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The butler seemed uncertain, then he stepped aside and allowed William entry, leading him to a parlor with a small fire flickering in the hearth. He padded over to the window which overlooked the cobbled streets, parted the curtains, and waited.
Lady Phillipa was not his friend, and it was quite unlikely they would have any sort of interaction beyond those moments in the gardens. It was not his duty or right to protect her, yet every instinct within William informed him that this visit was imperative and necessary. Folding his arms behind him, he stood with his feet braced apart, absorbing the stillness of the night and townhouse around him, and simply waited.
* * *
Pippa bitinto her toast slathered with strawberry preserves, listening to the lively conversation floating about her but not partaking in it. Her father, mother, and brother were seated at the table inside her father’s palatial four-story townhouse in Grosvenor Square. They chatted animatedly about the latest gossip, even the earl suitably engaged in their idle conversation.
“There is some rubbish rumor in White’s that someone runs a ladies’ club right here in town,” her father groused, taking a hearty sip of his coffee. “It was Viscount Barrington who mentioned that more and more ladies seemed to be caught in one shenanigan after the other, and at the source of it was some sort of wager or dare.”
The countess delicately patted her mouth with her serviette and cast Pippa a speaking glance. Of course, she had trusted her mother with the truth that she was a member of 48 Berkeley Square. Her mother also knew that Pippa learned the art of fencing and boxing from the club and read books that she might otherwise be forbidden. Her mother also understood that the club was a second home for Pippa, encouraging her daughter in her unusual pursuits and friendships.
“I think Lord Barrington is merely miffed that his stepsister beat him in a carriage race. His vanity was pricked and he is disheartened,” Pippa said pertly.
“How do you know of it, Pippa?” her brother asked, piercing her with his gaze.
“Why, Amelia and I are friends, and it was with great pleasure she recounted the tale of how she thrashed him soundly.” And afterward, he had hauled her into his arms and ravished her mouth with thorough soundness. The shock of that had seen Amelia running to Bath and hiding from the viscount.
Her father scowled, his bushy brows lowering far too ominously. “You are friends with a young lady who races carriages?”
Pippa barely prevented herself from rolling her eyes. Her mother saved her from the necessity of a reply by saying, “I think it is a marvelous idea that ladies should have a club in the veins of White’s to attend. Just imagine the wonderful spectacle of it.”
Outrage slung from her father and brother, which her mother deftly fielded with amused rebuttals. Pippa grinned, pushed back her chair and excused herself. They barely paid her any heed as she hurried from the room, down the hallway and up to her bedchamber. Once inside, she hastened to the window and plucked up the scandal sheets her maid had arranged. Pippa sat and devoured the pages, breathing a sigh of relief that there was no mention of Viscount Shuttleworth.
Last night Pippa had lingered at the ball for another two hours, and in that time, the viscount had not returned inside. She had not risked going back to the gardens to investigate if he was still there or if he had woken and slinked away. Hopefully, he would accept everything as the demands of honor had been satisfied and never approach her again. If he should, Pippa would not hesitate to inform her father. The viscount was now married to an heiress; hence there could be no pressure on her to marry the scoundrel.
A knock sounded, and her lady’s maid, Mary, entered. The girl bobbed a curtsy and held out a small jar.
“This was delivered for you, Lady Pippa.”
“It was?” she reached for it and the small note.
This will help with the pain and swelling in your hand. Use it liberally at least three times for the day. There is no need to thank me. It will be as if we had never met.
Pippa’s pulse tapped briskly in her ears, and an odd feeling of weakness assailed her knees. Thankfully she was already seated! No name was attached to the abrupt and almost rude note, but she knew it was the Marquess of Trent who sent it. Her fingers shook slightly as she opened the small jar and brought it to her nose. Peppermint and lavender wafted from the jar. “Thank you, Mary,” she murmured to the hovering maid. “That will be all.”
“Yes, milady,” she said and departed, closing the door behind her.
Pippa dipped her fingers into the cool cream and rubbed it over the knuckles that were still frightfully tender. Her skin tingled, and she smiled when the throbbing immediately eased. Another quick glance at the note, and she smiled. He did not want her thanks and preferred never to meet her again. Pippa closed her eyes, recalling the gentle way he had held the ice handkerchief to her hand, the sense of his body being too powerful as he stood before her. Pippa had felt surrounded and had been desperate to flee inside and from the confusing sensations pitting low in her belly. Blowing an unsteady breath, she folded the note, went over to her dressing table, and rested it there with the jar. As he did not wish for her gratitude, Pippa would not intrude by sending a note, even if she knew his townhouse’s address.
Almost an hour later, she set aside the gothic romance novel she was reading, collected her bonnet and pelisse, then went downstairs to meet her mother for their shopping trip to High Holborn. Afterward, Pippa might visit 48 Berkeley Square and return home with enough time to prepare for tonight’s ball.
Seated with her mother in their elegant town carriage, Pippa brushed aside the curtains and peered outside.
“Are you appearing so distracted because you wish to avoid the conversation you know is coming, young lady?”
Biting back her smile, she lowered the curtains and glanced at her mother. “What conversation do you refer to, Mama?”
The countess searched her expression keenly. “At last night’s ball, you disappeared outside into the gardens. A few minutes later, Lord Shuttleworth followed. What happened, Pippa?”
She gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat. “Mama!”
“Why do you appear so disconcerted,” her mother said with a sniff. “You’ve avoided town for so long, always pleading with me to extend our stay in Bath. I suspected it had something to do with the viscount since he called on you a few times before your urgent desire to leave the season behind. Did you think me ignorant to your distress or your avoidance? You only ask to come to town when you visit Berkeley Square, that club.”
Pippa swallowed tightly. She truly believed she hid her pain and distress deeply behind her determination to be…different.
Her mother’s expression softened, and her light blue eyes glistened with alarming tears. Her mother tended to cry whenever she felt things too deeply.
“Mama,” Pippa said, “I…what do you wish to know?”
