Stephanie James

by Love Grows in Winter

  After reading the letter, Philip immediately sought out Mr. Winter to say that he would stay the week after all. Though this did arouse curiosity in Mr. Winter — “Why the sudden change,” the man had asked — Philip could hardly tell Mr. Winter the specifics of his apparent indecisiveness.

  How could Philip tell Mr. Winter that his initial reason for declining to stay at Whistler Manor had been Olivia? Her attack on him in the parlor the other night, as well as her heated speech, had elevated their relationship to a new level of discomfort, which was hardly something Philip could reveal to her father. What was more impossible to reveal to Mr. Winter was that Philip had a male admirer who was just as undesirable to be around, but for entirely different reasons. And so when he had been forced to choose between Olivia and Henri, Philip decided he would gladly suffer the pains of being around a woman who hated him. But all he told Mr. Winter — with a casual shrug of his shoulders — was: “I changed my mind.”

  At least he was eating well through all his current struggles. Mr. Winter’s cook, Mrs. Stanley, was a true culinary gem. Philip’s own cook was exemplary, but far less creative in her use of spices and herbs. Oh, Lord, Mrs. Stanley is a master of spices, Philip thought as he shoveled another fork-load of garlic and pepper eggs into his mouth. Next he would attack his bacon, then the sausages, and then most definitely the pudding.

  It was Philip’s third morning at Whistler Manor and he was beginning to think he’d never leave if he continued to eat so well. Not only would he be reluctant to give up such fine meals, but he feared he might end up too fat to fit through the door.

  He was alone at the breakfast table on this, his third morning, with only the stoic footmen along the wall of the breakfast room for company. Mr. Winter had left early to go to the village on business, and Olivia, of course, had refused to come down yet again.

  Her avoidance came as no surprise. She hated him now, or at least that was what she had said. If she were any other woman, Philip would have simply disregarded Olivia’s outburst as being part of overzealous dramatics, and then relied on time to smooth over her mood. As it was, Olivia was not any other woman, and her hatred was not a passing emotion that would dwindle with time and distance. Indeed, Philip feared Olivia would always hate him for what he had done.

  What he had done …

  He almost could not blame her for striking him … almost. But it was still undeniable that he had hurt Olivia more than her hand had hurt his cheek. Philip never would have thought he possessed the power to hurt her so badly. And he most certainly never would have thought for a minute that she equated riding alone to freedom. He would have wondered endlessly how he could have overlooked such a thing were it not for Olivia’s own explanation.

  He was a man.

  She had been right. Philip had never given a thought to his freedom, because, as a man (especially one with wealth), he could do whatever he wanted. Propriety, society, and ethics dictated that he could not do some things, but, even with those boundaries, Philip could still do whatever he wanted.

  And with the aid of that realization, Philip was able to understand why Olivia’s gender restrictions troubled her so.

  She was proud.

  In everything she said, in every move she made — be it walking or a simple flick of her head — her pride was always evident. His sausages momentarily forgotten, Philip tried to picture Olivia altering her behavior in order to get what she wanted from someone. It was just as impossible to fathom as imagining what it would be like to be a woman.

  How interesting.

  Upon their first meeting, Philip had been so certain Olivia was using every trick in her possession to lure him into marriage for her own benefit. But now that he knew her, months later, the very idea seemed ridiculous. Olivia was Olivia. She might have altered her behavior to accommodate Philip when he first arrived, but as she had so thoroughly clarified, that performance had only been for her father’s benefit.

  She would probably do the same for her brother as well. She would stifle her pride and play the toady to anyone for the sake of her family, but not herself. Anything she achieved for herself would have to be the result of her own merit, not the charity of others. Philip found that strangely admirable … and stupid. She was only making life harder for herself.

  Unfortunately Olivia could not achieve all she wanted. Especially not now after he had so expertly seen to it that Mr. Winter was stricter with his daughter. God, what a twisted situation this was. He felt like the worst sort of fiend for having stolen away her freedom — no matter how much he tried to rid himself of his guilt, there was no getting around the fact that he had shackled her spirit — but he could not have simply held his tongue and watched from a distance as she paraded herself around in those damn breeches and her unbound hair for all the men to see. It was dangerous, and it had most definitely needed to be stopped. However, now that he had achieved victory, and Olivia had been forbidden to leave house in breeches or without an escort, Philip did not feel any better. In fact, he felt worse.

  As a creature of peace, Philip disliked any sort of confrontation, and in particular the nagging reality of someone hating him. Olivia, again, was no exception, despite her horrible attitude towards him. He hated the fact that she had not been out of her room in three days because of him.

  He had to do something — he needed to do something to make it up to her. But somehow he knew that a simple spoken apology would not warrant absolution this time. If he wanted smooth over his current blunder with Olivia, it would take a grand gesture indeed to melt through her hatred of him. Philip looked down at his half-eaten breakfast. He couldn’t waste any more time on food, however delicious he knew it was and would be.

  He pushed away from the breakfast table and marched outside. He was off to the stables, where he was going to saddle Olivia’s horse and his own, and then demand she accompany him for a morning ride.

  Well … Perhaps he should refrain from demanding Olivia’s company, especially after her speech about the plight of women. She was most definitely still fuming over their last fight, and since he was a man, a member of the superior gender which commanded her complete and absolute submission, perhaps his best choice of action was to ask her very, very nicely.

  • • •

  Olivia opened her door slowly. She had seen Lord Philip marching off to the stables for some reason or another from her window, so she knew he was not in the house. But she did not want to take any chances. She had successfully avoided him for the last three days, and she didn’t want a blemish on her record.

  He certainly had taken his time leaving the house this morning. Olivia thought she might starve if he did not hurry his meal. She wanted breakfast, but there was nothing in heaven or on earth that could force her to eat with him. Luckily, before she had expired, Mrs. Stanley had brought her a tray … as well as unwanted advice.

  “Why don’t you go down and join him, deary? I’m sure he’s sorry,” Mrs. Stanley had said. “You should see his face whenever he asks about you. I just know he feels terrible.”

  “Ha!” Olivia had scoffed. “Believe you me, Mrs. Stanley, that man could not possibly care less about my feelings or how much he has ruined my life. He is the most disgracefully arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Just keep the trays coming as long as he is in this house. I will not dine with, or be in the company of that brute for any reason.”

  With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Stanley had agreed. “As you wish, deary. But I still think he feels terrible,” she had added before shutting the door softly behind her.

  What did Mrs. Stanley know? And what did Richard know, while she was on the subject? His letter had infuriated her so profoundly she had burned it immediately after reading it. Wedding, indeed! Olivia would just as soon marry the devil himself before Lord Philip Ravenshaw. Neither Richard nor Mrs. Stanley knew what Lord Philip was really like. He had not shown them his true nature as he had to her.

  And no matter how sincerely he had apologize
d for his behavior at that horrible dinner, the fact remained that since meeting Lord Philip, Olivia’s life had become a veritable nightmare. Even when he meant well, he seemed to destroy her happiness.

  Well, not anymore.

  She had spent the better part of the last three days feeling rather depressed and hopeless about her situation. This morning, however, she had awoken with the intent to better her circumstances. Tears would not solve anything. Neither would avoidance of the issue. Lord Philip was in Dorset to stay, so she couldn’t very well hide from him as she had from all the nobles in London a year ago. She could, however, make him agree to an understanding the next time she saw him, that he was to stay away from her from now on.

  But hopefully she wouldn’t see him just now. She wasn’t quite ready for their next meeting.

  She inched out of her room and closed the door quietly behind her. She was dressed in her new riding habit … minus the ridiculous top hat that had come with the incredibly uncomfortable green monstrosity. Her father had seen to it rather expediently that she had at least one riding habit. The dress shop in town had been in possession of only this particular garment, which the dressmaker had altered based on a record of Olivia’s most current measurements. It had then been delivered immediately after completion late yesterday afternoon.

  Olivia had mixed feelings about the habit. She hated that she had to wear it, but she was thankful she had it because now she could ride. Her father had confiscated, and then burned, her brother’s old breeches, just as he’d promised, so even if she had wanted to defy him and ride off alone, she could have only done so naked, which, of course, was not a desirable option.

  But now she had her silly riding habit, and she was going for a ride … alone. Her father was gone, and would be for most of the morning. She could get back in time before he realized that she had gone out alone against his wishes. But if he happened to catch her … well, at least she would not be wearing breeches.

  She crept down the stairs. Several minutes had passed and Lord Philip’s whereabouts were now a mystery. She stood still for a moment in the hallway, listening for any sound of any soul moving about the house. The household staff had been instructed to keep her from leaving without an escort, so she had to avoid everyone inside Whistler Manor as well as outside.

  She heard the metrical ticking of the cuckoo clock in the dining room, the wind rustling the leaves outside the open windows of the parlor, but no people. No chatter or movement or footsteps. Her body relaxed and she moved to the front door. She cracked it open slowly, as she had with her bedchamber and searched for any bystanders. There were none, so she slipped out of the door quickly. But when the door closed softly behind her, the voice of the last person in the world she wanted to see reached her ears.

  “Miss Winter!” Philip called.

  Olivia groaned. Why did God hate her so much?

  “Miss Winter!” Philip called again. She looked to her left and saw the man running towards her from the stables. What could he possibly want with her?

  “Good morning, Miss Winter,” he said and bowed.

  “What do you want?” she demanded hotly.

  Philip’s brows rose mockingly. “Now, that’s not a very nice response to give someone who has wished you a good morning. The proper way is for a lady to say ‘good morning’ and then curtsy.”

  “Lord Philip, I believe you and I are past the obligation of propriety,” said Olivia. “And my morning was promising to be quite enjoyable until you came along.”

  “What makes you assume I will ruin your morning?”

  Olivia let out an irritated sigh. “In the event that you have forgotten, Lord Philip, every one of our meetings has ended badly. You have thus far accused me of treachery, badgered me for my riding attire and hairstyle, and you’ve also managed to have treasured privileges taken away from me. Do you not think it is only natural at this point for me to assume you will only bring more ruination to my life?”

  “Perhaps,” Philip said after a moment of thought. “But you needn’t worry about that today. You and I are going for a ride.”

  “We are?”

  “Yes. And there will be no discussion about the matter, so come along.”

  Olivia’s face scrunched scornfully and her hands went to her hips. “What in the name of God has possessed you to think I would agree to the agony of your company?”

  “Nothing,” Philip said simply. “I know perfectly well I’m the last person with whom you would like to spend time. But since I have a matter I would like to discuss with you, I would like it very much if you would ride with me through the valley … and with Mr. Stanley as our escort, of course.”

  “I would much rather ride with just Mr. Stanley,” Olivia said.

  “Yes, I deduced as much already, but as I said, you and I need to discuss a few topics. And since you refuse to come out of your room while you are in the house, a ride is my only opportunity to talk to you.”

  “What topics?”

  “I would like to apologize, firstly, but I realize that words alone will not work this time, so I’ve devised a plan. I am aware that my presence upsets you. If we can reach some sort of an arrangement which will prevent you from feeling such discomfort, then my apology will be to adhere to your stipulations.”

  Devil take it! How could this man always manage to say the right thing to make her go along with what he wanted? An arrangement — it was exactly what she wanted between them.

  “Fine,” she agreed at last. “You are lucky I am already dressed for riding. Otherwise, during the time it would have taken me to change, I would have surely changed my mind as well.”

  Philip smiled broadly. He stepped to the side to let her pass. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing with his hands in a sweeping motion towards the stables.

  Olivia scoffed at his graceful movement and silly smile. “Let us go, then.”

  • • •

  Mr. Stanley didn’t appear to be too happy about having to play the part of escort, but he had mounted his horse and followed just the same. His presence, which was currently trailing twenty or so feet behind them, did not bother Olivia as much as she thought it would. It should have been a pleasant realization, one that made her feel less like a prisoner. She could ride with an escort and not feel restricted. It was not the same as her lost freedom, but it was a start. Lord Philip, however, kept her from realizing the true power of this epiphany.

  For some reason, her heart was beating much, much faster than normal. Was she angry or nervous? She couldn’t decide which. She only knew that she was very aware — strangely, oddly, and absurdly aware of Lord Philip riding next to her.

  It irritated her to distraction to realize that, even though she could not possibly hate another man more, she was so acutely aware of him. She hated noticing the strong manner in which his gloveless hands manipulated the reins. She hated noticing the muscles working in his thighs as he controlled his horse. His posture was, of course, flawless, which only made her more aware of the exact size and width of his shoulders and chest. She hated that, too.

  But he really was quite a handsome-looking man. Honestly, Olivia could not help but notice him, or the way his dark brown hair danced over his forehead in the breeze, or the way his eyes were the color of the sky. But why was she thinking about the rest of his body as well?

  Absently, she wondered if his coat-covered arms were as strong as his legs appeared to be. Were his hands callused or soft? If they were callused — and if he touched her — what would they feel like on her skin? Would she like the feel of rough hands or hate it? Mrs. Stanley always complained about Mr. Stanley’s rough hands. Olivia had never understood the older woman’s complaint. Only her father and brother had ever embraced her; no other man had ever touched her. Were callused hands really so terrible, or was it a preference? Suddenly Olivia was dying to know.

  Why was she thinking of such things, she wondered. Why did they interest her so much? What did it mean? And why in the world was s
he sweating? The morning air was colder than usual for mid-June. She should not be sweating.

  “What has occupied your thoughts, Miss Winter?” Philip said abruptly.

  Olivia tensed in response. Oh God, he couldn’t know she was just thinking of his body, could he? “Nothing,” she lied.

  Philip smiled. “Something has kept you from hearing my question.”

  “Question?”

  “Yes. I asked you for the name of your horse.”

  “Oh, yes. Her name is Emily.”

  “Emily?” Philip said, laughing out each syllable of the name.

  Olivia’s gaze snapped around to him and she frowned resentfully. “Yes. Emily. What is wrong with that?”

  “Oh, nothing, to be sure,” said Philip. “Just simply that most people have a bit more fun naming their pets, horses or otherwise.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Olivia.

  Philip smiled. “Well, most pet animals bear names like Fluffy, Marmalade, or Peppermint. I assumed you would be inclined to assign your horse an equally silly name.”

  Olivia furled her brow. “Why would anyone give their animals such ridiculous names?”

  “It is fun.”

  “So, it is fun to give them demeaning names, now is it? I suppose you have given your horse some silly name as you were the one who brought up the subject. The poor creature,” Olivia scoffed. “I pity him, really. Well, what is his name then?”

  When Philip merely smiled at her, she became frustrated. “Out with it,” she demanded.

  Philip looked at her and said: “Stephen.”

  Olivia laughed. She couldn’t help it, and that surprised her. What was even more surprising was how natural it felt. She forced herself to sober immediately. She was supposed to hate this man, not laugh at his little ruses. This was dangerous. Noticing his features in such a scandalous way was dangerous. He was dangerous. She didn’t know how to feel what she was feeling, or even why she was feeling and thinking such things about a man. She wanted him to touch her, caress her — surely it wasn’t natural. Olivia was far too aware of him and it made her anxious, as though she were waiting for something to happen. She had to get rid of him — make him agree to stay away and never speak to her. Only then would she feel like herself again.