To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke Book 10)(5)

"Isn't that right, Mama?"

Blinking wildly, Philippa looked from her daughter to the nursemaid  cradling Violet, and then to the marquess. Each stared at her, expecting  something. Her mind raced. Just as Philippa was not the manner of woman  to not attend where she was walking or to stare after a gentleman,  neither was she the one who woolgathered while others spoke. She  attended conversations. She worried her lower lip. Or she did. Normally.  Not now. And when possessed of an absolute lack of idea on how to  respond, she opted for the very safe, "It is."

A lazy smile turned the marquess' lips up and her maid gasped.

Philippa's stomach dipped and she realized she'd said the absolute worst thing.

"See, my lord," Faith said loudly, beaming. "I told you my mother was  looking back at you. That is why … " Philippa choked on her swallow. "She  stepped in the hole."

Mortification set her cheeks ablaze. "I was …  I was … " Please let that rabbit hole widen and suck me under …

His smile deepened, revealing two even rows of gleaming white teeth. No  gentleman had a place being so wholly beautiful … even his teeth. "Allow  me to check your ankle for injury, my lady," he murmured.

And when presented with the option of debating whether or not she'd been  staring curiously after him, or having him probe her decidedly  uninjured ankle, Philippa gave a small nod.

The marquess slightly lifted her satin skirts and, with infinite  tenderness, removed her boot. Her breath caught. Head bent over her  ankle and the early morning sun shining off his ginger-blond strands,  Lord Guilford gently pressed and probed the sensitive flesh; his touch  burning her like the hot summer sun.

This is scandalous. I am in the middle of Hyde Park with a stranger, whose hands are on my person …

And never in the course of her life had she ever dared anything that was  remotely scandalous. Perhaps if she had, she'd not have ended up  married to the cold, soulless man she had. As such, she bit hard on her  lower lip, while this gentleman trailed his fingertips over the curves  and arches of her ankle and foot; his touch rousing delicious warmth  that set off a wild fluttering in her belly.

He lifted his gaze and their stares collided. A spark of passion lit his  eyes, reflecting the same current running through her. There should be  the appropriate modicum of embarrassment at being caught watching him.  And yet … she fixed on his face. She, who'd always demurely looked away  and certainly never did something as bold as meet a gentleman's eyes.

"Is my mama all right?" Faith's concerned tone slashed across the charged moment and Lord Guilford promptly lowered her skirts.

"I believe she is," he said, reassuringly. The marquess stood, his  midnight cloak whipping about him. "If you'll lead Her Ladyship's  children to their carriage," he instructed the maid and in one fluid  movement, bent and swept Philippa into his arms. Heat singed through the  fabric of her satin dress as he drew her against the powerful wall of  his broad chest.                       
       
           



       

She gasped. "What … ?"

He looked down at her and quirked a ginger brow. "Surely you do not  expect I can leave you laying in the middle of Hyde Park, my lady?" he  drawled with a sardonic twist to those words.

God help her. If she were at all honorable and proper she'd insist there  was no injury. She would correctly inform him that she was, indeed,  fine to walk. "Thank you," she breathed.

He flashed another one of those smiles that sent her heart tripping into  double time. "It is my pleasure," he said, as he strode towards the  carriage.

Gentlemen were not supposed to be these six-foot three-inch towering,  muscular figures. They were supposed to all be like her heavily-padded,  more than slightly soft late husband. Her fingers curled reflexively  about the marquess' powerful bicep. Philippa's pulse raced. After all  these years of indifference to her husband, she'd believed herself  incapable of the heady desire that sent her thoughts into riot. Now that  myth was shattered in Hyde Park, in the arms of a stranger, no less.

As they made their way in silence, the occasional passersby stared with  open curiosity and Philippa burrowed closer into Lord Guilford's arms.  The scent of sandalwood, so wholly masculine, and not those fragrant  florals preferred by her late husband wafted around her senses,  blissfully distracting. She closed her eyes and ignored those curious  stares that portended gossip. There would come time for Edgerton  disapproval later. For now, there was this ginger-haired gentleman who  so effortlessly carried her through the grounds.

"I confess," the marquess began, bringing her eyes flying open. "I know  that we must have met before, my lady, but to my shame, I cannot bring  forth a memory."

Bitterness twisted in her belly; harsh, ugly and real. "Since I made my  Come Out seven years earlier, I have spent the majority of my time in  the country," she said softly. Six of those years where she'd been  treated as nothing more than a broodmare her late husband had gotten  child after child upon. Children who had never mattered to Calvin. But  to Philippa, even with her loathing for her husband, those babes had  been precious souls in her pregnancies. She'd journeyed through hell  with them, only to emerge solitary at the end of their battle-left with  nothing but a husband who was angry for all the wrong reasons. All the  well-hidden hatred for her late husband boiled to the surface, scaring  her with its power.

Lord Guilford paused and looked down, their gazes meeting. The heated  intensity of his green-eyed stare shot through her; eyes that could see  into a person's soul and dig forth all those darkest, most coveted  secrets. "That is a shame, my lady," he said quietly.

And, of course, his words were spoken for politeness sake, but her  breath hitched. "Philippa," she blurted, as he continued walking.

He again halted.

She wet her lips. "My name is Philippa. Given the circumstances of  our … meeting, I expect you might call me by my given name." As soon as  the indecent offer left her lips, heat scorched her body, threatening to  burn her inside out. Only shameful widows went about offering strangers  the use of their Christian names and she would never be one of those  wanton creatures.

"Philippa," he murmured, wrapping those three syllables in his husky  baritone and set off another round of fluttering in her belly. He  shifted her in his arms, to touch the brim of his elegant black hat. "I  am Miles."

Miles. Strong, commanding, and direct. It suited him perfectly.

Up ahead, her daughter, Faith, paused and looked over her shoulder. She  waved excitedly. "Are you all right, Mama?" she called, her voice  carrying on a spring breeze.

Her heart pulled at that devotion. Since she was born and Calvin had  disdained her because of her gender alone, Philippa had forged a special  bond with the tiny human entrusted to her care. She cupped her hands  around her mouth in a move her mother would lament and called back. "I  am quite all right," she assured. Faith returned her attention forward.

"She is devoted to you," the marquess … Miles observed quietly.

Philippa stiffened. After all, one could hardly explain to family, let  alone a stranger, that they'd been so since Faith's birth when the late  earl sneered down at the girl babe in her arms. "She is," she said  softly. "She worries after me."

As soon as the revealing words slipped from her lips, she bit down on  the inside of her cheek, wishing to call them back. Alas, they'd been  uttered. She held her breath. Mayhap he'd not heard. Mayhap he'd not  probe. After all, he was a stranger and gentlemen didn't truly worry  after women. Not enough to ask those probing questions. Certainly not of  a stranger.                       
       
           



       

Miles frowned. "And what does she worry about?" There was a hint of  something primal and primitive in that inquiry that sent warmth  spiraling to her heart. Even her brothers-Alex had seen her more of a  burden he didn't care to chaperone and Gabriel as a miss to be properly  married off to a man who'd never harm her-had never been protective in  that sense of her as a woman.

She cleared her throat. She'd already said too much. "She wishes to see  me happy." Except that reassurance only brought his ginger eyebrows  dipping lower. "She wishes to see everyone happy," she hurriedly  explained. It was simply the manner of child Faith was, that she asked  after and worried after everyone else's happiness.