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Where is he? Please, please, please. I cannot have missed him.
Over the past year, Emalyn’s hope for the next letter from Philip had become a living beast, growing within her in a way that consumed most of her other dreams. Mary usually delivered them—they always arrived wrapped in a letter from Hodges to Mary—with a gleam in her eye. Emalyn read the latest arrival at least once a day, lingering over every word, trying to divine some hidden meaning between the lines. She responded as soon as she could, but with her family’s travels, weeks sometimes passed before his reply would find her.
Emalyn’s patience wore thin, even though her brain knew all too well they could never be together. After all, he was the son of a duke, and she was... nobody.
But she would cherish what she could while she could.
Lying in her bed at night, eyes closed, Emalyn often thought about Philip, imagining his hands touching her the way those romantic heroes in her favorite Frances Burney novels did—
“Miss me?” His low voice in her ear made Emalyn squeak.
She spun to see him, oh,sohandsome and dashing in his evening kit and oversized cloak. Her stomach fluttered, but she forced herself to scowl. “A gentleman should not sneak up on a lady like that!”
He grinned. “I’ll remember that the next time I meet a lady.”
She shoved her shoulders back. “I beg your pardon!”
He leaned in, the grin twisting. “So how were thechildren’sactivities tonight? Did you play hoodman blind or shoe the wild mare? Or perhaps hot cockles?”
She sniffed. “You, Lord Newbury, are an infuriating bore.”
Philip held out his arm. “Too infuriating for a stroll?”
Emalyn tried to maintain her glare, but the idea of walking beside him was far too tempting. “Hmph. It would be improper.”
“Extremely so.” His arm waited.
Emalyn let out a long sigh and slipped her hand inside his elbow. “You will be the ruin of me yet.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Do you truly desire to be slapped this night?”
He folded his hand over hers and turned her away from the steps. “Only if I deserve it. I have something I want to show you.”
Her curiosity blossomed. “Oh. What, pray tell?”
Their boots crunched in the icy crust of the snow as they rounded the corner of the house. “It’s a surprise.”
“I do not like surprises.”
He paused at a gate in a wooden fence. “Whyever not?”
“I have five brothers. Surprises seldom bring delight.”
Laughing, Philip lifted the latch on the gate and peeked into the rear yard of the estate before holding it open for her. “Then you should be grateful I am not one of your brothers.” He closed the gate and took her hand, tugging her across the muddy ground toward the servants’ entrance.
Emalyn dropped his hand and gathered her cloak and skirts up so that they did not drag in the mud. “Oh, I am exceedingly grateful for that.”
Philip hesitated as he reached for the door and looked down at her. His cheeks had pinked, and his eyebrows arched. “Of all the compliments I have received this evening, that is by far the one I will remember the most.”
She motioned for him to hurry. “Do not flatter yourself, sir. I’m sure I will find a complementary insult before the night is out.”
“I will be crushed, no doubt.” But his expression still held that annoying smirk that made her chest tighten. He held the door for her.
“Where are we going?”
Philip put a finger to his lips as he shut them inside. Down the hall in front of the door lay the kitchens, where a flurry of servants scurried about as the smells of mince pies, mulled fruit, and roasted geese filled the air. To the left of the back door, a staircase led to the upper floors, and Philip gestured for her to follow him.
