Chapter 7 #2
Lily’s heart banged against the confines of her rib cage. “He—he stares at me.”
Not a question. Reggie wouldn’t make such a statement if he weren’t certain. “Constantly. And he won’t try to hit you if you’re already cross with him.”
She barked a laugh, but he had a point. “Alright, General. What are your orders?”
The battlefield was eerily still when Lily emerged from behind the defensive yew a few moments later, her secret snowball burning—well, freezing a hole in her pocket. She lifted her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Is anyone still there?” she called.
“What are you doing?” Matthew shouted.
She shrugged, attempting to make herself look as innocent as possible. “I was wondering if you were getting cold or if you wanted drinking chocolate? I’m sure the cook could make you some.”
“That’s not true!” he shouted in return. “Reggie already asked, and she said not until after supper and only if we eat our vegetables.”
“That’s reasonable.” She inched her way into the neutral zone between them, but no one moved from behind the holly where the enemy was encamped.
Time for more drastic measures.
She stepped forward again, then threw her leg out to the side, howling as she collapsed to the snow. Immediately the bush rustled, and Philip’s head emerged, only to disappear with a grunt of surprise.
“It’s a trap!” Matthew hissed.
Low grumbling from Philip, then Matthew shouted. “Aunt Lily, are you really hurt?”
Her ankle was perfectly fine, though she’d landed on her elbow and now it smarted a bit. “I—I don’t know. Perhaps someone could come help me up.”
“Don’t do it, Uncle Philip! She’s lying!”
Reggie popped to his feet, abandoning the cover of the yew tree. “She is not, you lunkhead!”
Matthew stormed into the fray. “Who’re you calling a lunkhead, blunderbuss!” He accompanied the insult with a snowball that landed square in his brother’s face. Reggie in turn charged at his brother, tackling him to the ground.
Lily leaped to her feet—at least, she attempted to. Her boots skidded on the slippery mess beneath her, and she windmilled her arms in a desperate attempt to remain standing. She wavered for another moment as panic rose, and she braced for the impending impact—
“Easy now. I’ve got you.” Strong arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her back against Philip’s chest, and butterflies took off in her belly.
How did he steady her and pull her off her moorings at the same time?
“I’m fine.” Damn, that sounded breathy. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You don’t need to hold me.”
He hesitated. She felt his heart thundering, even through the layers of clothing, and wondered if he could feel hers in return. “If I let go, will you fall down again?”
She huffed and pushed his arms away. “I didn’t really fall the first time.”
“I knew it.” His chuckle sent shivers down her spine. Or perhaps she was merely cold.
Yes, now that she thought about it, her skirt and stockings were soaked through, her gloves caked with snow and ice. But she still crouched and formed a solid ball of snow in her chilled palms. “You saw through my deceit.”
“Reggie isn’t the battle commander he thinks he is.”
Anticipation tickled over her skin as she packed the snowball harder, her back still to him. “Perhaps not, but I’m still a crack shot.”
She spun on her heel and whipped the snowball at him, throwing her arms up in victory when it exploded in a shower of white when it collided with his chest.
He grunted, dumbfounded, before his brows furrowed. “That was sneaky.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
They both fell to their knees in a flurry of movement, gathering up snow in haphazard clumps before firing them at the other. Lily took a blow to the shoulder and arm, but her aim held true as she pummeled him in the chest three times in a row.
With a growl, Philip pushed to his feet and scrambled forward like a rugby player, scooping her up by the waist and swinging her around in a circle. She shrieked as his arms forced the air from her lungs, but her cries turned to laughter as he spun faster and faster.
Rushing filled her ears as his arms tightened, and, completely against her will, her head fell forward to rest against his chest. He slowed but did not release her, leaving them in a breathless embrace.
Standing in the circle of his embrace settled something deep in her soul, eased the uncertainty rattling about her heart.
They’d always been like this, seeking the touch of the other, inexorably finding their way across ballrooms and gardens like magnets.
The thrumming of his heart beneath the layers of wool was a soothing lullaby she remembered so well, the press of his hands on her back slipping into a warm bath.
Right. Inevitable.
She was so tired of being strong, of holding up defensive walls that seemed to crumble whenever he was near. What harm would there be in indulging herself, just this once? Perhaps she didn’t have to be strong. Not all the time.
She lifted her chin, her mouth so close to his she could feel his breath warming her skin.
For a moment she remembered the newly betrothed Lily, innocent and trusting and so bloody happy, so in love.
She wanted to stay in that place and live as the woman she missed, the one whose time was cut short.
But then he turned, his lips brushing her temple when he spoke. “Not yet, Lily. When I kiss you—when I kiss you properly, it will mean you’ve forgiven me. It will mean forever.”
Disappointment clattered through her, but a scream interrupted her protest, followed by a string of profanity that would shame a sailor.
“Matthew!” she cried, prying herself—reluctantly—out of her husband’s arms to scramble across the snow towards her nephew. His face was red and splotchy, and clumps of snow hung from his hair and scarf. “Don’t speak to your brother like that!”
Matthew stomped his foot. “He pushed my face in the snow!”
“He sat on me!” Reggie cried in return.
“That’s enough, boys.” Both stilled at Philip’s tone, stern but calm and measured. “That’s no way to treat someone you love. Apologize to each other.”
They each spat a mumbled I’m sorry at the other, and Philip sighed, then kneeled in the snow, bringing them to eye level.
“Did that apology make either of you feel better?” When they both shook their heads, he nodded. “That’s because neither of you meant it. Apologies alone fix nothing. You must mean it, promise you’ll change and then actually do it. Prove your words with your actions.”
Lily’s throat became unusually tight, and she swallowed against the burning sensation. She couldn’t see Philip’s expression, could only hear the intensity in his voice, the focus of the boys as they listened.
“If I’ve learned one thing,” he continued, “it’s that apologizing is easy, but meaning it is difficult. If you want to be a good man, you must prove yourself worthy of forgiveness, even if you know you won’t receive it.”
Matthew hazarded a glance over Philip’s shoulder, then dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, one Lily had no difficulty discerning. “Have you apologized to Aunt Lily yet?”
“I have, but she hasn’t forgiven me.”
Something in her chest lurched at that, as though her heart was attempting to break free and soothe him.
This time, Reggie spoke in a rough whisper. “Do you think she will?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to keep trying.” He clapped one hand on each boy’s shoulder, bringing them closer. “How about a proper apology?”
Matthew nudged his brother. “I’m sorry I sat on you.”
Reggie’s lips pulled into a shy smile. “I’m sorry I pushed your head in the snow. I won’t do it again.”
“Well done.” Philip released them and levered himself to standing. “Let’s get dry and see if we can convince Cook to change her mind about the drinking chocolate, yeah?”
The boys let out a victorious cry and raced towards the front of the house, conflict forgotten. The cold must have seeped into her bones, because Lily trembled as she watched her husband approach with a narrowed gaze.
“You’re freezing,” he said, holding her upper arms and dragging his hands down to her palms. “Let’s get you inside.”
Her feet remained grounded. “Where did you learn to do that?”
He unfurled her scarf and replaced it with his own slightly less damp one. “Do what?”
“I meant…” Lord, but it was difficult to focus with him so close, his warmth seeping through to her skin. “How you spoke to the boys… How did you know what to say?”
His lips pulled tight. “I had a lot of time to think about what I’d say to you, and I finally realized words mean nothing.” He took her hands in his and squeezed. “I have to prove that I’m worth the risk.”
With that, he turned and steered her towards the house, his presence a steadying force at her back. His words tumbled about in her head as they ascended the stairs into the foyer, where they met a frazzled Salisbury and her nephews in a state of partial undress.
Philip tugged off his hat and gloves, tossing them on a rack with the boys’ coats, then brought the force of his attention back to her. He sat on the bench that stretched across the foyer, then unwound the scarf from her neck and laid it beside his hat. Then he turned his focus to her.
After capturing her left wrist in one hand, he tugged off her gloves, finger by finger, with the other. He tossed the glove aside and rubbed her fingers against his palm, restoring the circulation. Then he repeated the steps with her other hand.
By the time he’d tossed her right glove aside, her breath was coming faster, and hot, heavy desire curled tighter and tighter low in her belly.
It’s lust. You’ve been alone for so long, and he’s giving you so much attention.
Passion had sparked hot and blazed bright from the moment they’d been introduced.
He stole a kiss from her the night they met, and she stole several more from him at a musicale the following week.
On the evening of their betrothal ball, she’d pulled him into the butler’s pantry, locked the door, and put his hands between her legs until she came with a shuddering cry that summoned two of the kitchen maids concerned with her wellbeing.
She’d dreamed of their wedding night, the passion they’d unleash and discover together.
But she’d lost her maidenhead with a few thrusts that merely hinted at the pleasure they could share.
Lust isn’t forgiveness, she reminded herself, mentally reconstructing the walls that had been crumbling since he arrived on her doorstep. She clenched her jaw, prepared to send him off and take care of herself, as she had been for the past eight years.
He lifted one boot and put it on his sturdy thigh, and her breath caught, trapped in her chest. Immediately she bobbled and dropped a hand to his shoulder to steady herself. His gaze locked with hers for a long, heated moment as he pushed her sodden skirts high enough to expose the laces.
“You don’t have to do this,” she managed, her words reedy. Her fingers curled into the soft fabric at his shoulders, and she wanted to cling to the muscles she found there.
“I know.” His thick fingers teased the knot free and loosened the laces, sliding the boot from her foot. He wrapped his palm around her ankle and held her steady. “Thank you for allowing me.”
As though she had any power at this moment. Yes, she could escape his hold with barely any effort, but the care in his touch, the reverence as he lowered her foot to the floor and lifted her other boot to his sturdy thigh…
Setting the second boot aside, he held her foot again, pressing the arch with the flat of his thumb as he held her gaze. “Your stocking is wet,” he murmured, and hell, when had commenting on the state of her laundry been so bloody erotic? “I’ll call for a bath in our room.”
Our room. “N-no, there’s no need.” His eyes darkened. “Salisbury is already swamped with work.” As she spoke, their dear butler had piled the boys’ soaked clothing high in his arms, and he shot her a grateful smile.
Philip stood, once again reminding her how he towered over her, how he could protect her, steady her. He dragged his hand down her arm, pausing to catch her fingers in his. “Will you let me take care of you?”
She should have fired a retort back at him, something about not needing his help, how his absence taught her to rely only on herself.
But the words died on her tongue. Her lust was a blazing thing deep in her core, a star burning away the resistance she’d cultivated. And the blatant desire in his hooded gaze only fueled the burn, made her press her thighs together and seek some relief from the inferno he’d caused.
She needed this; she needed him.
“Fine,” she whispered, “you can take care of me.”