The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(58)

A high-pitched laugh from her mother cut off instantly upon seeing Anthony enter.

The crowd rippled away as he crossed the room toward Phillipa. They parted for him, both aghast and titillated by the dangerous glitter in his emerald eyes. Speculative stares darted between her and Anthony, and she hardened herself against the condemnation in their faces.

The look in Anthony’s eyes shredded her, nearly shattering the icy composure she was determined to hide behind. Dressed in a dark gray coat and trousers with a peach waistcoat, he had never been more handsome.

“How did he get in?” Lady Merryweather said to her father in a loud whisper that everyone could hear. “Tell him to leave at once.”

Anthony stopped in front of Phillipa, and her heart thundered.

“Introduce me to your fiancé.” His voice was so smooth and toneless, completely at odds with the storm that swirled in his gaze.

She hardly knew how to respond. He was wrong. She had never accepted Hoyt. She was twenty-one now, and had already made plans to leave London. If she couldn’t have Anthony, she wanted no other man. “I’m—”

“Come, my love, I do not wish to be introduced to an imposter,” Lord Hoyt murmured caustically and took her arm.

Pain screamed inside her as Anthony went deathly still.

“He has some nerve coming here.” The harsh whisper of Lady Jeffreys stabbed at her like a thousand knives. Anthony did not acknowledge any of the nasty comments as he waited for Phillipa’s reaction.

Her mother threw her a horrified look. Her aunt’s expression condemned from the far corner. Phillipa struggled for breath as she found herself standing all alone in the middle of the biggest crush her parlor had ever held. It seemed like all London society was watching her in keen anticipation. For her downfall, no doubt.

“Phillipa?” Anthony’s low murmur raked over something deep inside her.

Expectation pressed in on her from her whole family. She could see the pleading in Payton’s gaze.

Phillipa’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. She gazed blindly at the hand Anthony held out to her. Why would he come here? Why would he do this to me? He must know she had no choice but to cut him. To save her family. Her eyes filled with tears as she forced herself to turn away without acknowledging him. She prayed he would give her a chance to explain later.

The relief in her sister’s and mother’s gazes condemned her, even as it freed them. The proud tilt of Hoyt’s lips was unbearable. He squeezed her arm in reassurance, and she yanked it away from him.

Suddenly, Lady Henrietta gave a loud squeal of indignation. In her hand she held open the evening Gazette, which must have just been delivered. “How can this be?” she cried. “There is an announcement here, of Miss Peppiwell’s imminent marriage to Lord Anthony!”

Every person in the room gasped. Every eye turned to Phillipa.

Phillipa could not help it…she glanced back at Anthony. His eyes went narrow and cold. His cynical look of utter disgust froze her to the spot. Hoyt took her arm again and tugged none too gently.

“Obviously, it is not true,” Hoyt said loudly. “A vicious lie by the rogue to entrap an innocent lady.”

She swallowed, unable to speak. She’d forgotten about the announcement Anthony had said he would send out.

A coldness chilled her to the bone when Anthony’s lips curled up and icy contempt poured over her. “Obviously,” he drawled.

Her heart cracked.

And then he dismissed her. She saw the moment he removed her from his thoughts and his heart…and her whole being shattered. She pulled herself from Hoyt’s grasp and turned around fully to watch Anthony’s retreat. The entire room watched her in morbid fascination, but she could not summon an ounce of energy to care. She gazed at his retreating back with a sickening sensation that blanched the blood from her face.

“Get hold of yourself, Phillipa,” her mother softly hissed in her ear.

The crowd tittered drunkenly, smelling blood in the air. The murmuring began, and rose in an excited swell, that Phillipa Peppiwell had cut the bastard who’d dared to lie about their betrothal. She strained to see him stride through the crowd, ignoring the frantic pull of her mother and the harsh curses of Lord Hoyt.

“You are disgracing us, Phillipa,” her aunt snapped, fanning herself with vigor.

The pain of loss that hazed Phillipa’s mind pressed in on her, choking her, and suddenly she knew with every nerve of her body that she could not let him leave. She met her father’s eyes then, and he smiled at her. A single tender smile of loving acceptance in a churning sea of disapproval. Oh, Papa.

She ripped away from everyone, ignoring the cries of the rest of her family to stop. She tried to press through to Anthony, but the crush of visitors slowed her down. Desperation clawed at her as she watched him reach the front entry and accept his coat from the butler, not looking back. Not knowing that she was trying to get to him.