Stephanie James (14 page)

Perhaps that one little incident had spawned a new, more iron-fisted Mr. Edward Winter. Perhaps the downfall of Olivia’s freedom had only just begun. Perhaps she was destined to endure even more radical and painful changes at the will of her father. And if there were a way for Philip to feel even more guilty about being the catalyst of such change in Olivia’s life (especially after aiding in the twisting of her ankle), he was deathly afraid of it. The tabulation of his offenses against her was really becoming quite absurd. And now he could add physical assault to his list of offenses.

He had kissed her.

The word kiss was actually far too light to describe what had happened that day. There were in fact no words in existence in any language that could adequately describe what had happened. There were only feelings. And God, did he ever have an abundance of feelings on the matter.

Each and every time he remembered how it had felt to hold Olivia, he wanted to do it all over again. The softness of her body, her skin, and her hair were all equally mesmerizing to the point of debilitation. The feel of her lips had brought Philip the closest he had ever been to divinity, and the memory of the submissive sounds she had made as he nibbled her neck nearly drove him mad.

Sometimes, the memory of their kiss would hit him with such shocking and seductive clarity his fingers would tense and then clench with the agonizing desire to touch her again. The past four months without seeing her had driven him mad. And now he was entering the fifth month with no sign of Olivia. He was positively plagued by thoughts of her. He wanted her in the most elemental way imaginable. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman which of course made him remember her refusal of his marriage proposal. If she had accepted, he would be able to touch her. He would not have endured these last months with only the memory of her. As it was, she had refused him.

If I am not to be with child, then I am in no need of the protection of your name.

It was a practical answer, one for which he could not fault her, but it was still painful to remember. It had after all been the
third
time he had been rejected. His love had not been rejected this go round, true, but the situation was entirely more dire. He had touched and kissed and nearly ravaged his friend’s daughter in the middle of the woods. He had scared her out of her wits, too, and taken liberties he ought not to, and then he had been the cause of her twisted ankle. And so once again Philip found himself returned to the same position of figuring out a way to apologize to Olivia.

I should at least attempt to make it up to her,
Philip thought one night while sitting alone in his study. He knew there was no way to apologize, but the more time that passed without doing something for her ate away at his conscience like acid.
I should do something for her.

But would she let him, he wondered.

Probably not.

For starters, she would never receive him. He had wronged her far too many times, and she had declared to despise him more than once.

She was right in the end, Philip conceded. His presence in Dorset had done more damage to her life than anyone she had ever known. He did not doubt that now. If only he could find a way to give her some type of joy or pleasant diversion. She had after all been confined to her house for quite some time now. Doubtless she would want to get out and have a bit of fun. Obviously his idea would not be to have a pleasant ride with her and discuss the boundaries of their friendship. He had already thought of and done that one once and the result had been horrendous. Indeed, whatever Philip thought of this time would have to exclude his presence as much as possible.

Hosting a country ball?

No, you half-wit. She cannot dance on her ankle.

Oh, right yes. Hosting a dinner party, then?

No. You’ll be at the head of the table, expected to entertain your guests, and she doesn’t want to see you.

Does she have any friends or acquaintances?

No, she did not.

No young ladies Olivia’s age lived in the district, Philip realized. Olivia was therefore almost certainly starved of social activity. Philip thought on the matter. Tyndall Hall was now fully repaired. His sister had several friends, one in particular, Lady Lillian Charlesworth, who was very pleasant. Perhaps he should host a party of another kind. And it could relate to business as well. Philip reclined back in his chair. Should he hold a shooting party, perhaps? He would be gone most of the day with his male guests, and there would be no way for Olivia to find herself injured or ruined if she was in the company of his mother and other young ladies. She would be stuffed away inside one of Tyndall Hall’s drawing rooms, discussing things like latest fashions and novels, while he was far away from her, entertaining his male guests out of doors. Oh, they would see each other at mealtimes, but if he had enough male guests to distract him, it should not be a problem. It was an absolutely superb idea. And it did not distract him from his business duties either. It was simply splendid. He couldn’t fail her this time.

• • •

“I’m thinking of hosting a shooting party,” Philip said to Mr. Winter, but the older man did not answer. He was too engrossed with the paperwork before him.

They were in Mr. Winter’s study in Whistler Manor. They had been going over lineages for the horses all morning. The large, black female Friesian Mr. Winter had ordered from Holland had finally arrived. Firstly, Mr. Winter and Philip decided to breed the two Friesians to keep up the undiluted bloodline for at least one more generation. Then later, in following with the outlined plan, each Friesian would be mated with a series of specially selected Connemaras to produce the superior breed Mr. Winter was hoping for.

And so, for the last four hours, Mr. Winter and Philip had been reviewing existing Connemara family trees to create future ones that would be devoid of any incest. The next thing they needed to do would be to examine each horse. They intended to make notes of individual strengths and weaknesses, as well as physical flaws. The hypothetical breeding trees would then be altered as need to produce the finest horses possible.

“I’m thinking of hosting a shooting party,” Philip said again after clearing his throat. This time Mr. Winter looked up.

“All repairs on your house finished then?” asked Mr. Winter.

“Yes,” said Philip. “Everything has very recently been finished.”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Mr. Winter, and looked back down at his papers. “A shooting party is a fine idea, then. I wish you and your guests luck with your sport.”

“I had hoped you would be among the guests,” Philip said.

Mr. Winter looked up again and smiled. “I thank you my friend, but I’m afraid I’m a terrible shot. I will only be a hindrance.”

“Well, I had hoped the party would be more of a business opportunity for us.”

“Really,” Mr. Winter said, thoroughly captivated by the talk of business. “How so?”

“My guests will be in possession of sizable fortunes. I’m sure we could inspire them to part with bits of their holdings for some of our stock.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Winter proclaimed. “What day during this party should I ride over?”

“Actually,” said Philip. The man was making it harder and harder for Philip to be inconspicuous. “I thought you might stay the week along with everyone else. You could bring over a few of our finest horses and house them in my stables. And of course you must bring Olivia with you as well.” Had Mr. Winter noticed Philip put his daughter after the horses? “I shall be inviting my mother and sister, along with a few other females. The outing would do her well, I think, after all the months spent confined to healing within Whistler Manor.”

Mr. Winter lowered his eyes to his desk and rubbed his chin. “Will there be any eligible men present?” he asked finally.

Philip was taken aback. Why would Mr. Winter want to know about eligible men? “A few I think. I plan to invite a few acquaintances from London, of course.”

“None of them too grand, I hope.”

What was he playing at? “One is to become a viscount, another will be a baron, and the other gentleman has no title at all, but his family is well-established. Why do you ask?”

Mr. Winter sighed. “I’ve been thinking on the matter, Philip,” he said. “Olivia needs a husband.”

Philip had to remind himself to breathe, so shocked was he by Mr. Winter’s declaration. He coughed and cleared his throat. “A husband?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Yes,” Mr. Winter affirmed. “I’ve been thinking about it since her accident. She is to be one-and-twenty within the next year and seems to become wilder every day. It is far past time for her to marry and start having children.”

“I see,” said Philip. It was all he could manage. He was suddenly too angry over the possibility of another man touching Olivia to manage anything more. Another man who would fondle her and kiss her and —

“Philip?”

Philip’s head snapped to attention. “Yes?”

“I asked if any of your male guests would be respectable enough for Olivia, and, of course, if she would suffice for one of them.”

Never would Philip have thought Mr. Winter would ask such a thing of him. And never would he have thought it would affect him so. In an instant after Mr. Winter had spoken the words, Philip experienced a new feeling as a result of Miss Olivia Winter: jealousy. It was a new sensation, one which caused his skin to flush hot with anger and his muscles to tense at the thought of Olivia in the embrace of another.

Philip did not want another man enjoying the body he had dreamed of almost every night over the last four months. He wanted to put his fist through the wall at the thought of such things, but perhaps suffering through such images was another form punishment. He certainly deserved to agonize over another man with Olivia after the kiss he had stolen.

And so, Philip contained his fury as best he could and simply said: “Yes, Edward. They are all respectable. And well worthy of Miss Winter. I shall select for her the best man from amongst my guests.”

“Oh,” Mr. Winter exclaimed, “wonderful. I’m sure she will be delighted to finally be married.”

Philip suddenly remembered that night in the parlor with Olivia. The night he had admired her body through her thin linen gown, but also when she had proclaimed with a significant amount of remorse that if she married she would be legally the same as her husband’s horse. Naturally, Philip was less certain than Mr. Winter that Olivia would be overjoyed about having a husband chosen for her, but he would do it anyway. It seemed the perfect opportunity to make amends for sneaking a passionate embrace behind her father’s back. While he would rather be assigned any other task in the world, Philip would choose the best amongst his male guests for Olivia so that she could live a comfortable life with a good man who deserved her. It was the least he could do.

• • •

“Why must we go all the way to Philip’s silly old house for a silly old shooting party in the middle of silly old Dorset?” Lady Amelia Ravenshaw asked.

Lady Lillian Charlesworth repressed a smile. She was seated in a carriage next to her friend Amelia, and across from Amelia’s mother and father, the Duke and Duchess of Willingham.

They had been traveling for nearly three days, all cramped together in the one carriage, stopping only to dine and then sleep for the night at whatever inn they happened across. Luxurious though the carriage was with its plush cushions and fashionable décor, no amount of luxury could prevent the constant closeness from taking its toll. And so at the utterance of Amelia’s repeated question, the duke rolled his eyes dismissively, while the duchess said on rather an unenthusiastic breath (for the twelfth time, according to Lillian’s silent tally): “Because he is your brother, Amelia.”

“Well, I wish he weren’t,” Amelia spat. “I was quite happy in London.”

“Oh! Amelia, I’m surprised at you,” said the duchess. “I’d rather thought you would want to help encourage your brother. He’s starting to do very well at the moment and wants to treat his family to a country retreat.”

Amelia fell back gracelessly against the cushions of her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “He only wants to rub it in our faces,” she said. “Isn’t that so, Lilly?”

“Oh, I really wouldn’t know, Amelia,” Lillian said, looking away from the window out of which she had been contentedly staring. She always chose diplomacy whenever Amelia spoke negatively about her brother. It was not her place to agree or disagree on family matters.

“Of course you do!” Amelia screeched. “You know as well as I he is only showing off. Do not attempt to deny it, Lilly. Not to me.”

“Amelia!” the duchess shrieked.

The duke looked as if he wished he would have had enough foresight to ride in a separate carriage.

“Do not turn your friend against your brother,” said the duchess.

“But I must have someone on my side,” said Amelia. “Philip is wretched.”

“He is no such thing,” said the duchess. “He is your brother, and you will do well to remember that fact. But if there are to be sibling battles between the two of you, then do not include anyone else.”

“Especially me,” said the duke as he rubbed his temples.

The duchess turned towards her husband. “Really, Geoffrey, I’m surprised at you as well. You should do more to discourage such feuding between your children.”

The duke looked upon his daughter. “Amelia,” he said in rather a grave and serious tone. “If you dare utter another syllable against your brother, I will be obliged to have you locked away in the Tower for the rest of your life.”

Amelia giggled, while Lillian pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. The duchess glowered. “That is not what I meant, Geoffrey.”

“What will you have me do, Vivian?” the duke asked. “Take them over my knee? They are hardly children any longer. Any amount of scolding we do at this point in their lives will simply be ignored. My advice to you, dearest, is to follow their example and ignore their bickering.” The duke folded his arms, closed his eyes, and lent his head back against the carriage wall. “It will pass.”