The Rogue and the Rival (21 page)

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Authors: Maya Rodale

BOOK: The Rogue and the Rival
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“You don’t know that,” Phillip protested.
“Aw, don’t disappoint us,” William chided.
“A gentleman does not relate those sorts of things,” Phillip said sternly.
“In front of other women,” William added with a wink.
“You can at least tell us a bit. No need to relate the specifics. But we need to know for, um, educational purposes,” Johnnie said.
“In case we are ever in France,” William added, even though it was unlikely.
“Well . . .” Phillip said, looking over at Angela. And she understood that his rank would likely work against him, because here he was an outsider, and yet he still had long days of laboring with them ahead of him. She understood that he was just trying to fit in, and if he had to talk about Parisian trollops to do so, he was going to do it.
But did they think that maybe she wanted to hear about that, too? Well, she could just eavesdrop from the hall.
“Fine. I’m leaving,” Angela said, scowling at the lot of them.
 
By lunchtime, Phillip had become friends with William and Johnnie. Over lunch the two brothers detailed all the local girls that were available if a man needed some company, to put it nicely. They didn’t believe Phillip when he said he had no need of the information; they insisted that it was only fair that since Phillip had told them where to go for women in Paris, they return the favor and give him some local tips.
The work was mind-numbingly simple: unloading lumber from the carts, measuring it, and sawing it into the proper lengths. But by the end of the day, the simple labor had every muscle in Phillip’s body screaming for mercy.
He turned down an invitation for pints at the village tavern, preferring a bath. And Angela. He hadn’t spoken with her at all during the day, though he occasionally caught a glimpse of her working in the garden. At one point, he saw her working on something in a little book. Curious, he had been about to put his shirt back on and go ask her about it, but another cart of lumber had arrived, demanding his efforts.
Now, relaxing in a bath in his room, he realized that she still hadn’t told him about her conversation with the abbess, except for the whole leaving with or without him thing.
He sensed an ultimatum.
He sensed “A Talk.”
Both his body and mind were too weary to worry or panic or even dwell on this looming conversation. The kind of conversation he had so far managed to avoid in his nine and twenty years. He had also managed to avoid working for that same length of time, too, but he had had enough firsts for one day.
Or not.
Angela had brought her own supper as well as his, and they sat down to dinner together. He had taken just one bite—God, he was starving—when she brought it up.
“The abbess is not going to make us marry. At least not for hand-holding.”
“Hmmm.” Food had never tasted so good. How had he lived so long without knowing such simple pleasures? A hard day’s work, a hot bath, a good meal, and the company of a beautiful woman. And then later, perhaps, they might . . . He looked up at her but felt his smile evaporate when he saw her face.
“You weren’t listening to a word I said, were you?” she asked sternly.
“This dinner is delicious.”
“Looks like I am leaving without you then,” she muttered. “If you won’t even pay attention to me when I am right in front of you.”
“Fine. I wasn’t paying attention. Tell me again?” Phillip said, and then quickly added, “Please.” The man could be taught.
“I was just saying that I am not taking my orders.”
“Oh. Because of me?”
She sighed impatiently, as if she were trying to talk to the village idiot. He didn’t know why he had even asked that, because he certainly didn’t want to know. If he was the reason, he thought that might be more responsibility than he could manage to endure.
“Like I said,” Angela continued, “I realized that this is not the life for me. I am leaving when you do. Either with you or without you, don’t you see?”
Yes, he did see. Very clearly. This was the part where he was to drop down onto one knee and ask her to marry him. And the funny thing was, that didn’t seem so terrifying or horrible. The thought that did ruin his appetite was after the wedding, when he had no home to take her to and no money to even buy her dinner, let alone the gowns and jewels that she deserved. Society wouldn’t welcome either of them, so she would be stuck with him, and only him, without even friends to complain to about what a horrible husband he was. All these truths nullified the resolution he had made the previous evening.
“Angela,” he started, “I have no money. I suspect you don’t, either. I have a house, but I have never been to it. In fact, I don’t think anyone has been there in years. If the thing is still even standing. Furthermore, society will not be kind to either of us.”
“Because I’m ruined,” she muttered, looking downcast.
“No, because you’ll be attached to me. But that doesn’t matter, because I simply cannot get married now. I can’t even support myself, let alone a wife and children.”
“But I could still go with you. We’ll find a way to make things work.”
“No, but not because I don’t want you to. I was quite nearly sick at the thought of not seeing you once I’ve gone. But I’ll manage, and you will, too,” he said. It was the right thing to do; he was sure of it. But he didn’t necessarily like it.
“Maybe I’m tired of just managing. I’ve been doing that for years.”
“It’ll just be more managing with me. Managing to get by. Managing not to be completely disappointed in me. Managing not to completely regret choosing
me
over God.”
“Did you ever think that maybe I don’t care about all that so long as I am with you?” Angela cried. From the look on her face, Phillip could have sworn she hadn’t meant to say that. Or maybe, he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even have a title to offer her now. Just himself, and that really wasn’t much.
“No, I didn’t,” he said softly.
“Well, think about it,” she snapped, in that brandylike voice of hers. Oh, he would miss that voice. Almost as much as he might miss other things about her.
“Later,” he replied. He would certainly miss kissing her.
“Later? Next week? Next month? In ten years’ time?”
“Just not now.” And then he stood up a bit, to lean over, across the table, over their dinner, and he pressed his mouth to hers. There were so many things in the way—the table, the plates, the glasses—that it was not the most convenient position for kissing. But the need to kiss her at that moment was so urgent and overwhelming, the obstacles between them be damned.
He coaxed her into a deeper kiss, running his tongue along the seam in her lips so that she parted, letting him in. She sighed a bit, perhaps in vexation, pleasure, or surrender. He knew not. He treasured it all the same.
“You think if you just kiss me, you’ll make me forget everything else?” she murmured.
“If I’m doing it right.”
Phillip rested his palms on either side of the table to support himself, still leaning over the table, still reaching out to her in the only way he knew how.
“When you stop kissing me, I start thinking again.”
“I guess I’ll have to keep kissing you then.”
He leaned in for another kiss, this one all too brief.
“Only until you leave. Without me,” she said.
Phillip sat back down, abandoning that strategy for ending the conversation in favor of another.
“I’m too tired to talk about that any more tonight.” That was true. He was just too tired to have a conversation about how inadequate he was. How unsuitable he was for marriage, and how he couldn’t make her happy and couldn’t make her see that. And he knew he had to make her see that now, before it was too late, and he was miserable from making her miserable.
“I’ll go then,” she said.
“Stay,” he said firmly, flashing that suggestive grin of his. “I’m not too tired for other things.”
“You should know, Phillip, that the abbess said that if I am carrying a child, she will personally march you down the aisle, at gunpoint if necessary.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“So perhaps I ought to go then.” To make her point, Angela stood up and stepped to the side of the table. He stood as well.
“No,” he said, smiling wickedly. “There are other things to do. Or there are ways to prevent conception.”
“There are?” That, of all things, caught her attention and made her pause.
“Some more reliable than others.”
“Such as?” she demanded.
“You’re awfully curious about this.”
“Well, no one’s ever told me. No one tells young women anything they might actually need to know,” she said angrily.
“You shouldn’t need to know this kind of thing.”
“I might.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“And if I’m not with you?” Angela asked with an eyebrow arched in challenge.
“Who the hell are you going to be with?” he quite nearly yelled. He swore his heart had stopped for a moment.
“I don’t know,” she replied with a little shrug of her shoulders. “But you seem intent that I shan’t be with you. And I will be leaving here. I might meet someone else.”
He hadn’t even considered Angela with another man after him; thus far he hadn’t had to. He most certainly didn’t want to.
“Oh, no,” he said firmly. “If you are going to be with any man, it will be me.”
“So I am going to be with you, am I? But I won’t become pregnant, so you don’t have to marry me.”
“Well . . .” He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t result in something thrown at his head.
“You just want to have your cake and eat it, too, don’t you?” she said angrily, stomping her foot for emphasis.
“What I really want is to kiss you.” Best to distract her, he thought, closing the distance between them and placing his hand on her waist.
“The gentleman tries to be charming,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.
“The gentleman is just a man who wants to kiss you while he still has the chance.” He kissed the soft spot of skin just below her earlobe.
“You aren’t a gentleman. I take it back. You are an absolute scoundrel.”
“One who still wants to kiss you.” The words were a bit muffled, as he was now feathering kisses along her neck.
“You will, if you can tell me why I’ll let you, in spite of my better judgment.”
“Because you want to,” Phillip murmured, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat. She arched her neck back to allow him.
“Because you think I’m a better man than I am,” he whispered into her ear. His heart stopped again, because that was the truth of the matter in one sentence. He wasn’t good enough, and he certainly wasn’t as good as she thought he was. But he wanted to be. He just didn’t know how.
“And because you want to,” he whispered again.
“Just one kiss,” Angela sighed.
If it were going to be just one kiss, it would be just one kiss of epic proportions. Phillip was not going to stop at her mouth. Not when there was more of her to taste and to touch with his own mouth. Until she said
no
, until she said
stop
, he was going to be good in the only way he knew how: by being wicked and sinful, but pleasing all the same, so that there would never be another man for her that could compare to him.
Angela had been bold, more than she ever had been. Impending freedom must have gone to her head. How else to explain why she had just thrown herself at him? She had all but proposed to him herself. In another time, another place, she might have been mortified to expose herself like that.
But now, with Phillip pressing the sweetest kisses along her throat, that hot, overwhelming sensation taking over her was not embarrassment. She could have this forever, if only he could just stop being so damned practical. Because she could admit that he did have a point about them not having money or a home or anything. Really, of all the times in the world for Phillip Kensington to discover logic and good sense, it had to be now.
But they could have each other.
That would be enough, wouldn’t it?
She slipped her arms around him, pressing the length of her body against his. His chest was warm and strong, like his arms that held her, and like his grasp on her waist. She could feel the unmistakable hardness of his arousal. With a wantonness that surprised even her, she wanted him.
He took a step back but took her with him. Then another, then another, until they reached the bed.
Thank God,
she thought. Her legs were becoming too weak to support her.
“Just one kiss,” she said to remind him but mostly to remind herself.

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