff and scratched a name on one of the lines.

“I…”

He took her hand, tucked it in his elbow, and turned. Sophie had little choice but to walk with him as they started for the ballroom.

Sophie had wanted a dance. More, even, than she’d wished for a friend. In her heart of hearts though, this was not how she’d imagined it happening. She’d pictured a handsome gentleman approaching, perhaps paying her a compliment or two before he kindly asked for the honor of her company on the dance floor.

This felt a bit more like she’d been taken hostage.

The man who now stood with her hand in his, his other at her waist, had yet to say a word. She craned her neck to look at him, the thick muscles of his neck straining his collar and cravat. Swallowing down a lump, she tried to think of something she might say. But for once in her life, she was at a complete loss for words.

In the candlelight, she could see that he was handsome in his way. He had a chiseled jaw, a strong slashing brow, and his jacket pulled across his chest. His hand dwarfed hers as the first strains of the violin filled the ballroom. With a sure step, he began the dance.

She gasped, not sure she knew the steps. She wasn’t educated in these sorts of things, but with strong arms, he led her effortlessly about the floor. She could hardly keep her breath; the steps were so quick. But for a man who frightened her as he did, she found the strength of his arms comforting as the other dancers appeared to make way for them.

Why would they? She couldn’t mull over the question long because her mystery partner spun her close to her uncle and his group. They stood in a straight line staring. Staring. Her uncle’s arms were crossed as he glared back at her. She barely had a moment to question why before her partner swung her about again, closing off her view and swirling her in another direction.

She gasped in a breath, sensing that she’d entered into something she ought not to. Events were unfolding well past her control, but she had no idea what or how.

The song came to an end, and the mysterious man who’d dragged her to the floor let her go. Just like that. Then, with a bow, he was gone. She watched him disappear into the crowd, her brow furrowed as she watched him go.

“Sophie, you fool,” her Uncle Allister hissed from next to her. “Do you have any idea who that was?”

“None.”

“None?”

“No,” she shook her head, turning to her uncle, her gaze going wide. He looked excessively angry, more so than she’d ever seen. “I was coming back from the repose, and he just grabbed my arm and dragged me to dance. Never said a word.”

“Interesting,” another man said from next to her uncle.

She leaned forward to see who’d spoken to find Lord Whitehouse at her uncle’s elbow. Unlike most of the men with her uncle, this man fit the setting perfectly. His clothing was of the finest quality, the knot in his cravat perfect, his silver hair styled back in a neat and distinguished manner. He oozed influence and money.

“Is it, my lord?” her uncle asked, much of his anger disappearing.

“Indeed,” Lord Whitehouse answered. Then, his gaze found Sophie’s, his gaze running down her in a way that made her excessively uncomfortable. Her hands flattened into the folds of her skirts as she resisted the urge to curl into herself.

“I’m glad to hear that he accosted you rather than charmed.” He turned to her uncle. “Get her better clothes.”

“How do I do that?” her uncle asked with a frown.

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