Page 19 of The Captain's Midwinter Bride
Annalise shook her head as she reached for a simple strand of pearls. He batted her hand away when she attempted to clasp them behind her neck.
“Was there a reason you and Beth snuck away before I could have the carriage readied for you?” he asked, taking longer with the clasp than necessary.
“We needed to talk, and I find that sometimes a walk will loosen the tongue.”
Phillip arched a disbelieving brow. “Even when it’s so frigid out your tongue is likely to freeze to the roof of your mouth?”
She chuckled, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “Even then.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Mr. Newell. Mrs. Newell. How they’ve treated her when I’m not around.”
He instantly felt his muscles tense. “And what did she tell you?”
Annalise paused, and Phillip settled his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened for an incremental second and then relaxed into his touch. “What she disclosed convinced me that Silas Newell is not at all deserving of her hand and most definitely should not be entrusted with her heart.”
Anger singed up his throat. “What exactly did she say?”
“That Mrs. Newell has been unkind to Beth in his presence, and her future husband has done nothing to defend her.”
I knew it.Phillip had taken one look at the young Silas Newell with his tousled hair and ingratiating smirk, and he’d known he was a coward. After working with scores of officers, enlisted men, prisoners, and members of law enforcement, Phillip thought it safe to say he was quite familiar with the attributes of men. And he could spot a craven bastard from a league away.
With great effort, he kept his anger from his voice. “Did you encourage her to call off the wedding?”
Annalise shifted under his touch. “I wouldn’t say I encouraged her…”
“What did you say, then?”
She narrowed her eyes at his in the mirror. “I suggested she take some time to consider what she truly wants.”
“And if she doesn’t know what she wants?” Phillip threw his hands into the air. “She’s only nineteen years old. What nineteen-year-old knows their own mind?”
“I did.”
Her voice was small, but she stared resolutely back at him. Annalise had been younger than Beth when they had married. Once again, he was reminded of how very brave she was.
An equal dose of shame and something he couldn’t name—some warmth that spread from his fingertips to all points within his body—melded together, leaving him confused and unsure of what to do or say.
Seemingly unaware of his struggles, Annalise continued. “I think we need to give her two or three days to determine what she truly wants. The wedding may be next week, but we still have time.”
Phillip consented warily. “If you insist.”
She turned about in her seat then, her dark eyes pinning him to the spot. “I’m not insisting. I’m merely suggesting we give our daughter time to plumb the depths of her heart. She was in love with one boy who abandoned her, leaving her susceptible to Mr. Newell’s suit. But now I believe the blinders have fallen off from her eyes, and she may be prepared to stand on her own two feet again.”
“I certainly hope so.” His thoughts abruptly snagged on her words. “What do you mean she was in love with another lad?”
Snatching her reticule from the vanity, she laughed. “That, my dear husband, will have to wait for another time. We will be late if we don’t depart.”
“Oh, very well,” he grumbled, following her down the stairs.
On the short ride to the Pellinghams’ home, Phillip peppered her with questions about the boy Beth had fallen in love with, but his wife held her tongue, merely raising her brows and shaking her head in response. He found her silence in the face of such pressure strangely stimulating.
Which was altogether inconvenient considering how ravishing she looked. Never had he wanted to take Annalise to bed more than he did at that moment. And yet the thought made him strangely nervous. During all his past leaves, he’d had no reservations coming to her bed, and she'd always welcomed him with shy smiles. But now that he had been home for a time, eating breakfast across the table from her every morning, listening to her tinkling laugh, fighting back smiles at her cutting wit, Phillip found himself more than a little infatuated with her. He wanted to touch her and send her into the same heightened state of awareness he had been existing in.
Phillip knew that when he finally went to her, their bedsport would encompass more than just physical sensations, for him at least, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Anxious, definitely. Nervous, absolutely. Slightly uncertain, most assuredly.
“And here we are,” she said, as a respectable townhome came into view, festive candles lit in the windows. “The Pellinghams have three children, a son, and two daughters. Their daughters are several years older than our children, but their son, Christopher, was at university with Oliver.”
