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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?”
