Cheryl Holt (11 page)

His primary reaction was to apologize, but he wasn’t sorry. Instead, he asked, “Would you walk with me some night? In the moonlight? I’d like to see it shining on your hair.”

“No, I never could.”

“Why?” he questioned stupidly. As if he needed her to tell him it was an idiotic request!

Acutely afflicted, she falteringly explained, “You may—or may not—marry Olivia. But if you decide
not
to, the reason can never be because of me. The Hopkins family took me in when I had nowhere else to go. They’ve been kind to me.”

“I understand.”

“You shouldn’t beg me to sit again. Or to linger.” She strode farther and farther away. “I’ll want to say yes, but it’s not a good idea. For anyone.”

“You’re correct, of course.”

She departed, vanishing behind the shrubbery, and he listened to the brush of her slippers until they faded away.

Their affinity could only lead to disaster and regret, for it would be the height of disrespect and cruelty to dally with Winnie when he was pursuing Olivia for possible
matrimony. Yet he couldn’t keep himself from fantasizing over how marvelous it would be to have her as his own, or from yearning to make it a reality.

With a heavy heart, he stood and returned to the house. Alone.

Olivia sat in the garden, on the bench Penny had shown her, where she could peek through the hedges to spy on Phillip.

Margaret was visiting one of Edward’s neighbors, so Olivia had come outside with her portfolio, and was pretending to draw the yard. If anyone chanced by, she had various mediocre illustrations that would prove her interest in art was a ladylike hobby and nothing she pursued with any enthusiasm.

In reality, she was drafting copies of Phillip from memory, while eager to catch a glimpse of him.

It had been three days since she’d seen him. Or more precisely, three nights. After their terrible row in the library, she’d sneaked down often, hoping he would be waiting for her, that she might apologize or discuss what had transpired, but as he’d vowed, he hadn’t deigned to join her.

She was desperate to know his opinion of their tryst. For her own part, she was confused, perplexed, and restless. The ways he’d touched her had stirred her body in a fashion she didn’t understand. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and she was never comfortable.

Her nipples had taken on a life of their own. They were constantly erect and rubbing her chemise. Her breathing was elevated, making her corset intolerable because she couldn’t fully inhale. Her loins chafed and itched for a manipulation she didn’t comprehend, so she
was forever shifting about on chairs, yearning to alleviate the torment.

Was he suffering misery that was remotely similar?

Oh, how could he have forsaken her so easily? She’d felt such a sense of connection with him, and it made her worry over her obligations to Lord Salisbury. Was she loose? Fickle? How could she be so enamored of Phillip when she was trying to entice Edward into marriage? What did her behavior say about her character and morals?

She’d liked what Phillip had done to her, had liked it so much that she was wild to do it over and over, as soon as a rendezvous could be arranged. Her greatest regret was that she’d panicked and had begged him to stop.

If she hadn’t, they could have continued. Phillip would have unveiled the mysteries of what happened between men and women. Most certainly, he would have assuaged the corporeal distress that was driving her mad.

There had to have been an end point to their conduct, a goal or destination they were attempting to attain, and if they’d kept on, she wouldn’t be languishing so dreadfully.

Through the bushes, movement captured her attention, and she slid down the bench so she could have a better perspective. Phillip! Finally! Surrounded by several men from the stables. He was leaned against the corral fence, an arm tossed across the top board. His head was tipped back, the sun on his face, and he was so handsome she could barely look at him.

A charcoal pencil was clutched in her hand, and she’d planned to sketch him, but she was frozen, unable to do anything but stare and admire. She’d had the fabulous rogue all to herself, had explored and caressed and fondled, had kissed him as if there were no tomorrow, and she was ready to do it again, if she could finagle another appointment.

But how? How to persuade him to spend time with her? It wasn’t as if she could stroll over and ask him to chat. Their stations were so disparate that there was no excuse she could give as to how she’d met him. He’d declared that he wouldn’t parley in the library, so what was she to do?

Morose and depressed, she observed as he tensed. The men with whom he’d been joking scattered, and another man came into view.

It was the earl! Talking to Phillip.

Seen together, they were two peas in a pod. The same height, the same broad shoulders and striking features. The only genuine contrasts were their ages, and the fact that Phillip’s eyes were blue, while Edward’s were brown.

Phillip was Edward’s illegitimate son! There was no question. No other could have sired him. How could she not have noticed?

She was furious. He’d never told her, and that seemed like a betrayal.

She’d thought they were friends! That they’d established a bond that went beyond rank and class. Couldn’t he have trusted her? Was he afraid she’d have swooned? Did he assume she’d been so sheltered that she’d never heard of bastard children?

The men exchanged harsh words—Phillip was notably aggravated—then he stomped away. Edward appeared lost and bewildered, and he lingered, then he too walked on.

For many minutes, she glared at the spot where they’d been, then she slammed her papers into her portfolio, tied the string, and in a huff, marched to the house.

How dare he ignore her! How dare he act as if she were invisible! How dare he carry on, unaffected by what had passed between them.

She rushed up the stairs to her room, and rang for a maid, who aided her in donning her riding outfit.

If Phillip wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him.

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have fussed with her hair or attire, but she was resolved to be as fetching as possible during the pending confrontation, so she strutted and twirled before the mirror until every aspect was perfect. Then she waltzed downstairs and outside, her heart beating frantically.

Could she pull it off?

She flounced into the stable, and a boy greeted her, his awe apparent.

“I would speak with the stablemaster,” she haughtily intoned.

The lad scurried off, and he returned with Phillip. When Phillip saw her, he shielded any reaction.

So he
worked
in the stable, did he? The lying bounder! She was so irate she could have chewed nails in half! “
You
are the stablemaster?”

“Aye.” Caught in a lie, he flushed. “May I help you, milady?”

“I should like to ride. I haven’t been in a long while, so I’ll require you to attend me.”

At her arrogant attitude, he bristled, but he replied politely. “I have a very experienced groomsman who will be more than happy to—”

“No. It shall be you.”

“I’m very busy.”

“Really?” she queried. “Too busy to accompany
me
? I’m the earl’s
special
guest, and I implore your personal assistance. Do you refuse to provide it?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. There were a thousand scathing retorts he was burning to hurl, a hundred ways he’d like to bring her down a peg, but the stableboy was dawdling next to him, so he couldn’t unleash his wrath.

He bowed, acknowledging defeat. “At your service,
milady
.”

The boy escorted her to the mounting block where she waited. Shortly, Phillip emerged, leading two horses. Aloof and efficient, he lifted her up, but the instant she was seated, he jumped away.

Without glancing at him, she spurred her horse forward, and she knew he’d follow. He couldn’t let her traipse off unchaperoned. Soon, a second pair of hooves trailed along behind. Rage at her autocratic manner billowed off him in waves and, she had to confess, she was a tad shocked herself. She never flung her position or status at others, and the sole rationale she could devise for exhibiting such snobbery was that he mattered to her, and she was determined to be with him.

She hated having him watch her. While he was an equestrian expert,
she
was a novice. It had been years since she’d ridden, and she hoped she hadn’t forgotten how, that she wouldn’t embarrass herself by losing her balance and falling on her rear. What a jolly laugh he’d have at her expense!

The mare had a smooth gait, so she adapted and did her best to feign skill. Without delay, they were away from the yard, alone, and on a quiet lane, shaded by trees. She glowered over her shoulder and accused, “You haven’t come to the library.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t believe you.”

He shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less. Considering how thrilled she’d been at meeting him, and how their secret assignations had absorbed her every waking moment, his detachment infuriated her.

“You’re his son, aren’t you?” she blurted, wanting to jolt a response out of him.

“Whose?” he casually inquired.

“Lord Salisbury’s.”

He shrugged again.

“At least have the decency to admit it to me!” she shouted.

“Yes, I am Lord Salisbury’s son. Phillip Paxton. Is that what you’re dying to learn?”

She tugged on the reins, her horse whirling toward him, and she sidled over until they were side by side, the animals facing opposite directions, her knees and legs squashed against his.

Phillip scrutinized her; he was nervous and disconcerted, as though—given her condition—he couldn’t predict what she might do.

Good! Let him stew!

“Why couldn’t you confide in me?” she demanded. “Was I simply a bit of fluff you found amusing to tease and to—”

He reached across the space separating them and laid his hand atop hers, the gesture stopping her petulant tirade. “He insisted that you not know. That I hide myself.”

His rejoinder was the last one she’d anticipated, and it sucked the force from her anger. “Why?”

“Because he didn’t want your exalted presence to be sullied by mine.”

“But that’s . . . that’s . . .”

She was about to say
cruel
and
stupid
and
uncalled for
, except that Edward’s conduct was not only normal but expected from a nobleman who was entertaining a bridal candidate. He wouldn’t want his potential wife’s initial opinion of his integrity to be based on the news that he sired illicit children on inappropriate women.

“Idiotic?” he finished for her.

“Yes.”

“Typical is more likely,” he scoffed. “He’s always concealed me from your kind. I’m used to it.”

He made the assertion flippantly, but she discerned
that this was an old wound, festering as though it had just been inflicted.

“Who was your mother?”

“A housemaid. Who would you suppose?”

“Did he love her?”

“
Love
her? You’re jesting. He was eighteen, the lord’s son, and he could do whatever he pleased—to whomever he pleased. She was young and foolish and presumed his promises held some value.”

“I see,” she mused.

“No you don’t. You don’t
see
anything.” He tightened his grip on the reins. “I don’t have the patience for your nonsense. Let’s get back.”

His coldness and nonchalance baffled her, and she yearned to break through the wall of indifference he’d built, but she wasn’t sure how.

“I don’t want to leave. I want to talk with you.”

“Well, milady,
I
don’t want to talk with you. Don’t seek me out. I have a job, and I’d like to keep it.”

He was antagonistic, callous, and his demeanor offered no hint of the impertinent, intriguing man with whom she’d trifled, and a terrible suspicion dawned on her.

“Why did you philander with me in the library? Was it merely to retaliate against your father because he’d warned you away from me?”

“Of course,” he contended. “Why else would I have done it?”

“Of course,” she repeated somberly.

How pathetic she was! How daft and obtuse. She was so unschooled that she’d irrationally succumbed to his flirtations, reading into them all sorts of affection that didn’t exist.

She’d never been more humiliated, and she was desperate to flee to the manor so she could lock herself into her room till her shame waned. Though in light of her
level of mortification, she might be sequestered throughout eternity!

“I apologize for accosting you, Mr. Paxton. It shan’t happen again.”

She’d intended to ride on, with her head high and her pride intact, but chagrin brought on a flood of tears, so that she couldn’t detect the road, and she prayed the horse could make its way home by itself.

He noted her dolor, and before she could urge the mare away, he murmured a command that had the animal halting in its tracks.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he claimed.

“Yes you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just let me go.”

“The night we met, I stumbled upon you by accident.”

“Have mercy, Mr. Paxton! I’ve no need of an explanation.”

“I was angry at my father, so I thought it would be amusing to pester you. But after—the next time and the next—I came because of you. It didn’t have anything to do with my father.”

She was torn, pining to believe him but not certain she could. Where he was concerned, she was out of her element, and so greedy to assume his fondness was sincere that she would likely ascribe credence to any remark he chose to utter.

He pulled her off her horse and onto his own. She was on his lap, in his arms.

“I want you, Livvie,” he declared, “as a husband wants his wife. With every breath I take, I long for you to be mine. But to what end?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed.

“Where can this lead us?”

“I have no answers.”

“Do you have any idea of the catastrophe that will result if we’re discovered?”