“No, not terribly. I’m normally boring and serious and unwilling to play games. I think you bring out a side of me that is usually dormant. I think that’s one of the reasons I like you so well.”
Pleasure at his words curled through her, making her heart give a little flip. “I’m glad that I can do that for you. Ironically, I like you so well for almost the exact opposite reason. I feel the most free to be myself around you. I absolutely hated the feeling that I had to guard every word I said during the Season. It was so terribly stifling.”
He nodded, his eyes serious. “I know exactly what you mean. Having to constantly police one’s words is exhausting.”
She slowed, turning to face him. “Have you attended the London Season?” She had assumed it was outside of the world he operated in. She’d never seen him before, and heaven knew she’d attended a thousand events this spring.
Something chased across his features, but it was gone before she could name it. “I’ve been to a few events in the past.”
“Really? I wonder if we have acquaintances in common and we didn’t even know it.” Was it possible that they could cross paths again in the future? This time in England, where real life awaited them in a few short weeks. It was a thought that had hope bubbling up in her chest.
“Hard to say,” he said, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “Luckily for us, we’ve no longer need for an introduction.” He offered her a small smile before glancing down to his watch fob. “Unfortunately, I fear our time is up for today. I am feeling much more accomplished in my español skills, señorita. Muchas gracias.”
She grinned at his pathetic attempt to roll the r of señorita. “De nada. Shall we meet again the day after tomorrow?”
He gave her a slow, private smile that made her pulse flutter. “I’m looking forward to it.”
~*~
The Spanish lessons may have very well been Philip’s best idea to date. After two weeks, he may only know marginally more Spanish than when he’d started, but he had enjoyed every minute by Libby’s side, idly walking the streets of Seville, listening to her talk about her childhood, her time at Hollingsworth, and a bit more about her abysmal time in London with her decidedly unpleasant-sounding uncle.
Their time together had made the whole trip worthwhile, which was a good thing, seeing how he had made little progress with his brother. Nigel still acted as though Philip was doling out cruel and unusual punishment by bringing him here. The play they had attended last night—Shakespeare, no less—had been a resounding failure, and Nigel had accused Philip of attempting to kill him with boredom. Philip had snapped that Nigel’s tastes simply ran to the baser things in life, which hadn’t gone over well.
“I’m not sure I want to know what you’re thinking.”
Philip blinked and glanced over to Libby. “I’m sorry?”
She offered him a gentle smile, her eyes golden in the morning light. “You’re in quite a brown study over there. I thought you said you enjoyed visiting the waterfront.”
Grimacing, he said, “My apologies. I’m still having some issues with Nigel.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she responded, empathy wrapped around the words. “It’s such a shame that things seem so difficult between you. Has it always been like that?”
He shook his head, staring out over the water. “No, not at all. When he was young, he practically worshipped the ground I walked on. He followed me like a shadow, and most of the time, I loved having him there.”
“Most of the time?” He could practically hear the smile in her voice.
He chuckled, remembering his outrage at discovering his little brother hiding in the bushes during Philip’s first kiss. “A young man doesn’t always want his baby brother around.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding in understanding. “That much I understand. Eleanor nearly killed me the day she found me reading her diary. It was the last time she ever wrote in it, as far as I know.”
The breeze kicked up, sweeping a few strands of her blond hair across her face. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it aside. His knuckle lingered at the curve of her cheek for a moment too long before he dropped his hand to his side.
She moistened her lips, her chest rising and falling with the sudden quickness of her breath. God, what he would give to have a moment truly alone with her. There were so many times he had thought about touching her, so many times his gaze had settled on those beautiful lips of hers and wondered exactly what they would feel like beneath his own.
Attempting to reclaim his wits, he glanced back to where her maid sat at a bench overlooking the water, and when he looked back to Libby, she seemed to understand the subtle reminder.
Taking a small step away, she said, “So what happened then? With your brother, I mean. Did you simply grow apart?”
All of the ardor of a moment ago fled as he remember the circumstances that had changed everything. “My father died. He”—Philip hesitated, searching for a delicate way to say his father had been caught in bed with another man’s wife—“made some very bad choices that resulted in being challenged to a duel. He rather foolishly accepted, though for the life of me, I cannot figure out why.”
Philip considered it over the years, and the only explanation he could come up with was that, as duke, his ego had inflated to the point that he felt he was both infallible and invincible. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
“But . . . it’s illegal,” she stammered. “Even if he’d won, he would have gone to jail.”
He shook his head, unable to explain his father’s conceit. He also couldn’t very well tell her it was extraordinarily improbable that a duke would have ever been charged. The problem would have likely magically gone away, just like all of his father’s other problems with the law.
She blew out a breath, her eyes full of compassion. “I’m sorry. That must have been a horrible time for your family. I can see how it might have taken a toll on your relationship with your brother.”
If only it had been that easy. Pressing his lips together, he met her compassionate gaze. “My brother was fifteen at the time. For reasons I still don’t understand, my father laughingly named my brother as his second. Thinking nothing would ever really hurt our father, Nigel agreed. He was witness to the whole thing.” He could still remember his brother’s ashen face when Philip had rushed home after receiving word of the tragedy.
Libby’s gasp pulled Philip from the darkness of the memory.
“I’m sorry,” he said, regretting his candor. He’d never told anyone about that day. A peer of his stature did not air the family secrets.
Shaking her head, she closed the distance between them and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Please don’t be sorry. I just hate that your brother and your family had to go through such needless pain.”
He nodded. “It was a difficult time. My mother and I handled Nigel with kid gloves after that, wanting to compensate for the trauma of it. Unfortunately, it has recently become abundantly clear that we did him no favors.”
Even so, Philip still didn’t know what he would have done differently. It’s hard to imagine punishing a boy for acting up when he had been through so much.
Libby tilted her head, considering him. “In what way? He’s a bit of a scoundrel, to be sure, but he’s doesn’t seem to mean any real harm.”
If only that was the extent of it. Philip rubbed a weary hand over the back of his neck. “He’s fallen into a downward spiral, it would seem. He’s becoming more and more like our father every day, which worries me, for obvious reasons. With his brash attitude, he seems to think he is invincible, just like our father once did. Unfortunately, that sort of arrogance makes one an easy target to those with no scruples.”
Her brows scrunched together. “What do you mean?”
Fresh anger welled up at how his brother had ruined himself, especially knowing he still hadn’t learned his lesson. “The truth is, the entire reason we are here is because he recklessly bet a small fortune�
��money he didn’t actually have—on the turn of a card. I brought him here with the hope of straightening him out. None of the old distractions, no privileges, no wastrel friends to encourage his behavior. Unfortunately, I seem to be failing.”
She was quiet for a few moments, staring off at the deep-blue water of the harbor. “How can you fail at something that really isn’t in your control?”
His eyes snapped to hers, surprised at the softly spoken words. “What do you mean?”
Turning to face him fully, she regarded him with more seriousness than he had ever seen in her. “We can’t always be responsible for another person’s choices. You can show them the right way all you want, but in the end, they are free to choose their own path—for better or worse.”
He blinked a few times, processing her meaning. It might make sense for another, but he was the duke, damn it. It was his responsibility to care for and guide those under his protection. He shook his head, unable to accept what she was saying. “I can’t give up on him. He’s my only brother, and I can’t allow him to fall to ruin.”
Her smile was sweet enough to make his heart ache. “I never said give up on him. I only meant that you do what you can, but in the end, a person’s destiny is up to him. If he’s determined to fail, then you might have to let him. But Nigel is your brother. No matter what, I hope you never give up on him.”
The words echoed in the part of his heart that had been hollowed out by his inability to help or change his brother. He turned them over, examining them, testing them. What if he never could help Nigel? What if he could never force him to stand up and act like a man? Could Philip release the burden of his brother’s destiny, even as he continued to try to help him? It was a possibility he hadn’t considered, one that felt somehow freeing.
Turning his attention fully back to the woman in front of him, he slipped his fingers beneath the hand she still rested on his arm. Slowly, purposefully, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a featherlight kiss to the supple leather of her kid glove. “How ever did you get to be so wise, sweet Libby?”
As he watched, her eyes darkened and her breath hitched, making his heart pound. Drawing a slow breath, he turned her hand over, exposing the delicate, nearly translucent skin at the inside of her wrist. Lifting her hand once more, he touched his lips to the soft warmth of her bare skin. The smell of jasmine teased him as he closed his eyes for the space of a second. Bliss.
Releasing his hold, he straightened and smiled at the lovely woman he’d come to admire so much. “Forgive me. In a place as beautiful as this, with a woman as lovely as you, sometimes it is easy to forget oneself. I’m beginning to think this place holds a bit of magic, making the rest of the world seem far away.”
Her smile seemed to light her from within, like sunshine through a jar of honey. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, content to simply be there together. Philip watched as boats went by in the harbor, from huge ships to little fishing vessels. The sound of the water lapping at the shore, the soft scent of the woman beside him, the feel of the sun warming his shoulders—he couldn’t remember a time that he had ever felt more content.
“This is my heaven,” Libby said, breaking the silence between them.
“What, the Seville harbor?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, throwing him a little grin that hit him square in the chest. “But it reminds me of all the things I want in life. The sea, a small cottage, the smell of the salt-tinged air, the magic of the pink-hued sky . . .” She trailed off, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he fit into that picture at all.
It occurred to him then what she’d been describing: a small, quiet life. He’d never known anyone, most especially not a young lady of the beau monde, who didn’t wish for the biggest and best house money could buy, located at the most enviable address. “You’d rather have that than a massive estate somewhere, throwing balls and dinner parties and wearing the very best fashions from Paris?”
He tried to picture her in a sophisticated gown with her hair coiled into some elaborate coiffure but couldn’t. To him, she was simple muslin gowns and straw bonnets and sun-kissed cheeks.
“Oh, I shall always be fashionable,” she quipped, her eyes dancing with a sweet playfulness. “But if experiencing my first Season has taught me anything, it is that life without the pomp and circumstance is vastly preferable.”
He couldn’t hide his incredulity. “Are you saying you don’t wish for a titled husband?” It seemed as though that was the goal of every young miss on the marriage market. Something very close to disappointment settled in his gut.
“God, no.” The two words were quick and decisive on her tongue. “I’d rather be wed to a fish monger than an earl or duke or some other such nonsense. With the exception of Amelia’s husband—who I should point out most certainly had no expectation of becoming a peer—every titled man I have known in my life has been arrogant, self-important, self-serving, or downright disagreeable.”
He blinked, surprised at the vehemence with which she spoke. “And for the sake of argument, how many would you say you’ve actually met?”
Her grin was swift and unrepentant. “Oh, I met scads of them this spring—”
“Scads?” he repeated, interrupting her with a grin. “Is that like a peck or a bushel?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “All right, I’ll admit to having met a few perfectly decent lords during my foray into society. But I’ve seen the life they lead outside of the glittering ballrooms. My uncle’s life is one of dreary responsibility and the singular pursuit of greater wealth and prestige.”
“I thought everyone wanted riches and power. Isn’t that what we all wish for?” He was genuinely curious. His status and holdings had been assured from the moment he was born. He had always known he would have power and wealth.
“Freedom is not to be had in either of those things. The more we have of each, the more we are slaves to them. I want the freedom to actually enjoy my life.”
Once again, he was taken aback by her astuteness. “Such sage wisdom from one who is so young.”
“One doesn’t need to be old to have wisdom. It is observation that makes us wise.”
Sharing a smile, he almost dropped the subject when he suddenly realized what she had said about her uncle. “Wait a second, you said your uncle’s life. Is he a peer?”
For some reason, the thought had never occurred to him. Yes, she had spoken of her Season a couple of times, but he had assumed she was on the outskirts of it all. And honestly, somewhere along the way, he had gotten the impression that her uncle was a social climber.
She grimaced and nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. He’s an earl, actually, and is not exactly a shining example of the peerage.”
Uncle Robert. The first fingers of dread slid down his neck as all humor fled. “Libby, who is your uncle?”
He suddenly wished he could freeze the moment, stopping the words that he knew, simply knew, would be coming.
“Oh, I hadn’t considered that you might know of him. He’s Robert Ashby, Earl of Malcolm.”
The very man who had purposely set out to ruin Philip’s brother.
Chapter 7
The change in Philip was almost instantaneous. Libby’s brows came together in confusion as she watched his jaw harden into a harsh line and the light drain from his blue eyes. She reached out, setting her hand against his elbow. “Philip, what is it?”
Because, without a doubt, it was something. Libby knew full well that there were those who disliked her uncle. He’d had no qualms about using his position to bully people. Had he somehow hurt Philip?
He shook his head, pulling his arm away. “I think we need to get back. We’ve been gone far too long.” His voice was wooden, devoid of the warmth she had come to expect.
“No, please. Something is wrong, and I want to know what it is.” She felt suddenly cold, despite the sun that still shined down so brightly it almost hurt her eyes.
His expression remained stony
. “It’s nothing. Call your maid, and we can head back.”
He started to walk around her, but she stepped to the side, forcing him to acknowledge her. “Quit acting like I am some sort of child. Obviously I’ve upset you, and obviously it has to do with my uncle. Tell me what it is.”
The muscles of his jaw worked as if he were grinding his teeth. “Your uncle is not a good man.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Yes, I know. He’s been better recently, but—”
“No, he hasn’t. If anything, he is worse than ever.”
Oh, God. Swallowing against the tightening in her throat, she said, “Tell me.”
Philip was silent for a moment, focusing somewhere over her shoulder. When he met her gaze, there was a barrier between them that hadn’t existed before. “Your uncle wanted something from me. When I refused, he threatened me, saying I’d regret it. When I held firm, he made good on his promise by setting out to ruin my brother.”
She gaped at him for a moment, trying to make heads or tails of what she was hearing. Philip knew her uncle? Her uncle had threatened him? Worst of all, he had actually set out to harm Nigel? “I-I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
She felt as though a pit was opening up between them. Philip looked so distant, so oddly detached, it squeezed her heart to know he was pulling away.
“It is not yours to be sorry about,” he answered, his tone even and polite. “If you are not ready to leave, I understand. I’m certain you and your maid know the way back.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him. As she watched him go, the hurt flowed into her chest, filling the place where happiness had resided only minutes earlier. In that moment, she realized exactly how much she had come to care for him.
Somehow, someway, she had to find a way to make up for what her uncle had done.
~*~
“Where the hell have you been?”
Philip’s fury was so complete, he didn’t even try to temper his voice as he stood in the entry of their suite of rooms with his fists planted on his hips and a fierce scowl contorting his features. What had happened yesterday with Libby had been utter hell. Returning home to an empty apartment hadn’t helped things. But waiting up all night for a brother who had as good as vanished had taken Philip to his breaking point.
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