Page 28 of A Lady Most Wayward
She spent the next half hour exploring the one-room house for any foodstuffs in the cupboards, shaking out moth-eaten bedding, remaking the one bed tucked along the far left wall, and collecting kindling from a spider-infested pile of wood stacked in a sheltered alcove behind the cottage. She started a fire in the small hearth across from the bed. A water barrel stood near the woodpile and was overflowing with rainwater. Finding a dented pot in one of the cupboards, she filled it with water and hung it on the hook over the fire to boil.
While she kept herself busy turning the dusty room into a warm, clean, habitable space, Philippa handled the horses. There was a small stable at the back of the cottage, and she told Olivia she was going to bed down the horses, whatever that meant. The sun had set, and the temperature was dropping when Philippa entered the room carrying the driver’s leather satchel. A strong wind picked up, wailing over the rocky cliffs and bringing with it briny ocean air and the call of gulls. Waves crashed against the cliff far below their little hideaway, but the walls were snug, and no draughts stirred the air inside the cottage.
After depositing the bag on a rickety table, Philippa did a slow turn, taking in the room. ‘How cosy.’ Her words should be complimentary, but her tone cut. Olivia was crouched by the fire, feeding the flames and waiting for the pot to boil. She stood, refusing to let Philippa’s criticism hurt her feelings. What did she care if the pompous princess didn’t appreciate her efforts?
‘I’m so sorry it doesn’t meet your standards, Duchess.’
‘You have a way of turning my title into an insult.’ Philippa’s long legs ate the space between them.
‘And you have a way of turning my attempts at compromise into an attack.’ Olivia refused to back away. In part because fighting with Philippa was far preferable to admitting her attraction. And in part because she couldn’t back away without stepping into the fireplace and catching alight. Though she already felt like she was burning from the inside. ‘Why are you always at war with me, Duchess?’
Philippa reached out, pausing just before she brushed her fingers over Olivia’s lips. She fisted her hand, stepped back, and turned away. ‘I am at war with myself, a battle I fear I’m losing,’ she whispered. Then louder: ‘Did you find any food?’
Olivia wasn’t sure how to respond. Why? Why was Philippa warring with herself? What about Olivia caused such conflict within a woman who never hesitated? Never doubted herself. Always knew the path she meant to walk.
Air rushed from her lungs as she focused on answering Philippa’s question, because she had no answers for her own. ‘It may have once been food. But not any more. I found a jar of something black and terrifying, a few cherry pits long since eaten by some creature, and another jar of weevil-infested flour. We’ll just have to ration what we took from the carriage.’
She’s hiding something. Why else would she retreat?
There was a reason Philippa preferred conflict over conversation. And Olivia was desperate to uncover exactly what the reason might be. The investigated becoming the investigator.
If she reveals her weakness, I might be able to use it to my advantage.
But that wasn’t the real reason she wanted to pull away Philippa’s shields and see the woman beneath the armour.
She doesnotfascinate me.
But it was no use. She couldn’t deny her interest in Philippa. Nor could she stop herself from comparing the fierce attraction she felt for the duchess to the far softer flame she had once carried for her lady’s maid over a decade ago. It was the difference between a crucible and a candle. Which troubled Olivia exceedingly.
Daisy had awakened Olivia to the joys of sexual pleasure between two people when attraction and respect combined to create magic. The few weeks they shared over a decade past had been a revelation. Olivia fell hard for the young woman with the passion of infatuation. At first, she thought her desires were an anomaly. That her maid held her in thrall like a witch. She thought she might only be attracted to another woman because that woman was Daisy. But during her years in the asylum, she had much time for reflection. She realised that, while Percival was a terrible match in every capacity, no man had ever sparked her interest. It mattered not if they were honourable, handsome, funny, or fascinating. She might enjoy their company, but she had never lusted after them the way she did with women. Not just Daisy, but other women as well, even though she never acted on her impulses. When fantasy was her only form of escape in the asylum, she didn’t always imagine Daisy, but she always imagined women. Faceless, nameless, soft and strong female bodies that quickened her need in the dark nights.
Olivia would always hold Daisy in a sacred part of her heart, and she would never forgive Percival for sending her away to face a cruel world with no reference, no connection, and no hope of a safe future. But in the asylum, she grew to realise Daisy was her first love, but not the love of Olivia’s life. Her guilt over Daisy’s fate never eased, but her yearning for her faded like a painting left too long in the sun. And now, seeing Philippa’s obvious grief over her lost love, it was clear Olivia had never experienced connection on such a deep level. She wondered if it was possible for someone who had loved so deeply as Philippa to ever love again.
This is not love. It is only lust. It means nothing. I can ignore my lust.
But she didn’t want to ignore it. She wanted to indulge. A decidedly disastrous idea. It was a shame disaster always found her so easily.
* * *
Philippa cursed silently. It seemed no matter what she did to steel herself against Olivia, the fair-haired temptress refused to cooperate.
What right does she have to ask such impertinent questions? And why can’t she stay on her side of this damnably small bed?
Olivia shifted on the mattress. Her thigh pressed against Philippa’s, the honeysuckle and vanilla scent making it impossible for Philippa to focus. She was plotting her next step in taking down the last leader of the Devil’s Sons, but her logical plans kept fizzing into mist every time Olivia moved next to her. The fire burned low, and the crackle and pop of logs was a sharp contrast to the constant crash of waves outside the window. Her wayward thoughts kept bouncing between faded memories of Liza and much more vivid images of her adventure with Olivia. Her earlier conversation with the marchioness repeated in her mind, like she was worrying a loose button until the damn thing fell off entirely.
‘Why are you always at war with me, Duchess?’
‘I’m not always at war, you know.’ Philippa’s voice was loud to her own ears. She immediately wanted to call the words back. The last thing she wished was for Olivia to think Philippa had been silently obsessing over her question for the past several hours.
I’ve been obsessing over many things. Her question is just one of them.
Olivia breathed in, and Philippa felt the sheet they shared shift. She refused to imagine Olivia’s unbound breasts being the cause of the linen’s movement.
‘Truly? I can’t imagine you at peace.’ Olivia’s husky voice played over Philippa’s senses like someone plucking a cello string. Low vibrations resonating into the depths of her soul. ‘Maybe I am the cause. You haven’t liked me from the start.’
Philippa rolled her eyes. A useless expression as Olivia was staring at the ceiling, and it was too dark to make out much in the quiet room. ‘It has nothing to do with whether or not I like you.’
‘But you don’t. At least admit that.’
