She'd never done something so outrageous as slipping about her host's home. As a debutante, she'd stood demurely and obediently at her mother's side. As a wife, she'd spent more time in the country, confined to a bed, attempting to give her late husband his precious heir.
With each step, a lightness filled her. A giddy sensation that threatened to carry her away from the misery of all these stilted affairs and her family's oppressive attentions. Footsteps sounded from somewhere in the townhouse and her heart skipped a beat.
Philippa made a grab for the nearest door handle, pressed it open, and slid inside. Heart hammering, she drew the door closed and leaned against the solid wood panel. She blinked, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkened space; the broad, mahogany desk, the heavy, well-stocked sideboard. It may as well have been any other nobleman's study.
Some of the tension left her at the silence ringing in her ears and she strolled over to the crystal decanters lining the piece of furniture. Absently, Philippa picked up a bottle.
… He does not drink and he does not wager … He'll make you a proper husband …
Her fingers shook with the remembrance of Gabriel's assurances all those years ago and she quickly set the crystal down. How very erroneous he'd been. How utterly and absolutely flawed. To believe that Lord Winston, with all the right words and the proper image crafted by Society, was somehow honorable for that image. Hadn't the Edgertons learned long ago that any nobleman could expertly present a façade to the world? Her lips twisted with bitter cynicism and she thrust aside the unwelcome memories of her childhood.
There was no place for them. Just as there was no place for regrets. And with the dream she'd long carried, of having the love and kindness of a devoted husband, long since dead … the love of her children would forever be enough.
For her.
Philippa tightened her mouth. To Mother and those lecherous gentlemen eying her, they'd seen a woman alone and deduced that she desired something more.
And since she was, for the first time in her life, being honest with herself, she admitted they were right.
She wanted one night in Miles' arms.
Chapter 14
Where in blazes had she gone?
From over the top of his dance partner, Sybil Cunning's head, he did a search for Philippa. Alas, she'd abandoned her position at the broad pillar. Had she been hiding there? Or was she even now waltzing in some other gentleman's arms? He hardened his mouth and continued looking.
" … Did you see my mother took flight in the middle of the ballroom … ?"
"Hmm?" Had some prospective suitor caught her notice or some rake with dishonorable intentions? Montfort mayhap?
"Oh, yes. And she intends to overthrow the king and name herself monarch."
Miles blinked and yanked his attention down to Sybil. Plump, with full cheeks and a rounded form, she wore one of her patent smiles that always reached her eyes. In this moment, through the crystal lenses of her spectacles, mischief danced in their brown depths. He blinked several times. "Beg pardon, Sybil."
The young woman, in her twenty-eighth year, snorted. "In the whole of my life, I've never known you to woolgather."
No, he'd always been rather practical. There had been no reason to woolgather. And no woman to woolgather over. Until now.
"You're doing it again," Sybil pointed out with a widening smile.
He gave his head a hard shake. What spell had Philippa woven in these past days? Miles sighed. "Forgive me," he apologized. "My mind was otherwise occupied." As it had been since she'd stumbled down that walking path and into his life.
"Is it Lady Winston, then?" Curiosity underscored Sybil's inquiry.
Miles stiffened.
"The woman who's at last captured your heart."
His mind came to a screeching halt. "I … " Had no suitable reply. For though there had been no spoken, or even unspoken, pledge between them, there had been a silent understanding among two children of friendly families.
With another inelegant snort, Sybil slapped his arm. "Oh, come, Miles. I've known you since we were babes. Never before has your name filled the scandal sheets … until this week."
As he guided Sybil through the steps of the waltz, he carefully picked his way around, searching for a suitable reply. The actuality was, if he hadn't met Philippa that day in the park, he would have married Sybil in two weeks' time and they would have been happy. Politely so. There was not, nor would there ever have been passion, or this gripping mastery of his mind and heart that Philippa had managed.
He sighed. Sybil deserved more of him than a public confession in the midst of Lord Essex's ballroom and, yet, she deserved something of him. An explanation. "It is Lady Winston," he conceded.
"I knew it," she said with another wide smile. She let out a long sigh. "Thank goodness."
He cocked his head. "Thank goodness?"
"Surely you do not think me oblivious to our mothers' scheming these years, hmm?"
A flush climbed up his neck.
She flashed him a wounded look. "I am disappointed, Miles. Knowing me as you once did and, yet, you think me so empty-headed that I'd be so oblivious to their frequent talks of us marrying."
Miles guided her in another smooth circle. "They wished to see us happy," he said. That, however, did not excuse their mothers' interfering in her life … or his. In making that pledge to his mother, he was just as guilty.
"They wished to see us married," she said bluntly. "But no one ever thought to my happiness." She gave him a long look. "Not even you in offering to marry me … is it before your thirtieth birthday, hmm?"
He managed a sheepish grin. "Yes, well, you are correct. Virtue can only flourish amongst equals."
Sybil flared her eyes. "Are you quoting Mrs. Wollstonecraft, now?"
"I am, thanks to a wondrous, much needed influence in my life." Philippa had changed him in ways he'd not known he needed changing.
"Thank you," Sybil said with a soft smile. "I am grateful for not only your offer, but also your wisdom in finally seeing what I desire matters just as much. I never wished to marry a man who did so for a sense of familial obligation. I'd rather marry a man who searched around the ballroom for a sight of me." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "She snuck out the back entrance."
He swiveled his head around and promptly missed a beat trampling his partner's toes. "Forgive me," he said quickly, restoring his attention. Where had she gone off to and for what end?
As the orchestra ceased playing, Miles brought them to a halt. He passed his gaze over Sybil's face. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You deserved a far better husband than me, anyway."
She blushed. "Oh, hush. You were never one of those flirty sorts," she said as he escorted her from the floor. "Just as you weren't one of those scandalous sorts. For if you were, I'd expect you'd go after your lady."
Miles winked, earning a laugh. As her amusement faded, he gave her another look. "Thank-"
"If you thank me again, I'm going to clout you over the head. Now go," she said. "Go," she repeated with a gentle insistence.
With a bow, he turned on his heel and made his way through the guests. Slipping out the back entrance of the ballroom, he made his way down the darkened corridors. His footsteps silenced by the thick carpet, he did a quick search of the rooms along the hall. He pushed open another door and stopped. Moonlight filtered through the crack in the curtains and bathed the room in a soft glow.
From where she stood at the sideboard, Philippa stared back. He ran his gaze over her slender frame, draped in shimmering purple satin. "Miles." Surprise threaded her greeting.
He stepped into the room and pulled the door closed behind him. "We meet again, my lady."
The last place Miles, the Marquess of Guilford, should be was in Lord Essex's private study with the young widow and her midnight tresses. If they were discovered, there would be no expectations of marriage the way there would had she been an unmarried miss. There would, however, be assumptions-about her as a young widow and him as a still unmarried gentleman.
Only, whenever Philippa was near, the world with all its staid expectations ceased to matter. He could only see her-just as he had from the moment she'd came racing down the riding trail in Hyde Park. Miles pushed away from the door and started over to her.