Cheryl Holt (10 page)

Unfortunately, while Edward had been thrilled by Phillip’s arrival, his wife hadn’t been. She’d been aware of Edward’s bastard children, having confronted him early in their marriage over rumors that were circulating. When he’d notified her of Phillip’s request to return, she’d begged him not to allow it.

By then, they’d been married for a comfortable interval, had abandoned any prospect of having children of their own, and she’d felt threatened by Phillip’s very existence. She’d vented her enmity, regularly exhibiting
malice toward him in public that Edward hadn’t halted. He hadn’t known how.

How did a man force his wife to be civil to his illegitimate child?

His chagrin over her treatment of Phillip had never abated, and it was simply another way he’d failed his only son.

Phillip glanced up and noticed him, and he was held motionless and spellbound, impaled by Phillip’s brilliant blue eyes that were an exact copy of his mother’s, and whenever Edward noted them, he suffered the oddest sensation of melancholy.

Those exhilarating days of ardor and lust were so vivid in his memory. Every aspect had seemed so vital and essential. There had been no average emotions. He’d been giddily happy, animated, and overjoyed. In comparison to the rapscallion he’d once been, he was now an unmitigated bore, a stick-in-the-mud, a curmudgeon. He carried on as if he were closer to eighty-five than forty-five.

When had he become so staid and tedious?

Previously, he’d lived life to the fullest, had made each minute count, while currently, he thrived on routine and habit. Excitement and change were to be avoided at all costs, and he wryly speculated as to whether he should have the servants dredge up a wheeled chair. They could park him in the corner, with a blanket over his lap, like someone’s ailing grandfather!

Phillip uttered a snide comment—Edward couldn’t hear it—but from the reaction of his associates, the remark hadn’t been complimentary. Brows raised, the men snickered then departed.

In a defensive posture, Phillip stood, legs braced, hands on his hips, as though he were prepared for a fight.

Edward sighed. How had they descended to this pitiful juncture? Would he ever be able to fix things between them? Would Phillip ever look up, see him, and be
glad
?

He could only hope.

“What now?” Phillip queried as he neared.

Edward was baffled by Phillip’s irritation and animosity. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You never come down here unless I’ve upset you.”

Was that how Phillip perceived their talks? How terrible! “You know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Phillip assessed him, no visible sign of lingering affection in evidence. “Well, let’s have it.”

“Actually, I wanted to discuss the horses,” Edward lied.

In light of Phillip’s hostility, he put off the reason for his visit, inquiring instead about a mare and her breeding schedule, a carriage horse that was lame, a colt that wasn’t growing at an adequate rate.

Phillip loved the animals, wouldn’t leave the stables if he didn’t have to eat and sleep, so it was an easy method to draw him out. Though Phillip was suspicious, he warmed to the task and answered every question until Edward could think of no more and ran out of excuses to delay.

“By the way . . .” He endeavored to sound casual, but something in his tone wrecked any camaraderie they’d just achieved.

“Yes?” Phillip snapped.

“I need to ask you to be more circumspect. You were washing in the trough the other afternoon. I guess you’d removed your shirt, and . . .”

Phillip tensed. Menace and temper rolled off him in waves. “What about it?”

“One of my guests saw you, and she was a tad disturbed.”

“Which
lady
?” he acidly demanded. “Your precious Olivia?”

“No, no,” he interjected. “The younger one, with the auburn hair. Lady Penelope. She’s a sheltered, naïve—”

Phillip scoffed. “I wouldn’t bet the estate on it.”

Edward was disconcerted by the statement. Phillip was frequently privy to information that Edward, himself, couldn’t have gleaned. Was he implying that Lady Penelope wasn’t virtuous? How would he have garnered such a scandalous tidbit? And how to tactfully quiz him about it? Edward had no idea.

“Be that as it may,” he fumbled, “we need to be mindful of our comportment when she’s out and about.”

“Let me give you a little hint about
Lady
Penelope.” Phillip shifted, as if to relay a dreadful secret that Edward didn’t want divulged. “I doubt that
my
chest was the first she’s stumbled upon. You’ll never get me to believe it was much of a shock for her.”

“What are you saying?”

“Several times already, I’ve had to chase her out of the stables. She’s developed a
fondness
for some of the lads—if you get my drift.”

“Lady Penelope?”

“She’s a born troublemaker, and she has the morals of an alley cat. So
you
had best be careful, or you’ll find yourself with a ring on your finger and wed to the wrong girl.” He stomped away and muttered, “It would serve you bloody right.”

“Phillip!”

Phillip whipped around, ablaze with a level of ire and fury that, considering the innocuous tenor of their conversation, made no sense. “Isn’t it embarrassing to picture yourself with a bride who’s young enough to be your granddaughter? Or do you merely have a passion for adolescents?”

“Of all the outrageous, inappropriate—”

Before he could finish voicing his affront, Phillip
marched off, and though Edward shouted after him, he didn’t slow. He kept on till he’d rounded the barn, and Edward dawdled in the grass like a petty supplicant.

Nobody spoke to Edward as Phillip occasionally did, and he couldn’t decide what to do about it. He peeked around to ensure that none of the servants had witnessed the horrid scene.

Phillip wasn’t a tot who could be paddled, and he was too valuable a horseman to be fired. Too bad flogging wasn’t an option!

Tormented, dejected, he strode away and went to the garden, meandering down an isolated path. Wearily, he plopped down on a secluded bench, his head in his hands, as he contemplated his miserable lot.

He was a widower, with no heir, no legitimate offspring, and his only family was two children he’d cast off like so much rubbish when they were babies. One was a beautiful, industrious daughter he hadn’t laid eyes upon since she was three, and the other, a dashing, extraordinary son who despised him.

What a contemptible fellow he’d turned out to be! Phillip was correct: how pathetic that he’d been reduced to sniffing after girls for a potential wife.

Was the entire estate tittering about his nuptial investigations? Were his retainers gossiping and laughing at him behind his back?

Yes, he was desperate for an heir, and yes, he was bound and determined to wed a female with an exemplary pedigree, but Olivia and Penelope—as well as the other maidens he’d interviewed—were so immature. And so exhausting. He had nothing in common with any of them. They knew nothing of the rigors of life, its bliss or sorrows.

When he’d initially married, he and his wife had been the same age, and they’d grown older together. They’d
been compatible, had had matching hobbies, likes and dislikes, and he was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t possible to attain harmony with women who were so much younger than him. The years were an insurmountable barrier.

What a quandary!

If only Margaret’s cousin, Winnie Stewart, were of the nobility. How easy his choice would be!

He recalled the day she’d been loitering on the verandah, admiring the grounds. With her brunette hair glimmering in the sun, her tidy gown outlining her glorious figure, he’d deemed her the most fabulous creature he’d ever observed. She’d stirred him in a primal fashion, and he’d found himself wishing he could act upon it, but she hadn’t stayed around long enough for him to explore its intensity. Like a frightened goose, she’d fled, and he hadn’t seen her since, and to his consternation, he searched for her everywhere.

Out of frustration, he’d once mentioned her to Margaret, pretending a polite curiosity, and when Margaret had claimed that Winnie did not care to socialize, he hadn’t dared broach the topic again lest his interest be erroneously construed.

After his vile behavior toward Phillip’s mother, he’d sworn to himself that he’d control his base impulses, so he didn’t dabble with the women of the lower classes. He didn’t tumble the maids, or frolic with the neighborhood widows. Nor did he acknowledge the come-hither smirks of the loose hussies of the
ton
when he went to London. He never partook of whores, or prowled around at brothels as many other chaps were wont to do.

He was so lonely!

Yet he couldn’t make the jump to a sexual relationship. Not out of any loyalty to his deceased wife, but because he wanted more than stealthy, hurried couplings
that required sneaking in and out of back doors, hiding his horse, and keeping his trousers close in case he needed to execute a hasty exit.

There was never a shortage of available paramours, but he didn’t trust any of their motives. While he was repeatedly offered the use of their lush bodies, they all wanted boons from him in exchange. His title. His money. His patronage.

It was hell being an earl, and he envied Phillip, who could meet up with a pretty girl and philander without having to fret about whether the world would end if he did.

Footsteps echoed down the walkway. Whoever was approaching wouldn’t be able to see him till they’d rounded the curve in the hedge, and he glanced up, praying it wasn’t Olivia or Penelope, or worse yet, Margaret. A more dour, disagreeable individual he’d never encountered.

To his utter and complete delight, it was Winnie, sauntering along by herself. She was lost in thought, her lovely face shaded by a parasol balanced on her shoulder.

At the same instant, their gazes locked, and she started in astonishment. Clearly, he was the last person she’d expected. She wasn’t happy at discovering him. In fact, she appeared terrified.

While he’d accepted Margaret’s insistence that Winnie preferred her privacy, he still had the impression that she’d been avoiding him. Why? Had he said or done something uncouth of which he was unaware?

“I didn’t know anyone was out here,” she contended. “Pardon me for bothering you.” She whirled and hastened away.

“Winnie!”

She halted, hung her head, her shoulders stiff with tension. “Don’t ask me to tarry.”

“I want you to. Just for a bit.”

“Edward—”

“Please!”

She vacillated forever, and he watched her, realizing that a severe struggle was being waged within. Finally, she spun toward him, her anguish palpable.

“What is it, Winnie? Have I offended you?”

“
You?
Offend
me
? How could you think it?”

He held out his hand, utilizing the full force of his station to coax her into taking it, and she couldn’t refuse. She wavered, then reached out, as though it were the most difficult task she’d ever been required to perform.

Linking their fingers, like juvenile sweethearts, he urged her onto the seat next to him. He was assailed by her heat, by her smell. Her skin had an intriguing aroma, like a mixture of flowers and tart apples. It teased and tantalized his male sensibilities, making him want to lean in, to sniff and taste her.

Generally, he was the consummate gentleman, a restrained, courteous chap who minded his manners in the presence of a lady. However, with Winnie Stewart, there was nothing genteel about his feelings. He suffered a primitive, almost savage, attraction to her that had him wild to engage in any wicked behavior she would allow, and even some she wouldn’t.

While he’d been infatuated with many women, he’d never experienced a connection that was remotely similar. He wanted things from her he couldn’t begin to name, first and foremost being the chance to take her to his bed, to have her naked, her creamy, smooth flesh crushed to his own.

The erotic notion was so out of character that he had to ponder whether she hadn’t bewitched him. Or, more likely, the celibacy he’d practiced since his wife’s death had driven him over the edge!

He was perched much nearer than propriety permitted, touching her all the way down, her skirt tangled around his legs and feet. The contact thrilled him, made him pulsate with vim and vigor.

Amazingly, his trousers were tight! He was becoming aroused merely from her proximity, while she was too distraught to look at him. Like a shy girl, she stared off to the side, so he shifted into her line of sight. Her eyes were hazel, winged by dark brows, her cheeks rosy from her stroll in the fresh country air.

She was so fetching, so alluring, and by doing nothing at all, she tempted him beyond measure.

He had a perception of recognition, as though he’d always known her, and he inquired, “Have we met before you came to Salisbury?”

“No.” Her mouth quirked in a half-smile.

“Are you sure? Perhaps in London or—”

“I’m positive. I’d have remembered.”

“Yes, so would I.”

“Are you all right?” she queried, out of the blue. “You seem troubled.”

So . . . she felt it, too, their bizarre bond. He was doleful over his quarrel with Phillip, and it wasn’t surprising that she would notice his distress.

As his response, he posed, “Do you ever wish you could alter the past?”

“Yes, all the time.”

“I’d like to invent a machine that would enable me to travel back and erase all my mistakes.”

“That would be grand, wouldn’t it?”

She nodded, and there was a sadness about her, an ingrained sorrow and solemnity that hinted at prior tragedy, at great adversity and misery that had been routed, and he wondered what had happened to her. What
misfortune had she weathered? What hideous event had left its subtle mark?

Without pausing to reflect, he narrowed the distance between them, and kissed her. The move was so forward and so presumptuous that he thoroughly shocked her—as well as himself.

For the briefest second, they clung together, so ardent that they might have been the last two people on earth. Then, as abruptly as it had started, the embrace ended. She wrenched away and leapt to her feet, her cheeks flaming, her fingers pressed to her lips.