Chapter 5

Philip stormed up the steps to the Duke of Roxborough’s townhouse.

Before he reached the top step, the door was opened by Rose’s butler. Booth had recognized his carriage. Normally, Philip drove it round the back out of sight of wagging tongues.

“Her Grace is not at home, my lord.” Booth’s pointed stare at the Earl of Cumberland’s recognizable equipage parked in full view of the street told Philip of his faux pas.

Philip walked back to his carriage, directed the coachman to drive up the street and around to the stables. Frustrated at the wasted time, he raced back to the servants’ entrance…only to be halted once again by Booth.

“I don’t think you understand, my lord,” the butler said. “Whether you come by the front or back entrance, Her Grace is not at home.”

This was even worse than he’d imagined. “Booth, it is imperative that I speak with Her Grace. I think she may be under a misapprehension. I’m not here to make a scene. I’m here to grovel at her feet.”

Philip held his breath as indecision flickered over Booth’s face.

“Please, Booth. I inadvertently hurt Her Grace this evening and I need to explain and apologize. Please let me in. I don’t want her upset if I have to force my way through.”

He must have sounded as sincere as he felt, because Booth stepped aside and bowed him in. Philip didn’t wait for the butler to precede him. He knew the back stairs better than in his own house, and he raced up them. Most of the staff had gone to bed but those still awake ignored him, or turned a blind eye.

A few moments later he was at Rose’s bedchamber door. Before he could knock, it opened and her lady’s maid stepped out. The woman’s forehead dipped into a frown when she saw him, and her lips thinned. Quick as thought, she squared her shoulders and blocked the doorway. “My lord?”

He didn’t want to argue with—or explain to—Rose’s servants. He was in the wrong but it was Rose to whom he owed an explanation. He gently moved the maid aside and walked through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

The only light in the bedchamber came from the fire burning bright in the grate.

It took him a moment to see Rose. She was curled in her favorite armchair by the fire, twisting a handkerchief in her fingers. She looked so lost his heart almost stopped. As if a lightning bolt hit him, he suddenly realized she didn’t merely care for him. She loved him. He could see it in the curve of her body, in her misery, and it broke something inside him that he could not love her back or give her what she wanted, his name. Perhaps if she hadn’t loved him they might have been able to stay lovers all their lives. But this travesty was all they could ever have—and now he knew with certainty it would not be enough for her.

She was so lost in misery she did not hear him until he knelt at her feet.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he said. “I’m a bumbling buffoon. I would never do anything to hurt you. I simply didn’t think.”

Her eyes filled with tears of hurt and disappointment. “It was humiliating, true. But what hurt the most was the possibility you did it to make a point.”

He stayed kneeling, his hands on her thighs, gently massaging. “I would never deliberately hurt you. I’d rather drive a dagger through my own heart than cause you such pain.”

She caught herself on a sob. “I thought you were announcing you were ready to marry—and it wasn’t to me.”

Philip snorted at the idea. “I’d never be interested in a young chit like Lady Abigail. Mother cornered me, and it was either make a scene or—” He stopped, looked into her eyes. Waited till she really saw him. “I should have made the scene. I’m immeasurably sorry.”

Another tear spilled over. He wiped it gently away with his thumb. “What can I do? How can I fix the situation?”

She sighed and reached out to cup his cheek. A weak smile broke on her luscious lips and she looked fragile in her nightgown and robe curled in on herself. “It’s not the situation we have to fix. It’s us. The affair. I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”

He rocked back on the balls of his feet, his instant reaction to shout “don’t leave me.” But for once, he thought of someone other than himself and stayed silent.

She gave a wry laugh. “You’re relieved. I can see it in your eyes. You’re glad I’ve brought the subject up. You do want to end the affair. Is it because you want to marry?”

He took a moment to compose himself by rising and moving another chair closer to her. Then he walked to the side table in the corner and poured himself a glass of the brandy Rose kept there just for him. “I need a drink. Would you like one?”

She nodded.

After he’d handed her a tumbler of the fiery liquid, he sat back and closed his eyes, appreciating the warming alcohol as it dulled his feeling of impending loss. The image of Robert as he lay dying flashed into his head. The guilt and horror of it gave him the strength to do what was right.

He let out a deep breath and looked at her. She was so beautiful, even with red-rimmed eyes. “No.” He finally answered her question. “I do not wish to marry.”

Disbelief lifted her brows. “You will have to, sometime.”

“No. No, I don’t.”

Now a frown raced across her perfect features. “But you need an heir.”

“Do I?”

She took a sip of brandy, considering. “I suppose not. You have three younger brothers.” She pondered further. “But why, Philip? Why would you not want a family and children of your own? You’d make a wonderful father. I’ve seen how good you are with Drake.”

He swallowed his misery. “I have my reasons. They’re personal.” If he told her, she could tell Portia—and then the whole family would know and it would distress them all.

“Too personal to share with me?” She sat up straighter in her chair and her eyes narrowed. “Very well. At the beginning of our affair, I did say I never wanted to remarry. Now I want more—more than a few moments stolen here and there. And then I must consider Drake. He is getting older. Soon he’ll be old enough to understand and be embarrassed by his mother’s behavior. I can’t carry on this way.”

He knew she was right. He knew he was being unreasonable. Childish. “But we are wonderful together. I—I love what we have. Why ruin it?”

She sighed. “It’s already ruined. We just haven’t wanted to accept it. If I did not feel about you the way I do, then what we share would probably be enough. But I want more children, and you make it perfectly clear every time we make love that you do not wish me to have your child.”

Philip went cold at the thought of Rose conceiving his child. If she were to become pregnant he would either have to marry her or leave her ruined. A legitimate heir was precisely the reason he could not get married. Thomas or his son had to inherit. Rose’s response moments ago was enough to tell him she would not understand or accept his reasons.

Robert chose to buy a major’s commission only because he believed Philip had bought a commission. But Philip had had no money to buy a commission. Instead, through a favor, he’d been given a non-purchase commission as a lieutenant. Philip signed up only because he didn’t want to have to tell his wiser, older brother that he’d just lost his year’s allowance, and then some, in a daft and what turned out to be a very risky investment.

He’d joined the cavalry out of desperation at his own stupidity, and Robert had paid the price.

So he dangled his glass from his fingers and quirked an eyebrow. “If Robert were still here I could do as I please, and I’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

Her mouth twisted in a parody of a smile, and his heart ached in his chest when even that faded. “It’s my reputation, isn’t it?” she murmured. “You would prefer a virginal Lady Abigail.”

The very idea of Lady Abigail made him want to hurl his glass into the fireplace. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Her beautiful face filled with anger. “Then tell me why. Why should we not marry?”

“I can tell you my reasons have nothing to do with you or your reputation.” He softened his sharp tone. “It’s not you, my sweet. It’s just I am not ready to settle down.” He grasped at straws, desperate for something she might believe. “The estate takes up so much of my time, and I want to make Robert proud of how I’ve stepped up to take his place. I never expected to be the earl”—that at least was not a lie—“and there is a lot to learn—and a lot at stake for my family if I fail.”

For a moment she said nothing. Then words spilled out of her. “I wish Robert had never gone to war. No. I wish bloody Napoleon had never been born.”

“As do I, every day.” It was the absolute truth. “But we rarely get what we want, do we?”

“No.” She slumped in her chair, blinking back tears. “When I was married to Roxborough I prayed every day that you would ride in and rescue me. It was silly. You didn’t even notice me when I was a young girl.”

Was that what she thought? He pressed a kiss to her palm. “I noticed you. Every man did. But at first I did not understand what your father was planning. When I did—that you were to marry a duke—I was sure your father would never allow you to marry the second son of a mere earl instead.”

She shook her head. “You misunderstand. I prayed you wouldn’t care about my father. I just wanted you to come and carry me away.” She brushed her fingers over her eyes. “As I said, silly. The foolish dreams of a young, frightened girl.” Now she met his gaze. “Just as foolish, it appears, as the dreams I’ve had for the past year.”

“I thought you were just as averse to marriage as I.”

“I did say that.” She stared at him, head tilted as though she was trying to make sense of him. “It would appear I have changed my mind. Perhaps you will, too, one day.”

“No.” He had to crush that hope before it took root. “It won’t happen.”

“Because,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “if I knew that one day you might change your mind, I could carry on. I could wait.”

The wistful despair in her quiet voice made Philip want to weep. She loved him. It took all his willpower not to pull her into his arms and beg her to stay with him. But he could no more do that to her than he could pour out the truth about his vow. “No, my love. That would not be fair—fair to you. If you want to marry again, then you will have to choose another man.”

He said no more, refusing to debate what he knew in his bones to be his only honorable course of action. Robert had sacrificed his life for Philip’s. He’d sacrifice his for Thomas, for his family’s sake.

Rose could hardly breathe through the pain. She’d ended affairs before, but they had rarely lasted more than a few months. She had certainly never fallen in love with any of her paramours—probably because she’d always loved Philip. Now she hoped none of those men had fallen in love with her. She would hate to know she’d caused any man this kind of pain.

Her love for Philip might have started as girlish infatuation with a fairy-tale hero, but over the years she’d fallen for the man—the foolish, pigheaded, arrogant, stupid man, sitting across from her.

Finally, he stirred. “Will you really not consider carrying on as we are?”

She studied his handsome features and was sorely tempted. But— “Will you really not consider making me your wife?”

“We don’t need marriage. We could be together for the rest of our lives.”

The idea was tempting. “You’ve forgotten Kirkwood. He won’t let this go on for much longer. Drake is five—almost six. Kirkwood will expect me to act with more decorum. If I’m lucky he’ll let me live quietly at my country estate. If not, he’ll insist I find a husband.”

She watched Philip’s mouth firm and his grip almost shatter the glass he held.

When he stayed silent, she tried again. “If Kirkwood insists on my remarrying, I can’t take that step with you in my bed and—even worse—in my heart. I need to be free to find a man who, if he doesn’t actually love me, at least cares for me. And I need to be able to care for him. So, I am sorry, I have to refuse your offer.”

For one foolish moment she thought he might drop to his knees again and declare that if Kirkwood forced her into marriage then he would marry her. But she wasn’t a young girl anymore, needing to be saved. She was a grown woman, needing to be sought after because the man she loved could not live without her.

He tensed, and then nodded slowly. “Then we are really over.”

“It would appear so.”

She sounded calm and rational. She felt as though her world, her heart, was exploding into a million little pieces as she sat there. They were finished. But they’d still have to move in the same circles. She’d have to stand by and watch as he took other lovers—

“I cannot believe this is to be our last night together,” he whispered, hoarse with pain. “Please, Rose. Let me make love to you. Just one more time.”

She wanted to deny him, to scream that he was being an idiot. But she couldn’t. She wanted one more night to cherish and lock into her memory against all the lonely days and nights ahead. She needed one more touch before he left.

She placed her glass on the table beside her and stood. Then she moved to him, pulling up her robe and nightgown as she lowered herself to straddle his thighs. Her breasts brushed against his evening jacket, and she rested her forehead against his.

Philip’s arms tightened around her as if he’d never let her go. He began to kiss her face, her brows, her eyelids, as if he, too, was trying to imprint her into his memory. He nibbled at her cheek and chin, gently nipped her lower lip, drawing her mouth open to consume her tongue.

Her breasts as her breath shuddered out, and her fingers dug into his broad shoulders.

He released her briefly to fumble with the tie to her robe, then distracted her again by deepening his kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth with possessive ownership.

Frustrated, she had to break the kiss when Philip began to tug her robe from her shoulders. Although she didn’t want to stop touching him, she wanted more. She helped him shed her robe, undo the little ties holding her nightgown closed, and bare her body. To his eyes, his hands, and—God Almighty—his talented mouth.

Philip kissed his way down her neck. Her nipples went hard, and as she arched back, his tongue played over them. He licked and suckled her skin, his exquisite mouth sliding along her body.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he murmured.

Then he bit down, sucking hard on her breast just above her left nipple. He was marking her at the same time as he was saying goodbye. Marking her heart. Making it ache forever.

“You have too many clothes on,” were the only words she could manage.

This time it was he who helped her as she struggled to remove his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

Finally, she touched skin, glided over sleek muscles. Flickering flame shadows glided over the sleek contours of his skin as if they, too, took joy in his shape. The corded steel of his chest, the hard strength of his sinewy arms, the rippling muscles of his abdomen—they stirred her even more. She memorized every inch of him.

He gazed into her eyes, his own dark and stormy with passion. They smoldered as she reached out and undid the fall of his breeches. Glinted as she grasped the rigid length of his arousal and stroked him.

He throbbed in her hand as he allowed her to play, to incite, and to worship. She leaned in, kissed him deeply, sucking on his tongue, a teasing taste of what she would soon do to the hard length she stroked in her hand.

Not once did he close his eyes as she pleasured him.

Soon she forgot he was watching, entranced by his masculine grace. The solid power of his hardness, so thick in her grasp, told her he was more than ready.

She pushed out of his hold and stood, allowing her nightgown and robe to float to the floor. Standing naked before the fire, the heat in her belly came not from the flames. It came from the longing look in her lover’s eyes, his need, his desire.

Holding his heated gaze she lowered to her knees and let her fingers walk up his thighs. The muscles contracted under her touch. As her finger trailed up his erection, his rippled stomach muscles clenched. She leaned closer and blew on the tip of his erection as her hand wrapped around his hardened length.

A drop of moisture appeared at the tip, and she swept her tongue over the head of his penis, tasting him, thrilled as he responded to her touch.

A groan escaped his throat and deepened to a rumble in his chest as she took him fully into her mouth. She alternated between gentle and hard, first licking and then sucking. Giving pleasure. Stoking her own desire until she was lost in the pleasure and response.

Finally, he stopped her with a groan and gathered her back onto his lap. “I want you.”

She brushed her cheek hungrily against his. “Darling, I want you, too.”

He lifted her and, with his powerful hands at her waist, lowered her onto his pulsating member. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of fullness as she took him into her body. As he filled her to the hilt.

Breathless, squirming, Rose ran her nails down the sculpted wall of his chest, exulting in the flex of his muscles as she began to ride him.

She grasped his nape, took his tongue in her mouth. Joined to each other in ravenous need, she was desperate for completion. And yet, this would be the last time they made love. She wanted to savor the joy, the joy of having him buried deep within her.

His warm fingers cupped her breast, kneaded it, tweaked her nipple.

Breaking the kiss, she leaned back, giving him space to tease and taste to his heart’s content, using the unguarded moment to watch him from beneath half-closed eyelids.

His face was set and focused as he struggled to hold off his release until she’d found hers. But she wasn’t ready. She wanted this to last all night.

Her thighs gripped his as she took control and began to slow things down. He tried to urge her on by lifting her, but she would not have it. Instead, she used his shoulders to push up and once more watch his face. His eyes had darkened to the color of ink. On a guttural groan he took the other nipple into his mouth and bit down none too gently.

The pain mixed with pleasure eroded her control and she jerked and writhed as if riding a bucking horse. Her moans of need blended with his ragged gasps and the sound became a sensual symphony, and the pleasure was almost unbearable.

She had to close her eyes. She had to— “Oh, God. Oh, Philip, that’s it—”

Then she was flying, touching heaven, her body quaking under wave upon wave of mind-numbing pleasure of the Little Death.

She was so caught up in the exquisite moment she hardly registered Philip’s roar of release, or that he held her hard down upon his lap as he surged up and up, spilling his seed deep within her.

Did he realize he’d done it? Was he even aware?

They were wrapped in each other’s arms, too overcome with the power of their release to move, or focus on what had just happened.

Her heart still pounded—not from exertion, but from pain. This was her last night with the man who would always be her one true love. Her passion. Her joy. Her everything. Would he leave now? Was he already preparing his farewell?

As if Philip read her mind, his arms tightened around her.

“Not yet,” he whispered, and then stood, lifting her into his arms, kissing her face, carrying her to her bed, and tumbling onto it. She could feel his erection hardening again deep within her and was thrilled that the night was not yet over. For a few more hours she could still pretend that morning would dawn bright and full of promise.

It would. But not for her. For her, all promise of happiness was gone.

Thank goodness she had Drake.