Page 103 of The Work of Art

“That you did. And when you first opened your eyes, I believe you mistook me for your grandfather.” A strained smile edged the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “Naturally, it was a great blow to my conceit.”

Philly managed a weak smile of her own. “What a lot of nonsense you talk.”

“Do you think so?” He smoothed her hair from her brow, his expression once again reverting to lines of the deepest concern. “Tell me, sweetheart, what can I do to ease your aching head? Would you like a few drops of laudanum? Or one of Mrs. Lamb’s decoctions?”

“Neither, if you please.”

“Shall I be a very unpleasant husband and force you?”

“No. Truly, I’m not in any great pain. Indeed, I feel very much myself again, except…I fear I must look absolutely dreadful.”

“You look charmingly. A trifle pale, perhaps, but that’s easily remedied.”

“Is it? How? Not some awful cordial, I hope.”

Arthur gave her chin an affectionate pinch. “I have an idea that you might be wanting your breakfast. What do you think of that, my love? Would food suit you a little better than your medicine?”

Philly brightened. “I am excessively hungry.”

“I don’t doubt it. You’ve had nothing since yesterday morning.”

“And then only a cup of chocolate.”

He frowned his disapproval. “What sort of a meal did you consider that?”

“No meal at all. We were meant to breakfast together properly when we returned from our ride. I didn’t want to spoil my appetite.”

Her words, though innocently spoken, had a quelling effect on Arthur. He fell silent a moment, as if reflecting on a particularly troubling thought.

“What is it?” she asked.

His jaw tightened. “I behaved abominably toward you outside of the stable.”

Her eyes searched his. She noticed, for the first time, the decided tension in the set of his shoulders and the ragged harshness to his features. It was more than strain and fatigue. He might almost have been angry. “But that was nothing but a misunderstanding. Hyperion…and Thomas…and I shouldn’t have clung to you as I did.”

“You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. I was angry with myself. Angry. Frustrated. Unable to keep my temper.” A flicker of anguish passed over his face. “To think those sharp words might have been the last I ever said to you.”

“Oh, my dear. Has this been preying upon your mind all this while?”

“Amongst other things.”

Philly touched a caressing hand to his cheek. “What a lot of trouble I’ve caused you. I thought only to help by going after Hyperion, and instead I’ve worried you ragged and no doubt inconvenienced the entire household.”

Arthur stared down at her, his brooding gaze heavy with unspoken emotion. “Trouble and inconvenience? Do you think I give a damn about those things? My God, Philly, I thought I’d lost you. From the moment I found you lying in the pasture, I’ve been in hell.”

Her hand stilled on his cheek. “Arthur…”

“In hell,” he repeated. His voice deepened to a fierce undertone. “And so I should remain if you were ever taken from me. There would be nothing else worth living for.”

Philly had no words to offer in reply to such a desperate statement. She did the only thing she could think of. She coaxed his face down to hers and she kissed him.

It was a sweet kiss, slow and gentle and uncompromisingly tender. Arthur responded with unexpected caution, his hand reaching up to cup her face as his lips softened under hers, returning her kiss with as much tenderness as she’d given it, and then, reluctantly, pulling away from her.

“Have a care, love,” he said huskily. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never could.”

“I could and I will, if you kiss me like that again.”