“You paint quite a picture,” he ground out.
“You seek to marry me out of some misguided notion of chivalry, Anthony. I’m telling you, it is not necessary.”
“I do not offer to marry out of honor or to obtain legal issue,” he growled.
“Why then? Love?” She scoffed, expecting it to be anything but. Her heart shook when she noticed his expression closed up even further.
Love?
“Much too high an aspiration for a licentious rake such as myself,” he bit out coldly. He stalked to the window and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.
Phillipa hesitated, then got to her feet and went to him. “You know very well I did not mean it like that, Anthony. You are not debauched in any way. You are both heroic and kind. I simply have no desire to wed, and I do not understand why we must do so if your mother will help us avoid a scandal.”
He shifted, and she held his gaze. Her chest squeezed as his eyes became even more distant. Concern curled inside her.
He lifted his hand, and his thumb brushed against her lips, slowly, seductively. The regret that coated his voice deepened her unease. “The bonds of matrimony are never something I would enter lightly, nor for something as cold as chivalry. But I understand now, that is all you would see them as, Phillipa. Bonds.” He dropped his hand and gave a curt bow, conceding to her wishes.
She did not feel the relief she had expected to feel. Instead, her stomach felt hollow. Confusion swirled through her, and she hated the blank, neutral look that evened out his features as he walked back to the table.
“Anthony.” She was afraid to ask, but she needed to know. “Are we still lovers?”
He sat back down, methodically finishing his food. “I am not interested in a cold, meaningless relationship, Phillipa. If I need sex, I can take a mistress. I want more. A wife…children, a family.”
“What we have is not cold and meaningless!” she said, affront tingeing her words. “You knew how I felt. Did you think I would change my mind after spending one night in your bed?”
His expression didn’t flicker. “My mother and Constance will travel with you back to London. She will tell your family, and anyone else who asks, that you dined with us and the inclement weather prevented your return. Hopefully, that will be enough to silence the gossips.”
Phillipa nodded mutely at his matter-of-fact recitation, dropping her gaze to her hands and swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. She was suddenly hit by a painful realization. If he had murmured words of affection, or love, rather than cold logic, she might actually have considered marriage.
But it was too late now. Pride tied her tongue. If Anthony had felt affection for her, he would have said so when she mentioned love. She would not mistake the passion between them to mean anything deeper to him than lust.
His mother swept into the breakfast room, and Phillipa blinked at her dainty perfection. She forced herself not to react to the curious way the viscountess regarded her. She must know Phillipa spent the night with her son.
Anthony’s voice remained blandly polite as he introduced them.
She battled the urge to fidget. Or smack him for his damned insouciance. Instead, she curtsied nicely. “My lady.”
His mother’s nod of acknowledgement was regal, and her warm smile banished some of the tension from Phillipa’s body.
A sigh came from Anthony at a ruckus that sounded from the hallway. The door was flung open, and a young lady barreled into the room. She blazed in without decorum, running past Phillipa to fling herself at him for a hug. He grunted as if annoyed, but he returned her embrace, kissing her cheek.
“Oh, Anthony, he is bloody fabulous. I cannot believe he is all mine!”
“Constance!” Lady Radcliffe’s admonishment had her spinning around laughing.
Phillipa was stunned by Lady Constance’s beauty. She was a replica of Anthony’s blond looks, with his same sparkling green eyes. She possessed the petite body of her mother, except her curves were richly pronounced.
“Oh, Mother! Anthony has planned to gift me with a horse sired from Odin for my birthday, and I have just ridden him, though he won’t officially be mine for six more weeks. He is so divine, and I am so thrilled!”
“I see I will have to relieve the stable master of his duties,” Anthony drawled.
“Oh, rubbish. He could not very well refuse to answer when I demanded to know whose horse it is.”
“Lady Constance, may I present Miss Phillipa Peppiwell. Miss Peppiwell, my sister.”
Lady Constance’s energy whirled toward Phillipa, and she clapped enthusiastically. “Oh! A second gift! I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Peppiwell.”