Page 39 of A Lady Most Wayward
An errant image of Olivia and Hyacinth on the deck of a ship, pulling away from the harbour, Olivia’s untameable curls blowing free in the wind, brought another sharp pain to Philippa’s chest.
Why do I care if she leaves? I want her to go and take this incessant need with her.
If Olivia left, Philippa wouldn’t have to examine her heart. She wouldn’t have to face the uncertainty that her life might take an unexpected turn. She wouldn’t have to contend with her desire for another woman when for so long she believed her chance for love died with Liza.
This is not love. I do not love Olivia. I hardly know her.
But the words rang hollow in her heart. Because with every moment they spent together, Philippa was discovering more about Olivia. And each revelation contradicted her preconceived opinions. What if she had been wrong about Olivia all along?
The infallible duchess finally makes a mistake? Impossible.
Her own thoughts mocked her, and Philippa shook her head, though no one could appreciate her disdain as she stood up alone in the darkness. How arrogant she had become. No better than the men she railed against. Wouldn’t Edward revel in triumph to see his childhood friend finally on the wrong side of the truth?
‘This is ridiculous,’ Philippa muttered to herself. ‘Right or wrong, I’m going to catch my death standing out here contemplating my own failings like a complete idiot.’ Following Hyacinth’s example, she let herself in through the kitchen and dripped down the hall and up the stairs to her room.
The door creaked as she carefully pushed it open and stepped inside. Olivia had left a candle burning for her. Something soft and sweet unfurled in her chest even as she tried to push it down. But the feeling refused to obey, blooming bigger and squeezing her already battered heart. It was a thoughtful gesture in the midst of a bitter fight.
She began the arduous task of unbuttoning her borrowed gown, a job made infinitely more difficult with numb fingers. Wishing desperately for Delacroix to help, or even Stokes to come and take the mud-soaked dress away, Philippa tried her best to hang the thing over a chair in hopes it might dry within the next year or two. Stripping off her wet and icy shift, she stood naked in the centre of the room. Her skin tightened from the cold, her nipples contracting as a shudder ran through her. If she were not sharing a bed with Olivia, she would have dove under the covers naked and waited for the heavy blankets to warm her frigid body. Instead, she grabbed the cotton nightgown Olivia had left out for her, donned it with shaky hands, and carefully pulled back the blanket to slip into bed.
Olivia was turned away from her, but as Philippa’s body sank into the feather mattress, she felt the woman behind her shift and turn. A warm arm snaked over Philippa’s waist and pulled her close, cocooning Philippa’s body within Olivia’s sweet, soft embrace. Philippa stiffened, holding her breath, wondering if Olivia was awake. But the woman mumbled something unintelligible, her breath puffing evenly against the small hairs tickling Philippa’s neck.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Philippa knew she needed to extricate herself from Olivia’s hold. And she would. Soon. The blonde beauty would be mortified if she woke with Philippa in her arms.But Philippa was so cold, and so tired, and so sore in places that couldn’t be seen or touched. Olivia’s heat seeped through her numb skin, thawing nerve endings, melting the ice that had so long encased her heart. One particle at a time, she dissolved into Olivia’s unknowing embrace and drifted to sleep.
11
Philippa woke to the scent of fried kippers and the cheerful sound of voices chattering. It took a moment for her thoughts to assemble.
Dear Lord. I slept the night in Olivia’s arms.
She turned, but the bed was empty. Olivia must have risen while Philippa still slumbered. The idea of the marchioness watching Philippa sleep, knowing she had cradled her body throughout the night, awoke a vulnerability within Philippa she rarely felt.
What if I was drooling?
Embarrassment swept in as she wiped her hand over her lips, grateful to find no evidence of dried saliva.
Of course I wasn’t drooling. The Duchess of Dorsett does not slaver in her sleep like some wild beast.
Although she wasn’t certain that was true. Pulling the covers aside, she made haste in dressing for the day. Her gown from the night before had mysteriously disappeared from the chair. When she made her way to the parlour, a cozy scene greeted her.
Olivia sat at one end of the table. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, shining bright in the gloomy morning like a beacon. Pink cheeks darkened to rose as her gaze refused to settle on Philippa.
‘Well, good morning to ye.’ Callum stood from the table, his brown curls falling into his eyes as he brushed them away. He pulled a chair free next to Olivia. A plate sat waiting for Philippa to fill it with any number of delicious items piled in the centre of the table. Her meals were never quite so informal at Belgrave Square, but she was growing to like the casual ease of it.
As she settled in her chair, Mrs Hughes eyed her with a twinkle of mischief. ‘You must have been right worn out. I hope you slept well.’ She winked at Philippa, and the duchess was shocked to feel heat rushing to her cheeks.
Am I blushing? The Duchess of Dorsett does not blush.
It would seem she was breaking her rules of decorum willy-nilly. Resisting the urge to press cool hands over her warm cheeks, she distracted herself by scooping a spoonful of clotted eggs onto her plate, followed by crispy kippers, and a slice of toast. Yellow butter sat in a dish next to a pot of blackcurrant jam. She spread both liberally onto her toast.
‘Where is Hyacinth this morning?’ Philippa tried to keep her voice light as she made the not-so-innocent inquiry. No doubt the young woman was catching up on lost sleep.
‘She hasn’t risen yet.’ Olivia studied her over a cup of steaming tea. ‘You are looking well. A night of rest did much to restore colour to your cheeks.’
The minx’s lips twitched. She was teasing Philippa. No one teased the Duchess of Dorsett.
Except Olivia, apparently.
‘I have a strong constitution.’ Philippa arched a brow and licked jam from her thumb, noticing how Olivia’s eyes shifted to her tongue, her pupils expanding.
