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Phillipa sent her a withering glare. “I’m a fool, I know, but it seems like a lifetime.”
She had ached for him, even wept tears, tormented with the need she’d felt for him, both physically and in her mind. She had started to accept that she loved him. And it had felt right. Until doubts assailed her.
If he had felt even a sliver of affection for her, how could he have been so withdrawn when she left him? And so tellingly silent for the past few days?
Had Anthony changed his mind about marriage to her, and accepted her refusal?
She wasn’t an easy handful. She knew that. Perhaps he’d felt only relief that he’d been so easily rid of her.
She took the glass of champagne Elisabeth pressed in her hand and tried to ignore the wild thumping in her heart. She had never expected to long for him the way she had.
The past few nights had been tormented with memories and dreams of their lovemaking. In the days she had yearned to be with him. She had longed to converse with him, to share the plans she had for her future. Their future.
He had also missed her birthday celebration earlier this evening. Not that it had been so grand. Only a small dinner gathering of family and a few friends, but she had foolishly sent him an invitation to his town house. She’d also invited Lady Constance and Lady Radcliffe, and her aunt and mother had been thrilled with their presence. Phillipa had been too embarrassed to ask about Anthony’s whereabouts, and his mother and sister had not volunteered any hints.
She had forced herself not to dwell on him. But more and more she kept hoping that Anthony would come for her. Or at least send a polite note. She’d needed to know if they were to be friends, or nothing at all.
Phillipa narrowed her eyes as he finally turned his full attention upon her. He prowled across the room toward her. She loved the untamed rawness he vibrated with. She composed her features into a neutral mask, praying he did not think to cut her after she had rejected him.
“Lady Elisabeth.” He greeted Elisabeth with a curt bow. He did not remove his eyes from Phillipa’s, and after a low acknowledgement, Elisabeth disappeared into the crowd.
Phillipa’s breath hitched at what she saw in his eyes. Hunger. Her heart stuttered in the most painful rhythm, and emotion tightened her throat. Her hands trembled and he pried her grip from the champagne glass and handed it to a servant who scurried over with a silver tray.
He did not speak, simply put her arm though his and led her away. She felt she should discreetly look to see who observed them, but the weakness that swept through her prevented any action on her part except to obey.
As they walked through the crowd, he paused to respond to a few people. He maneuvered them toward the card room. Instead of entering, he took her farther down the hallway. They passed the Dewitt’s massive library, then the parlor, and then with a quick look around, he led her upstairs. They walked down the eerily quiet corridor.
She swallowed, her throat dry, unable to speak, even though words begged to tumble from her lips. He opened a door and drew her in. The darkness swallowed them and her senses heightened. The scent of clean linens reached her nostrils and his own masculine scent.
She had thought to bombard him with questions. Instead, her mind now clouded with desire and conversing was the last thing she wanted to do. Tension and need roiled within her, triggered by the familiar, musky smell of his need for her.
He backed her farther into the small room, until her buttocks met a table. She could barely make out his features in the darkness. Her limbs shook as she lifted her hands to grasp his shoulders.
The soft rasp of his trousers being unbuttoned made a hot bolt of lust drilled through her body. Her knees went weak, and she was instantly aroused for him.
He lifted her and placed her on the table, then kicked her thighs wide apart and stepped between them, bunching her dress up at her waist. Her petticoats crinkled and the material conformed under his will.
Her throat convulsed as his hand reached for her drawers, but found none.
“Still thumbing your nose at the rules, Phillipa?”
“No. Preparing myself for you,” she murmured, and for a moment he froze.
Then his finger unerringly found her core. Her cheeks grew hot at the wetness he found without even kissing her. A hiss escaped his lips, and the sudden feel of the broad head of his erection pressed at her entrance.
“Is this what you want?”
An agonizing need for him to fill her encompassed her whole body. “Yes.”
“It will be hard and rough.” His voice was guttural.
Arousal nearly stole her voice as she whispered into the dark, “Please, Anthony.”
He slammed deep into her, forging past her resistance, plunging to the hilt. She slid on the polished wood of the table, and his hands thrust under her buttocks to pull her forward.
“I missed you,” he growled. “I dreamed of you. I bloody ached for you.”
She held him tight, her heart soaring. “And I for you.”
He withdrew his length slowly until he was once again poised at her entrance. He shoved back in hard and deep, wrenching a strangled groan from her throat.
“I resolved to stay away from you, as you wished, but the moment I saw you I had to kiss you, touch you, be inside you.” His thickness moved inside her with powerful thrusts, and exquisite tension coiled in her inner muscles.
“Please don’t ever stay away again. I missed you so much, Anthony.”
His grip tightened on her hips, and pleasure arched up her spine beading her nipples. They stabbed against her corset, and she desperately wanted to free her breasts.
“Not ever?” he growled between plunges.
“Never.” She mewled; she was so close. “Ever.”
He hammered into her. “What are you saying?”
“Yes, I will.” The words wrenched from her, unstoppable.
He dipped his head lower, kissing the corner of her lips. “Yes what, Phillipa?”
“Yes, I will marry you.”
His body halted, and he took her lips in a searing kiss. Then it deepened, and grew more passionate, fierce elation exuding from him.
He gripped her hips tighter. “It’s going to get rougher. Hold on.”
She responded with shivering waves of need. She lifted her legs to circle his hips, crossing her ankles high on his back, and she clasped him tightly. She buried her face against his throat, trembling from the viciousness of the arousal that burned inside her.
He palmed both cheeks of her buttocks, leaning her back on the table so that his weight settled more on her, sinking deeper into her. She pressed a wet, open kiss on the corded muscles of his neck, loving the taste of his skin.
He rasped against her inner walls as he withdrew from her slowly. Anticipation had her filling with wantonness, both dreading and craving the roughness he promised. She screamed into his neck when he slammed home. She drove her fingers into his hair and gripped his head. He rode her rough and hard, peppering kisses against her shoulder and growling out words of encouragement. She luxuriated in his heat, in his powerful maleness, in his strength as he loved her with fierce need. She arched into him as he gave one final thrust, roared his pleasure, and swept them under together.
Afterward, she lay beneath him panting and heart thundering. But never had she felt calmer and more content.
Finally she was at peace, now that she was back in his arms.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Phillipa was deliriously happy. The severe chill from the inclement weather could not douse her jubilant mood. She curled her hands, warming them over the cup of tea her mother handed her. Anthony would speak with her father that afternoon.
She’d been giddy with excitement after their tumultuous lovemaking in the linen closet. They had laughed like idiots after, and she couldn’t stop hugging and kissing him. She had whispered fiercely that she still wanted to travel, but she desperately wanted to be his wife, if his offer still stood.
/> He had hugged her even tighter. “I already have the special license in hand and shall send an announcement to the papers tomorrow.”
They had been very circumspect in sneaking back into the ball.
“Are you certain he’s coming, my dear?” her mother queried for the tenth time.
“Yes, Mama,” she answered.
“But why would he not present himself this morning? Why the delay, if you’ve already given him your answer?” Lady Merryweather asked.
For once, Phillipa didn’t mind the inquisition. Nothing could spoil her mood today.
“Lord Anthony had some business to attend. He will call on Papa this afternoon.” Phillipa tried to rein in her impatience, not wanting their doubt to feed hers.
Just before parting last night, Anthony had told her he wanted a word with her before he spoke with her father. Anthony had seemed so intent he had scared her a little. She’d demanded to know immediately what was wrong, but he had only shaken his head. Phillipa still felt a trickle of unease over his odd behavior, but determinedly pushed it aside. He wanted to marry her. What could possibly be amiss?
A sharp rap on the door, and their butler announced the first of their morning callers—Lord Hoyt and his sister, Lady Henrietta. Phillipa rose and curtsied as they were shown into the drawing room. Lord Hoyt gave her a warm smile before bowing to her aunt and her mother.
Pleasantries were exchanged, but his sister fairly vibrated with eagerness to speak. Phillipa knew that only occurred when Lady Henrietta had some juicy titbit of gossip to impart. The feather hat on her head bobbed in her excitement as she dismissed the offer of tea and cake.
