“Physics,” Mr. Winter answered. “He has a fascination with explaining the unexplainable.” Mr. Winter chuckled. “He came home a few months ago and babbled on and on about some such nonsense I can’t recall at present. Then he proceeded to teach me a bit of the arithmetic he’s been learning, but I couldn’t follow it. I profess, I’ve never seen anything so complex in all my years, nor have I ever been as dizzy as I was when he was speaking.”
“Sounds fascinating,” said Philip. “Though I must confess, it does not sound as though your son and I share similar interests.”
“What does interest you, Lord Philip?”
Olivia’s question was unexpected. Even more unexpected was the sugary voice she had used to ask it. “Ah, well,” Philip fumbled, “horses, certainly.”
“And a good thing, too!” Mr. Winter said on a laugh before lifting his glass of wine and gulping healthily from it.
“Nothing else then?” Olivia probed.
He couldn’t be sure, but Philip had the distinct impression she was trying to gather information about him. What was she playing at? “I’ve always enjoyed music,” he found himself saying, out of politeness more than anything else. “Sometimes I’ll even venture to compose a tune or two.”
“Oh, how lovely,” said Olivia before smiling. “I should like to hear you play one of your melodies.”
“P-perhaps I will, Miss Winter,” said Philip. Dear God, was she attempting to flirt with him in front of her father?
“I look forward to it, my lord,” she said a bit too sweetly, then added: “I hope you shall keep your promise. I do so hate to be disappointed.”
Now he was absolutely sure of it. The pouty way in which she had said her last sentences cleared his mind of all doubt: she was flirting with him.
He nearly choked on his potatoes. Devil take it, he did not need such an open invitation after briefly picturing her as he had — on her hands and knees in front of him, her hair gripped tightly in his hand.
Why in the world would she venture to tempt him so? And in front of her father, no less! Was she trying to lure him? She certainly was being altogether too solicitous for proper mealtime conversation. That much was for certain.
But why would she be so brazen? Philip asked himself. But as soon as he thought the question, the answer came to him.
The isolated daughter of a country merchant would certainly be elevating her position by marrying a wealthy nobleman. Sure, to elevated women, Philip was only a fair second choice if all other men were taken, but to a common girl, Philip was like a king. He had wealth, connections, and a place in society. He received countless invitations to many lavish balls and could afford her luxuries her father’s income never could. What common young woman would not try to grasp at the opportunity to obtain such a lifestyle?
The idea of her scheme made him seethe. She was trying to make him feel affection for her in the same way Georgiana and Charlotte had. Granted, their strategic words were far more advanced and effective than Olivia’s fumbled comments, but that hardly mattered. Olivia’s intentions seemed far more devious through her brazenness. She was a shameless, classless little tart, and extremely lacking in any sort of ladylike decorum. She was absolutely disgraceful.
No doubt she already had a clear image in her head of what her wedding gown would look like. The best and most expensive of everything — that was what she would want, the scheming little harlot. Well, plan or no, Miss Olivia Winter was in for a nasty surprise. Philip had vowed never to marry. But if he did, it would certainly never to be to a woman like her.
He did his best to ignore her for the rest of the meal, speaking only to Mr. Winter about horses. The stables and the grounds he had seen earlier had been most satisfactory. The horses had been superb as well. A few mares were already due to foal in a couple of weeks, and the studs were excellent examples of fine animals.
The more he had seen, the more eager he had become to ensure this project was a success. At last Philip felt as though he had found something that would give him pride and separate himself from the position of “the second son.” This venture would be his, as would the results of his efforts. Success or failure, whichever he was destined to face (hopefully success), Philip was making his own way. He would not allow Olivia’s ambitions to derail such an opportunity.
Much to his agitation — and despite his best efforts to ignore her — Olivia had continued to ask her inane questions all through dinner. Philip tried his best to avoid answering her, but when he did deign to offer her a response, it was always only with one word or two; no more.
The rest of his energy went into ignoring her completely and asking Mr. Winter questions about Whistler Manor or the horses. Thankfully, the man had been so wrapped up in talk of business that he hardly noticed his daughter was being ignored.
When the meal was finished, Mr. Winter suggested they all gather in the drawing room for a nightcap. Philip immediately chose one of the smaller chairs in the room near the fireplace, fearing Olivia would sit next to him on the sofa had he chosen to occupy it. Mr. Winter sat opposite him in another little chair and they resumed their discussion of business. Philip could see Olivia in the corner of his eye. She was leaning forward on the sofa, listening — obviously waiting for the most opportune moment to say something else inappropriate.
At one point during Philip and Mr. Winter’s conversation, the subject of finances was reached. “I should like to see your ledgers if it is not too invasive of me,” said Philip.
“Oh, not at all,” Mr. Winter replied. “You have every right, in my opinion. Wait here. They’re in my study.”
Before Philip could say, “I’d rather join you,” Mr. Winter was gone, leaving him in the eager clutches of his daughter.
Philip glanced at Miss Olivia. She had a silly smile upon her face. He downed the last of his brandy. He was going to need it. He knew she was going to speak to him soon. He could feel it coming.
And then sure enough …
• • •
“Are all your family back in London, Lord Philip?”
“They are,” he said quickly, and without any sort of friendliness.
After her horrible performance on the stairs earlier, Olivia had decided to swallow her pride and behave as sweetly as she could to Lord Philip to make up for her behavior. But it did not seem to be working. She had failed to capture his attention all through dinner, and he was not very willing to speak to her now. Perhaps she had offended him in some way. Perhaps nearly falling down the stairs with no slippers had left such an indelible impression that he would never accept her. Whatever her mistake, she was confident that if she could at least get him to speak, she could smooth out the wrinkles of her blunders. She would just have to keep trying.
“Do you like the country, my lord?”
“Yes, I like it very much.”
She thought for a moment. “I do hope we shall see you at Whistler Manor often.” God, what am I doing wrong? She asked herself when she saw his mouth curl into a snarl. Keep trying, she thought. “I’ve … taken … quite a liking to you, you know. In fact, I’d rath — ”
“Stop,” said Lord Philip.
Olivia blinked at him in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said stop. Stop with this nonsense. I know your game.”
It took Olivia a moment to find her voice. “W-what game is that, my lord?”
“Do not play stupid with me, Miss Winter. All through dinner you practically threw yourself at me with all your sweet little words,” he scoffed. “I cannot possibly begin to expand upon how absolutely disgusting it was to flirt with me in front of your father.”
Olivia was too stunned to respond. Flirt? Had he said flirt?
“I know the game you play. All young ladies in town play it, though with considerably better strategies.”
Olivia lowered her head and stared her hands in her lap. She was absolutely mortified that he would misinterpret her hospitality as being part of a personal agenda. She
should have realized that perhaps her words and the way in which she had said them might be mistaken for flirtations. But then again she had little experience conversing with men, so she really could not have known. Oh, what a fool she had been. Again. She would never be able to look him in the eye —
“You cannot lure me into marriage, Miss Winter,” said Philip sternly. “If you want to marry a nobleman and be a wealthy woman with a title, then go to London and snag someone else with your poor tricks. I am not interested.”
Never … not once before in her life had anger made her ears pop. It had never made all the muscles in her body tense. And it had most definitely never made the entire surface of her skin flush with scorching heat. His last comment had made Olivia so angry, she wasn’t sure she could call it anger. Bloodthirsty fury was more like it.
She wanted to lunge at him with her arms swinging wildly. That was her first impulse, but of course she refrained. Surely, there was a much better way to wound him.
So … Lord Philip Ravenshaw thought she wanted a husband with wealth, did he? He thought she wanted a husband with a title, did he? Well, he was in for a nasty surprise…
• • •
Her silence worried him. He was beginning to think that he’d been too gruff and honest. Her little body was shaking slightly. Was it sadness? Fear? He didn’t know. He only knew he would be at a loss if she started to cry.
Dear God, please don’t let her cry, don’t let her cry, don’t let —
Olivia raised her head slowly. Her eyes were closed and remained so as a calm, lazy smile stretched over her face. Then her eyes snapped open. She looked positively possessed with rage. He would never admit to it. Never in a hundred years. But the way Miss Olivia Winter looked at him in that moment scared Philip out of his wits. He had never succeeded in making a woman this visibly angry.
“Allow me to preface by saying I think you are the most disgracefully arrogant man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” she said. Philip noticed she was employing a significant amount of restraint in order to say her words calmly. Where the cords of a lady’s neck supposed to stick out like that?
“Miss Winter — ”
“No,” she said firmly, holding up a hand and pursing her lips. “You have had your turn to speak, and now I shall have mine, Lord Philip.”
Philip promptly closed his mouth and prepared for what would surely be the worst verbal lashing of his life.
“My purpose — my sole purpose in using what you termed ‘sweet little’ words, was to gain your favor, yes, but for the benefit of my father. If my attempts at making conversation seemed to be, in any way, a ploy to gain your favor for my personal advantage, as you suggested, then that is because I am inefficient at performing such nonsense. I hate carrying on conversations without substance and have therefore never bothered to perfect the art.
“But after my horrible introduction, following my spill on the stairs, I decided to forget about my pride and play the part of the welcoming hostess for the evening. And rest assured that was not a role I was willing to play for anyone, least of all you. I detest your kind.
“If it had been up to me, I would have remained in my bedchamber all evening, occupying myself with a much more interesting activity. But after meeting you, and now discovering your true nature, I can honestly say that staring at a blank wall all night would have been much more interesting than being in the company of the likes of you.”
Her heated speech ended so abruptly that the room seemed to explode with silence. Philip was stunned. This was not the woman with whom he had dined. She was not the one he had criticized meticulously for being so ridiculous. She was different. She was intelligent, she was … not finished berating him, he realized as she again opened her mouth to speak.
“And how dare you imply that I am so shallow as to try and lure a man into marriage with tricks and games!” she bellowed, finally letting the full measure of her anger spill forth. “And to suggest I did it all to gain you as a husband,” she scoffed. “What makes you think I would ever want you for my husband? You, sir, are most certainly not a prize I would want to win. And if I happened to be prone to bad taste and judgment and wanted to marry you, rest assured that I would have simply asked you myself.”
Philip’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“Sorry it took so long,” Mr. Winter said suddenly from the doorway. “Pesky little books were in my bedchamber instead of the library. I could have sworn that — what’s the matter?” he asked when he saw Philip’s face.
“Nothing,” Philip answered quickly. “I was just … thinking.”
Olivia leaned forward a bit. “Yes,” she said at a volume only Philip could hear. “I imagine you’ll be doing that a bit more often now, especially before you speak.”
“What are you saying, Olivia?” her father asked.
“Nothing, Papa,” she said. “I was just telling Lord Philip how lovely it was speaking to him, and how I shall retire now.”
“Oh, all right then,” said Mr. Winter. “Goodnight then, strawberry.”
Olivia rose to her feet and kissed her father on the cheek. “Goodnight, Papa.” She turned back to Philip, who still felt more than a little flustered.
“Goodnight, my lord,” she said as sweetly as ever and curtsied deeply, as if to exaggerate her victory. And Philip was only too ashamed to admit defeat…even silently.
Chapter Four
Philip awoke to the now-familiar sounds of men working on Tyndall Hall. He stretched lazily in his new, large bed.
All about the house there was noise. Maids were running up and down the halls, cleaning out the rooms. Men were repairing the damages, bringing in and taking away supplies and scraps. Outside, the traffic was just as chaotic. Crews of carpenters, masons, and artisans were standing on the ground, on scaffoldings, and on ladders, working as diligently on the house this morning as they had the first day they arrived three weeks ago.
Overall, Philip was very pleased with all the progress. Most of the cracks in the walls of the rooms had been filled, smoothed over, and then covered with imported papers. The windows and their sills had been cleared of their grime, and new drapes of various colors and textures were on order from the finest shops in London. There were more decorations and furnishings on order as well, but Philip had had no part in ordering them … not recently, anyway.
Along with the workers, a decorator had been summoned. Philip had known his name from having heard it countless times while Charlotte rambled on and on about her mother’s newly decorated ballroom.
“He is an absolute genius,” Charlotte had said about the man.
A genius, was he? Well, that was exactly what Philip decided he needed for Tyndall Hall. Anyone less than brilliant would surely go mad from the challenge presented by the dilapidated house and its secluded location.
In addition to being a genius, Philip also discovered something else about the man: he was an outrageously flamboyant Frenchman named Henri Brasseux, who possessed a fierce connection to his white poodle, Collette, and an equally fierce love of young footmen. At first, Philip had diplomatically ignored Henri’s behavior. But after Henri had given Philip one delicate little caress too many, Philip had given the man complete control over the interior design of Tyndall Hall and switched from ignoring to avoiding him.
“I ’ave brought you some samples, Lord Philippe,” said Henri one day. They had been in Philip’s study at the time, with Philip seated at his desk and Henri standing next to him.
“I sought zis wallpaper would be perfect for your chamber, monsieur. Very romantic, is it not?” said Henri as he placed the sample before Philip and his hand on Philip’s back … Philip’s lower back. Philip had reacted instantly by jumping up from his chair.
“What is wrong, monsieur?”
“Nothing, nothing,” answered Philip. “I, uh … I like it. In fact, I like everything you select, so from now on, feel free to make choices without my consent.” Philip had begun to rub the back of his
neck nervously. “Just keep the designs, uh … masculine.”
“But of course, monsieur! Nothing else could suit you. One can see sat you are a very, very — ” Henri’s eyes had drifted downwards in a blatant survey of Philip’s body “ — virile man.”
“Right,” said Philip, feeling horribly violated. “Good. W-well, if you’ll, uh, excuse me now, I have some business to attend to … outside. Some business outside. Good-day, to you, sir.”
Philip had left the room thanking God that the landscape architect was a robust outdoorsman with a wife, ten children, and one on the way. He didn’t need two designers pursuing him. The landscape architect’s rugged nature did not hinder his delicate landscaping eye, however.
The exterior was beginning to look wonderfully presentable. The overgrown flower beds, hedges, and vines had all been tamed and trimmed to rigid perfection. The barren lawns had been properly fertilized and were now uniformly green. Fountains and statues were on their way from Italy for the garden at the back of the house, as was a shipment of limestone for a gravel drive.
It was all costing Philip a fortune, but this was his home. He would go back to London to visit his family for a short time when the Season began, but Tyndall Hall was to be his base. He wanted the estate to reflect his ambition and accomplishments through flawless presentation. He wanted to be proud of it, and so even though the bills were at times painful, the cost really would not matter in the end.
But so many things — from settling the bills (which came in daily now that the repairs were in full motion) to his business with Mr. Winter and the horses — kept him hopelessly detained. Philip had been so busy, in fact, that he had not yet apologized to Olivia.
It had been nearly two months since that dreadful dinner at Whistler Manor, and he still had made no attempt to make amends for his cruel words. Thankfully Mr. Winter had remained perfectly ignorant of what had transpired between his daughter and his business partner. It would only upset the old man if he found out his daughter and Philip detested one another.
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