A Summons From the Duke (12 page)

"Those of a financial nature." She flicked a glance over his visage and then sighed, her shoulders drooping. "If you must know, my husband's affairs collapsed. We are paupers now. I am staying with my aunt and uncle until I can find a position or vocation somewhere."

"I'm sorry to hear it." And he was. No rush of exultation followed her confession. His rival had been a poor provider, and probably a poor husband, too. But Emily's downfall did not bring him any joy.

"Thank you. And thank you for offering to bring me to Sheffield. You travel so much faster than the public post. The company is more agreeable, too." She offered a shy smile.

He stared at her, unwilling to let this brief spark die out. "Why did you marry him?"

Her eyes, the exact shade of sherry in a decanter, flashed back. "Because he asked me," she replied tartly.

"You didn't give me a chance to," he admonished in a voice so low, he wasn't sure it had registered.

"As if the son of a marquess would stoop to marry a commoner," she rejoined, her voice hushed and her head bowed.

"Do not speak so. We were never like that. Not you and I." He crossed the space between them, grasping her hands in his as he sat down beside her. "What are mere social stations when there is love?"

She tried to remove her hands, but he refused to release her. "Lord Philip, you mustn't say these things. The past is over and done with."

"Philip. You used to call me Philip."

"Philip, then. You must understand that I had to think of these very social stations you mock. I grew up as a poor relation, and I had to strike out on my own. I had to find my own security, and I thought that was what Charles Barlow offered." She gave a bitter laugh, and the sound wrung his heart. "How wrong I was. Here I am, worse off than before."

"I am here with you." He moved closer and stared deeply into the flecks of gold in the amber depths of her eyes. With one finger, he gently traced the outline of her full lips and the saucy beauty mark just above them. "Lovely, Emily. You don't know how I've suffered because of you."

Her mouth dropped open in protest, and Philip took full advantage. He tasted her lips slowly at first; enjoying the instant intimacy her parted lips gave him, expecting Emily to push him away. With an endearing sigh, she melted against him, giving him free rein. Throwing caution to the wind, he plundered his muse's mouth. Her special scent of gardenias—the scent that almost drove him mad and made him commission a garden outside his bachelor's quarters in Rome—filled his head, making him dizzy.

He was driven with a need to strip her of her widow's weeds—to be skin to skin with her and nothing more—laying aside the mistakes of the past and the false social constructs that drove them apart. Roughly, he tugged at her bodice, tearing the ridiculously high collar that concealed her graceful neck.

Emily gasped, pushing away from him. "Philip, please. The carriage has stopped. We must be in Sheffield."

~ 4 ~

"Come with you? To ask the duke's help?" Emily glanced up at Philip hopefully.

He sat back, as though disconcerted by her response. "I suppose so. Your aunt and uncle live close by, after all. I could deliver you to their home, and you could come to Danby to speak with Grandfather—if that's what you truly wish."

"Oh, Philip. Thank you so much." Emily reached out and took his hand. "The journey won't be half so tiresome if we can travel with you. And I will feel better about asking the duke myself rather than begging intermediaries to do so."

Philip closed his eyes and brought their joined hands up to his lips. "Then it is settled."

Emily tried to free herself. That sounded so final, as though she had agreed to something she didn't fully understand. "Philip, please. We shouldn't even be here like this. You make me—uncomfortable."

He opened her hand, his mouth gently teasing her palm. Shivers ran up her arm, causing her shoulders to jerk. "Good," Philip rejoined. "Then we have something in common. You make me uncomfortable too."

With her free hand, Emily clutched her shawl more tightly. "I am afraid I gave you the wrong impression, Lord Philip, by allowing you to kiss me earlier. I-I'm not…" Emily trailed off uncertainly.
That kind of girl?
She always seemed to turn into that kind of girl around Philip Whitton. His hold on her sensibilities was nothing short of remarkable.

"Call me Lord Philip one more time, and you will answer the consequences,
Mrs.
Barlow. I'd chuck the bloody title into the sea if it would change anything. If it meant not spending the last two years in torment."

Anger surged in Emily, bubbling to the surface. What, after all, did the coddled grandson of a duke know of suffering? "Torment? What torment? Didn't you say you had been abroad? Where were you, then?"

Philip's head snapped up and he regarded her evenly. "Rome. I was studying music."

"How bad could that have been?" Emily stared at him, confusion overriding anger. Honestly, Philip had grown up with such luxury, such privilege. What did he know of penury? Most people would give their last pound for a trip to Italy—all expenses paid, surely, thanks to the duke.

He finally let go her hand, and bereft of his touch, her own hand was icy cold and trembling. "It was bad enough." He sighed. As if casting aside an unwinnable argument, he sat back, leaning against the bedpost. "Rose is sweet," he muttered.

Ah, there was Philip again. The same abrupt changes in topic, the same quick flashes of temper followed by mellow introspection that had marked his personality as long as she'd known him. "Thank you. She is a darling."

"Two years old, you say? You must have had her very quickly after your marriage." He scanned her face carefully.

Heat suffused Emily's cheeks. "Yes, I did. Charles wanted a family very quickly."

"And…so close on the heels of our own affair…" He trailed off, but the intensity of his dark gaze made Emily catch her breath.

"We never let things go that far, Philip. You and I both know that." She kept her tone quiet and even, the same voice she would use when comforting Rose after a fall.

"I would have gone further." The words had a slight edge of challenge.

"Oh, Philip, I would have too." The admission took a burden off her heart. It didn't feel sinful to confess the depth of her feelings to her former lover—no matter how scandalous they were. "But—"

"No." Philip held up a hand to stop her. "Just let me have that."

They sat together in silence for a moment, and he rose from her bed. "Emily, we will travel together to Danby. Whenever you're ready to go, we'll go."

She nodded. A brief pang of regret clutched at her chest once more. Why not give in, just once, to impetuous desire? Why not follow her heart for once, instead of her head? But Philip was already on the threshold, his tall frame filling the doorway.

"Good night," she whispered as he closed the door.

~ * ~

The next day, Emily determined to be as industrious as possible, packing up her few belongings, making sure Anna had a place to go, and preparing Rose for the journey. The Duke of Danby was waiting for Philip, and delaying his journey would be beyond rude. Philip seemed content to play with Rose and offered to take her into the village for a few sweets. Glad of the opportunity to work without distraction, Emily shooed them off and tugged Rose's trunk out of the barn.

Giles, Philip's manservant, was in the barn, helping the coachman ready the carriage for the morrow. He offered to help Emily bring the trunk up to Rose's room, and she accepted his help gratefully. As he toted the small burden up the stairs, Emily studied him. He seemed a good and loyal servant—someone who cared for Philip during what he called those two years of torment. What tragedy had Philip suffered? Surely this man knew. The question that had puzzled and angered Emily since her discussion with Philip suddenly bubbled to her lips.

"Giles, what happened to Lord Philip?" She peered into his ruddy face and sat down on Rose's cot.

If her brazen question took him off guard, he was too well-bred to show it. He deliberately set the trunk down, dusted his hands on his trousers, and then turned towards Emily. "He didn't take your marriage to Mr. Barlow too well, ma'am."

"Tell me," she urged, clenching her hands around the wooden footboard.

"He tried to do away with himself." The words rushed out, as if a dam had broken free. "Tried to hang himself. Lady Emma, she found him, started screaming for help. I came and cut him free."

The ground shifted underneath Emily, and she clutched the footboard to keep from falling down. Giles seemed to be standing very far away, all at once. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

Giles continued. "He was in a bad way. His family didn't know what to do. So the duke decided to send him to Italy to study music. But he's been living in a fool's paradise. Wine, women, song. Even started taking opium. I've tried to stay with him, tried to help him, but he was too far gone when we were in Rome. I think that coming home will be good for him."

All the energy and the anger drained away from Emily, leaving her shaken and weak. Her hands, still clutched around the mahogany footboard, trembled violently. She licked her lips, but when she spoke, her voice betrayed a tell-tale crack.

"I had no idea."

"The family kept it very quiet, ma'am. Are you all right? You look awful pale." He tugged at his cravat and then shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'll be fine. It's just—I didn't know." She looked up at him, tears pricking her eyelids. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course, ma'am." He turned to go, and then paused in the doorway. "You'll have to forgive my boldness, but I don't believe in hiding things like others do. All the women he had in Italy—they looked like you. I don't believe he's ever gotten over you."

~ * ~

Something had happened when he had taken Rose into town. Emily was pale and distracted, her eyes suspiciously reddened at the supper table. True, this was her last night in her own home. Anyone would be downcast under those circumstances. But her trembling hands and ghostly pallor indicated something deeper.

Giles was also acting suspiciously. Already a man of few words, his manservant was positively silent all afternoon and completely absent at supper.

Philip spent most of the meal in watchful stillness, observing Emily as she helped Rose with her food, and noting how very little Emily herself ate. When Emily excused herself to bathe Rose and ready her for bed, Philip wandered into the library. Picking up his bow, he played softly until the library door opened, and Emily stepped inside.

"I should say good night, now, Philip. We have such a long journey tomorrow."

He set the bow and his violin down and beckoned to her. "Come, sit. You look very unwell. Are you all right?"

She crossed the room and sank onto the settee, giving him a wan smile. "Oh, just nervous about travel. That is all."

He sat across from her, peering intently into her face. "You know everything. Giles told you."

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she turned her head away. "Oh, Philip. I am so terribly sorry."

He said nothing. What could he say? In some respects, he was embarrassed that Emily knew. On the other hand, it was a relief to have everything out into the open. He handed Emily his handkerchief, and she sobbed in earnest.

"I don't blame you for hating me as you did, Philip. I had no idea what you suffered. All I can say in my defense is that I was trying to do the right thing. I wanted to strike out on my own, to have a home and a secure place in society. I-I felt the difference in our stations was such…I should have followed my heart, not my head."

That last phrase, uttered in Emily's tearful, broken voice, gave Philip the first bloom of hope he'd felt in years.

"Emily."

She looked up at him, sobs still catching her breath.

"Don't cry anymore, darling." He knelt beside her, brushing her tearstained cheeks with his fingertips. "Ever since I met you, when I was a lad buying sweets at your uncle's store, I've been trying to get you to follow your heart. I've been trying to show you how I feel. I want to show you how there is no difference between us, no boundary keeping us apart." He traced her beauty mark. "Come upstairs with me."

~ 5 ~

A kaleidoscope of emotions cascaded through Emily as Philip carried her up the stairs. What if she gave in and lost all hope at respectability? But then, she had shared a carriage and a home with him for days. Surely polite society would assume the worst by now, even if they never made love. But relinquishing that one shred of civility was frightening. She clutched Philip's collar as he opened the door to her room. And what if, once they made love, he decided that it was enough? He was so impetuous. Surely his lust would be satiated, and he would be done with her for good.

He laid her down on the counterpane, then turned back to lock her bedroom door.

"Philip."

"Yes, sweetest Emily?" He began taking down her hair, hairpins springing away from his gentle touch. The feel of his hands on her scalp made her close her eyes, and she pressed her head harder against his palm.