by Stacy Reid
His mother’s nod of acknowledgement was regal, and her warm smile banished some of the tension from Phillipa’s body.
A sigh came from Anthony at a ruckus that sounded from the hallway. The door was flung open, and a young lady barreled into the room. She blazed in without decorum, running past Phillipa to fling herself at him for a hug. He grunted as if annoyed, but he returned her embrace, kissing her cheek.
“Oh, Anthony, he is bloody fabulous. I cannot believe he is all mine!”
“Constance!” Lady Radcliffe’s admonishment had her spinning around laughing.
Phillipa was stunned by Lady Constance’s beauty. She was a replica of Anthony’s blond looks, with his same sparkling green eyes. She possessed the petite body of her mother, except her curves were richly pronounced.
“Oh, Mother! Anthony has planned to gift me with a horse sired from Odin for my birthday, and I have just ridden him, though he won’t officially be mine for six more weeks. He is so divine, and I am so thrilled!”
“I see I will have to relieve the stable master of his duties,” Anthony drawled.
“Oh, rubbish. He could not very well refuse to answer when I demanded to know whose horse it is.”
“Lady Constance, may I present Miss Phillipa Peppiwell. Miss Peppiwell, my sister.”
Lady Constance’s energy whirled toward Phillipa, and she clapped enthusiastically. “Oh! A second gift! I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Peppiwell.”
Phillipa gazed at her with a slight frown. “As am I—”
“I do so hope you will teach me how to ride astride. Tongues have been wagging in the drawing rooms at your boldness, Miss Peppiwell. I think it’s grand, and you are very brave, indeed.”
“Well, I—” Phillipa winced at the appalled look Lady Radcliffe gave her daughter. Anthony looked on with a sort of brotherly indulgence, but she got the distinct feeling he would lock his sister up for a year if she actually dared to ride astride.
“Please ignore my daughter’s rudeness, Miss Peppiwell. She has yet to understand that a young lady does not behave in such a manner.”
Phillipa nodded blandly, refusing to rise to the implication that she was, therefore, clearly not a lady. She was quite used to such thoughtless statements, and far from being offended, was secretly pleased by the characterization.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of friendly chatter and preparation for travel. When Phillipa departed, Anthony placed a perfunctory kiss on her cheek that had his mother smiling. Whether from the kiss itself, or from his cool politeness, Phillipa wasn’t certain.
In any case, she steadfastly refused to beg a private audience with him, and bundled herself into the viscountess’s carriage without any further discussion of their relationship.
The trip to London was uneventful. Phillipa felt the palpable curiosity of Lady Constance and Lady Radcliffe, but instead of prying, they filled the journey with mild pleasantries and inane chatter about balls, mutual acquaintances, and the weather. Phillipa found herself liking them both very much. She answered their polite inquires about her family graciously, happy they confined their questions mainly to her sisters.
On the inside, her feelings were riotous. Anthony had not seemed angry, but he’d been distant with her, to the point of coldness. She clenched her hands on her lap, despising the uncertainty in her mind…and her heart. Had she made the right decision, refusing his offer?
What a tangle her life had suddenly become.
Phillipa was more than grateful for Lady Radcliffe’s aid in her current situation, and quietly told her so before facing her father. But as it turned out, her return home was without fanfare or the upset she had feared. Her aunt had received a note last night from the viscountess informing of Phillipa’s stay, so no one had worried. Rather than being distressed, Lady Merryweather was visibly pleased to know she’d spent the night at Lord Anthony’s home. After an hour of afternoon tea and lively conversation with her mother and aunt, the viscountess and Lady Constance departed.
Phillipa’s aunt wasted no time in pouncing on her. “This is wonderful news, Phillipa! Lord Anthony’s mother has taken quite a shine to you. You can expect his courtship to begin at once.”
“It will be in vain. I still do not wish to marry,” she assured her, wondering briefly at the lack of conviction in her voice.
“Nonsense,” her mother declared. “I have complete confidence that you will see the immense benefit to your father of connecting with such an esteemed family. Payton has also made a wonderful match, and I am very proud both my girls will be wed by next season. Payton will be the Lady Jenson St. John, and you Lady Anthony Thornton, and perhaps a duchess one day.”
Phillipa hated the tiny thrill that went through her at the idea of being Anthony’s lady. She prayed he had not really ended their association. She was not sure if that was what he’d done. But the pain that clawed through her heart at the mere possibility was almost unbearable.
She retired early, drained from the entire ordeal. She sank into slumber, resolved to determine if Anthony felt affection for her.
For she had finally cast aside her doubt, and admitted to herself that if he felt even a sliver of affection that could grow to love, she would marry him.
Her grandmother always said that any man who loved her, while he held her heart in the palm of his hands, she held his soul in the heart of hers, and he would give her all she desired.
Chapter Fourteen
Three days had passed since Phillipa departed Anthony’s estate with his mother and sister. And three endless nights. He was now visiting with Lady Jocelyn in Lincolnshire. It should have taken his mind from Phillipa, but seeing Lady Jocelyn again only reaffirmed Phillipa had ruined him for any other woman. Because he was still as tormented today as he’d been the first night.
Anthony asked himself for the fifth time why he was in the woods of Stone Haven hunting with Lady Jocelyn. Hunting. Another unorthodox female in his life. The second female he knew who rode so boldly astride without fear of society’s disapproval. She was now dressed in boy’s pants and was far too comfortable with her bow and arrow.
She smiled over her shoulder at him and he smiled back, following behind on his horse.
Seeing Lady Jocelyn was a whim he did not regret. It was a relief to know that his polite note had never been delivered to her. She still had the locket, and he’d seen the questions in her eyes, yet so far she’d asked him nothing. He wondered what she would say if he truly unburdened and told her of his illegitimacy and Phillipa’s rejection of his proposal.
Lady Jocelyn was glad to see him, but it was not the happiness of a missed lover. He doubted she even saw him as a man. Hell. How she looked at him actually reminded him of how his mother had been with the old duke. He’d never seen them kiss or even touch, never seen any passion or joy between them. He’d only seen his mother’s misery and the tears she’d thought she shed in secret.
Even so, if he ever wed Lady Jocelyn, he doubted they would have such a cold marriage. He liked her. Her fierceness he had never encountered in another woman, and her warmth was captivating. It was a pity he could not feel anything deeper for her, but at least they would have friendship, a thing many marriages lacked. Ironically, when he’d resolved to find a bride, the only requirement he’d really had was that they love each other. He scoffed. His brother may really be right. Love was an unrealistic ideal he was chasing.
“Shhh, my lord.” She smiled and pressed a finger to her lips. “You are being too noisy. We are going to scare them away.”
His eyes slid over the curve of her rump so clearly outlined in her tightly fitting breeches. He shook his head, disappointed when nothing stirred within him.
“You seem distracted today,” she remarked.
He grimaced. “I do have some unresolved issues in London. Forgive me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked with a warm smile.
“I do not.” He smiled to remove the sting. “My visit was m
eant to clear my head of my troubles. Tell me of the irrigation system you want to implement here at Stone Haven.”
The restoration of her home, a topic dear to her, had the desired effect, and with dizzying animation she launched into her dreams for her home.
They dismounted and walked through the woods while chatting softly, and he cursed his mind for constantly turning to Phillipa.
Lady Jocelyn frowned at his inattentiveness. “Are you certain you do not wish to speak of your troubles, my lord?”
“Thank you for your concern, but I am certain.”
There was a rustle and she placed a finger to her lips for silence and crept steadily ahead, bow and arrow angled skillfully. He watched her as she raised her bow in perfect position and sighted the hare. But the arrow missed.
“Bloody hell!”
And she also cursed. He smiled at her scrunched face.
“I am not in fit shape today, Lord Anthony. I think we must leave hunting for another day,” she said on a laugh, tucking her bow away.
They exited the woods and swung onto their horses.
Lady Jocelyn glanced at him. “Are you here for the locket, my lord?”
He chuckled. The lady was really forthright. But why was he there? He’d only wanted to put some space between himself and Phillipa. To remain in the manor where they had made love, where he could see her beside him always, was slow torture. “No. That was not the thought that drove me here.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “I see. Your distraction in London?”
The lady was perceptive, as well.
He nodded, wanting to be honest with her without divulging too much.
“Would you like me to keep the locket until you have solved whatever put such a faraway look in your eyes? Or would you like me to return it?” she asked him bluntly.
He grinned in admiration. No wilting miss, this one. “Keep the locket until I return from London. Then we will speak further about it.”
“Hmm. In that case, I think I must know about this distraction,” she drawled teasingly.
Anthony laughed at her impudence. “Not a chance.”
“Well, then. Let us race!”
Before he could respond, she urged her mount into a gallop, and welcoming the freedom of the challenge, he raced after her. Admiration filled him as she rode ahead. The lady was bold and fearless, yet so charming. He knew the woman in front of him would make him a good wife and he should commit to her. She understood her role in London’s haute monde. She had no desire to roam the continents, traipsing over the world and eating French desserts for breakfast. She did not desire total freedom. She wanted to get married.
Yet, it was only Phillipa he could see beside him, swollen with his child, reposing on the lawn reading.
Swollen with child. Bloody hell.
He almost toppled from his horse as the possibility roared through him. He drew on the reins, slowing the horse to a stop, his mind whirling. He had been so enthralled with Phillipa precautions had never entered his mind. She could even now be carrying his child.
He stilled, fighting the possessive flare that rose in him at the image.
Lady Jocelyn’s laughter carried on the wind as she waved her hands in the distance. Yet all that clamored in his mind was that he must go to Phillipa immediately. For he could determine nothing more about his future until he knew for certain she was not enceinte. Certainly, before he could even entertain the idea of offering for Lady Jocelyn.
Though, he feared in his gut if he lost Phillipa fully, it would take him months, perhaps even years before he could court another.
…
Anthony made the decision to follow Phillipa to London. He departed Lincolnshire that same evening. He also wanted to ensure she was safe and well, and that their ruse to circumvent the wagging tongues had worked. And he needed to completely eradicate the threat of Lord Orwell.
He had set Hawke to investigating everything about the man, and had kept several men watching Phillipa with specific orders of how they should deal with a threat to her person. All reports he had received so far indicated that Orwell was keeping a careful distance from her, hiding in his town house, no doubt nursing his wounds…and his wounded ego.
Which was a good thing. Anthony would not be responsible for his actions if Orwell so much as came within shouting distance of Phillipa.
Despite the danger of provoking speculation by the gossips, he needed to see her. He missed her with every part of his being.
Memories of their lovemaking slid into his dreams, and he wondered if he would ever be free of the physical need he felt for her. He had never been captivated by a woman as much as he was by her. She was the most exciting lover he had ever possessed, but he wanted her for more than her breathtaking sensuality.
He admired the strength she had displayed in the face of Orwell’s atrocities. He was amazed by her certainty of will and craving to determine her own fate. Her intelligence, wit, and curiosity astounded him. There was much about her that appealed to him on a deep level.
He felt something fiercely for Phillipa, and he was not the kind of man to shy away from his feelings. He wanted to strip her layers bare and understand her better. Though, in truth, what drove her was not so difficult to decipher.
He loved the way her face animated when she spoke of being free from society’s strictures. A freedom he yearned for himself, if he would only dare admit it. He would give anything to leave the cares of this life behind him, for the freedom to not worry about his legitimacy—whether it would be revealed, and whether it would one day taint his sons and daughters.
Yes, Anthony understood Phillipa perfectly, the reason she craved freedom, and he found that he wanted to pursue that freedom with her. He’d felt that same need as a youth when faced with the immutable fact of his father’s disregard. After finishing at Oxford, Anthony had taken a lengthy Grand Tour, exploring the continents, and life on that epic journey had never seemed more promising. He had been immersed in the very freedom Phillipa spoke of.
And now he wanted to show her all the sights and wonders he had enjoyed so much, especially Egypt. The lush, exotic beauty of those lands had filled him with a deep and visceral appreciation of nature. He wanted her to experience that, too, and he wanted her to experience it with him.
But he knew he could never be so irresponsible as to flaunt the rules of society and sail away with Phillipa on the adventures she craved. He would not leave Constance to face such an uncertain future. Or his mother, for that matter.
Why the hell should it matter to anyone but the immediate family that his mother had a lover with whom she’d borne two children? Private affairs should never have such power to crush and devastate.
He wanted Phillipa in his life. Permanently. And he wanted her in a way that would not excite the censure of Society. That would bring with it too great a possibility for disaster and devastation for his entire family.
They needed to marry. And marry quickly.
But he was damned if he knew how to convince her to accept his offer. Perhaps if he tempted her with her dreams… He wanted so much more from her than to be her partner in adventure, but he would start with that…and pray in time she would come to love him. If she was still adamant against marriage, he would leave and resign himself to marrying elsewhere…eventually.
He wagered Phillipa would ask to remain as his lover. But that he would not do. He would not risk getting her with his child, bringing it into the world with the stain of illegitimacy, like himself.
If she continued to refuse his offer, he would respect her wishes. But only after he was certain she did not carry his child.
…
He’d come for her!
With a rush of nervous excitement, Phillipa watched Anthony’s dark blond head as he scanned the crowded ballroom. She prayed it was she that he sought.
The past few days had been agonizing; she’d fretted constantly, wondering if she had made the right decision. She had warred with
her own needs, going back and forth in her mind.
Freedom and adventure…or to have forever the man she had come to love.
An impossible choice.
More than anything, she wished to escape her mother and aunt and their insistence on all that a proper young lady encompassed. Yet, her traitorous heart had whispered that to be shackled to Lord Anthony would mean a life of unending adventure and delight.
She’d missed him terribly. She had only known him for a few weeks, yet had such a depth of feelings for him, it felt as though they’d been together for a lifetime.
Thankfully, upon her return to London, Orwell seemed to have disappeared. And she had not detected any hint or whisper of his despicable actions or the fact that she’d spent a night at Anthony’s house in Baybrook. She’d attended a soiree last night, and tonight a ball, basking in her sister’s happiness at being engaged to Lord Jensen St. John. Certainly an affable young fellow, and her sister glowed with adoration whenever she spoke of him.
But every moment, Phillipa had watched for Anthony, hoping he would attend and seek her out.
A sharp ache sliced through her as she followed his progress up the stairs toward her. Oh, how she’d missed him!
Tonight he wore a dark tailcoat with the most dashing pearly white waistcoat, complemented by an immaculately tied white cravat. A ripple of goose bumps danced over her skin the moment he spied her. His eyes devoured her, from her soft pink gown, elaborately coifed hair, and the lace shawl that hung loosely on her bare elbows. His gaze lingered on her breasts, her waist, and finally her lips. She tingled in anticipation.
“Do you think he will come this way?”
She did not take her eyes off him at Elisabeth’s whispered question. Dozens of people stopped him, and he did not shrug them off, taking long, frustrating minutes to socialize. Yet she saw he kept her in his sight at all times.
“I do not know. He has not sent word for three whole days.”
Elisabeth stared at her in amusement. “Really? So long?”
