Phillipa had seen the strength and kindness of her new husband’s character more each day, and she had not though it possible to be more besotted with him. Then, the week after their hasty marriage, he’d given her his belated birthday gift. A map. And he’d told her all she needed to do was mark each spot she would like to visit, and he would add it to their upcoming Grand Tour. She had been humbled, delighted, and had hugged him for unending minutes.
But now they were indulging a short, secret honeymoon, a calming respite before returning to London.
“I can hardly credit that two weeks ago I stood in my parents’ parlor terrified they would announce my engagement to Lord Hoyt, and now I am your wife,” Phillipa murmured contentedly.
Anthony grunted. “I do not think it wise to remind me that you were engaged to another man.”
“I wasn’t! I told you I’d planned on refuting their claims if they had made an announcement. ” She laughed and rolled out of his arms, drawing on the silk dressing gown resting on a peg by the bed.
Castle Kildern and the southwest of England were among the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. She loved the dense forest that surrounded the valleys, and she could feel the rich history of the castle to her very bones.
“Must we travel back today?” she asked as she performed her ablutions. She buried the unease she felt over her imminent return to her family. Over having to face Payton, to whom she had written and received no reply. Their rush to Gretna Green, being married, returning to Anthony’s castle briefly, and then their secret honeymoon days and nights of tumultuous loving, reading together, playing piquet and chess had erased everything else from her mind. Now the fantasy was coming to an end, and it was hard not to worry about the difficult reality of what lay ahead.
“We must. I have informed both our families of our whereabouts, but we can no longer delay our return to London. A couple days ago the Gazette published the notice that our wedding will take place in a few weeks. You must go back to your parents until that time and plan your trousseau. Though it is fairly certain few have truly been fooled by your pretense of rusticating in Dorset with your mother’s cousin, in the official eyes of society we are not yet married. You must act the part of eager bride, for your family’s sake, at least.”
She sighed gustily and leaned into the heat that came up behind her. He spun her gently around, dipped his head, and captured her lips in a soothing kiss.
“Let’s hope, with you tucked away and me supposedly in Baybrook preparing for my new bride, that Society has moved on to more interesting tittle-tattle for their prying eyes and wagging tongues.”
“Have you heard anything of Orwell?”
“He has fled, as we suspected. My agents will not miss his return to London, if he ever dares.”
She twined her hands around Anthony’s neck and tipped up, claiming another kiss.
She broke away long moments later. “I love you so much, my husband.” She doubted she would ever tire of telling him that, or of the sensual smile that curved his mouth each time she whispered the words.
“I love you, too, my sweet.” He pressed another soft kiss to her lips. “Let us ring for breakfast and prepare for our journey.”
“Yes. We should do that,” she murmured. But instead, she deepened the kiss and moaned softly, getting lost in the pleasures his body bestowed.
With a throaty chuckle, he walked her backward toward the bed, and she smiled.
Breaking their fast could wait a while longer.
…
Distracted by the sensual way Phillipa ate her croissant after they’d made love, it took Anthony three readings for the short notice in the Times to make any sense to him. And even then, it made no sense at all.
“Good God!” he finally exclaimed, nearly dropping his coffee cup.
Phillipa glanced up at his outburst. She lowered her fork and gave him a quizzical look. “What is it?”
With a feeling of complete and utter astonishment, he read the notice aloud to her, still unable to credit the meaning.
“Lord Sebastian Thornton, the Twelfth Duke of Calydon, announces his marriage to Lady Jocelyn Rathbourne.”
Phillipa’s jaw dropped. “Good heavens. I had no idea he was betrothed. Is this the Lady Jocelyn you told me about? The one you gave your mother’s locket?”
He looked at Phillipa, wondering if hell had frozen over. Or perhaps he’d somehow entered one of Jules Verne’s fantastical worlds. Sebastian married? To Jocelyn? “Yes. It is she.”
“I wasn’t aware they knew each other.”
“They don’t.” Anthony read the notice for the fifth time. “This must be a joke. Some kind of prank. Sebastian does not believe in marriage. He vowed never to wed.” She scraped back her chair and moved to read the notice over his shoulder. “I doubt the Times would print such a serious announcement unless it came from the duke himself.”