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“Good God, boy! Did she suck your brains right out of your cock? They both said you were already in love. With whom?”
Ah. That.“It’s—”No.He would not say it’snothing. His affection for Emalyn was most definitely not “nothing.” He cleared his throat. “They misconstrued my reaction and made a faulty assumption.”
Solomon leaned back against the seat, observing his son through half-lidded eyes. “So she is someone whom you believe I would not approve.”
Philip’s thoughts began to regather into coherence. “Now it is you who are making an assumption.”
Solomon remained silent several moments, leaving Philip to chaff under his father’s intense scrutiny. He tried to return his father’s impenetrable stare but found maintaining a focus on his father’s face tedious. When Solomon finally spoke, the pronouncement held a court-like seriousness.
“Emalyn Benjumeda.”
Philip winced—and he knew he had given himself away.
“Ah.”
The smug tone and satisfied expression irritated Philip. “What does that mean?”
Solomon shrugged. “You have fine taste in mistresses.”
“What!” Philip straightened.
Solomon held up a hand in a placating wave. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“It is not!”
“You know she can never be anything more. She’s a commoner. An alien.”
Philip sank back. “Yes. We know.”
Solomon’s eyebrows arched. “We? You have discussed this with her?”
Philip nodded. “Yes. We have discussed the fact that no matter how we feel, we cannot marry.”
“Wise of you both.”
Philip looked out the window again as another silence settled for several minutes.
“So you love her, but would give her up instead of making her your mistress?”
“She deserves more. A husband. Children.”
“You care for her that much?”
Philip glanced at his father, then back out as the street outside widened, the houses increasing in size and beauty. Like their conversation, their carriage had returned to Mayfair. “Yes.” He shifted, curiosity returning. “How did you know?”
Solomon let out a low huff. “Do you think your mother and I are blind? Your affection for her exudes from every pore,”
Heat rose in Philip’s face. “We—I—we thought we were being cautious.”
The sound that rumbled in Solomon’s throat was part scoff, part laugh. “Son, no man who is truly in love has ever been able to successfully disguise that emotion. It is too consuming and happens so rarely. We also know that you have been exchanging letters, which her mother tried to stop.”
“Why have you not mentioned any of this?”
Solomon gave another shrug. “You are young. We thought it would pass. Apparently, it has not.”
Philip shook his head. “No.”
“And for that, I am sorry. If we had intervened sooner, we might have prevented the pain that is to come.” The carriage slowed and stopped in front of Ashton House, the Kennet home in London. Solomon gathered himself to get out. “Perhaps it will help that you will not see her until Christmas.”
