“You’ll never truly know how delicious my tongue can be,” she snapped, taking a step back. Her cheeks pinkened into a delightful blush as if she realized what she had just said. He couldn’t help thinking about those words and wondering something a man should never consider about his best friend’s little sister. He inwardly cursed as he imagined holding her in his arms and tasting that tongue of hers. “I have far better things to do than bicker with you,” she said dragging him out of his own fantasies.
Her words startled him, and he shook his head to dislodge the imagery that had seemed to stay firmly in his mind—what the blazes was that? Fortunately, he knew how to distract her—sharing barbs always worked. Besides she clearly still bristled with resentment toward him—and perhaps something else, something deeper that he wasn’t quite ready to admit. Did she feel this sudden, unshakeable passion that seemed to spring out of nowhere as well? He would examine whatever it was later when she was not near clouding his thoughts. “Then perhaps you should return to your ‘better things,’” he said, voice low but laced with something unspoken, something that hovered in the air between them like a dangerous promise.
Pippa hesitated, her eyes narrowing as if she were debating whether to say something cutting. Finally, she muttered under her breath, “You may be a duke, but you’re still a pompous arse.”
Christopher’s smile was slow to spread across his face. “And yet,” he said quietly, “you’re still speaking to me.”
Pippa’s cheeks flushed even brighter, and then she turned sharply, leaving him standing there in the courtyard, feeling as if something had shifted in the very air between them. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew one thing for certain—this was far from over. Christopher stood there, watching Pippa walk away, her golden curls bouncing with each step as if to mock him. Her sharp words still lingered in the air, but beneath that thinly veiled irritation, something else simmered. He had always known that there was fire in her, but he hadn’t realized how dangerously close that fire was to igniting something in him. The thought unsettled him more than it should.
For years, he had seen Pippa as nothing more than James’ younger sister—a playful child with a sharp tongue and a knack for getting under his skin. But now, standing in the courtyard, watching her leave with that defiant swing in her step, he couldn’t deny the undeniable pull that thrummed between them. It wasn’t just the physical attraction—though that was certainly there—it was something deeper, something he had never imagined before.
He cursed under his breath and rubbed a hand over his face. What was he doing? He was a duke, after all, and she was James' sister. This was absurd, and yet... he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. He was no longer the same young boy who had first met Pippa all those years ago and she was no little girl. She had grown into a woman of striking beauty, sharp wit, and a mind of her own, though the latter she had always shown him. Gone was the little girl he had thought of as nothing more than an annoyance. A part of him wondered if she had noticed it too. The way their words had tangled, and their gazes had held for just a moment longer than was appropriate. Was that why she had fled?
With a deep breath, Christopher turned and walked toward the manor, his mind still swirling with the aftermath of his encounter with Pippa. He had to put it aside for now. He had come to Whitmore Hall for a reason, and that reason was James. But he couldn’t deny that, as the minutes passed by, thoughts of Lady Pippa Hartwell persisted, lingering like a stubborn ember in the back of his mind, burning images in his mind that kept him enraptured.
Two
The day had started with a brisk but pleasant breeze, the sky clear and bright as Pippa set out for a ride across Whitmore Hall’s vast estate. The crisp air filled her lungs, and for a few moments, she could forget the tension that had lingered between her and that infernal duke ever since their encounter in the courtyard. She had thought of little else, his words, the strange fire in her chest, the way his smile had seemed to promise something more—though she had been careful to dismiss it all as nothing more than irritation.
Then there was the loss of her father… She could barely refrain from becoming an emotional mess. The last thing she needed was to have these unexpected and unexplainable feelings for a man she despised on a good day. She could not allow herself to fall into something that she could not crawl her way out of, and that man would take advantage of any weakness she showed him.
She rode easily through the winding paths that threaded their way around the sprawling estate. Her mount, a spirited chestnut mare, trotted gracefully over the well-worn trails. The rhythmic sound of hooves against the earth brought a measure of peace, and for a while, she was content to be lost in the quiet of the woods, with only the occasional birdcall and the rustle of leaves to break the stillness.
It allowed her the time she needed to clear her mind and just enjoy the day. She did not want to think about loss or grief, and she did not want to think about a duke she loathed. Pippa wanted to be free of any responsibility and just…breathe. Was that too much to ask? But as Pippa guided her mare further into the forest, the sky darkened suddenly, the pleasant warmth of the afternoon was replaced by a creeping chill. A sense of foreboding slid over her like a dark shroud. She frowned as the wind picked up, stirring the trees above her. It had been a fine day earlier, but now the air carried the sharp scent of rain. A storm was moving in quickly, far faster than she could have anticipated. There would be no way to avoid it, but she would have to try.
With a sigh, Pippa pulled her reins and steered her horse toward the nearest path that would lead her back to the house, but it was too late. The first drop of rain fell, followed by another, then another, until the clouds hovering nearby opened in full force. The rain lashed down in sheets, and the wind howled around her, whipping her hair and dampening her gown. “Blast it,” she muttered, urging her mare to gallop toward the shelter of the trees. But even as she rode, the storm seemed to intensify, the gusts of wind driving the rain sideways, making it nearly impossible to see clearly.
She soon became soaked to the bone within moments, the cold seeping into her skin, the chill cutting straight through her riding habit. The forest seemed to close in around her, the storm growing more violent by the second. She needed shelter and fast. It occurred to her that there should be an old hunting lodge nearby. She had often played there as a girl when she wanted to avoid going home or rather avoid the lessons her governess wished to teach her. She pulled on the reins to guide her horse in that direction. The wind continued to whip around her and rain impaired her vision. But then, through the rolling fog and the rain, she saw it—the small, ancient hunting lodge nestled against the trees, its stone walls hidden beneath layers of ivy, the thatched roof sagging slightly but still standing firm.
Pippa urged her mare toward it, relief flooding through her as she guided the horse beneath the small overhang at the door. She slid down from the saddle, her legs unsteady from the cold. She quickly tied the horse’s reins to the nearby post, but it was a difficult task. Her fingers were numb from the cold, and she fumbled to tie it properly. She glanced around, trying to see through the pouring rain, but the storm had already reduced visibility to little more than a blur. As she stepped toward the door, she heard a familiar voice.
“Well, well, Lady Phillipa. Fancy meeting you here.”
Pippa froze at the sound of Haverleigh’s voice. She turned sharply, her heart sinking as she saw him standing beneath the eaves of the lodge, looking equally drenched, but no less poised. His golden hair clung to his forehead, his dark coat heavy with rainwater.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp. Her temper flared almost immediately. Why couldn’t she escape him?
“I might ask you the same question,” Haverleigh replied, stepping closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. It pleased her to notice that he was as drenched as she was, but did he even have to look good soaked through? His shirt clung to his chest in the most delicious way… She blinked several times before his words started to register in her dazed mind. He tilted his head to the side and said, “Though it seems we’re both in the same unfortunate predicament. The storm caught me as well.”
Pippa’s teeth chattered as she shivered, her gown clinging to her like a second skin. The chill had set deep into her bones, and she shook uncontrollably from the cold. “I would have to say that is obvious don’t you think?” She glared at him.
“Perhaps we should take shelter inside,” Haverleigh suggested, nodding toward the door of the lodge. “Before we both catch our deaths.” Of course, he would try to be nice and pleasant when all she wanted to do was snap at him like an injured animal.
With little choice, Pippa nodded and followed him inside. The musty air of the lodge met her senses, but it was dry, and that was all she cared about. She moved to the corner of the room, trying to avoid his gaze. Her wet hair clung to her face, and she was too embarrassed to face him, especially in her sodden state. She had to look a fright, and Pippa always hated being at a disadvantage. Especially with him so nearby.
“I’ll start a fire,” Haverleigh said, his tone softening slightly. Pippa did not trust it. What game was he playing? Why was he being so…nice. “We’ll get warm and dry quickly enough.”
Pippa stood in silence as he crouched by the hearth, gathering wood and setting it alight with a nearby tinderbox that had to be as ancient as the lodge. The flames crackled and popped as they began to burn, sending a welcome heat into the room. Pippa moved closer to the fire, allowing the warmth to wash over her, but the chill still remained in her limbs. Her teeth were chattered, and she tugged at the collar of her gown, trying to pull it tighter to stave off the cold. It proved to be useless, and she began to shiver even more.
When Haverleigh stood, he glanced at her with a thoughtful look. “Lady Phillipa,” he began, his voice quiet. “It would be best if you took off your wet gown. It’ll never dry on you.”
Pippa’s eyes widened in alarm. “I—what?” she stammered, her cheeks flushing. “Certainly not.” Why would he suggest such a thing? She could never disrobe before him or any male. That would be scandalous, and she would be ruined. Pippa wanted to slap him for suggesting it.
“It’s the only way to truly warm up,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. Why he was taunting her now… He wanted her to be ruined, didn’t he? Perhaps that had been why he was being so nice, to lure her into trusting him. Well, he would be surprised at how colossally he failed. Then he added as if it mattered, “I’m afraid your gown won’t dry otherwise.”
Pippa crossed her arms over her chest, her face turning even redder. “I am not about to strip in front of you, Your Grace,” she retorted, trying to sound indignant but failing miserably when another violent shiver wracked her body. She was so bloody cold.
Haverleigh sighed, but the smile on his lips softened his words. “Very well, Lady Phillipa. If you’re so determined to be stubborn about it, you can remain cold.” Haverleigh shrugged and then he turned back to the fire, adding more wood to it.
