Chapter 8

When Philip walked into Christian Trent, Earl of Markham’s, London residence on the night of Lady Serena’s dinner, he was not alone. Portia had told him Rose would not be in attendance, and as he did not wish to face an inquisition from his friends over the end of his affair, he’d brought Lady Philomena as his guest.

The others would hardly grill him if he had another woman in attendance. She would also do well to make up the numbers since Rose’s absence would mean the party would be one female short.

His conscience prickled. Portia had said Rose was packing to return to Cornwall because Drake was unwell. He hoped the lad was not seriously ill. He was very fond of the boy and if the situation had not been so fraught, he would have visited, taking Drake a gift with which to pass his time while he recuperated. He must ask Portia how serious his illness was. If any harm came to her son, Rose would be devastated.

So imagine his horror when, after he and Lady Philomena were announced, he walked into the room to find a dozen dismayed faces and, seated next to Serena and looking so beautiful he almost forgot to breathe, Rose herself.

He was going to wring his sister’s neck because a quick count of the others in the room told him Rose had come on her own. Now he had placed her in a very difficult social position and felt like a complete cad.

The shocked silence did not last long. Serena, ever the gracious hostess, stepped forward to welcome Lady Philomena, and suddenly everyone began talking at once.

Lady Philomena had allowed Serena to draw her into the room but not before sending him an angry look over her shoulder. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. One look at Rose confirmed she was wearing the tight smile he knew to be a telltale sign of hurt.

Caught between a desire to apologize and an impulse to make his and Philomena’s excuses and leave, he could hardly believe it when Rose invited Philomena to join her on the couch.

He shot Christian a desperate look as his friend came up to him, holding out a glass of whisky. Christian shook his head and handed him the spirits. Philip tossed it back and held out the glass for more.

Christian refilled it. “Don’t get drunk, you fool,” he growled under cover of the conversation. “I am not going to clean up your mess. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” Philip growled back, “that Rose would not be here.”

“And that meant you were free to bring Lady Philomena?” Christian shook his head and smiled so no one could tell that Philip was being berated like a schoolboy. “To a dinner specifically for close friends?”

“And just what would have happened if I’d come alone, for God’s sake? The ladies would have castrated me.”

Christian bared his teeth. “The night is not yet over.”

Grayson arrived at his side. “Would you two please join us? Christian, we can reprimand him later. Philip, the least you can do is be a gentleman about this and smooth the situation over as Rose is doing. But I could bloody punch you.” And with that he returned to take a seat next to his wife.

Philip, whisky in hand, moved closer to the others in time to hear Philomena say to Rose, “I heard your boy was unwell, Your Grace. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Her question appeared genuine.

“Thank you for your concern, Lady Philomena,” Rose said. “He has a bad cough, but it does seem to be improving. I may still leave town early to ensure we are safely in Cornwall before it snows. I’m told it is a possibility.” She looked in Philip’s direction as she spoke.

Philomena nodded. “Very wise.”

Rose turned to Beatrice. “Drake is driving me mad, asking when he can see Henry, but I thought it best to wait. I don’t wish to spread the cough around your family.”

“Henry wants to see Drake, too,” Beatrice said. “It’ll be such a shame if they cannot catch up before the festive season. Perhaps, when he is better, you will send him to spend a few weeks with us. Knowing there is a treat in the future might help them both bear the separation now.”

Rose smiled. “What a wonderful idea. That would be lovely. I know you must not be looking forward to sending Henry to school but I’m so glad he and Drake will attend Eton together. At least they won’t be alone.”

As the ladies began to talk about their children and schools, and to marvel at Isobel’s condition, Philip began to relax.

Rose wore her duchess face—the one she presented to the world but not in their bedchamber. He shifted in his seat. He didn’t want to think about Rose in her bedchamber, because when he did, blood raced south.

He cursed and crossed his legs.

He’d known walking away from her would be hard. He’d had no idea how lonely he would feel. It wasn’t as though they saw each other that often. When they were both in town they usually shared a bed every night. When he was at his estate he might not see her for two months or more. But never in that time did he take—or even consider—another woman.

He looked over to where Lady Philomena was in conversation with Beatrice. Philomena was beautiful in a hard kind of way. Life had not been kind to her, nor had it been that kind to Rose.

However, Rose had managed not to allow her past to pull her down into despair. Having money would make that easier. Lady Philomena had virtually nothing but her looks. She most certainly needed a wealthy, indulgent husband.

On a sigh he accepted that Philomena—of all the women he could have brought this evening—was the worst choice. After that damned fiasco with the debutante—what was her name again?—she might begin to think he was looking for a wife. And Philomena as his countess would never happen.

Maitland came and dropped down beside him. “I looked at those investments coming due, and you are right, Philip. I think it’s time to move out of those commodities and into some others I’ve been tracking. Why don’t you come over in the next couple of days and we can discuss it?”

“Thank you, I will.” His gratitude to Maitland knew no bounds. His Grace had taken the time to help explain what to do, and how he should be looking at his family’s investment portfolio. It was his lack of investment skills that had seen him lose his money, enlist in the army, and ultimately cost Robert his life.

“I must say you are really coming to grips with the markets. Soon you won’t need me at all.”

Which was high praise from Maitland, who was an investment king. “I am sure I shall always need your advice.”

A little later Sebastian joined them. Soon the men were completely divorced from the women’s conversation. But Philip could not help glancing their way. In spite of the polite conversation and the occasional smiles and gentle laughter, Portia was frowning and abstracted, and Rose’s mouth was still taut.

“Did I tell you I bought a hunting lodge not far from yours in Scotland, Philip?” Sebastian said. “I don’t think we have thanked you enough for such a wonderful stay. Henry and Drake had such fun, and I know it has meant they have formed a strong bond. I can’t wait to be up there next summer with the two boys.”

Philip made a noncommittal noise, but his heart sank. Great. Now Rose would be near his hunting lodge each summer. If she remarried, her new husband would be there, too. And their children.

“I saw Maxwell the other night.” Arend filled the awkward silence. “He was with a few friends at Foster’s gambling den. He was betting pretty heavily, encouraged by Lord Farquhar. Are you keeping an eye on him? Farquhar is trouble. He loves watching those with more money but less sense than him lose. I wonder if Foster has him on the payroll—bringing unsuspecting and naive young fools to his den.”

Philip sat up, suddenly completely alert. He had meant to have a talk with his younger brother but with everything happening with Rose he wasn’t ’in the right frame of mind. “I accompanied him and his friends the other night and it did seem he was struggling to use good judgment on when to stop. I must admit I have been concerned. It’s very unlike Maxwell.”

“Well, if you are heading back to Devon, encourage Maxwell to go with you. He needs to keep away from Farquhar for a while.” Arend paused, and his face closed as it did when he was about to issue a threat. “And I’d leave fairly soon yourself. You’ve hurt Rose enough.”

Philip had known he’d lose the women’s goodwill. He had not expected such a backlash from a man he considered a friend.

“I shall leave when I’m good and ready,” he said.

Arend bared his teeth. “I could make you ready.”

Philip didn’t give a fuck what Arend thought. All he cared about was that Rose had been hurt because he should have walked away long ago, but he was weak and now it had come to this. The woman he loved was in love with him—and he had nothing left to offer her.

“Come now, gentlemen,” Hadley said. “I’m sure Philip has a good reason for his actions. I certainly won’t judge—until he explains himself after dinner. Then we might pummel him a bit.” It was said very calmly but Philip knew he was serious.

The rest of the conversation around him faded as he watched Rose and Serena stand and excuse themselves and the women. Where were they going? Was she leaving? Surely she would have made her farewells. But if she intended to slip quietly out— He told himself he was a fool, but when he’d counted to one hundred and she still wasn’t back, he couldn’t sit and make polite conversation any longer. With an apology to the others he rose and escaped the room. He didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. He had to talk with Rose.

If Rose’s shoulders knotted and lifted any higher they would be permanently stuck to her ears. Her stomach had begun to churn and she’d started to feel nauseated the moment Philip had arrived with Lady Philomena.

How could he?

Philomena of all women. An ex-lover. Was this his retaliation for Tremain? Yes, she’d taken Tremain to the ball, but Philip had said he knew why—to make him jealous. Had he brought that woman to Serena’s home hoping Portia would tell her and she’d get a taste of her own medicine?

For the hundredth time that evening she cursed herself for being fool enough to come here and put herself through this pain. Her hands itched to slap him. How dare he bring someone else—a stranger—to an informal dinner of their friends?

She could feel him watching her. Or perhaps he was watching Philomena, whom she’d stupidly suggested sit beside her.

At least Philomena seemed as uncomfortable as she and had done her best to ease the tension in the room.

Rose chatted as vivaciously as she could until she could bear it no longer. Then, using the excuse that she had brought something for Serena’s daughter, Lily, and wanted to give it to her before she went to sleep, she asked if a servant could accompany her to Lily’s room. Serena, knowing it to be a ruse, offered to take her upstairs herself.

Once in the privacy of the hallway, Serena led her not upstairs but to her husband’s study. “Take your time. Compose yourself in here. You know I will not be offended if you decide to go home. I’ll say you got a message that Drake is not well.”

Rose whirled on her friend. “And run away? It is not I who should retreat. How could he? I could shoot him.”

“I don’t believe he knew you were coming.”

She sank into a chair. “I am so sorry for placing you in such an embarrassing position. It didn’t occur to me that he’d bring a guest.” She tried not to see the compassion in Serena’s eyes. Failed. “This is how it’s going to be from now on, isn’t it? I didn’t believe he’d move on so soon.”

“I won’t excuse his behavior,” Serena said. “However, people deal with their hurt or pain in many ways. I suspect—”

Whatever Serena had been going to say flew out of Rose’s mind when the door opened and Philip stood there in all his beauty.

“If you’d excuse me, Lady Serena,” he said formally. “I’d like a private word with Her Grace.”

Serena looked at Rose and, when Rose nodded permission, said, “You may have five minutes’ privacy, Lord Cumberland. Then I will return and you will leave.” And she swept from the room.

Rose stood up, unwilling to have him tower over her while she remained seated. He still towered over her, however. He stepped closer, opened his mouth to speak—and something inside Rose snapped. She felt it. A sharp jolt of fury. Her hand whipped out, fast as a snake, and she slapped his face. Then, shocked and embarrassed by her lack of control, she turned away in horror.

“I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.” She turned back. “If you set out to hurt me tonight—or to prove your point about moving on—I congratulate you. You have done so.”

“I did neither on purpose.” His cheek was reddening where she had struck him. “Portia said you’d decided not to attend tonight. I brought Philomena to maintain some distance during the evening. They would hardly quiz me about us with a stranger in our midst.”

“Why would that concern you? Unless you fear the answers?”

His mouth firmed. “I do not. But the answer I give will be so obvious a lie it will show me in a bad light.”

That surprised her. “What would you say?”

He looked down into her face and his mouth softened. “I would say that we are not suited.”

Pain lanced into her chest like a red-hot poker. Damned if she was going to let him walk away this time without admitting to the truth. “Enough is enough, Philip. For two years we have shared every moment together that we could both spare. You and I—of all people—could build a happy life together. To say anything else would be a lie indeed.”

He shoved frustrated fingers through his hair. “Grabbing moments together is not living together, Rose. You have a son. I have a mother. We would have to combine our households.”

Her hackles lifted. “Don’t you dare imply my son stands between us. He adores you.”

He rubbed his neck. “Of course he doesn’t stand between us. That is not what I meant.”

“Then tell me what you mean. No lies. No pretty words. I want plain, unadorned truth. Give me the real reason marriage is so abhorrent to you. Or is it only marriage to me that is distasteful and you are trying to be kind?”

A mixture of emotions crossed his face, flickering like firelight. “You won’t understand. How could you? You have no idea what I live through every day. It’s hard enough to see you and know—God.” He swung away, and then swung back, eyes wild. “Do you really think I would not want to touch you, to kiss you, to make love to you? God, Rose, I miss you so.”

And then she was in his arms. “I miss you, too, you idiot,” was all she managed before she was kissing him, and he was kissing her back as if he could not live without her.

But Rose was fighting for her happiness in earnest knowing Serena would soon be back, and she still did not have her answer.

She placed one last, lingering kiss on Philip’s mouth and stepped away from him. “You say I won’t understand,” she said gently. “You’re wrong. I understand very well. You believe you do not have the right to love and to be happy, to have a wife and legitimate sons, to see the title pass to your children and your children’s children, because Robert is dead and you blame yourself for his death.”

He turned into a statue, not moving, barely breathing.

“You say I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I do, my love. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself, and Robert would have never wanted to see you live this half-life you’ve condemned yourself to, and deep down you know it.”

Still he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. She wasn’t sure he even breathed.

And then, a log fell apart in the grate, breaking the spell. He turned on his heel, and a moment later she was standing in the middle of the study. Alone.