"I'm not sure I'll hand one out that soon."
Laughing, he pulled her into a strong embrace and held her close. "Admit, it; you love my dimple."
"I adore your dimple," she breathed. "And I adore you."
His heart thumped against her, and he pressed his lips into her hair. She sank into him. Her body and soul let out a sigh that at last they'd found their missing parts only supplied by him. If she'd known how wondrous-how healing-it would be to allow Phillip Partridge to hold her, she might have relented sooner. But she hadn't been ready sooner. Now? Now she was ready. Not just ready-starved.
He loosened his grip and pulled his head back enough to look at her. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips tingled, burned, ached. Unbearably slowly, he lowered his head, coming closer, ever closer. An agonizing tightness in her stomach clenched as he moved with all the languid motions of a master torturer. A distressed whimper wrenched out of her. She closed the gap between them, guided to his lips by a magnetic pull. His kiss was sweet and gentle at first but turned to consuming hunger that only fanned her need. Through it, she received his message: he truly loved her.
Phillip cantered his horse on the long, winding drive to the Suttenberg home, Edgeworth House, on the outskirts of London. The Tudor structure with Elizabethan and Georgian additions once reposed in a pastoral area, but as London grew, other homes cropped up nearby. Still, the house and surrounding grounds retained its old-country charm with expansive lawns and spreading shade trees. Sheep grazed on the hills of the estate, and peacocks called as they fanned their glorious tails. The setting sun cast purple shadows on the drive, but Phillip knew the way so well he could have traveled it with his eyes closed.
After dismounting and tossing his reins to a servant, Phillip dashed up the short flight of stairs to the front door.
The butler opened the door before Phillip knocked. "Welcome home, sir."
Phillip handed off his hat and gloves. "Good evening, Barnes. Is the duchess home?"
"Indeed, sir. She is in her bedchamber dressing for dinner, I believe."
"Thank you." It had taken Phillip years to convince the old family butler that he need not announce Phillip to his own mother. Smiling again over that small victory, Phillip strode up the stairs two at a time, unable to contain his nervous energy. Meredith Brown's surprisingly passionate kisses fueled his determination.
No amount of rehearsing had produced the right words to say to his mother. He'd simply have to speak from the heart and hope she would be more receptive than expected.
He knocked at her door. "Mother?"
A pause. "Phillip? Come in."
He pushed open the door and stepped in. Wearing a blue brocade evening gown, she sat at her dressing table while a maid styled her dark hair. Her reflection smiled at him from the mirror.
"This is a surprise. What brings you here, son?"
"Can't a son pay a call to his mother without there being a specific purpose?" He crossed the room and kissed her cheek.
"He could, but he seldom does." Her smile softened her gentle scolding.
He gave her a rueful smile. "I am chastened."
"We shall see. If you are truly chastened, you'll pay me a visit once in a while, just to bask in my wisdom and maternal affection."
He chuckled, his nervousness making it sound choked. "Yes, Mother." He sat in a nearby armchair so he could look her in the eye. "Mother, I know your social calendar is quite full, but I have come to ask you if you will host a small dinner party for some friends of mine."
"Of course. I am not entertaining much this Season, so I'd be happy to throw together one for you. Who would you like to invite?"
"Lord and Lady Daubrey, the Harris family, Michael Cavenleigh, perhaps Cole Amesbury"-the viscount seemed to like Meredith, so that might help Phillip's cause-"and the Staffords."
She nodded. "As you wish. A dinner party that small will be no strain."
"Could you pull it together in a few days?"
"Yes." Shrewdly she watched him from her perch. "What is it that you really want?"
Phillip should have known this would not work as he'd hoped. "I want you to meet the Stafford's niece, Miss Meredith Brown."
"Oh? Oh." A slow smile curved her lips, reminding him of a cat about to enjoy a bowl of cream. "You've found a girl? Oh, Phillip, this is wonderful!" She went still. "Why the dinner party? What is wrong with her?"
He fisted a hand. "There is nothing wrong with her. She is lovely and charming and kind and bright and witty. And I love her."
"Why don't you think I'll approve?"
He ever despaired of her intuition. "Make her acquaintance before you pass judgment. You will like her-I'm sure of it. In fact, Suttenberg will like her. Mother, she's the most-"
"Phillip." With an impatient glance, she waved her hand at the maid. "Leave us."
The woman stepped back, curtsied, and soundlessly left the room.
As his mother opened her mouth, Phillip interjected, "Mother, please, just meet her."
She arose and faced him like an indignant queen. "Who are her parents?"
He stood, his back ramrod straight like a soldier marching to battle. "Her mother is a lady-a daughter of a gentleman and a relative of the Baron of Stapleton."
"And her father?"
He swallowed. He'd rather face that schoolmaster and his switch than confess to his mother. He gathered his courage. "He owns a lace factory in Loughborough."
"No."
He barely managed not to stammer, "I beg your pardon?"
"No, you may not marry her, no matter how beautiful or charming you think she is or how much you fancy yourself in love. You will not water down the bloodline with someone so far beneath us."
Phillip's blood heated. "How can you be such a snob?"
"It is a matter of duty as well as family pride. Our feelings do not matter. We must do right by the family name-generations of Suttenbergs, past and future, rest on our decisions." She took a breath. "You have neither my permission nor my blessing." She took a few steps closer and poked him in the chest. "Do not shame us by continuing to associate with this . . . this . . . factory girl."
"She is a lady in every possible meaning of the term-"
"Not by birth!"
He recoiled.
She softened and put a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Phillip, you are only four and twenty. You have time. There are plenty of young ladies out there of good breeding who would love to marry you."
Bitterly, he said, "They see only the Suttenberg family. They don't see me."
In soothing tones, she said, "Out there is someone you have not yet met."
"I have met her, Mother."
Her face hardened. "My answer is no. I forbid you to see her again. This discussion is over." She turned away and stood with clenched fists and heaving breath.
His anger left him, and in its wake came a searing, aching pain that he would be disavowed by the very people who should love and accept him unconditionally. He would lose them, probably forever. His children would never know his side of the family.
His father would not have approved. No one in his family would condone their union . Grandmama would probably strike him with her cane. The scandal of him marrying a girl of Meredith's birth would taint generations of Suttenbergs. Even his brother, the paragon, would bear the shame of Phillip's marriage to the wrong girl.
He would be selfish to take his little slice of happiness at their expense.
Meredith sat in the last row of chairs at the musicale between her cousin Annabel and her friend Cora Harris. Poor Cora. All the light had left her eyes, and she never once smiled. It pained Meredith that she had removed her friend's happiness. Still, it was better that Cora learned of her suitor's intentions before it was too late.
At the end of the performance, Cora excused herself. Meredith stood to mingle with other guests and offer her appreciation to the performers. Across the room, she spotted Michael Cavenleigh. How odd to see him without Phillip. For that matter, it felt every bit as odd not to have Phillip at her side.
Her lips, nay her entire being, still tingled from Phillip's earth-moving kisses. She'd almost begged him to marry her on the spot. But his family would need to be won over. Somehow. And having a long and respectable courtship would please Uncle and, hopefully, her parents before she married Phillip.
Marry Phillip. She smiled. How easily she pictured his face smiling across from her breakfast table, as they rode, as they walked, as they laughed. She longed to snuggle up to his side while his arms encircled her.
If only Cora could be so happy. Perhaps Meredith ought to check on her to ensure she was well. She moved toward the door, nodding to Michael Cavenleigh as she passed him.
A gentleman greeted him loudly. "I heard the strangest thing about you, Cavenleigh. You were seen purchasing a mule."