It was half an hour before Ella appeared.

Philip straightened when he saw her, breathless and searching for him at the entrance to the stables. He’d started to worry that she wouldn’t show up at all, which could only mean she didn’t have a good explanation. But here she was, hurrying toward him, apology in her eyes and his letters in her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I tried to get here quicker, but I had to mend Daphne’s riding outfit.”

Phillip narrowed his eyes. He’d thought they were done pretending. Maybe she hadn’t come with a good explanation after all. “You can drop the act,” he said tightly. “I know you’re their stepsister, not their assistant.”

She huffed, holding up her index finger. It was bleeding lightly from a pinprick injury. “I have a war wound from the sewing machine to prove it!” she said indignantly, frowning. “And for the record, I never claimed to be their assistant. You just assumed that.”

“You let me assume.”

“I didn’t, not on purpose. I only…I wasn’t thinking about it, I guess. I’m here to help Daphne and Anna, not to cast my own name in the running. I just wanted a chance to live my own life. Is that too much to ask?”

Phillip swallowed as her words hit home. Could he fault her for wanting the same thing he did? A chance to pick your own destiny, to live the way you wanted rather than under the weight of obligations.

She bit her lip and looked away. “And actually…I didn’t know I inherited the title of marquess, not until your letter just now. My stepmother never told me.”

Phillip stared. “She never told you that you were nobility too?”

“No, I mean, I knew I was nobility, I just assumed that she’d been the one to get the title after my dad died. She never talks about anything having to do with his death, and I didn’t really want to dig too deep into the records surrounding his passing either.” She winced. “It was too painful, you know? For her and me both, I guess.”

Phillip tried to stay stoic, but he couldn’t do it. “I understand,” he said, meaning more than just her feelings about her father’s passing. “Perhaps…maybe you’d like to take a ride with me? We could talk more. I would like that.”

Her wide grin lit up her whole face. “I’d like that too.”

Phillip brought out two of his favorite horses and was pleasantly surprised when she started expertly grooming the mare.

“I really am sorry about misleading you,” she said again as she curried the horse’s ribs. “But I should be clear. After the party is over, I’m going back to the States. I’m here to help my stepsisters, nothing more. Once I see them settled I have plans back home. I’m going to be a riding coach at a friend’s stable, make my own way.” Her unruly hair blew in her face and she unsuccessfully tried to shove it away.

Phillip’s heart fell. He opened his mouth to try to convince her to stay and let him court her, then paused. It was obvious she had her mind set on this topic, at least for now. Arguing probably wouldn’t change it, but maybe a little flirting could show her what she would be missing. “You should try a messy bun,” he said, and reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She went still, leaning into his hand the tiniest bit. “What?”

He grinned, elated, and withdrew his hand to point at his own hair. “A messy bun. It’ll keep your hair out of your face while you work.”

She cleared her throat, hmphed, and kept currying. Her squared shoulders and determined gaze said she was dead serious, even in the face of his flirting—she really was going to move back to the States when she was done here. Maybe they could still have a fling, if she was willing, but nothing more.

He fought against the urge to cajole her, convince her to put herself in the running. He could tell already that she would be a great queen. But in the end, it was her choice, and it seemed she’d already made it.

Damn. He couldn’t help but wish her conflict had been an evil stepmother instead. It would’ve made things so much less complicated.

He broke the silence after a moment. “So why did you have to mend Daphne’s outfit?”

Her gaze darted to his and she smiled, just a little—but it was a victory, and his heart lifted a bit. “She tore it during your ride.”

“No. Really? I didn’t even notice.”

“Oh, yes. She hadn’t been riding since she was a teenager and she’s grown out of her old outfit but didn’t have anything else to wear. She ripped seams in both the jacket and the pants and had to tie her jacket around her waist to cover it.”

He laughed. “So that was what the striptease was about!”

Ella grinned, probably picturing the scene that had unfolded, and then she was laughing too. And the moment was so perfect, with the golden early afternoon light and that radiant grin lighting up the room, that he had no choice but to reach out and kiss her.

She dropped the curry brush and stepped in to him immediately, wrapping her arms around his back, yanking him closer. He happily obliged, deepening the kiss and finally, finally putting his other hand on that perfect ass to tug her against him. God, she felt so damn good right there, melded to his body, her lips on his. She sighed into his mouth and he was instantly hard. He walked them backwards until she bumped against the wall of the stable, and then he nipped at her lower lip, asking for entrance. She opened her mouth and let him in. He pressed against her harder, letting his tongue show her what the rest of his body wanted to do to her, winding his hands through her hair. She slung one leg up over his hip and he was ready to rip her clothes off right then and there, until—

Eric walked in, slow-clapping his approval.

Ella pulled away, flushed and gasping, a dazed look in her eyes. She spotted his brother and her sexy bedroom look vanished, replaced by utter panic.

“Ella, wait,” Phillip tried, but she was already backing away, straightening her shirt, pulling her mussed hair back and shaking her head.

“I…I have to go,” she said, and then turned and ran.

Phillip slumped, then whirled on his brother. “What the hell, man? Could you not see I was busy?” He’d almost convinced her, he was sure of it. She’d been this close to changing her mind and putting herself in the running for queen. Now Eric’s intrusion might have scared her off from even so much as a fling.

Eric held his hands up. “Easy, Your Highness. These are the royal stables and, believe it or not, I am royal. I was just coming for an afternoon ride.”

A ride. That was what Phillip needed. A rough ride through the hills to work that encounter with Ella out of his blood. He grabbed his saddle blanket and swept it over his stallion, who shied a little, catching on to the king’s mood.

If only his brother were so attuned. “So that was the maid, eh?” Eric asked, saddling up the mare that had been intended for Ella. “Very nice. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“She’s not a maid,” Phillip snarled before he could catch himself. He slammed his mouth shut and dropped the saddle on his horse, but he couldn’t get the girth strap buckled quickly enough.

“But she is the one you were talking about yesterday,” Eric said slowly. “Unless you’ve found two girls in the space of twenty-four hours who get you all hot under that stiff collar. And that doesn’t sound like you.”

“No, it sounds like you,” Phillip growled, but Eric just shrugged, accepting it as true. Phillip tugged the girth strap tight. “Turns out she’s a marquess,” he said begrudgingly. “But anyway, royal or not, the king can have an affair with whomever he wishes.”

Eric raised an eyebrow, and internally, Phillip cursed himself. They both knew he only talked about himself in third person when he had something to hide.

But Eric only said, “You’re not usually one for affairs,” in a mild tone.

Phillip shrugged.

Eric pulled a saddle off the rack. “So what’s the problem then?” he asked. “Why have an affair at all, or a mistress for that matter, since we are in the middle of your Great Wife Hunt? If she’s a member of the nobility, then your problems are solved. Just marry her.”

“I wouldn’t have a mistress,” Phillip asserted, avoiding the question.

“I know, you’re far too loyal to your precious ideals for that. But the question stands—why not just court her officially?”

Phillip’s shoulders slumped and he gave up on the girth strap. “She doesn’t want to be queen,” he said, back turned to his brother. And the thing was, he understood where Ella was coming from. Just yesterday, he’d wanted to run for the hills rather than be forced to choose a future of more obligations. Being queen was an often-difficult public service, and he wouldn’t force it on anyone who didn’t want it.

“Oh. Well, shit,” Eric said. He always did have a habit of summing things up nicely.

“Let’s just ride, okay?”

Eric finished saddling his horse. “Sure. I can regale you with the tales of my latest adventures. Maybe you haven’t had the pleasure of seducing a maid this week, but some of us have been living our best lives.”

Phillip snorted. “Fine.” Maybe his brother’s playboy antics would take his mind off his own problems.

They rode out of the stables. Phillip couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder at the Summer House, but Ella was nowhere in sight. He should’ve expected that, though. She had to choose for herself which future she wanted.

He would just have to hope it involved him.

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