by Shana Galen
“What the devil?” he said, grasping his napkin and trying to wipe it off.
“I’m terribly sorry, me lord,” James said quickly, offering his serving towel as well.
“Oh, dear,” the duchess said. “I do think that will stain.”
“I daresay you’re right, Your Grace.” The viscount glared at James. “You cost me a shirt, sir.”
“I’m terribly sorry, me lord.” James kept his gaze down, not out of embarrassment but because he didn’t want the viscount to see his anger. The spill was wholly the fault of the viscount, and yet James must take the blame. At least he’d be sent upstairs for the remainder of the evening. Maybe one of the maids knew how to clean the sauce out of his gloves.
“It’s not James’s fault,” Lady Philomena said.
James’s head snapped up, and he met her gaze. He gave her a quick shake of the head. What was she doing? She did not need to defend him. He was a servant. It was a given he was always in the wrong.
“That’s quite enough, Philomena,” her mother said, giving her a stern look from across the table.
“But it’s not his fault, Mama. Knoxwood spilled the sauce, not James.”
James could feel all eyes land on him. The back of his collar felt hot, and he wished he would be dismissed. He was supposed to be invisible, and now he had captured the party’s attention twice. The silence seemed to drag on for a long moment, then Knoxwood turned to James and looked him up and down.
“You’re quite right, my lady. It was my fault entirely. No harm done, eh, James?”
“As ye say, me lord.”
The viscount sat again, and the butler gave James a speaking look. As soon as he was no longer the center of attention, James slipped out the door and returned downstairs.
“They done already?” Meg, the kitchen maid, asked.
“No. There was a spill.”
“Oh, heavens! You’d better go to your room before Mr. Caffold comes down. He’ll have your head.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Doesn’t matter. And hand me your gloves. If I soak them now, I might get that stain out.”
He handed her the gloves and went up the back steps so there would be less chance of meeting the butler. But before he went to his chamber, he made his way to the coat room to tell William he would be needed after all. He gave William the news then started back across the foyer just as the party adjourned to the drawing room. He stepped into an alcove under the stairs and out of sight. As he stood in the shadows, he heard Phil’s voice. “Might I speak to you in private a moment, my lord?”
“Certainly,” Knoxwood answered.
“There’s a parlor just here.”
James made himself smaller as they passed him and entered the parlor across from him. She did not close the door, and James could hear their voices as the viscount asked what she wanted to speak to him about. James couldn’t see them unless he leaned forward. He could easily slip out of the alcove and make his way to the servants’ stairs without being seen.
“It’s about our discussion last night,” Phil said, and James could not seem to move. His feet had grown roots and held him fast in place. “More precisely, your proposal.”
“Oh, that,” Knoxwood said, not sounding the least bit put out that she should mention her rejection of him. “You made yourself clear. I won’t bother you with it again.”
“Actually, I was rather hoping you would.”
No. James realized what she was doing right away. She’d reconsidered the viscount’s offer of marriage, and she had decided to accept. He’d told her to accept it himself, but now that she was doing so, he wanted to run in and stop her.
“You are too kind, my lady,” Knoxwood said. “But upon reflection, I am actually rather glad you declined my offer last night.”
Silence. James leaned forward slightly and caught a glimpse of Phil on one side of the room, seated on a couch with her rose-colored skirts about her. Her hands were tightly clasped in her lap and her expression was determined. The viscount must be opposite her. James couldn’t see him. But he could see Phil, and at the viscount’s words the color rose in her cheeks. Finally, she said, “Are you?”
“I am. You seemed to know better than I that we are not a good match.”
“We’re not?” she said, her voice rising slightly as though she was almost, but not quite, asking.
“No. We wouldn’t suit at all, you and I. Your family is old and distinguished, but it’s become obvious of late that your values are, shall we say, rather more liberal than those of my own family. I would want to raise any offspring of our union to uphold the morals and principles I was raised to believe in.”
“And you think...what? My morals are lacking?”
James stepped back against the wall and deeper into the shadows. Lady Philomena had risen, and he could see her standing with her hands on her hips in the center of the parlor.
“It’s not you, in particular, my lady,” the viscount said, his voice soothing. “But your brother’s recent marriage, coupled by the suspicious circumstances surrounding the deaths of the previous dukes, is rather off-putting.”
“And why is it off-putting tonight and not last night?”
The viscount crossed to Lady Philomena. “Last night, after our conversation, I spoke with my mother. She helped to clarify the situation.”
“I see. And what situation is that? That my brother married for love rather than Society’s approval? That we’ve had great tragedy in our family? But why should I expect you to understand any of that?”
The viscount took a step back. “I can see I have upset you.”
“You’ve done more than that, my lord. You’ve insulted me.”
He bowed. “The slight was unintentional. Please believe me when I say I have nothing but the highest regard for you. Excuse me.”
James held his breath as the viscount walked past him without seeing him.
In the parlor, he heard the sound of glass shattering.
Three
Phil stared at the remains of what had been a Sevres porcelain cow. She’d never liked it, but she supposed she shouldn’t have smashed it. It had just happened to be the closest item within reach. “The highest regard for me,” she muttered as she knelt to gather the cow’s broken pieces. “But not high enough to marry me.”
“Careful ye don’t cut yerself.”
Phil looked up and James was in the door, his hands tucked in his coat pockets and his expression filled with concern.
“I think I can manage to pick up a few pieces of porcelain. I’m not wholly incompetent.”
He knelt across from her and picked up the rest of the pieces, then took them from her and set them on the table. “I’ll fetch a broom and dustpan when ye go up to the drawing room.”
She could always count on James to take care of her. Phil sighed and sat back on her bottom. “I suppose you heard that conversation.”
“I was on my way upstairs and saw ye go in. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but—oh, what’s the point? I did mean to eavesdrop.”
“Well, now my humiliation is complete.”
“Sure and I don’t know why ye’d be humiliated.”
“Oh, perhaps because I was desperate enough to try and solicit another proposal and then so pathetic that he refused me.”
“The way I see it, me lady, ye were wise to refuse him the first time. Else ye’d be tied to a man who didn’t respect ye or yer family.”
She shrugged. “He won’t be alone in that sentiment. My brother has made things uncomfortable.”
“Sure and a little bit of discomfort helps us grow, so it does.”
She closed her eyes.
“Not the helpful words of wisdom ye wanted?”
She shook her head. James took her hands. She hadn’t yet pulled her gloves back on after dinner, and his hands were bare. The heat of their flesh meeting jolted her so that when she’d gained her feet, she needed to take a breath.
“I just wanted
to do as I ought. I have been told all my life that I must make a good marriage. Now I shall have to suffer through another Season of my mother’s matchmaking efforts.”
“It must be quite the chore, having men call on ye at all hours, falling at yer feet to read ye poetry or declare their undying love.”
She tried to keep from smiling, but she felt her lips curve upward. “It is. It’s awful.” She looked up at him with his handsome face, his eyes so dark now as he looked down at her. “I wish I could stay here with you.”
“Don’t talk like that now, lass.”
She gripped his hands tighter. “But I don’t want to go to London without you.”
“Ye’ll be back in no time.”
“Until I leave again.”
“I’ll be waiting when ye return.”
She cupped the back of his neck to tug his mouth down to hers, but he shook his head. “Not here. Ye’ll be missed in a moment.”
Phil blew out an impatient breath. “Then when?”
“Before ye go.” And he stepped back and bowed formally. “I’ll see to the china cow, me lady.”
“Fine.” She began to pull her gloves on as she started for the door. Once she reached it, she paused. “I am sorry about dinner. It really wasn’t your fault about the sauce.”
“I know, but ye saying so didn’t help matters.”
“I didn’t say it to help. I said it because it was the truth.”
He gave her an odd look, but she didn’t have time to ask him for his thoughts. He was right that she would be missed, and she was fortunate her mother hadn’t sent Caffold to look for her already. She hurried up the stairs and entered the drawing room. As expected, her mother said, “There you are! I was about to send Caffold to find you.”
PHIL SLEPT POORLY THAT night. She couldn’t quite erase Knoxwood’s words from her mind. And then her own response had been less than ideal. She should have accepted what he’d said graciously. Instead, she’d challenged him. She’d always thought honesty an admirable trait, but lately it seemed her tendency to point out truths caused her more harm than good. She probably should never have acknowledged, even if only to herself, that she had feelings for James Finnegan. She was not the first person of her class to have feelings for an inferior, but that was not a sin. The sin was acting on them.
At least in Society’s eyes. To Phil it seemed the sin was denying the truth of her feelings and thus, not acting on her feelings. James might be her inferior in the eyes of Society, but it was nothing more than an accident of birth that he was a footman and she a duke’s daughter. She didn’t believe it preordained any more than she believed the king was second only to God. The king was just a man, like any other. Perhaps not like any other as George III was currently quite mad and under lock and key at Windsor Castle.
But the king’s dementia did not invalidate her argument. Nor did any talk of her place in Society and her mother’s expectations for her alter the way she felt about James. When she was with him, she didn’t care who he was or who she was. She just wanted to be with him.
And that was the other reason she couldn’t sleep. Somewhere in this house, James was lying in bed just as she was. Was he thinking of her? He was probably sleeping, but was she very wicked to wish he would sneak down to her room and wake her with a kiss? As to what would happen after that kiss, she dared not think too much. She’d spent too many nights tossing and turning with her skin overly warm and the place between her legs aching. She’d grown up with five brothers. She knew what men and women did in the marriage bed—and out of it—and the fact that she wanted to do those things with James would probably only make her time in London even more miserable. Because she would have to find a husband who was not James and she would have to do those things with that man. Her body would never be her own again.
It seemed she’d barely slept when Dawson came in to wake her. “Rise and shine, my lady.” Dawson pulled the curtains open and Phil scowled at the gray sky.
“I will when the rest of the world does.”
“It’s not a very pretty day, I’ll give you that. But your mother is already dressing for the day, and she’ll want to discuss the trip to Town with you. I have a list of what we should bring, but I’ll lay it all out so we can go over it later.”
Phil waved a hand. “That’s quite alright, Dawson. Whatever you choose will be fine.”
But of course, it was not that easy to escape her duties. She was pulled into every discussion of every decision. She tried to escape for a walk about mid-afternoon, but her mother wouldn’t allow it. Not that she would have been able to meet James anyway. She hadn’t seen him all day. Perhaps that was for the best. It was mortifying to know that he’d witnessed her humiliation last night.
Despite her embarrassment, Phil looked forward to dinner, hoping James would serve. But as it was just her mother and herself, only Caffold and Balcolm were required. Phil found she had no appetite. She did manage to escape somewhat early, claiming she wanted to go to bed so she would not be tired when they left in the morning. She started for the stairs, then changed course and stepped into the parlor. Her mother had not mentioned the missing Sevres piece. There was no sign of the shattered porcelain on the carpet and a figure of a shepherd boy now stood where the cow had. She couldn’t remember ever seeing that shepherd boy, but it was just the sort of thing her mother would buy.
The door closed behind her and she spun around, hope making her heart pound. Her hope soared when she saw James standing with his back against the door. “I wanted to say something before ye left.”
“Where have you been all day?” she asked. “I looked for you everywhere.”
“Helping to ready the carriages and the items yer ma wants to take with her. But I don’t have much time to say what I want.”
She nodded. He might have closed the door, but the parlor opened to her father’s library on one side and the morning room on the other. They would surely be found any moment.
“What do you wish to say?”
“Only this.” He stepped away from the door and toward her. “Knoxwood is a fool.” He moved another step closer. “Any man would be lucky to have ye.” He moved another step closer so that he was within reach. “And if he can’t see that, then the man is doubly a fool.”
For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, Phil felt a lump rise in her throat. She almost never cried. Why should she feel the urge now? “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Ye don’t need to thank me for telling ye the truth. And ye certainly shouldn’t thank me before I do this.”
“Do wh—?”
She was caught up in his strong arms before she could even finish her words. He pulled her hard against him, and she gasped with surprise and from the zing of pleasure that raced through her at the way he held her. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, and his bare hands cupped her face. One thumb slid over her mouth, tugging her lower lip down. His dark eyes turned even blacker as he stared at her mouth.
“That mouth of yers will be the end of me yet, lass.”
She pressed her lips together, kissing his thumb. And then his mouth was on hers, gentle but insistent. She sank into the kiss, melting into his arms, and the feel of his warm, strong hands sliding over her cheeks and into her hair. He freed it from its confines, and it tumbled down about her shoulders. His hands on her scalp made her head tingle from pleasure and the release of the heavy hair.
Phil wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself closer. How could she go upstairs in a few minutes and leave him behind? How could she go to London and not see him for days? She’d barely made it through one day without missing him. Desperate to have as much of him in that moment as she could, she kissed him deeper, teasing his mouth with her tongue until he opened for her. The kiss deepened, and she sank further into sensation. His hands slid over her shoulders and down her sides. A flash of heat startled her as his thumb brushed over her breast then cupped it.
Immediately, James released her and stepped back
. “I beg yer pardon, me lady. I forgot meself.” He held his hands up as though to prove he was no threat. Jarred at the sudden loss of his touch, Phil groped for a chair. She clutched the back of one, digging her nails into the fabric.
“I should say goodnight,” James continued. “I overstepped.” He moved back again and toward the door.
“No,” Phil said.
James halted. “No?”
“Don’t leave.”
“But, me lady, I insulted ye—”
“I liked it.” She felt her cheeks flame hot. “I want you to do it again.”
He shook his head slowly, his black eyes wide with astonishment. “That’s a terrible idea, so it is. I can’t trust myself with ye. I want ye too much.”
“I want you too.” Releasing the chair, she moved toward him, but he stepped away until his back was to the door.
“That doesn’t mean we should give in to those impulses.”
She took another step closer, and now he had no way to escape. “You’re right, but what if we gave in just this once?” she whispered. “Just for a moment. I won’t see you for days. Give me something to remember.” She pressed her hand to his chest and felt his heart beating, hard and steady. “Kiss me.” She pressed against him and slid her hands up to his shoulders. “Touch me.” She kissed his lips. “Give me something to remember you by.”
She’d expected him to argue, but he crushed her to him. This kiss was just as insistent as before but not at all gentle. It robbed her of breath and made her dizzy and lightheaded. Before she knew what had happened, she was the one with her back to the wall, and he was pressed against her. She could feel the hard length of him heavy against her belly, and she gave in to the urge to touch him. But he seemed to know what she had in mind and caught her hands, then pushed them above her head and held them still with one hand.
“I want to touch you,” she murmured.
“Not tonight. Tonight is for ye to remember me.” He kissed her again and then his free hand slid over her bare collarbone, making her shiver. His fingers were light, his touch feathery, and her skin tingled where he touched it. When he moved lower, it was as though he left a trail of fire in his wake. His hand continued lower until it floated over the silk of her white bodice.
