“But it’s dangerous?” Philip prompted. “For Selina? You said it’s difficult.”
Once again, she looked not at him but through him, as though she were trying to see inside him.
“There are dangers in this house for Selina, Lord Breton. But I think we both know it’s not just coming from your dead wife.”
Chapter Twelve
S
elina slowly opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the haze of sleep.
For a moment, as she took in the opulent blue bed hangings and felt the luxurious pillow beneath her head, she couldn’t understand where she was.
But as she lay there, it came rushing back to her.
Timothy crying.
Charlotte tortured, mourning not just her son, but Philip.
She remembered feeling so weak, so much pain.
She remembered tilting forward and then – nothing.
Tentatively lifting her head from the pillow, she was relieved that it wasn’t pounding as it had been. She had no idea what time it was, or what happened after that rather embarrassing fainting episode.
Sitting up, she took in the darkness of the room and the glowing embers of a fire that had obviously burned out some time ago.
A glass of water sat on the bedside table by her head and she drank greedily. But though the water eased the parch in her throat, what she really longed for was a hot drink.
Though the room was warm and the coverlet heavy, there was a chill in her bones that was already making itself known.
The ormolu clock on the mantle chimed the hour. Three o’clock. No wonder it was so quiet.
She wondered if Timothy was sleeping as soundly as she hoped.
And if Philip was terribly shaken after the incident, and how she would tell him what she now knew.
She wondered how she would tell him that something about him was keeping Charlotte’s spirit here, too, and what that would do to him when he was already so wracked with guilt.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Selina threw back the coverlet and climbed from the bed.
Though she still felt cold, she was happy to note that her legs were once again steady and the room was standing still, just as it should be.
She didn’t have a wrap to wear over her night rail, but at this time in the morning she was sure to be alone.
She would quickly check on Timothy and then go to the kitchens to make some tea.
Slipping into the corridor, Selina tip-toed to Timothy’s room. The door was ajar, and she slipped inside.
The curtains were opened and the bright, autumn moon illuminated the room enough that she could see the lad in peaceful repose, one arm thrown over his head on the pillow, the other curled up at his chest.
A wave of tenderness swept over her as she watched him sleep.
It had only been days, yet she’d grown to care for the boy.
And his father, a soft voice whispered in her head. But she ruthlessly pushed the thought away.
Now was not the time to be thinking of the earl.
Their kiss had been a mistake.
This evening had proven more than ever that helping Charlotte move on was going to take all Selina’s strength and concentration.
She quite simply couldn’t afford to allow her feelings for Philip to distract her.
Satisfied that Timothy was at peace and deeply asleep, she left the room and made her way to the staircase, deliberately avoiding looking at the door to Philip’s bedchamber.
Was he in there now? What did he dream of? What did he look like when he slept? Perhaps his expression was less severe. Perhaps he looked peaceful.
Shaking her head and cursing her own idiocy when it came to the man, Selina hurried down the stairs, wincing at every creak underfoot.
The house was freezing, the corridors dark and draughty, and she half wished she’d stayed in bed where it was at least warm.
She’d already reached the floor that held the dining room, drawing rooms, and Philip’s study however, and she wouldn’t be long getting to the kitchens and heating some water.
As she hurried along the corridor, she noticed the unmistakeable flicker of firelight under the door of the study.
Philip must be within and not upstairs sleeping as she’d assumed.
Selina hesitated before finally drawing to a stop outside the door.
It would be the height of folly to walk into that room.
After everything she’d been through tonight, everything Philip had witnessed, everything that Selina had discovered, it was important that she kept her distance.
And yet…
Cursing herself for the fool she so obviously was, Selina found herself pushing open the door and stepping inside the room.
The firelight sent shadows dancing across the room, the hissing and crackling of the logs the only sound.
Selina scanned around the room until she saw Philip, slumped on the chaise, jacket and waistcoat disposed of, his gaze fixed on the fire, a tumbler of brandy in his hand.
He hadn’t looked up when she’d entered. Perhaps he hadn’t even known she was there.
A sense of foreboding swept over her as she walked toward him.
“Philip.”
He didn’t start at the sound of her voice. Merely sat and continued to stare into the flames.
“Philip?”
This time he sighed and stood up. As she watched, he closed his eyes and bent his head as though in prayer. For what, she didn’t know.
After what seemed like an age, he lifted his head and trained his gaze on her.
“Are you well?” he asked, his voice raspy, his eyes dulled by an emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“I am,” she said softly. “I – I’m a little cold. I thought perhaps some tea –“
His sudden smile surprised her, not because she hadn’t seen him smile. In fact, he’d smiled and laughed so much in the past week that she felt like she’d truly gotten to know the man he’d been before tragedy had shaped so much of his life. No, this smile was grim and filled with a harshness that she didn’t expect from him.
And it put her on edge, though she couldn’t have said why.
“Tea? Why not have a proper drink?” he asked and without awaiting an answer, he moved and poured a healthy measure of whiskey into a glass.
Selina felt oddly touched that he now kept the drink on hand. Though truth be told, Agnes had been partaking of the drink more than she.
Selina reached out to take the glass from him, unsurprised at the jolt of awareness that shot through her when their fingers touched.
“Thank you,” she said softly into the awkward, tension-filled silence.
Selina couldn’t imagine what had caused this sudden divide, and she hated herself for worrying about it so. Having always prided herself on not caring what people thought of her, it was a bitter pill to swallow that in the end, she was apparently no different to the simpering misses she used to pity who hung on the words and actions of men.
For here she was, desperately wondering what he was thinking, and desperate to once again feel his lips against her own.
Finally, when she couldn’t stand the quiet any longer, she spoke.
“Are you well?”
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, for he spun toward her and whereas before his eyes had been dull and vacant, now they gleamed with blue fire.
“Am I well?” he laughed, the sound harsh and humourless. “God, Selina I don’t give a damn about how I feel, and neither should you.”
She didn’t know what to say in response to such a thing so she said nothing, just sipped her drink and wondered at his strange mood.
After an age, he slammed his own tumbler, now empty, onto his desk and turned to face her.
“Are you well?” he asked. His tone was so different now. Soft and concerned. And it sent her heart fluttering, even as she laughed.
“You already asked m
e that. How much have you drunk?”
This time, his smile was at least genuine.
“Not nearly as much as I should have liked,” he said wryly before becoming all seriousness once more. “In truth, I haven’t been able to do anything other than sit here worrying about you.”
His words set her poor, overworked heart hammering.
“When you didn’t wake up – I don’t mind telling you, the fear was palpable. Mrs. Healy eventually threw me out of your room, and I can assure you were she not as frightening and formidable as she is, I’d still be there now. I sat with Timmy for a while, but he didn’t stir. I couldn’t sleep myself until I knew you were well, so I’ve been sitting here all evening not quite knowing what to do with myself.”
Once again, Selina found herself not knowing what to say.
“Timothy should sleep easily for the night,” she said gently.
But rather than reassure him, her answer just seemed to agitate him further.
“I know that,” he said gruffly. “And I’m more grateful than I could ever say for that. But what about you, Selina? How much of a toll will this take on you when it keeps happening? What happens if next time you don’t recover as quickly? Or at all?”
She could only stare at him for a while, her eyes taking note of the fear behind the anger, the concern behind the harshness.
“Philip – that’s never happened before. And –“
“Exactly!” The word burst from his lips and suddenly he was right in front of her, grasping her arms.
The whiskey tumbler fell to the ground, but he either didn’t notice or care.
“Exactly.” He repeated. “What this is – this hold Charlotte has on Timmy, if it even is Charlotte – it’s too strong. It could hurt you, Selina. Damn it, it has hurt you.”
“Philip, I’m not hurt – I just –“
“No,” he interrupted. “It has to stop. Don’t you understand? I couldn’t bear it to see you like that, Selina. I can’t stand the idea of you being hurt because of this, because of me.”
“Listen,” she said firmly, praying that he would.
He seemed to be on the verge of his mind snapping. And she was so close now. So close to freeing Timothy and Charlotte. And yes, even Philip.
And God help her, she wanted him free. Not just for his sake or for Timothy’s. But for her own.
Because she’d done exactly what she’d promised Agnes she wouldn’t. She’d fallen in love with him.
Even though she was a gypsy orphan and he was an English lord.
Even though his heart was so tangled up in guilt and grief that it likely didn’t have any room for her.
Still, she loved him.
She was her mother’s daughter after all.
Chapter Thirteen
B
ecause Philip was watching Selina’s face so closely, he saw the change.
She’d been looking at him as though he’d run clean mad and truth be told, he was worried that he had.
And the knowledge that Selina being hurt made him near crazy with panic spoke to a truth that Philip wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
But something had happened in the last few moments. She’d gone from concerned to wide-eyed shock and now, she looked desperately sad.
“I’m listening,” he said now, calmer than before.
His curiosity about what was going on in that quick mind of hers served to distract him, at least for now, from his riotous emotions.
“I am fine, Philip,” she said, a sincerity in her voice that immediately put him at ease. “And I know how to help. Truly. Just give me another chance.”
So, that was all it was. She was worried that he thought her incapable.
Philip dropped his hands from her arms and stepped away from the intoxicating lilac scent.
He hated that she was trying to convince him of her abilities. He’d never seen anyone do what she did. Wouldn’t have believed his own eyes, in any case.
He bent to pick up the glass she’d dropped, guilt assuaging him as he saw that he’d soaked the bottom of her night rail.
And just that thought was enough to make him truly take her in.
He rose again, his eyes raking over the plain, white cotton that fell loosely to her feet, the neckline slightly drooping, exposing one, satin-soft shoulder.
And her hair – that glorious hair – was unbound once more and falling around her shoulders in a curtain of browns and reds.
His mouth dried as lust roared to life inside him, despite the circumstances, despite what he knew he must do.
Mrs. Healy’s earlier words – the words that he’d been repeating over and over to himself for hours now – came back to taunt him.
“There are dangers in this house for Selina, my lord. But I think we both know it’s not just coming from your dead wife.”
He’d protested his innocence, of course. Claimed that he had no idea what the lady meant. That he would never harm Selina.
“But harm her you will. Did you know she is the daughter of one such as yourself?”
Philip’s face must have shown his shock, for Mrs. Healy nodded sagely.
“Oh, aye. A friend of your own father. I remember it well. He’d come to hunt. And hunt he did. Selina inherited her mother’s beauty. I hoped she wouldn’t also inherit her romantic foolishness, though now I’m worried that she did.”
“I – care for Selina, Mrs. Healy,” he tried to reassure her, but she was already shaking her head.
“She is the bastard child of a marquess who ran when he heard she’d been conceived, Lord Breton.” Her voice was harsh, her eyes glittering fiercely. “And the daughter of a dead gypsy woman. It doesn’t matter how much you claim to care for her. You’re bad for her. You’ll leave and you’ll break her heart, and your life will go back to normal. Pampered and privileged. But hers will never be the same.”
“Philip?”
Selina’s soft question interrupted Philip’s thoughts and brought his focus back to the beautiful, mysterious woman standing in front of him.
He wanted her. He’d be mad not to. But more than that, he hadn’t lied when he’d told Mrs. Healy he cared for her.
In fact, sometimes the way he felt about her took his breath away. The feelings she invoked in him were unlike anything he’d ever felt. But acknowledging that just made his guilt about Charlotte even more acute.
What sort of man was he to be lusting after a woman who was only here because his dead wife was haunting his child?
He needed to send her away, for both their sakes. Yet he needed her to stay for his son’s.
“You should get some rest,” he said wearily. He needed this conversation to be over. He needed her to leave, so he could think properly – something he struggled with when she was near.
But instead of turning and leaving, she stepped closer, closing the gap he’d formed between them.
“No,” she said mutinously. “I told you, I know how to help. But you think I can’t do it now, and –“
“That’s not what it is, Selina,” he cut in a little desperately.
“Then what is it?” she demanded. “You don’t want me here anymore? Because I reacted badly to one episode?”
And suddenly, Philip’s control snapped. He couldn’t hold all his feelings and emotions together any longer.
He’d been doing that since Charlotte died. Since before she’d died, in fact.
But with Selina there in front of him, he just couldn’t anymore. He didn’t have the strength to keep his distance from her.
Much as it filled him with self-loathing. Much as it made him the selfish bastard Mrs. Healy knew he was, he just couldn’t fight it.
“Don’t want you here?” He laughed, the harsh sound ripped from him. “I want you here too damned much, Selina. That’s the problem. I don’t just want you here for Timothy. Selfish as I am, I want you here for me. Hell, I just plain want you.”
As soon as
the words were out, he wished them back. What would it do other than complicate things further? What good would it do for her to know how much he longed for her?
He wanted to take them back. He wanted to thank her for her help and send her away to forget about him.
Most of all, he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her go.
While he stood there agonising over what to do, Selina once more made the decision for him.
“I want what you want, Philip.”
The words were simple and softly spoken, but they burrowed into his very soul causing a burst of elation that took his breath away.
His heart knew already what he wasn’t willing to admit.
Reaching out a hand, he clasped the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his in a kiss that sent every thought from his head but the one that said she was meant to be his.
Selina knew what she had said. She knew that her words would reveal more than what was sensible. Knew that she was choosing a path that would lead to her ultimate heartbreak.
And yet, she could no more stop this passionate explosion than she could stop breathing.
With one hand buried in her hair, Philip wrapped the other around her waist and pulled her against him, growling against her lips as her body connected with his.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her mouth. “I’m not strong enough to do it unless you tell me to.”
But she didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted this to stop.
Before every modicum of sense left her for good, Selina tried to think coherently.
Nothing permanent could happen between her and Philip and in truth, much as she loved him, and she did, she didn’t want the life of a peer’s wife.
She wanted to stay here at Everwood. She wanted to make her herbal remedies and help people where she could.
She wanted her freedom.
But in that moment, she wanted nothing more than him.
And if that made her as foolish as her mother, then so be it.
Pulling her mouth from his, Selina looked into the icy blue depths of his eyes.
She knew what she was getting into here. He made no promises, nor could he.
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