He would be out the door and away in his carriage before she reached the foyer.
“Anthony!” she cried.
A startled hush fell over the parlor. He didn’t turn. He didn’t even slow, apparently uncaring that she was making a fool of herself. From the corner of her eye she saw her mother dip into a swoon, caught by Lord Hoyt.
Phillipa called even louder. “I love you, Anthony Thornton, and I don’t give a goddamn who your father is!”
Her audacious declaration rang through the house, fierce and proud. She loved him, and she didn’t care who knew. She wanted the whole world to know! And after this, it clearly would.
Fire scalded her cheeks as she waited anxiously for his reaction. The crowd parted between them like the Red Sea, holding its collective breath.
At last he halted, halfway through the front door.
Her heart surged with hope.
He turned with infinite grace, filling the other end of the ever-widening gap with his towering body and broad shoulders.
His response finally came in a slow, sensual smile. He captured her gaze and held it. This time, she did not hesitate when he held out his hands. She ran to him and placed her trembling hands in his.
“I love you,” she said. “I care not what your name is, as long as I can share it.”
His low laughter echoed through her, warm and comforting. He dipped his head and skimmed his lips over hers. There was a gasp of outrage from someone nearby, a startled laugh, and a fit of coughing. A lady swooned.
Anthony turned and walked out of the house, and she went willingly with him, her arm around his waist.
Her heart raced at her own daring. She could imagine the uproar that was going on behind her in the parlor, but she no longer cared. Her heart trembled. The look on her mother’s and sister’s faces had flooded her with guilt, but Anthony’s shattered look had shredded her to ribbons. She gripped him tighter, the trembling of her body growing more pronounced.
The Calydon carriage waited at the curb, and he swept her inside, giving orders to the footman she could not decipher. The plush elegance of the interior did little to sooth her nerves as the coach rambled off with speed. He pulled down the blinds over the carriage’s windows and shut out the world around them.
Then he looked over at her, his eyes glowed with an intensity she had never seen before. Not even when he had made love to her. Her eyes widened as he shrugged out of his coat and started to unbutton his waistcoat. Heat pooled inside her at the stark sensuality in his face.
“Where are we going, Anthony?” Her voice came out husky, filled with part fear and part excitement.
“To Gretna Green.”
She blinked. Then her mouth split in a joyous smile, her composure completely rattled. But she felt reassured in a good way, a very good way. “To get married?”
“I thought you would like another adventure. We will be husband and wife. After all, the notification was in the Gazette and the Times, so it must be true.”
“Indeed, it must,” she agreed, and then she launched herself onto his lap and kissed him. “And I do like adventures.”
He laughed under her loving attack. “I have a special license in my pocket. We can have a vicar marry us before we reach Scotland, or we can marry over a blacksmith’s anvil.”
“I like the anvil,” she said in between kisses.
His hands tightened on her hips. “God, how I want you. You are my obsession.”
She could feel the evidence of the desire that surged through him at her happy surrender. “Then take me, my lord.”
He kissed her back, letting all his emotions and his passion pour over her like molten honey. After a long, thorough kiss, she gifted him with the most radiant smile she had ever felt.
“We will travel together,” she said. “Sail the oceans, and be free.”
“We can visit wherever you wish, for as long as you want. I have enough wealth to take us on a thousand adventures,” he murmured. “I want only to please you.”
Her heart was dizzy with elation. “Does this mean you love me, my lord?”
“It means I love and adore you completely.”
…
Everything that had ever been cold in Phillipa melted. A sensual smile curved her lips and heat seeped through her. The carriage jostled and rumbled over the streets and complete happiness unfurled within her.
“I meant what I said earlier,” she said. “But are the rumors true?”
He nodded unflinchingly. “Yes, my father is the Viscount Radcliffe. This untimely revelation is Orwell’s doing. He has attempted to exact vengeance on us for foiling his plans to have you.”
Phillipa listened aghast as he told of the old duke’s letter and the break-in at his solicitor’s office. Pain sliced her at the unfairness. “I am so sorry, Anthony. You and your sister were hurt because of me.”