“Shall we meet there at five?” he asked.
“I look forward to it.”
He felt himself grinning as he got to his feet.
She remained seated, watching him as he bowed first to her and then nodded to her maid, who had graciously offered them some privacy. Only then did Cecelia rise, slowly and dreamlike, as she offered him a curtsey. The afternoon sun limned her in golden light, giving her an ethereal quality. He could stare at such a sight all day.
Except that he had several tasks to see to and a promenade to prepare for. He opened the door to the drawing-room, and a young woman darted back, her mouth an “o” of surprise.
“Sophia,” Cecelia chastened.
Her sister flashed a guilty smile. “You couldn’t expect me not to listen in. Not when you might be falling in love. And getting married. And doing all the things you’ve never—”
“You recall my sister, Sophia, I presume?” Cecelia hastened to her sister, red-faced.
In truth, Philip only truly recalled Cecelia and knew only of Sophia from their previous discussion. “Of course.”
“And falling in love, indeed,” Cecelia said in a chastising tone as she offered Philip an apologetic smile. “We are only courting, not marrying.”
“Not yet.” Philip winked at Sophia.
After all, his entire purpose of courting Lady Cecelia Stopford was to make her his wife.
5
It seemed as though a lifetime passed before Cecelia’s heartbeat returned to its regular, measured thrum. And even that was quickly knocked offbeat when she thought of Lord Chambrook sitting so close to her in the drawing-room, as though he longed to reach out and touch her, to kiss her as he had before.
How she wished he might have kissed her once more. It was impossible with her maid in the room, she knew, but she could not stop the longing. Her body was alight with an awareness that set her blood on fire and made a pleasant pulse throb between her thighs.
She’d readied far too quickly, a terrible habit she seemed to be developing. Sophia had helped her, flitting about like a bird, plucking at Cecelia’s pink gown, tucking her hair, curling whisps this way and that. At last, Sophia’s assessing gaze relaxed, and she’d smiled, declaring Cecelia prettier than any other woman ever to grace Hyde Park. Sophia even kept Cecelia company as she waited for the Duke and Duchess of Stedton to escort her to the park.
When at last they arrived, Cecelia had to concentrate on keeping her steps paced as she made her way to the carriage.
“Cecelia, how splendid you look.” Julia clasped her hand and squeezed it.
Cecelia smiled at the duke and duchess. “Thank you for accompanying me.”
“A trip to Hyde Park is always necessary when we return to London.” William gazed affectionately at his wife. “Though I never mind when I have such a beautiful companion.”
Julia flushed and met her husband’s gaze. The love that passed between them was unmistakable.
It was good to see Julia be so happy when Cecelia had known her friend to have been quite displeased with her life in the years prior.
Perhaps Cecelia could also find such bliss. The carriage came to a stop in front of Hyde Park.
“It would appear you need not worry about waiting on your suitor.” Julia nodded toward a tree where a gentleman had begun making his way toward them.
Lord Chambrook.
Cecelia fluttered a nervous hand over her gown and hair and, with a reassuring wink from Julia, alighted from the carriage. He met Cecelia halfway with a crooked grin and a bow.
“Good afternoon, Lord Chambrook,” she said rather breathlessly.
The purpose of the fashionable hour at Hyde Park was to be seen, and he certainly was a sight to behold in his buckskin breeches and brown jacket. His parchment-colored waistcoat had just the slightest bit of green woven into stripes, a hint of color that made his eyes stand out beneath his top hat.
“I’d prefer you call me Philip, Cecelia.” He said her Christian name slowly as he offered her his arm, as though savoring the informality.
“Philip,” she repeated the name she’d said so often in their childhood. A name that now held even more significance.
