“I am no one to you, Lord Rafe.” “Lady Sophie—” “Good day, my lord.” She coolly turned on her heel and continued toward the hackney stand. Rafe gritted his teeth and . . . . . . did nothing. Because despite how his heart panged and thumped in his chest—emphatically insisting that Lady Sophie was everything to him—she was, in fact as she said . . . truly no one. He had no claim on her, no right, and, worst of all, no freedom to change the situation. And that was the greatest tragedy of all.
