CHAPTER 9
Philip had been wrong—and he had only been wrong a handful of times in his life.
He tended to try not to make many mistakes, for most errors in calculation had resulted in dire consequences, like that one time when he’d pushed an advantage too far and nearly lost his leg for it.
Or that one time when he thought it was a good time to stand up to his father on one of their manydisagreements. The only thing that had stayed his father’s hand then had been the fact that he had no other heir than Philip.
This time, he could lose more than an appendage he would dearly love to keep. He was losing his damnedmind.
And it was all because ofher.
Lady Selina Sinclair.
In the span of a handful of hours, she had managed, with the least amount of effort, to upend the life he thought he had set for himself.
Marriage had been the furthest thing from his mind then. Kissing her had not even been a consideration, even when he found her surprisingly attractive with her luminous green eyes and a mouth that just beckoned a man to sin, which should have beenirrelevantin the first place.
She had not even said anything remotely suggestive. In fact, the subject they had been discussing was extremely repulsive to him. One that should have invited his intense disgust.
If it had not been for those damned lips of hersmoving.
Before he knew it, he had her in his arms, about to do something he had so desperatelycraved.
She must have bewitched him, that sly minx. Ensnared his senses. Held his logic captive in her pretty little hands, where she could push and prod him to her heart’s content, inciting everything from blind lust to towering rage.
The worst part was that he had a grave suspicion that he mightenjoyit. The pushing. The prodding.Everything.
Damn it all to hell.
Philip closed his eyes and groaned. No, he had to stay away from her and her crafty snares.
Or perhaps that was the cure to this madness. One taste of those lips, one kiss to sate his curiosity, and then he just might be rid of this insanity…
His brow furrowed slightly, the turmoil of his thoughts giving way to cold calculation even before he turned on his heel and grasped that arm that dared to so foolishly reach for him.
A choked cry pierced the heavy night air.
Bloody hell, he had made another mistake. Was there no end to how many he could make in one night?
“Your Grace!” The voice was distinctly feminine.
Brown eyes blinked at him, bright with unshed tears. Not green, thank whatever gods were listening to him.
“Mary.” He frowned at the woman before him, dropping her wrist as if it had been on fire. “What the hell are you doing here at this hour?”
The woman rubbed her wrist with a pained smile. “I… I came to see if Your Grace needed me…”
Philip took one look at the woman before him—large brown eyes, a generous mouth, wisps of dark brown hair escaping her frilled cap. And the topmost buttons of her maid’s uniform undone.
The suggestion could not have been any more obvious had she stripped herself before him.
Unfortunately for him, he was not in the mood for such games. Not from her, at least.
He sighed. “Mary, we have spoken about this. You agreed to the terms.” He lowered his voice. “You needed comfort, and so did I. But even then, I asked if you understood. You said that you did. If you had not, you and I would never have… Anyway, that time is over. As you well know.”
He had not invited her to his chambers since the funeral. She had offered here and there, usually when she caught him alone, but he had not accepted. Indeed, it seemed he had to keep reminding her that their temporary agreement was over.
“Oh, I know, but I thought… considering the strife of the day, you might find yourself in need of comfort again. Seeing you with a pistol in your hand, Your Grace—I can’t deny that it did something to me, and I should very much like that to be satisfied,” she replied, fluttering her brown eyes, her bosom pressing against his arm.
