Page 15 of A Love to Remember
Philip walked back to his carriage, directed the coachman to drive up the street and around to the stables. Frustrated at the wasted time, he raced back to the servants’ entrance…only to be halted once again by Booth.
“I don’t think you understand, my lord,” the butler said. “Whether you come by the front or back entrance, Her Grace is not at home.”
This was even worse than he’d imagined. “Booth, it is imperative that I speak with Her Grace. I think she may be under a misapprehension. I’m not here to make a scene. I’m here to grovel at her feet.”
Philip held his breath as indecision flickered over Booth’s face.
“Please, Booth. I inadvertently hurt Her Grace this evening and I need to explain and apologize. Please let me in. I don’t want her upset if I have to force my way through.”
He must have sounded as sincere as he felt, because Booth stepped aside and bowed him in. Philip didn’t wait for the butler to precede him. He knew the back stairs better than in his own house, and he raced up them. Most of the staff had gone to bed but those still awake ignored him, or turned a blind eye.
A few moments later he was at Rose’s bedchamber door. Before he could knock, it opened and her lady’s maid stepped out. The woman’s forehead dipped into a frown when she saw him, and her lips thinned. Quick as thought, she squared her shoulders and blocked the doorway. “My lord?”
He didn’t want to argue with—or explain to—Rose’s servants. He was in the wrong but it was Rose to whom he owed an explanation. He gently moved the maid aside and walked through the door, closing it firmly behind him.
The only light in the bedchamber came from the fire burning bright in the grate.
It took him a moment to see Rose. She was curled in her favorite armchair by the fire, twisting a handkerchief in her fingers. She looked so lost his heart almost stopped. As if a lightning bolt hit him, he suddenly realized she didn’t merely care for him. She loved him. He could see it in the curve of her body, in her misery, and it broke something inside him that he could not love her back or give her what she wanted, his name. Perhaps if she hadn’t loved him they might have been able to stay lovers all their lives. But this travesty was all they could ever have—and now he knew with certainty it would not be enough for her.
She was so lost in misery she did not hear him until he knelt at her feet.
“I’m so sorry, darling,” he said. “I’m a bumbling buffoon. I would never do anything to hurt you. I simply didn’t think.”
Her eyes filled with tears of hurt and disappointment. “It was humiliating, true. But what hurt the most was the possibility you did it to make a point.”
He stayed kneeling, his hands on her thighs, gently massaging. “I would never deliberately hurt you. I’d rather drive a dagger through my own heart than cause you such pain.”
She caught herself on a sob. “I thought you were announcing you were ready to marry—and it wasn’t to me.”
Philip snorted at the idea. “I’d never be interested in a young chit like Lady Abigail. Mother cornered me, and it was either make a scene or—” He stopped, looked into her eyes. Waited till she really saw him. “I should have made the scene. I’m immeasurably sorry.”
Another tear spilled over. He wiped it gently away with his thumb. “What can I do? How can I fix the situation?”
She sighed and reached out to cup his cheek. A weak smile broke on her luscious lips and she looked fragile in her nightgown and robe curled in on herself. “It’s not the situation we have to fix. It’s us. The affair. I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”
He rocked back on the balls of his feet, his instant reaction to shout “don’t leave me.” But for once, he thought of someone other than himself and stayed silent.
She gave a wry laugh. “You’re relieved. I can see it in your eyes. You’re glad I’ve brought the subject up. Youdowant to end the affair. Is it because you want to marry?”
He took a moment to compose himself by rising and moving another chair closer to her. Then he walked to the side table in the corner and poured himself a glass of the brandy Rose kept there just for him. “I need a drink. Would you like one?”
She nodded.
After he’d handed her a tumbler of the fiery liquid, he sat back and closed his eyes, appreciating the warming alcohol as it dulled his feeling of impending loss. The image of Robert as he lay dying flashed into his head. The guilt and horror of it gave him the strength to do what was right.
He let out a deep breath and looked at her. She was so beautiful, even with red-rimmed eyes. “No.” He finally answered her question. “I do not wish to marry.”
Disbelief lifted her brows. “You will have to, sometime.”
“No. No, I don’t.”
Now a frown raced across her perfect features. “But you need an heir.”
“Do I?”
She took a sip of brandy, considering. “I suppose not. You have three younger brothers.” She pondered further. “But why, Philip? Why would you not want a family and children of your own? You’d make a wonderful father. I’ve seen how good you are with Drake.”
He swallowed his misery. “I have my reasons. They’re personal.” If he told her, she could tell Portia—and then the whole family would know and it would distress them all.
