by Stacy Reid
Phillipa sent her a withering glare. “I’m a fool, I know, but it seems like a lifetime.”
She had ached for him, even wept tears, tormented with the need she’d felt for him, both physically and in her mind. She had started to accept that she loved him. And it had felt right. Until doubts assailed her.
If he had felt even a sliver of affection for her, how could he have been so withdrawn when she left him? And so tellingly silent for the past few days?
Had Anthony changed his mind about marriage to her, and accepted her refusal?
She wasn’t an easy handful. She knew that. Perhaps he’d felt only relief that he’d been so easily rid of her.
She took the glass of champagne Elisabeth pressed in her hand and tried to ignore the wild thumping in her heart. She had never expected to long for him the way she had.
The past few nights had been tormented with memories and dreams of their lovemaking. In the days she had yearned to be with him. She had longed to converse with him, to share the plans she had for her future. Their future.
He had also missed her birthday celebration earlier this evening. Not that it had been so grand. Only a small dinner gathering of family and a few friends, but she had foolishly sent him an invitation to his town house. She’d also invited Lady Constance and Lady Radcliffe, and her aunt and mother had been thrilled with their presence. Phillipa had been too embarrassed to ask about Anthony’s whereabouts, and his mother and sister had not volunteered any hints.
She had forced herself not to dwell on him. But more and more she kept hoping that Anthony would come for her. Or at least send a polite note. She’d needed to know if they were to be friends, or nothing at all.
Phillipa narrowed her eyes as he finally turned his full attention upon her. He prowled across the room toward her. She loved the untamed rawness he vibrated with. She composed her features into a neutral mask, praying he did not think to cut her after she had rejected him.
“Lady Elisabeth.” He greeted Elisabeth with a curt bow. He did not remove his eyes from Phillipa’s, and after a low acknowledgement, Elisabeth disappeared into the crowd.
Phillipa’s breath hitched at what she saw in his eyes. Hunger. Her heart stuttered in the most painful rhythm, and emotion tightened her throat. Her hands trembled and he pried her grip from the champagne glass and handed it to a servant who scurried over with a silver tray.
He did not speak, simply put her arm though his and led her away. She felt she should discreetly look to see who observed them, but the weakness that swept through her prevented any action on her part except to obey.
As they walked through the crowd, he paused to respond to a few people. He maneuvered them toward the card room. Instead of entering, he took her farther down the hallway. They passed the Dewitt’s massive library, then the parlor, and then with a quick look around, he led her upstairs. They walked down the eerily quiet corridor.
She swallowed, her throat dry, unable to speak, even though words begged to tumble from her lips. He opened a door and drew her in. The darkness swallowed them and her senses heightened. The scent of clean linens reached her nostrils and his own masculine scent.
She had thought to bombard him with questions. Instead, her mind now clouded with desire and conversing was the last thing she wanted to do. Tension and need roiled within her, triggered by the familiar, musky smell of his need for her.
He backed her farther into the small room, until her buttocks met a table. She could barely make out his features in the darkness. Her limbs shook as she lifted her hands to grasp his shoulders.
The soft rasp of his trousers being unbuttoned made a hot bolt of lust drilled through her body. Her knees went weak, and she was instantly aroused for him.
He lifted her and placed her on the table, then kicked her thighs wide apart and stepped between them, bunching her dress up at her waist. Her petticoats crinkled and the material conformed under his will.
Her throat convulsed as his hand reached for her drawers, but found none.
“Still thumbing your nose at the rules, Phillipa?”
“No. Preparing myself for you,” she murmured, and for a moment he froze.
Then his finger unerringly found her core. Her cheeks grew hot at the wetness he found without even kissing her. A hiss escaped his lips, and the sudden feel of the broad head of his erection pressed at her entrance.
“Is this what you want?”
An agonizing need for him to fill her encompassed her whole body. “Yes.”
“It will be hard and rough.” His voice was guttural.
Arousal nearly stole her voice as she whispered into the dark, “Please, Anthony.”
He slammed deep into her, forging past her resistance, plunging to the hilt. She slid on the polished wood of the table, and his hands thrust under her buttocks to pull her forward.
“I missed you,” he growled. “I dreamed of you. I bloody ached for you.”
She held him tight, her heart soaring. “And I for you.”
He withdrew his length slowly until he was once again poised at her entrance. He shoved back in hard and deep, wrenching a strangled groan from her throat.
“I resolved to stay away from you, as you wished, but the moment I saw you I had to kiss you, touch you, be inside you.” His thickness moved inside her with powerful thrusts, and exquisite tension coiled in her inner muscles.
“Please don’t ever stay away again. I missed you so much, Anthony.”
His grip tightened on her hips, and pleasure arched up her spine beading her nipples. They stabbed against her corset, and she desperately wanted to free her breasts.
“Not ever?” he growled between plunges.
“Never.” She mewled; she was so close. “Ever.”
He hammered into her. “What are you saying?”
“Yes, I will.” The words wrenched from her, unstoppable.
He dipped his head lower, kissing the corner of her lips. “Yes what, Phillipa?”
“Yes, I will marry you.”
His body halted, and he took her lips in a searing kiss. Then it deepened, and grew more passionate, fierce elation exuding from him.
He gripped her hips tighter. “It’s going to get rougher. Hold on.”
She responded with shivering waves of need. She lifted her legs to circle his hips, crossing her ankles high on his back, and she clasped him tightly. She buried her face against his throat, trembling from the viciousness of the arousal that burned inside her.
He palmed both cheeks of her buttocks, leaning her back on the table so that his weight settled more on her, sinking deeper into her. She pressed a wet, open kiss on the corded muscles of his neck, loving the taste of his skin.
He rasped against her inner walls as he withdrew from her slowly. Anticipation had her filling with wantonness, both dreading and craving the roughness he promised. She screamed into his neck when he slammed home. She drove her fingers into his hair and gripped his head. He rode her rough and hard, peppering kisses against her shoulder and growling out words of encouragement. She luxuriated in his heat, in his powerful maleness, in his strength as he loved her with fierce need. She arched into him as he gave one final thrust, roared his pleasure, and swept them under together.
Afterward, she lay beneath him panting and heart thundering. But never had she felt calmer and more content.
Finally she was at peace, now that she was back in his arms.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Phillipa was deliriously happy. The severe chill from the inclement weather could not douse her jubilant mood. She curled her hands, warming them over the cup of tea her mother handed her. Anthony would speak with her father that afternoon.
She’d been giddy with excitement after their tumultuous lovemaking in the linen closet. They had laughed like idiots after, and she couldn’t stop hugging and kissing him. She had whispered fiercely that she still wanted to travel, but she desperately wanted to be his wife, if his offer still stood.
They had been very circumspect in sneaking back into the ball.
“Are you certain he’s coming, my dear?” her mother queried for the tenth time.
“Yes, Mama,” she answered.
“But why would he not present himself this morning? Why the delay, if you’ve already given him your answer?” Lady Merryweather asked.
For once, Phillipa didn’t mind the inquisition. Nothing could spoil her mood today.
“Lord Anthony had some business to attend. He will call on Papa this afternoon.” Phillipa tried to rein in her impatience, not wanting their doubt to feed hers.
Just before parting last night, Anthony had told her he wanted a word with her before he spoke with her father. Anthony had seemed so intent he had scared her a little. She’d demanded to know immediately what was wrong, but he had only shaken his head. Phillipa still felt a trickle of unease over his odd behavior, but determinedly pushed it aside. He wanted to marry her. What could possibly be amiss?
A sharp rap on the door, and their butler announced the first of their morning callers—Lord Hoyt and his sister, Lady Henrietta. Phillipa rose and curtsied as they were shown into the drawing room. Lord Hoyt gave her a warm smile before bowing to her aunt and her mother.
Pleasantries were exchanged, but his sister fairly vibrated with eagerness to speak. Phillipa knew that only occurred when Lady Henrietta had some juicy titbit of gossip to impart. The feather hat on her head bobbed in her excitement as she dismissed the offer of tea and cake.
Phillipa really did not want to be a part of this. “I’m afraid I have some pressing correspondence that needs to be answered to urgently,” she said, rising to her feet.
“Oh, Phillipa, you’ll want to hear the news I have. You must stay.” Lady Henrietta’s voice was shrilled.
Phillipa restrained a flinch.
Her mother sent her a stern look and reached for the teapot. “Go on, my lady. Tell us.” Her mother poured Lord Hoyt a cup of tea and arranged cakes on a plate.
Phillipa set her face in pleasant determination. “I really must—”
“Lord Anthony Thornton has been exposed as a bastard,” Hoyt murmured portentously.
Lady Merryweather gasped. Her mother froze in the act of handing him the cup of tea. Hot liquid sloshed before Lord Hoyt steadied it, wetting the table and pooling liquid on its gleaming surface.
Phillipa dropped abruptly back into her chair. “What?”
The silence in the room pressed in on her.
“Lord Hoyt,” Lady Merryweather admonished, though she could not hide the horror in her voice. “What an unkind thing to say!”
Phillipa tried to comprehend the import of what was being said. Her mother looked ready to swoon, and dismay laced her aunt’s gaze.
“I assure you, Lady Merryweather,” he defended, “it is all that is being talked about in the drawing rooms this morning. We heard it directly from Lady Godey’s lips.”
“Everyone has noted that Lord Anthony has singled you out of late, Phillipa,” Henrietta murmured with false concern. Her smile was tinged with such maliciousness, Phillipa drew back, startled.
Her throat closed in shock. “I—”
“That is why we hastened to you with the news, my dear.” Lord Hoyt reached for her hand and she snatched it away from him. Why did he look so satisfied?
“Well, I don’t believe it,” she said.
He leaned forward eagerly. “Many will start to whisper about your connection with such a vile imposter pretending to be an honorable gentleman. I believe the matter I brought to your attention at Lady Graham’s ball must be broached with your father today to avoid embroiling you in scandal, my dear.”
Good heavens! Anthony, a vile imposter?
Her aunt surged to her feet, “Oh, Lord Hoyt, what wonderful news. I will alert Mr. Peppiwell that you wish to speak with him.”
Phillipa stared at her, aghast. “No!”
“My love,” Lord Hoyt began, but she slashed her hands in the air, cutting him off.
She straightened her spine and met his gaze. “I am already engaged to be married to Lord Anthony. Lord Hoyt, I insist you cease from maligning my betrothed’s good name.”
Lady Henrietta twittered, “Oh, my.” She gave her brother a telling look, as if she had warned him.
“My God,” her mother cried. “You can’t—”
“God has nothing to do with it Mama. These are vicious rumors, and I will not be a part of this discussion!” She shot to her feet. It was vicious gossip, nothing more. Anthony would never have kept such a thing from her. Would he?
The look of appalled betrayal on her mother’s face had Phillipa immediately regretting her outburst. Even Henrietta had been rendered speechless, and she stared at Phillipa with an expression of amazed horror.
“I’m sorry, Mama. But, surely, you see this cannot be true.”
“Think of the humiliation you and your family will have to endure if you go through with this madness.” Lord Hoyt spoke gently. “The stain on his name will be irredeemable. People will no longer invest with him and he will be cut socially and you along with him.”
“You will not align yourself with such a man.” Her mother fanned herself frantically, her face mottled with anger, and she looked as though she was working herself up to a swoon.
“Mama, please. There is no need for theatrics.”
“Do not be flippant with your mother, Phillipa.” Lady Merryweather’s spine snapped straight, but her face had gone ashen with a look in her eyes Phillipa could not bear to see.
Her heart thundered. And she’d thought being caught spending the night in his home would be a scandal!
Society thrived on malicious gossip, and she could only imagine the tidal wave of condemnation that would follow them now. Her stomach roiled, and she fought to keep her face expressionless. Oh, Anthony!
“You must listen to reason, my love.” Lord Hoyt looked at her with earnest regard and she could see he was sincere. Unlike his sister’s vicious glee.
“Surely, this is only a foul rumor,” she murmured after a few tense seconds, pacing away from him.
“I am afraid not,” Lord Hoyt said bluntly. “You’ve only to see him standing next to his mother’s new husband to know the truth of that relationship.”
Her aunt gripped her hands, her eyes lit with sympathy.
“I came to ask for your hand in marriage, Phillipa. My intentions remain the same,” Hoyt said, coming to stand beside her.
Phillipa shook her head, unable to form words. She skirted around him, approaching her mother. “Even if it’s true, I doubt he will fall to ruin. He is part of one of the wealthiest, most influential families in the highest echelon of society, Mama. I still—”
Her mother slapped her. She recoiled in shock, her head snapping back. “Mother!” She touched her cheek, tears springing to her eyes.
“Do not be foolish,” her mother hissed. “He is not a Thornton. Calydon will doubtless distance himself from his false brother, and Lord Anthony will be seen by society as nothing but an affront to morality. You will not bring shame on this family again, young lady!”
Fury slashed through Phillipa. “We are betrothed. How can you demand I beg off because of a vicious rumor?” Her eyes and throat burned with the injustice.
“They are more than rumors, Miss Peppiwell. One only has to look at Lord Radcliffe and the truth is apparent,” Hoyt insisted.
She gaped at him. Then she turned to Lady Merryweather for support. “Aunt Florence, please.”
“You must not be selfish, Phillipa,” she admonished sharply. “Your actions reflect on all of us. Think of your father. Your sisters. The stain of this would travel with Payton and Phoebe for years to come.”
Phillipa thought of the gallant way Anthony had rescued her. His efforts to protect her reputation by offering marriage. The
way he made love to her to ensure her pleasure. His charm and kindness and sincerity, his immense popularity among Society, his unabashed love and concern for his sister.
But mostly Phillipa remembered the way he listened to her. With respect and as an equal. He saw everything about her—good and bad—and he did not judge her for any of it. “He is a good man, Aunt, honorable and strong,” she insisted tearfully.
“A bastard is a nobody. He is nothing now. He will no longer be accepted in drawing rooms, or be accepted by anyone of consequence. How can you even think to align our family with such a man?” her aunt said coldly.
Phillipa’s chest tightened at the heartless statement. Incredulity quickly flared along with her mounting rage. A few weeks ago, Anthony had been the prime catch of the season. Those were the words her aunt herself had used more than once. Now he was nothing? She had always loved her aunt tremendously, but now all she felt was anger and disgust. Never had she hated the fickleness of society more than in this minute.
“Phillipa, please!” She spun at Payton’s pain-filled cry. Horror had slackened her sister’s face and twisted her hands together.
“Oh, Payton.” Tears spilled from Phillipa’s eyes.
“If you wed him, St. John will retract his offer.” Payton’s pained wail slammed into Phillipa as nothing else could have done.
“Payton, if he loves you, surely, he will—”
“He loves me. He has told me so many times.” Her voice broke and tears splashed down her face.
Phillipa hurried to her, clasping her trembling fingers. “Payton, I love Anthony. I cannot—”
“Has he declared his love for you? Has he?” Payton demanded.
Phillipa froze, hurt and uncertainty screaming at her insides. Her sister knew he had not. Phillipa had confessed her doubts to Payton the night before while they lay by the fire in her bedchamber, talking about the two men in their lives. They had both glowed with happiness and love.
Payton gripped her hand. “Are you willing to ruin my happiness and fight for a man who does not love you? And a man who says he will speak with Papa for your hand, but had more pressing issues to attend first?”