Page 70 of The Redemption of the Shrew

Philippe smiled. “A man after my own heart. I told her you owed her an explanation.” He blew out a breath of frustration. “It’s precisely the advice she has given me—to talk to Gloriana. But I have been doing my best to avoid her, and after tonight . . .” He gave a bitter laugh. “Together, we caused a scene—a very public one at a ball. I do not care a snap of my fingers for the gossips, but she makes it worse and worse for herself. I treated her harshly, and she took refuge with Hythwick. Ah, mon Dieu!”

“With Hythwick?” Eric shook his head in disbelief. “Did she hope to make you jealous?”

“No, she was trying to help . . . It is a long story, and some of it is not mine to reveal. But now she is in even more danger from that devil, and I cannot easily protect her.” He ran his hands through his hair. “That I pour my heart out to a man I scarcely know is a measure of my dismay.”

“Consider me your brother,” Eric said. “Soon I shall be.”

Philippe threw himself into a chair. “I climbed up the drainpipe to her bedchamber tonight, meaning to confront her, but she was distraught and weeping, so I remained hidden. I do not know if she will ever speak to me again.”

“You were in her bedchamber, and you didn’t take her in your arms?”

“Did I not say exactly that?”

“What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you seduce her?”

“A woman does not welcome a lover when her nose is running and her eyes are red.”

Eric snorted. “True.”

“Maybe she will consent to speak to me through you or through Sophie.”

“No, seduction is the only way,” Eric said. “Then talk to her.”

Philippe huffed. “I have considered it often, believe me. But if I seduce her—which seems unlikely if she will never speak to me—I shall have to marry her.”

“You don’t want to marry her?” Eric poured another brandy and passed it to him. “You’re not making much sense, brother-to-be. Sophie says you’re in love with her.”

“I was, long ago. Perhaps I still am. But even if I do want to marry her, I don’t want to be obliged to do so.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “You’re as complicated as a woman. Must be something to do with being French. No Englishman would come up with such a hair-splitting excuse as that.”

A valid point. He had let the past rule him for far too long.

“If you want her, go get her. Shouldn’t be difficult—by what I’ve heard, half the ladies in the ton lust after you.”

“Because of my pretty face,” Philippe said. “It is the bane of my existence.” But in her case, it should be the opposite—if she still cared for him.

Eric stood. “I’d best be on my way. My pupils wake early.” He tossed back the rest of his brandy.

Philippe stood as well, as full of hope as could be expected from a tired man facing a daunting task. He put out a hand. “Eric, I look forward to welcoming you as a brother.”

His sister’s lover shook it firmly. “Likewise, Philippe,” he said, and left.

~ ~ ~

“Miss Glow, wake up!” The curtain rings rattled, and sunlight poured onto the bed.

Gloriana opened one bleary eye. How late had she slept?

“Both eyes,” Elspeth said. “It’s time to get up.”

The events of the previous night rolled over Gloriana. She shut her eye again and groaned. “Why?”

“Because you are besieged by suitors this morning. A huge vase of roses from Lord Hythwick—”

“He’s no suitor,” Gloriana muttered. “Roses at this season, as if I care about such pretentiousness. Have Gregory take them to the church.”

“And a pretty bouquet of jonquils from Mr. Bridge. The card that came with them swears eternal friendship.”