What he wanted more than anything was to be able to open his eyes and see her. But his strength soon waned, and he slipped back into sleep.
Rain lashing on the windows and the chill of night woke him much later with shivers. Ella placed an extra blanket over him and murmured sweet words of comfort.
Sometime later, when the rain had ended and a fire was crackling in the room, he finally had the strength to open his eyes. Morning light bathed the room, almost blinding him. His first glimpse of Ella was hazy; she lay in a chair beside the bed, her body bent forward in an uncomfortable position as she rested her folded arms on the bed beside him.
She’d fallen asleep clasping one of his hands. Her fingers were warm, and he gave them a small squeeze. Motes of dust danced in the light, like shimmering flakes of snow that fell lightly into the golden crown of her hair. The silken strands were unbound and fell in loose waves down her shoulders. He moved his hand, slipping it free of her hold so he could touch her hair. He stroked it, then spooled it around one finger and stared at it in the light as she slowly woke.
For a time they gazed at each other, no words spoken between them, but he felt her searching his face, looking for answers.
“Phillip?” She gently caught his wrist as his hand began to fall. She held the back of his hand to her cheek, her blue-gray eyes spilling with fresh tears.
“Ella.” He sighed her name as a sense of comfort swept over him. He hadn’t been dreaming. She was really here looking after him.
“I’m here. Are you thirsty? Hungry?” She leaned closer, a floral scent teasing his nose. Lord, he could breathe that scent for years and never tire of it.
He found it a little easier to speak now. “What happened?”
Ella offered him some water. “Graham escaped the tunnels. He was badly hurt, but able to walk. He came to Charles. He thought you were dead, but he begged Charles to find you.”
“And he did. I remember…I thought it was Graham at first.” He puzzled over the blurry memories in his mind. “Was Lennox there as well?”
Ellen nodded. “They saved you. I’ve been here looking after you for almost two weeks now.”
“So long…?” Phillip stared at her for a moment, wanting to tell her the truth. That he had been nearly ready to die, but hearing her voice, feeling her touch, had been what saved him. “Thank you for caring for me,” he said quietly, but he knew she heard him. She tightened her hold on his hand and nodded.
“I would do anything for you,” she said. Then her lashes fanned down, and she blushed. In the morning light, her skin looked like alabaster kissed by a pale rose. She was so lovely to look upon that it hurt. But unlike his current condition, it was a pain he gladly embraced.
“Should I fetch Dr. Shreve? He was most anxious to hear the moment you woke up.”
Phillip nodded. It would be best if she left for a bit. He needed time. Time to remind himself that he had to guard his heart and not let her past his walls. She exited the room, and with her went all of his joy. Even the sunlight seemed less golden as it washed over the bed and the furniture around him. Closing his eyes, he rested for a bit, but a sound soon woke him. Graham was sitting in the chair Ella had vacated.
“You’re awake, thank Christ,” Graham said. His face was a red-and-purple collage of bruises, still quite swollen.
“You look like hell,” he said to his friend, earning a pained chuckle from Graham.
“And you look far worse.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” Phillip cracked a small smile. Graham looked down at his boots, and his shoulders sagged.
“I failed you, Phillip. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you go in there.”
Phillip reached for Graham’s arm and patted it. “You didn’t fail me. I failed myself. I was stubborn. My damned pride. But you got out and found help. I am thankful beyond words to call you my friend.”
Graham sniffed and wiped his nose like a child, and Phillip was stunned by his friend’s reaction. “You’re my best friend,” Graham whispered hoarsely. “You were there for me when my father died all those years ago.”
“And you were there for me when my parents died,” Phillip reminded him. His own heart swelled with a whirl of emotions—pride, love, honor, and embarrassment. But he was too tired to keep his usual reserve.
“Go on and sleep. Ella is happy to play the nursemaid.” Graham laughed. But Phillip knew he wouldn’t be laughing if he ever knew how much Phillip cared for her. Phillip closed his eyes again and listened drowsily as Graham shuffled out of the bedroom.
“I swear, Graham, if you don’t get some rest—” Ella growled from the direction of the door.
“I’m going, dear sister. Lord, you’re becoming a battle-ax in your old age.”
“I’m younger than you!” Ella protested.
Phillip’s lips twitched into a smile as he drifted off to sleep.
* * *
The next week passed quickly, too quickly in some ways. Ella was overjoyed at Phillip’s progress, but she was afraid of what would happen when he was well enough to return to his estate. Soon her time of caring for him would be over, and they would go back to being people who’d shared a kiss once, a kiss that she’d wanted to build her life upon. And all he would see her as was someone who’d nursed him back to health. She didn’t want gratitude—she wanted love, deep, passionate, life-altering love.
As she entered his bedchamber carrying a pitcher of water as she’d done dozens of times, without knocking, a privilege many women would envy, she gasped as she came upon him half-naked. His valet, Marcus, was helping him dress.
“Oh!” She froze, too shocked to know what to do next. “I’m so sorry.”
Phillip gave a chuckle and fell back on his bed, still shirtless. “Marcus was bringing me a fresh shirt. Give us a moment.”
The mere sight of him being so wonderfully, scandalously indecent made her turn hastily back toward the door as she tried to forget the sight she’d just witnessed—not that she ever could. Even so wounded, he was handsome. All that hard muscle and his broad shoulders and…heavens, she was thinking with her body like a silly debutante. She wasn’t that girl anymore; she was a rational, sensible woman, not swayed by a perfect masculine form.
She dared not look over her shoulder, and continued to clutch a fresh pitcher of water, her face flaming.
“I’m so pleased to see you up. Well, sitting up, I mean.” She could have smacked herself for how silly she sounded. But she couldn’t deny the fear that once he was healed, he’d go back to his life and she’d go back to the proverbial shelf.
“All done,” Phillip promised. “You may turn around now.” When she turned, she saw he had changed clothes. He’d worn only drawers beneath the blankets, or so the doctor had said, since his broken leg was in need of constant watch for infection. But he’d needed to change his shirts frequently as he sweated through them. The valet bowed respectfully and departed. Ella waited for him to leave before she spoke.
She held up the pitcher. “I…er…brought fresh water, in case you were thirsty.” She certainly was, her mouth ran dry whenever she looked at him.
Phillip’s lips twitched in that almost-grin that made her knees weak. “Thank you, I am quite thirsty.”
She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “And I thought I could bring a bit of luncheon to you today? The kitchen has made some cold cuts and raspberry tarts.”
Phillip’s eyes lit up. “I am rather hungry.” Then he scowled. “But I’m bloody sick of being trapped in this bed.”
“I know. It must be so frustrating.” She set the pitcher down on the washstand and poured him a glass. He accepted it, but his expression was marred with a sudden frown.
“How is Graham?” he asked.
“Better than you and just as grumpy,” Ella replied a little tersely.
“I’m not grumpy,” Phillip shot back.
“You most certainly are.” Ella placed her hands on her hips and stared at him evenly un
til he grumbled an apology. “Dr. Shreve brought a Bath chair over for you to use.” She went into the hall to retrieve the rolling chair and wheeled it in so he could see.
“That’s for invalids,” Phillip countered.
“Yes, and right now, it will let you have a bit of fresh air.” Ella pushed it up to the bed next to him. “Do you want to try? Charles agreed to push you around in it.”
Phillip stared at the chair for a long moment.
“At least you’ll be outside this room,” Ella prodded.
Finally he nodded. “All right.”
Ella went outside and called for Charles. Then she waited outside while her brother helped Phillip into the chair and wheeled him into the corridor.
“Where to, Kent?” Charles asked with a chuckle. Phillip’s face was ruddy with embarrassment as he looked to Ella.
“The library. I have an indoor picnic set up.” She moved ahead of them to reach the library first so she could open the doors. Charles rolled Phillip up to the long reading table, which had been cleared of books and was now decorated with an assortment of cold cuts, a tray of tarts, and a tin of biscuits with a bit of wine.
She kissed her brother’s cheek. “Thank you, Charles.”
“Behave yourself now, Kent,” Charles warned with a chuckle, and then he left them alone.
“Thank you, Ella,” Phillip said quietly. “I was afraid I would never escape that bed.”
She prepared him a plate of food and then one for herself. “I’m happy to help.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t busy planning a Christmas ball,” Phillip said between bites. “The balls here used to be a part of your family tradition.”
“They still are,” she said with some melancholy. “But things are…tense at the moment. Yes, I suppose that’s the right word. Charles is trying to convince Mother and me to visit our friends in Scotland, but I refuse to go while you and Graham require attention.”
“Graham and I will be fine. We don’t need to be watched by a mother hen.”
Ella cut a sharp gaze at him. That wasn’t she’d been called that by her brothers and she didn’t like it now when Phillip said it. “I’m not a mother hen.”
Phillip sighed and leaned back in the Bath chair. “I only meant that you care for others too much and barely at all for yourself.” He opened his eyes. The sunny warmth of the library made his blue eyes bright and revealed the russet strands in his dark hair.
“I suppose it’s because my family had to care for me when I was younger. I was quite ill most of my early youth.”
“But you aren’t anymore?” Phillip asked.
“No, I’m not, though my family still sometimes requires convincing.”
“Then go and live your life. You should be at balls, finding a man who will worship you and—”
She waited for him to finish, but only silence came. “And?”
“Move on,” Phillip finally said. “You let life freeze you in place, Ella.”
For some reason, his words cut her deeply. She wasn’t frozen. Was she?
She’d been waiting, waiting for Phillip to finally see her as a woman, but even now he was still treating her like a child. Even after that night in the garden two years ago. She got to her feet and walked over to the windows, smoothing her rose-colored skirts as she watched snow fall thick and white on the gardens. Her stomach knotted, and she felt that if she dared to move, she’d toss her accounts.
“I think I should return to my room and rest. The doctor should be by to visit shortly,” Phillip said. His words were a dagger to her heart.
She swallowed her pride and her hurt as she turned to help him. He shook his head and moved his hands on the wheels, pushing himself. That only made her despair deepen.
“I’ll have Marcus help me.” He wheeled to the door and pulled the bell cord, which brought Marcus to him. The valet gave Ella an apologetic look as he wheeled Phillip away. Ella watched him go, feeling strangely numb. She had waited all these years to see if he would notice her, care about her, love her?
I’ve been such a silly, childish fool.
Ella turned to stare out the window again, watching the light fade into evening. She had not moved once in several hours, and her body was stiff as she turned to leave the library. Inside she felt cold and numb, as though she’d spent the last few hours in the gardens without a coat.
“Ella?” Charles stood in the doorway. “Phillip has just left for his townhouse. Dr. Shreve thought it was safe enough for him to be moved. I thought you should know. He said to thank you for all that you’ve done.”
Ella bit her lip as tears filled her eyes.
Do not cry. You must not let him see any tears.
Charles came deeper into the library. “Little bit?” She knew he would see through her if she tried to hide her pain.
“I’m fine, Charles. Truly.”
Please go. Leave me to my broken heart.
“Ella…” The way he said her name, he knew without even seeing her face. Charles always knew her, as the oldest child always knows the youngest. It was a bond they’d shared since she was born.
She spun to look at him, her lips quivering as she desperately tried to hold herself together. “Charles.”
“Yes?”
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Her brother joined her at the window in quiet contemplation.
He clasped his hands behind his back and watched the evening shadows upon the snow with her. “Love at first sight?”
“Yes. As though the person you saw that first time belonged to you, even before you knew their name.” She expected her brother to tease her, to remind her that she was forever too young to fall in love and get married. But he didn’t.
“I know the feeling exactly. You wonder how on earth you could even draw breath all the days before you set your eyes upon them. Because once you’ve seen them, everything else simply fades compared to their brilliance.”
Ella’s lips parted in stunned silence. He’d never spoken of love before, never kept a mistress for more than a few months. Yet now he was utterly changed. He seemed settled, grounded in a way he’d never been before.
“You speak of Lily Wycliff?” she asked.
“And you speak of Phillip?” he replied.
She gave his arm a tender squeeze and kissed his cheek before she left him to gaze upon the snow. “Perhaps one of us will have true happiness.”
As she left the library, she glimpsed her book about Pompeii. She hadn’t read it in five long years.
I know how their story ends; it is time I let go of the past.
5
One year later
“If I have to listen to one more man explain to me that business and politics are not things to concern myself with…,” Ella growled over the rim of her teacup.
“It is most frustrating,” her friend, Audrey St. Laurent, agreed. “I often say some men need a good whack to the head…or between their legs, depending on the man.”
Ella snickered but then sighed as her mood deflated again.
“What’s truly bothering you?” Audrey inquired.
Ella glanced about Audrey’s morning room, seeking a distraction from her mortification, but they were alone. A fire crackled in the hearth, and sunlight glinted off the snow outside. It was a perfectly lovely day, which made her black mood all the worse.
“At one and twenty, it seems I’m now to attract the worst sort of men. I was at Lady Hearst’s ball last evening, and every single man I danced with lectured me about how fortunate I was to even be dancing at my age. To make it worse, the younger ladies have taken offense at my being there. More than one lady said I shouldn’t even be there because I am so clearly on the shelf. What shelf, I ask you? Are women like fruit? Do we turn sour after three seasons? I rather think I am better each year I get older.”
Audrey’s brown eyes glinted with amusement. “Fair point. I’ve often wondered what shelf it is society always refers to as well.”
Her friend touched her arm. “Ella, breathe, my dear. Your face is turning an alarming shade of red.”
Inhaling deeply, Ella relaxed as the burning sensation eased.
“You seem more upset than usual,” Audrey said, her brows drawn together in worry.
Ella set her teacup down and looked toward the window. More and more often she had this wild compulsion to run out the nearest door and never come back. Something was missing in her life. Something she’d lost long ago, and she was afraid she would never find it again.
“Audrey, I thought I would fall in love again, that I would feel that heat and light again, but I haven’t. Not one time.”
Last year she had confessed to Audrey how she felt about Philip because her friend had a way of understanding men and offering sound advice. But last Christmas had been a difficult time for all. Charles and his wife, Lily, had almost died when Hugo Waverly—half brother to Charles, Graham, and Ella—had tried to kill Charles.
It had been a vendetta long in the making, and even now Ella didn’t know all the details. But all of Charles’s friends, known as the League of Rogues, had been targeted by the man, including Audrey’s husband, Jonathan. Ella’s broken heart had been a small and inconsequential matter compared to that.
“You still love Lord Kent?” Audrey asked.
“I suppose I do, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise. I’m such a fool, aren’t I?” Ella sniffed.
“Not at all. But he certainly is. Gillian, the Countess of Pembroke, said James told her that Kent barely leaves his estate. He’s been a sour sort for the last year. James thinks it’s because his leg still pains him. He still walks with a cane, I understand.”
Ella brushed away her tears. She hadn’t seen Philip since the day he’d left her in the library. Graham had gone to see him, but Ella hadn’t dared to ask about him.
“I didn’t know about his leg, or the cane,” Ella whispered. Her heart ached with the thought that he must still be suffering.
The Earl of Kent: A League of Rogues Novel and a Wicked Earls’ Club Novel Page 5