Boots crunched on the crushed gravel, then his hands wrapped around her waist, steady and firm. “You can let go. Hold onto my shoulders. I’m going to get you down now.”
She lacked the strength to argue and complied, sliding her shaking feet from the stirrups before he lifted her from the saddle and lowered her down the solid length of his body to the ground. With his arm secured on her lower back, she couldn’t collapse like she wanted to, like she would have had he released her.
His voice was a soothing rumble in her ear. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head tightly, and he cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her cheekbone to collect the moisture—
Good heavens, she wascrying?
But once the tears had started, she couldn’t stop them, her lungs seizing as horrifying,humiliatinggulps and sobs fell from her throat. She leaned against his chest, hoping to hide her anguish, but he missed nothing,damn him. He dragged his hand from her lower back to brace between her shoulder blades, the hand on her cheek curling around to cup the nape of her neck as she wept.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered when her wailing had calmed to mortifying sniffles. “What’s happened?”
“You had no right to behave that way in the shop.” What should have been an admonishment was far too weak, reduced to a whining whisper.
He hadn’t stopped stroking her back. “I need you to tell me what you’re objecting to, love.”
She should put space between them, push against the firm plain of his chest. But her arms refused to cooperate, and she released a convulsive sigh into the fastenings of his greatcoat, the wool absorbing the sound. “They’re not your family. They’re mine. My mother, my nephews.”
He stiffened, but did not stop rubbing her back. She wouldn’t admit enjoying it.
“Was it the candy?” he asked. “Do you want me to return it?”
She pressed enough against his chest to lift her cheek, but she focused her attention on the tail of his scarf poking through the opening in his coat. Her breath formed clouds of condensation in the chill between them. “No, it’s—it’s the candied ginger.”
A moment passed while she tried to speak past the fist around her throat but failed.
“I don’t understand—”
Her gaze snapped to his. “It’s for women during pregnancy. To settle the stomach.”
Philip stiffened and leaned away from her, his eyes darting to her midsection and back to her face. His eyes burst with surprise, and a wave of indignation surged.
She huffed her disbelief, and her hands fisted at her sides. “Do you think they’re forme?”
His mouth worked for a moment before he found a response. “I—I don’t… Are they for you?”
“No!” She meant the word to be a bark, something sharp and aggressive to send him running, but instead the tears overwhelmed her, spilling down her cheeks. “They’re never for me.”
A flash of relief crossed his features before his dark brows furrowed. “Then who—”
“My sister. And don’t ask which one. You don’t have the right to know.”
He dropped the hand from her nape and ran his thumb over her cheek, catching the moisture.
He hadn’t the right to her tears, either. Not when he caused them.
“You can let me go,” she bit out, attempting to put space between them. “I’m fine.”
His arms slackened but didn’t release her entirely. “You’re not fine.”
Damn him. “I am.” She stepped back, out of the circle of his warmth, but she bumped into Calpurnia’s side.
But he followed, his steady gaze refusing to relinquish hers. “This isn’t about candy. Tell me, Lily—”
“You stole my future when you disappeared.”
The tears she’d been fighting since they left the shop—hell, for thelast eight years—surged, unstoppable, spilling over her lower lids. The wind kicked up again, pulling at the edges of her cloak and nipping the exposed skin of her cheeks. She was hot and unbearably cold at the same time, too much and not enough.
