Page 51 of West End Earl
She wouldn’t like that his valet knew her secret, which made Cal hesitant to tell her. After all, it wasn’t as if they could do anything about it. Kingston would be either honest or not. But he hadn’t said anything when he’d thought she was a man, and that was rather more salacious gossip. Cal trusted him with his own secrets, but entrusting anyone with Phee’s was a weightier thing. He pushed the worry aside and shelved it with everything else he couldn’t do a blasted thing about.
He could, however, wake his lover with coffee and then go deal with his sister. “Phee, time to wake up.”
Without opening her eyes, she scrunched her face and rolled over, stealing his pillow in the process. Unbelievably adorable. But then, nearly everything she did made him smile. Amidst the many things he juggled at the moment—his father, Emma and her Season, Miss Cuthbert, this house party—Phee was the only thing he found complete joy in.
“Fine, then I’m stealing your coffee.” The threat wasn’t serious, as the better part of a pot remained on the cart.
She slept on. With a shrug, Cal drained his cup, then dumped the coffee he’d poured for her into his own cup. No coffee left behind. Especially when there were sisters to deal with.
Being a gentleman, though, he moved the cart to her side of the bed so she’d see the offering when she awoke. He dashed off a quick note—Emma arrived. Off handling her. Please eat—and drew a heart at the bottom on a whim, then threw on clothes and went to face his sister’s histrionics.
***
When she awoke, it was to a pot of warm coffee and enough bite-sized nibbles to satisfy the appetite she and Cal had created before they’d passed out in postcoital bliss. A clock on the mantel chimed half past three.
With a lazy stretch, she poured herself a cup and read the note beside the coffeepot.
Damn. Emma was home.
It would take only a moment to dress. Moving to stand before the oval mirror, she donned a shirt and turned sideways to examine her reflection. The pads of her fingers slipped under the fabric and skimmed along her taut belly. Thanks to regular meals, her bones didn’t jut out at each joint like they used to, and her breasts and bum had tiny curves to them. Fine. The chest curve was minuscule. More nipple than anything.
No matter her overall frame, the heart shape of her bottom was something she’d always liked. She smiled. This might be as plump as she’d ever get, but the thought didn’t bother her as it once would have. For years she’d been trapped in a tug-of-war with herself—feeling grateful that she could pass as a boy, while despairing because she didn’t look like the women in paintings and sculptures. She might not have honest-to-God cleavage, but her bum was rather spectacular, her legs were long, and her arms were strong.
A pair of breeches lay on the floor nearby where they’d been abandoned earlier. Those would do until it was time to change for dinner. Tying her cravat in the mirror, she smoothed the linen around her throat and slipped into her coat.
Odd that she’d stepped into her brother’s shoes over a decade before, but only now did it truly feel like a costume. After a couple of weeks of being wholly herself behind closed doors, suddenly pretending to be her brother felt nearly impossible. The coat was too tight across the shoulders, the cravat made her chin itch, and she couldn’t moon over her lover like a ninny when she wore these clothes. Months of maintaining the lie loomed ahead of her before—well. Who knew what would happen then. Her stomach clenched at the thought. No matter how tempting the treats on the cart, she couldn’t eat a bite.
Downstairs, it was easy enough to find the siblings. One need only follow the volume of Emma’s diatribe. Phee hadn’t lived with them long, but she’d learned to navigate Cal’s sister purely by tone of voice. Right now, Emma was irate. Past the point of reason and apparently blaming Cal for whatever had upset her.
Common sense and self-preservation urged Phee to turn around and walk the other way. When Emma used that tone, nothing good came of it. There would be flouncing, and no one would leave the conversation happy.
Phee hovered outside the drawing room, wondering if joining them was the wisest course of action or if she should leave them to their little family drama—after all, it wasn’t her place to intrude. Yet it felt more and more like her place was next to Cal.
The door flew open and Emma burst through—red-faced, tears streaming down her cheeks, with one hand clamped over her mouth. Phee stepped aside, providing clear passage for the dramatic exit. The girl didn’t get far before she lurched to a stop and grabbed a ceramic vase from a table. The perfectly formed conical shape echoed the sound of her retching, magnifying the noise in a way Emma would surely find mortifying when she remembered the incident.
Phee rushed forward before she thought it through, running a soothing hand over Emma’s back as she was sick. “Cal! I need a drink for your sister, please.”
Emma shuddered, head still over the foul vase. “I’m fine. Just travel sickness from the carriage.”
The girl was awfully blasé about vomiting into a priceless piece of porcelain in the front hall.
“Maybe you should rest in your room until you feel more the thing,” Cal said, approaching them with a worried frown.
Wiping her mouth with her hand, Emma nodded. A greenish cast to her usual peaches-and-cream skin lingered. “I’ll do that.” She set the vase aside and climbed the stairs to the family wing without looking back.
Phee and Cal both eyed the vase. She shot him a look, and he wrinkled his nose.
“I’ll do it.” She rolled her eyes. “When I return, perhaps you can tell me why she was so upset.”
“You don’t need to clean my sister’s sick. You aren’t a servant.” Grimacing, he held the vase out at arm’s length. “Where are we taking it?”
“Rubbish pile would be best, I think. In the garden.”
“As to why Emma was so distraught—she discovered Roxbury took money to stay away from her. All hell broke loose. Claims I’m ruining her life, et cetera.”
“You paid off Roxbury? When did that happen?”
He shrugged. “A few weeks ago. Before Vauxhall, so we know he didn’t honor his side of the agreement. The money was his idea. I didn’t like it, but it seemed expedient at the time.”
