by Lauren Smith
“And the widow? Where do her people hail from?”
Charles’s mouth opened, but then he looked slightly baffled. “I honestly have no idea.”
Ella set her book down and gave up all pretense of reading.
“You are falling in love with a woman, and you don’t even know who she is?” Violet continued.
Ella was tempted to cut in and tell her mother that sometimes love at first sight did exist. She had experienced that once, years ago. Kent’s soft eyes filled her mind before she banished the painful memory.
Charles frowned. “I didn’t say I was falling in love with her. We’ve only just met.”
Ella saw her brother’s brow twitch, a sure indication he was lying. He was smitten by this mysterious widow. It was no surprise. Ella had heard her friends gossiping over tea yesterday about Charles and Lily Wycliff at the ball.
“You’re in love, my dear boy,” Violet sighed. “I’ve heard from more than one friend at the ball about how you looked at her and how she looked at you.”
“Radiant, I believe someone said,” Ella cut in. Her friend Lysandra Russell had told her about it. “Radiant. Charming. Buoyant. Though one person did say ‘a couple of lovesick fools.’” That had also been from Lysandra, who had a rather negative view of love herself. Lysandra had no time for love, secretly pursuing a degree in the sciences at the moment with the help of the Society of Rebellious Ladies.
Her brother flushed and tugged at his neckcloth, and Ella bit her lip to hide a smile. It was always entertaining to provoke her brother.
“Yes, I heard that too,” Violet agreed.
“I heard she has a child.” This was also something of interest to Ella. Her brother had fallen for a woman with a child. Charles was good with children, but she never thought he would take to a woman who already had one.
“A child?” His mother’s expression hardened. “That may be a problem.”
Charles shot Ella an unamused expression. No doubt he had wanted to keep that bit of news a secret for a little while longer. She offered Charles an apologetic shrug while their mother was distracted.
“I don’t see it as such. I would welcome her child as my own. If she will have me.”
Her mother’s face softened. “Well, if you will welcome the child, then so shall I. So it seems you have decided then? After all these years, you’ve found a woman worthy of your affections?”
Charles answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
Joy blossomed in Ella’s chest. She had longed for her brother to marry so that she might have a sister to bond with. Now she would have a sister and a niece or nephew.
“When shall we meet her?” Ella asked Charles.
“Er…I am taking her to the opera tonight.”
Violet clapped her hands together. “Splendid! Ella and I shall accompany you and Mrs. Wycliff in your box. You shall meet us there.”
The thought of going to the opera made Ella brighten. She’d have a chance to get out and enjoy the evening.
“Very good,” Charles said, then cleared his throat. “Mother, has Graham written to you?”
“Graham? Not since last week. Why?”
The odd note of tension in Charles’s tone caught Ella and Violet’s attention.
“I must ask that you not overreact, Mother, but Graham was injured.” Charles then rushed to assure his mother. “I’ve been taking care of him.”
Ella clutched her closed book tightly in her hands. Something terrible had happened—she could see it in Charles’s face. How had he managed to hide this so long? Her two brothers hadn’t been close in years, and to hear that Charles was taking care of him only worried Ella further.
“Injured?” The word escaped from Violet’s lips.
“He’s healing and safe.”
Their mother leapt to her feet. “Safe? What do you mean? Is he in danger?”
Ella held the book now in a white-knuckled grip as her mother started to panic.
Charles grasped her by her hands. “Mother, you really must sit. I will explain everything if you let me.”
Their mother threw out a hand in Ella’s direction. “Smelling salts, now!” Ella desperately searched for the bottle again and pressed it into her mother’s hands. Rather than use the bottle, her mother tossed it against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at Charles.
“You will talk, now, dear boy.”
Charles audibly swallowed and shot Ella a pleading look, but Ella was the last person to stand in between their mother and anyone. Violet was a fierce creature when provoked.
“Graham and Lord Kent were gambling. Kent had an unusually poor streak,” Charles began. Ella gasped at the mention of Lord Kent’s name.
“What happened?” Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought that Phillip was involved.
“Kent was given the chance to fight in a boxing ring to pay off his debts, but in the process, he was gravely injured. Graham tried to help him, but they beat him as well. But Graham is going to be fine.”
The world seemed to start to blur around Ella, and she heard a faint ringing in her ears. Phillip was hurt. She could see it in Charles’s eyes. Whatever had happened was bad, very, very bad.
“Thank God,” their mother said and brushed away a few tears.
“And Lord Kent?” Ella’s heart pounded hard deep within her chest.
“He will be all right…I hope. The doctor said if he can survive a few weeks, he will pull through.”
Charles’s words echoed dully inside her head. Phillip was hurt badly enough that he could die.
No. He couldn’t die. She wouldn’t let him. As foolish as it was, she’d never gotten over him, and she’d never forgotten that night in the billiard room so many years ago when he’d broken her heart. Nor had she forgotten the second kiss he’d stolen the night of her debut. The man seemed to mark the milestones in her life with kisses and heartache. But it didn’t change how she felt. She was still in love with him.
“May I go see him?” she asked, then realized she couldn’t let her brother know she meant Lord Kent. He might tell her no. “I mean Graham, of course. But also Lord Kent.”
Her brother raised one brow. “I suppose, if Mother doesn’t object.”
Ella looked pleadingly at her mother.
“As long as you aren’t underfoot while Charles is pursuing Mrs. Wycliff. Lord knows your brother will need every advantage to win this woman.”
Ella couldn’t believe her mother had brushed aside Lord Kent’s condition and even Graham’s so easily. But it was in her mother’s nature to bury worry and pain deep.
“I won’t,” Ella replied at the same time Charles said, “She won’t.”
“Then you must go,” Violet said. “Graham is truly well?”
“Yes, a bit bruised, but he will be fine,” Charles assured their mother, but Ella saw the lie. Graham was more than a bit bruised.
“But he came to you? Of all places? Does that mean…?” Violet’s eyes brightened with hope.
Ella looked at Charles as well. Graham and Charles rarely spoke, except during the holidays. She knew it was because Graham blamed Charles for their father’s death. But their father had died of a stroke. It wasn’t Charles’s fault.
Charles cupped Violet’s shoulders. “I think so, yes. He is still cautious, but that is only natural under the circumstances. I, for my part, will do all I can to make amends while he is under my roof.”
Violet wiped at her eyes. “That’s wonderful. You know how much it has broken my heart to see you two not speaking to each other.”
“I know. But it will still take time.”
Ella agreed. Charles and Graham’s division had hurt everyone. Graham had spent much time away from them. Lord Kent had been and still was Graham’s closest friend, and Ella was thankful that her brother had Lord Kent in his life—at least until today. They had both been reckless and foolish.
Violet wiped her eyes again. “Well, let’s focus on this evening. The opera and meeting your
Mrs. Wycliff. We shall see you tonight then, dear boy.”
Ella stood frozen by her chair as Charles left. She didn’t want to go to the opera. She wanted to be with Phillip, to see him.
“Mother, may I go and visit Graham this afternoon?”
“Hmm?” Her mother was distracted too. “Oh…yes. Go on, my dear. I will visit Graham this evening before the opera.”
Ella slipped out of the room and rushed upstairs to change into a walking dress. She had no intention of waiting any longer than she had to. She would go at once.
“I’m coming, Phillip. Please hold on.”
3
Ella arrived at Charles’s townhouse two hours later, hastily thanking his butler, Mr. Ramsey.
“Good afternoon, Ramsey. I’ve come to see my brother and Lord Kent.”
The butler nodded. “This way. His lordship mentioned you may come by,” Mr. Ramsey replied, and his eyes deepened with concern. “Your brother and Lord Kent are resting upstairs. Which do you prefer to see first?”
“My brother,” she added, and Ramsey showed her to an upstairs chamber. Graham was sleeping, but Ramsey assured her that the doctor had said he would be better in a few days.
“I must warn you, Miss Humphrey, Lord Kent is in a bad way, a very bad way indeed. Best to brace yourself.”
“Thank you.” She followed him to another bedroom. The room was dark, but a few lamps had been lit. Ella’s heart skipped a beat as she glimpsed a figure lying on the bed.
“Is there anything I can do for him?” she asked.
“Be with him,” Mr. Ramsey said. “Just let him feel your presence. The doctor told us that if he can survive the week, he’ll likely heal in time, but there’s a concern about bleeding on his brain.”
Ella slowly approached the bed. “And his other injuries?”
“His left leg was badly broken. The doctor said it will heal, but he’ll most likely have a limp. He suffered a few broken ribs as well.”
Ella covered her mouth with a trembling hand. It was all so much worse than she had feared.
“If you want, you could apply a cool cloth to his forehead. Perhaps get him to drink a bit of water. That might help.” The butler pointed to a pitcher of water and a glass as well as some fresh cloths.
“Thank you,” she murmured to Ramsey before she approached the bed.
A chair had been placed at Phillip’s bedside. Ella moved a little closer before she wet a clean cloth and placed it to his brow. His beautiful face had been transformed by black bruises and dried blood. She almost didn’t recognize him.
“Oh, Phillip,” she whispered. She was going to stay here as long as it took. She would not abandon him. She wasn’t a child of fifteen anymore. Their paths had rarely crossed in the last five years, but that made little difference to her now. She still felt wildly nervous around him and dizzy in a way she’d never felt around any other man. Yet to see this tall, powerful, elegant, and sensual man brought so low, so wounded, it tore at her heart.
“Phillip, you must stay strong, do you hear me? You must survive.” She washed away some dried blood from his lips. As she inspected the rest of his body, she discovered his knuckles were bloody and raw. She set the cloth aside and rang for a maid to bring her some salve. Once she had it, she dabbed her fingertips into the pot and carefully worked it into the cuts and broken skin of his knuckles, then his split lip and the cuts upon his brow.
Sometime later, she was exhausted and laid her head down to rest, only to jerk awake when he made a sound. It was somewhere between a groan and a mutter.
“Phillip?” She was careful to touch his arm where she knew it was not bruised.
He made the same sound again, like a moan deep at the back of his throat.
“How about a bit of water?” She filled the glass and held it to his lips. He managed a few tiny sips before he turned his head away, just a fraction. Ella’s eyes blurred with tears, but she felt hopeful too.
“I’m here. I won’t leave you.” She brushed his dark hair back from his brow. “You’re safe now. Dream and rest.”
The voice of an angel drifted through the pain.
“Dream and rest.”
It made him feel safe enough to let himself go deeper into the realm of dreams, because he knew he would dream of her…
* * *
Two years ago
Phillip lounged against a pillar at the back of the assembly room in London, watching a crowd of debutantes being presented to the king. The elaborate affair happened only once a year, and all the eligible young ladies who’d come out for the year were presented to him, wearing their best white gowns.
“Lord, this nonsense drives a man to drink,” Graham muttered next to him.
Phillip laughed at the expression on his friend’s face. Graham mimed hanging himself with his neckcloth, and Phillip snorted. Two plump matrons with gigantic ostrich feathers in their turbans turned to scowl at them both.
“Hush!” one woman hissed, the jowls at her throat shaking with fury.
Phillip smacked Graham in the chest to silence him, otherwise Graham would have choked on his laughter. Phillip had always had a healthy respect for ladies in society, especially those with daughters of marriageable age. If a man was not cautious around them, they would find a way to ensnare him in a compromising position with their daughter. Society dictated a gentleman was to pursue a lady, yet everyone also knew that many rich, titled men like himself tended not to give chase, which made quite a few matchmaking mamas desperate.
Graham had little to fear from such women. As the younger brother to the Earl of Lonsdale, he did not attract much focus, which suited Graham just fine. He preferred to chase lusty young widows and had turned that into an art form. But Phillip was not so inclined. He had not found a woman yet to attract his attention.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. There had been one woman, one he’d kept a safe distance from for three years.
“Ah, there she is. Little bit’s all grown up.” Graham sighed and nodded at the young lady currently curtsying to the king. Phillip’s heart stopped.
Ella wore a cream-colored gown embroidered with pale gold thread in the shape of flying swallows. The lamplight gleamed favorably on the crown of her gold hair, and the loose locks had been pulled back into a Grecian style. Gold satin ribbons were threaded through her hair as a sort of headband. Jewels glinted off the ribbon, calling more attention to her hair and face.
Her features were delicate, her mouth full and her eyes almost slumberous, as though she had lived all of her life in the midst of a wonderful dream. Her chin was a little square, but the strength it gave her features did not detract from her femininity. Her porcelain skin was slightly rosy along her cheekbones as she blushed when the king nodded in approval. A few loose tendrils bounced down against her cheeks as she bent her head before straightening and standing aside for the next young woman to be presented.
“Ella,” Graham called out to his sister, jolting Phillip back to self-awareness as well as earning fresh scowls from the two women in front of them.
“Sorry, quite sorry,” Graham replied smoothly, trying to unruffle their feathers. Then Graham waved at his sister, who joined them. Her face was still flushed with excitement, and Phillip bit the inside of his cheek to keep his body from responding to her. He couldn’t afford to do or say anything foolish with most of the ton watching them. Yet he couldn’t resist wondering if that was how she would look in bed beneath him after he’d given her the most exquisite pleasure.
“You did well, Ella. Mama is beaming with pride.” Graham kissed her forehead. Ella’s gaze darted to Phillip. Her sweet, searching, yet bold gaze made his blood hum with forbidden desire.
“Yes, you did very well,” Phillip found himself adding.
He had done his best to stay away from her after that night in the billiard room three years ago. But in that time, she had grown from a very young lady of fifteen to a grown woman of eighteen. Her curvy figure was both regal and elegant, an
d there was even a delicate nature about her—not one of the body, but of the spirit.
No…that wasn’t quite right. He had trouble trying to put into words what it was that called upon every protective instinct within him.
Her blue-gray eyes were locked on his, their slightly tilted shape making her appear a little more exotic and the hopeful twinkle in them a tad impish. That was it. She made him think of a fae princess, delicate in appearance, but surprisingly strong. Yet at the same time, one word of disapproval or disappointment from someone she trusted would crush her. A delicate heart, but only toward those she loved. To all others, she was a bastion of inner strength.
The music changed in the room as the presentation ended.
“Now for the dances,” Graham said, and he gave Phillip an appraising look. “Take my place and dance with Ella for me? Lord Garnsey’s widow has just arrived.” Graham grinned in greeting at a buxom brunette in a deep-red dress who had just walked into the assembly room.
Before either Ella or Phillip could stop him, Graham had slipped away through the crush of people, leaving Phillip alone with the woman he desperately wanted to bed and also needed to avoid.
“You don’t have to dance with me, Lord Kent. I would not hold you to that. I will find the other ladies without partners.” She turned to join a group of young women who had all gathered forlornly at the far wall. The thought of Ella joining them, her disappointment mingling with theirs, made him act. He reached out and caught her wrist.
“Wait, I will claim your first dance. Allow the men here a chance to see what they are missing.” Her slender wrist was warm in his hand, and his pulse beat faster as he led her out onto the center of the floor.
Three couples joined him and Ella to form a rectangle for a quadrille. As they began, Phillip let go of his reservations and gave in to his delight in dancing with her. Graham and Charles always said she was fragile, like a flower that had bloomed too early and one good frost could destroy her delicate bloom, but Phillip saw none of that. He saw only a woman with the light of joy in her eyes. She laughed as they spun and moved apart and back together, and soon the other couples were smiling too. Her genuine joy of the moment was infectious.
