“Are you telling me she is not now?” Philip reached for her hands and brought them up to his lips.
But he didn’t kiss her hands. Instead, he turned her wrist to his mouth and pressed a tingling kiss right where her pulse fluttered, his gaze fixed on hers.
“That is none of your concern,” she replied.
He kissed her other wrist. “What of you, my bride? Are you still sweet and innocent?”
Heat rushed into her face. “I walked out of the gardens a… rather different woman from the one who walked in.”
“Don’t speak to me of that night,” he groaned in the back of his throat, a sound that stirred her up. “I can’t hear of it, can’t think of it, or I will doom us both with what I will have to do right this minute. Curse these guests!”
Selina grazed her teeth across her lower lip. “And what, pray tell, would you do?”
“I would start like this,” he murmured, kissing his way up her arm. “Slow and teasing. Exploring every—and I do meanevery—part of you.”
Her neck arched as his lips traced the line of her collarbone and moved up the column of her throat. His arm slipped around her, pulling her closer, while his other hand sought the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck.
“Then, I would?—”
She never got to hear the next part, as loud voices shouted somewhere in the hall beyond, accompanied by the patter of feet.
“Curse these bloody guests!” Philip muttered, pulling back sharply so they would not be caught in a compromising situation. “Can I not even kiss my betrothed in the privacy of our home?”
Our home…
Selina’s eyes widened, and her heart swelled. Barlow House had never felt like home, her father had made sure of that, but Ashbrook Manor already felt like somewhere she belonged. To hear Philip call it ‘ours’ was just the cherry on top.
So much so that she did not even mind that they had been interrupted.
“We will have all the time in the world once the wedding is over,” she told him shyly.
He cast her a sly look. “Anticipationcanbe half of the enjoyment, I suppose.” He sighed. “What brought you in here anyway?”
“Lizzy told me no one comes here.”
“Ah, I see.” He paused, frowning. “Is it all too much?”
“No, I just needed a moment to myself,” she replied. “Although you are not so very unwelcome.”
He smirked. “I am pleased to hear it.”
Just then, his gaze flitted to the one painting that was covered with that thick, black cloth. His smirk faded, a hardness flashing in his eyes.
“Who is behind there?” Selina asked, noticing the change.
“The devil,” Philip replied, his lip curled.
Before she could ask any further questions, a familiar voice shrieked through the babble of the other guests.
“Philip? Philip, I know you are here somewhere!” the Dowager Duchess crowed. “I saw you not five minutes ago! You cannot escape me, my dear grandson. I have tasks for you!”
Philip rolled his eyes. “I suppose that is my cue to leave you, though I amverytempted to just lock the door. Let them knock and gossip; I don’t much care anymore.”
“And my life will not be worth living if I hide you from your grandmother,” Selina said, though she was just as reluctant to be parted from him.
Leaning forward, Philip pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and with that, he was gone, calling out, “I am here, Grandmother. No need to shout.”
In his absence, Selina glanced toward the door to make sure no one was coming. Certain that she would not be disturbed, she edged toward the covered portrait and, with surprisingly shaky hands, lifted one corner to see what was behind the cloth.
Expecting horns and a fiery inferno, she was somewhat disappointed to find that the portrait depicted nothing but an old man with a stern stare and thinning hair.
Are you the man my father despised so much?
Letting the cloth drop, she was grateful that a portrait could not talk back.
