Eight
Seated at the table, Philip glanced through the morning paper while his breakfast grew cold on his plate. Not that he actually read any of the various tidings from Brussels or the current rumors surrounding the prince. Instead, his thoughts brooded upon his restless night.
He did not like feeling as if a situation was slipping out of his control. He was a man who was always in command of himself and those around him. He was a leader, not some bufflehead who was content to be a victim of fate.
So why, then, did he feel as if he were suddenly sailing in decidedly treacherous waters?
An unknowing frown tugged at his dark brows. It had all begun with that blasted kiss. It had only been meant to frighten the stubborn brat. Certainly he had never intended it to be a kiss of passion. But there was something . . .
He abruptly shied away from the disturbing memories and instead moved to his latest troubles. Not that they were so different. They still centered upon one golden-haired minx.
What the devil was she up to?
He had been thoroughly caught off guard by her peculiar behavior last evening. She had seemed so . . . well, flirtatious, he had to concede. Which was absurd. Since his arrival, she had wavered between fear and fury at his presence. Not once had she regarded him as anything more than a threat to her secret.
Then last night she had suddenly been laughing and batting her lashes like the veriest light skirt. It was disconcerting to say the least.
So he had lain awake most of the night, attempting to convince himself that he had merely overreacted. Perhaps she feared that her violent dislike was making him suspicious. Or she presumed that she could begin to relax her guard since he would soon have no reason to linger. Or perhaps she had simply been in a giddy temperament.
All reasonable explanations, but he could not thoroughly dismiss his lingering unease.
Rattling his paper, he attempted to concentrate on the news from the Continent. It was silly to fret over nothing. He had just managed to focus his thoughts on the words before his eyes when the door was slowly pushed open. His momentary peace was instantly shattered as the slender form of Bella Lowe entered the room.
As she had been the evening before, she was attired in a new gown. And as was her gown last evening, the soft primrose material was cut to reveal a most astonishing amount of white shoulders and deliciously enticing bosom. He felt a tingle of heat as his gaze instinctively studied the fascinating curves shown with such perfection.
Good lord, he thought as he guiltily jerked his gaze back to her tiny face, he would ensure that her trousseau was considerably more modest in design. Poor LeMont would discover himself trampled beneath a bevy of love-struck fools if she were to appear in London attired in such a gown.
Unfortunately, for the moment he was unable to command her to return to her room and change into one of her less revealing gowns. Even if it did make his role as the callous seducer a distinctly dangerous proposition.
Telling himself he was being a fool, Philip laid aside his newspaper to regard Bella with a charming smile. “You are up early, my dear.”
With a shrug, she drifted toward the table and took a seat close to his own. “It is too lovely a day to lay abed.”
“I suppose you have a dozen errands that need your immediate attention,” he murmured, referring to her habit of darting away whenever he was near.
Surprisingly, she gave a firm shake of her head. “No, indeed. I thought I would spend the day at Mayfield.”
Philip swiftly told himself that she was no doubt exhausted from her ceaseless travels throughout the countryside. There couldn’t be a home within twenty miles that she had not visited on a dozen occasions over the past days.
“My luck appears to be improving.” He poured her a cup of tea and then instinctively added the precise amount of sugar she preferred.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I rarely see more ofyou than a brief glimpse at a distance. To think that I will have the pleasure of your companionship for the entire day seems the height of good fortune.”
Something flickered in her dark eyes before her head dropped to hide her expression. “You have more charm than is good for you, my lord.”
“I thought we had agreed to Philip?”
“But the servants,” she protested in low tones.
He reached across to grasp the slender hand lying in her lap. “Very well. Then let us go somewhere so that we can be alone, and you will feel free to call me Philip.”
Expecting her to jerk her hand free, he was caught off guard as he felt her give a small tremor and peek at him from beneath impossibly long lashes.
“Alone?”
He unconsciously frowned. “Yes.”
“Where could we possibly be alone?”
“We could take a picnic to the woods.”
“That does sound romantic,” she shocked him by saying with a bat of those lashes. “It has been a long time since I enjoyed a picnic.”
Philip could not have been more shocked if she had stripped off her gown and danced naked on the table. The unease that had plagued him all night returned with a vengeance. “So you will go?”
A smile curved her full lips. “You appear surprised.”
“Well, you must admit that you have offered little encouragement since my arrival.”
“I was shocked by your bold advances,” she informed him softly. “I am a lady, after all.”
“And now?”
Her head slowly lifted. “And now I must admit I am somewhat intrigued. You are a most persuasive gentleman.”
The flattering words did nothing to ease his growing dismay. Intrigued? That was the last thing he wished. “I thought I was no gentleman,” he reminded her.
She gave a tiny giggle. “Shame on you, sir, for remembering my unkind words.”
His gaze narrowed. “I could hardly forget them.”
Pulling her hand free, she took a sip of her tea. “I must admit I was frightened.”
“Of me?”
“I have never met anyone like you,” she simpered.
“I assure you that the feeling is entirely mutual.” His own tones were dry.
She clearly took his words as a compliment. “Oh, I fear I am quite common.”
Philip couldn’t halt the sharp laugh. He had met dozens and dozens of women. Some beautiful, some intelligent, and some blessed with a tangible charm. But never had he encountered a female who could keep his life in constant turmoil. “No, there is nothing common about you, Mrs. Smith,” he assured her.
Again she gave that uncharacteristic giggle. “There, you see, you always know how to make a lady feel special. I suppose you are very experienced?”
A ridiculous heat crawled beneath his skin at the sudden question. “Experienced?”
“With women.”
It was hardly a subject he wished to discuss with his ward. Or any innocent maiden for that matter. “No more so than any other gentleman of my advanced years,” he retorted in repressive tones.
Her eyes widened. “I am sorry. Did I say something wrong?”
“I am not in the habit of discussing my private affairs.”
She appeared to sense his discomfort. “I merely meant that you seem very practiced at this sort of thing.”
With an effort, Philip attempted to regain command of the situation. “Clearly not practiced enough,” he said smoothly. “You have appeared remarkably immune.”
She shrugged. “As I said, I was frightened.”
“There is no need to be frightened.”
She set aside her tea and leaned toward him, in the process, making him uncomfortably conscious of her indecent neckline. “No. I am beginning to realize that.”
His heart skipped a sudden beat. “You are?”
“Yes, indeed.” She leaned even closer. Blast. How was he to concentrate on her peculiar behavior when his vision was filled with such temptation? “I have tried to convince myself that it is wrong to succumb to your flirtations, but it is a battle I fear I am losing.”
Desperately, he forced himself to forget the delectable curves and instead contemplate his brewing troubles. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“This is very sudden.”
“Oh, no, not sudden at all,” she protested, seemingly unable to recall her fierce dislike since his arrival. “I have realized since you came to Mayfield that you are a very attractive gentleman.”
“I . . . see.”
“Of course, I am not so shallow as to only consider a gentleman’s countenance and fine form.”
He was almost afraid to inquire further. “No?”
She gave a decisive shake of her head. “No. I have been very moved by your kindness to Miss Summers.”
“I do not see why. She is very easy to be kind to.”
“But no other gentleman has ever made the effort,” Bella persisted. “She is quite changed since your arrival.”
Philip inwardly cursed his instinctive sympathy for the vicar’s daughter. He had never been able to resist the plight of those too weak or too frightened to defend themselves. And the sight of the timid Miss Summers being bullied by her beastly father had been tailored to tug at his heart. It had never occurred to him that his impulsive kindness would make an impression upon Bella. Now he realized he would have to nip any foolish fantasies in the bud.
“I hope, my dear, that you are not casting me in the role of the noble gentleman,” he warned. “I fear that it really will not fit.”
She appeared remarkably unaffected by his words. “You are far too modest, sir.”
He gave a sudden snort. “I have never been accused of that before.”
She pouted her lips in a manner that drew attention to their satin softness. A softness that he knew with intimate familiarity.
“Perhaps because you take such care to hide your kind heart.”
He pulled away, determined to convince her that he was reprehensible beyond measure, only to be interrupted as Lady Stenhold entered the room attired in a moss-green morning gown.
“Good morning.” She regarded her guests with a slow smile.
“Lady Stenhold.” Philip rose to his feet and offered the older lady a chair. She gracefully took her seat in a cloud of rose fragrance.
“You two are up and about very early this morning.”
“Lord Brasleigh has requested that I join him for a picnic this afternoon,” Bella blurted out in bright tones.
Not surprisingly, Lady Stenhold turned her head to regard Philip with raised brows. “Has he?”
“Unless you need me to help with the arrangements for the ball?” Bella generously offered.
Lady Stenhold’s gaze never wavered. “Certainly not. You go and enjoy yourself.”
Bella rose to her feet. “I should arrange a basket with Cook.”
With a grace that made her appear to float across the room, Bella moved to the door and into the hall. Left alone with Lady Stenhold, Philip was forced to meet that unnerving stare.
Lady Stenhold launched directly into battle. “Such a lovely young lady.”
“Yes, indeed,” Philip murmured, feeling decidedly uneasy.
“I have grown very fond of her. In truth, I have begun to think of her as my own daughter.”
The warning was delivered with all the subtlety of a cannon ball, and being a wise veteran of battle, Philip was swift to form a strategic retreat. He was in no humor to cross swords with his hostess. “Excuse me. I must speak with Richard.”
With a brief bow, Philip left the room and made his way determinedly through the hall and up the stairs. He barely hesitated as he came to Pudding’s chamber and abruptly pushed open the door. He had to speak with someone about his deepening suspicions.
Entering the room, he discovered his friend propped upon a massive bed, partaking of a hearty breakfast. A faint smile touched his lips as he realized that even Lord Blackmar’s dressing gown was a blinding canary hue.
Slowly turning his head, Pudding regarded his unexpected guest with a sardonic expression. “Good lord, Bras, it is devilishly early to be bursting your way into a gentleman’s chambers.”
“I need to speak with you,” Philip retorted without apology.
Pudding heaved a sigh as he carefully wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and set aside the tray. “About Miss Lowe, no doubt.”
Philip gave a startled frown. “How did you know?”
“Because she is all you have spoken of since we arrived.”
Philip was taken aback. “Nonsense.”
Pudding’s lips twisted. “What has occurred?”
For a moment Philip debated whether to confess his troubled thoughts or not. It was clear his friend was in a teasing mood, and he had no desire to have such a delicate subject become a source of amusement. Still, he had to discuss his difficulties with someone, and Pudding appeared to be his only option.
Feeling ridiculously embarrassed, he shuffled his feet. “I believe Miss Lowe is beginning to . . .”
“Yes,” Pudding prompted when Philip hesitated.
Philip hardened his features. “Develop feelings for me.”
“Oh?”
“She acted very oddly yesterday and again this morning.”
Pudding merely raised his brows. “What do you mean by oddly?”
With a restless motion, Philip paced across the carpet. He felt like a damn fool confessing his concerns. “Until yesterday she regarded me as if I were a particularly nasty plague she wished to be rid of with all possible speed. But suddenly . . . She is flirting like a practiced courtesan.”
Pudding’s brows rose even higher at Philip’s words. “You don’t say.”
Reaching the white marble chimneypiece, Philip turned about to retrace his steps. “And now she has agreed to join me for a private picnic in the woods,” he muttered, coming to an abrupt halt as Pudding’s laughter suddenly echoed through the room. “Do you find that amusing?”
His icy tone only seemed to add to Pudding’s humor. “Vastly amusing,” he assured Philip.
“I fail to see why.”
Lying back in his pillows, Pudding regarded Philip’s dark expression with rather smug satisfaction. “I did warn you, if you will recall.”
“Warn me? About what, pray?”
“For goodness’ sakes, you have done everything possible to seduce a young maiden who hasn’t the least experience with a gentleman. How could she possibly not tumble into love with you?”
Love? Philip instantly stiffened at the absurd notion. Clearly Pudding knew nothing about the fairer sex if he believed they could be won by a few outrageous propositions from an out-and-out bounder.
“You are spouting a lot of nonsense. I made it very clear that my intentions were grossly dishonorable.”
Pudding waved aside his words. “But she is a fanciful chit. She only sees a handsome lord offering her the type of attention she has never before received.”
Philip couldn’t deny the truth in Pudding’s accusation. Good heavens, he had never considered the notion .that Bella had indeed been sheltered for most of her life. How many gentlemen could she possibly have encountered? Not more than a handful, he would wager, and precious few her own age. What a buffoon he had been not to have taken her innocence into account sooner.
Without warning, the memory of her trembling form pressed to his own rose to his mind. Had he been the first to kiss those satin lips? The first to hear those soft moans from deep in her throat?
The stirring warmth in his thighs abruptly recalled Philip to the present. Blast. Why had he ever kissed her in the first place? It had caused nothing but trouble ever since.
“This is a bloody mess,” he muttered.
“What will you do?”
Philip clenched his hands in tight fists. There might have been a few unexpected difficulties in his battle to marry off Miss Lowe, but that did nothing more than strengthen his determination to haul her to the alter.
“Clearly, I must prove that I am wholly and utterly unworthy of affection,” he retorted, heaving an exasperated sigh as Pudding once again burst out in merry laughter. “Would you please halt that?”
Thoroughly unrepentant, Pudding lifted his hands. “It is so deliciously ironic, old boy. I am beginning to be quite pleased that I agreed to this delightful trip to Surrey. It is more entertaining than any farce on the stages of London.”
Philip slapped his hands to his hips. So Pudding found his troubles entertaining? He enjoyed a good farce? Well, Philip would be only too happy to oblige.
Moving toward the bed, he plucked the waiting pitcher of water off the side table and poured the entire contents over the head of his chuckling friend.