The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(49)

The past few days had been agonizing; she’d fretted constantly, wondering if she had made the right decision. She had warred with her own needs, going back and forth in her mind.

Freedom and adventure…or to have forever the man she had come to love.

An impossible choice.

More than anything, she wished to escape her mother and aunt and their insistence on all that a proper young lady encompassed. Yet, her traitorous heart had whispered that to be shackled to Lord Anthony would mean a life of unending adventure and delight.

She’d missed him terribly. She had only known him for a few weeks, yet had such a depth of feelings for him, it felt as though they’d been together for a lifetime.

Thankfully, upon her return to London, Orwell seemed to have disappeared. And she had not detected any hint or whisper of his despicable actions or the fact that she’d spent a night at Anthony’s house in Baybrook. She’d attended a soiree last night, and tonight a ball, basking in her sister’s happiness at being engaged to Lord Jensen St. John. Certainly an affable young fellow, and her sister glowed with adoration whenever she spoke of him.

But every moment, Phillipa had watched for Anthony, hoping he would attend and seek her out.

A sharp ache sliced through her as she followed his progress up the stairs toward her. Oh, how she’d missed him!

Tonight he wore a dark tailcoat with the most dashing pearly white waistcoat, complemented by an immaculately tied white cravat. A ripple of goose bumps danced over her skin the moment he spied her. His eyes devoured her, from her soft pink gown, elaborately coifed hair, and the lace shawl that hung loosely on her bare elbows. His gaze lingered on her breasts, her waist, and finally her lips. She tingled in anticipation.

“Do you think he will come this way?”

She did not take her eyes off him at Elisabeth’s whispered question. Dozens of people stopped him, and he did not shrug them off, taking long, frustrating minutes to socialize. Yet she saw he kept her in his sight at all times.

“I do not know. He has not sent word for three whole days.”

Elisabeth stared at her in amusement. “Really? So long?”

Phillipa sent her a withering glare. “I’m a fool, I know, but it seems like a lifetime.”

She had ached for him, even wept tears, tormented with the need she’d felt for him, both physically and in her mind. She had started to accept that she loved him. And it had felt right. Until doubts assailed her.

If he had felt even a sliver of affection for her, how could he have been so withdrawn when she left him? And so tellingly silent for the past few days?

Had Anthony changed his mind about marriage to her, and accepted her refusal?

She wasn’t an easy handful. She knew that. Perhaps he’d felt only relief that he’d been so easily rid of her.

She took the glass of champagne Elisabeth pressed in her hand and tried to ignore the wild thumping in her heart. She had never expected to long for him the way she had.

The past few nights had been tormented with memories and dreams of their lovemaking. In the days she had yearned to be with him. She had longed to converse with him, to share the plans she had for her future. Their future.

He had also missed her birthday celebration earlier this evening. Not that it had been so grand. Only a small dinner gathering of family and a few friends, but she had foolishly sent him an invitation to his town house. She’d also invited Lady Constance and Lady Radcliffe, and her aunt and mother had been thrilled with their presence. Phillipa had been too embarrassed to ask about Anthony’s whereabouts, and his mother and sister had not volunteered any hints.

She had forced herself not to dwell on him. But more and more she kept hoping that Anthony would come for her. Or at least send a polite note. She’d needed to know if they were to be friends, or nothing at all.

Phillipa narrowed her eyes as he finally turned his full attention upon her. He prowled across the room toward her. She loved the untamed rawness he vibrated with. She composed her features into a neutral mask, praying he did not think to cut her after she had rejected him.

“Lady Elisabeth.” He greeted Elisabeth with a curt bow. He did not remove his eyes from Phillipa’s, and after a low acknowledgement, Elisabeth disappeared into the crowd.

Phillipa’s breath hitched at what she saw in his eyes. Hunger. Her heart stuttered in the most painful rhythm, and emotion tightened her throat. Her hands trembled and he pried her grip from the champagne glass and handed it to a servant who scurried over with a silver tray.

He did not speak, simply put her arm though his and led her away. She felt she should discreetly look to see who observed them, but the weakness that swept through her prevented any action on her part except to obey.