At least in Society’s eyes. To Phil it seemed the sin was denying the truth of her feelings and thus, not acting on her feelings. James might be her inferior in the eyes of Society, but it was nothing more than an accident of birth that he was a footman and she a duke’s daughter. She didn’t believe it preordained any more than she believed the king was second only to God. The king was just a man, like any other. Perhaps not like any other as George III was currently quite mad and under lock and key at Windsor Castle.
But the king’s dementia did not invalidate her argument. Nor did any talk of her place in Society and her mother’s expectations for her alter the way she felt about James. When she was with him, she didn’t care who he was or who she was. She just wanted to be with him.
And that was the other reason she couldn’t sleep. Somewhere in this house, James was lying in bed just as she was. Was he thinking of her? He was probably sleeping, but was she very wicked to wish he would sneak down to her room and wake her with a kiss? As to what would happen after that kiss, she dared not think too much. She’d spent too many nights tossing and turning with her skin overly warm and the place between her legs aching. She’d grown up with five brothers. She knew what men and women did in the marriage bed—and out of it—and the fact that she wanted to do those things with James would probably only make her time in London even more miserable. Because she would have to find a husband who was not James and she would have to do those things with that man. Her body would never be her own again.
It seemed she’d barely slept when Dawson came in to wake her. “Rise and shine, my lady.” Dawson pulled the curtains open and Phil scowled at the gray sky.
“I will when the rest of the world does.”
“It’s not a very pretty day, I’ll give you that. But your mother is already dressing for the day, and she’ll want to discuss the trip to Town with you. I have a list of what we should bring, but I’ll lay it all out so we can go over it later.”
Phil waved a hand. “That’s quite alright, Dawson. Whatever you choose will be fine.”
But of course, it was not that easy to escape her duties. She was pulled into every discussion of every decision. She tried to escape for a walk about mid-afternoon, but her mother wouldn’t allow it. Not that she would have been able to meet James anyway. She hadn’t seen him all day. Perhaps that was for the best. It was mortifying to know that he’d witnessed her humiliation last night.
Despite her embarrassment, Phil looked forward to dinner, hoping James would serve. But as it was just her mother and herself, only Caffold and Balcolm were required. Phil found she had no appetite. She did manage to escape somewhat early, claiming she wanted to go to bed so she would not be tired when they left in the morning. She started for the stairs, then changed course and stepped into the parlor. Her mother had not mentioned the missing Sevres piece. There was no sign of the shattered porcelain on the carpet and a figure of a shepherd boy now stood where the cow had. She couldn’t remember ever seeing that shepherd boy, but it was just the sort of thing her mother would buy.
The door closed behind her and she spun around, hope making her heart pound. Her hope soared when she saw James standing with his back against the door. “I wanted to say something before ye left.”
“Where have you been all day?” she asked. “I looked for you everywhere.”
“Helping to ready the carriages and the items yer ma wants to take with her. But I don’t have much time to say what I want.”
She nodded. He might have closed the door, but the parlor opened to her father’s library on one side and the morning room on the other. They would surely be found any moment.
“What do you wish to say?”
“Only this.” He stepped away from the door and toward her. “Knoxwood is a fool.” He moved another step closer. “Any man would be lucky to have ye.” He moved another step closer so that he was within reach. “And if he can’t see that, then the man is doubly a fool.”
For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, Phil felt a lump rise in her throat. She almost never cried. Why should she feel the urge now? “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Ye don’t need to thank me for telling ye the truth. And ye certainly shouldn’t thank me before I do this.”
“Do wh—?”
She was caught up in his strong arms before she could even finish her words. He pulled her hard against him, and she gasped with surprise and from the zing of pleasure that raced through her at the way he held her. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, and his bare hands cupped her face. One thumb slid over her mouth, tugging her lower lip down. His dark eyes turned even blacker as he stared at her mouth.
“That mouth of yers will be the end of me yet, lass.”
She pressed her lips together, kissing his thumb. And then his mouth was on hers, gentle but insistent. She sank into the kiss, melting into his arms, and the feel of his warm, strong hands sliding over her cheeks and into her hair. He freed it from its confines, and it tumbled down about her shoulders. His hands on her scalp made her head tingle from pleasure and the release of the heavy hair.
Phil wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself closer. How could she go upstairs in a few minutes and leave him behind? How could she go to London and not see him for days? She’d barely made it through one day without missing him. Desperate to have as much of him in that moment as she could, she kissed him deeper, teasing his mouth with her tongue until he opened for her. The kiss deepened, and she sank further into sensation. His hands slid over her shoulders and down her sides. A flash of heat startled her as his thumb brushed over her breast then cupped it.
Immediately, James released her and stepped back. “I beg yer pardon, me lady. I forgot meself.” He held his hands up as though to prove he was no threat. Jarred at the sudden loss of his touch, Phil groped for a chair. She clutched the back of one, digging her nails into the fabric.
“I should say goodnight,” James continued. “I overstepped.” He moved back again and toward the door.
“No,” Phil said.
James halted. “No?”
“Don’t leave.”
“But, me lady, I insulted ye—”
“I liked it.” She felt her cheeks flame hot. “I want you to do it again.”
He shook his head slowly, his black eyes wide with astonishment. “That’s a terrible idea, so it is. I can’t trust myself with ye. I want ye too much.”
“I want you too.” Releasing the chair, she moved toward him, but he stepped away until his back was to the door.
“That doesn’t mean we should give in to those impulses.”
She took another step closer, and now he had no way to escape. “You’re right, but what if we gave in just this once?” she whispered. “Just for a moment. I won’t see you for days. Give me something to remember.” She pressed her hand to his chest and felt his heart beating, hard and steady. “Kiss me.” She pressed against him and slid her hands up to his shoulders. “Touch me.” She kissed his lips. “Give me something to remember you by.”
She’d expected him to argue, but he crushed her to him. This kiss was just as insistent as before but not at all gentle. It robbed her of breath and made her dizzy and lightheaded. Before she knew what had happened, she was the one with her back to the wall, and he was pressed against her. She could feel the hard length of him heavy against her belly, and she gave in to the urge to touch him. But he seemed to know what she had in mind and caught her hands, then pushed them above her head and held them still with one hand.