Page 5 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
“Please, it is my fault.”
Philip spied a leather-bound notebook, and he reached out for it, just as she did. When his fingers touched hers, Philip suddenly had the feeling of being struck by something. It was far from unpleasant, but it did stop his words for a time. She pulled away from his touch, and it made him look up. The notebook was forgotten for the moment, as Philip was lost in a pair of blue eyes, reminding him of what he imagined the sea around an exotic island would look like.
Before he risked making even more of a fool himself, he said softly, “Margaret. I did not see that it was you.”
She smiled, and it was like the clouds parted on a stormy day. He felt a tingle on the back of his neck. “Nor I you.”
He grabbed her notebook, and they both stood. He handed it back to her open hands.
“Thank you,” she said. “I am afraid that I am nearly sleepwalking this morning myself.”
“’Tis no trouble, Lady Margaret. Forgive my informality before.”
“Oh, it is nothing, Mr. Winston. You have nothing to apologize for.” She clutched the notebook in her arms, and Philip stared at her face, the breath moving slowly through his body. Her blue eyes still had that same passion and brightness that they’d always had. They had always intrigued him. He remembered when they would light up with fury as a child, and before her father’s death, he remembered their sparkle whenever she laughed.
But now she was a woman, and he’d forgotten just how much she had bloomed and grown so beautiful. Even after only a year, she continued to grow in loveliness. Her nearly black hair shone with a luster, and it was tied back prettily at the base of her neck. Her lovely red lips were a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin, and she wore a beautiful blue gown that reminded him of what a fairy woman might wear.
Margaret was perfect, and her beauty nearly choked him as she stood before him expectantly. Her long dark lashes fluttered as she looked up at him. All the old feelings he had put away in the past had come plunging forward into the open again, so much so, that he could feel his chest tighten with the weight of them. Margaret had captured his passion again anew, and it rolled through him with a fervor.
I wonder if she is still smitten with Charles.
Chapter Two
After breakfast, Juliet went to see little George, Leonard went to his study, and Margaret to her room to collect her notebook. She thought she could busy herself with writing her poetry. It would help calm her mind before she had to see Charles again. She wasn’t sure she could handle it. Yesterday, he had winked at her once, and she’d fallen all to pieces, barely able to utter back a word.
Why couldn’t she be strong and confident like the woman she hoped she was deep down inside? She desperately wanted to be stalwart and powerful, but it felt like an insurmountable task once Charles was in the room and she could smell him and see the color of his eyes and his mouth that was always curved into a wry grin. All she wanted was for him to see her, to one day turn his eyes to her with affection.
Exhaustion began to creep up on her. Breakfast had only just passed, and yet she wanted to return to slumber. However, that would not do. It did not matter whether she slept at night or during the day, she couldn’t escape her dreams. Her only source of freedom was her writing.
And so, with her mind focused on the current poem she was working on, she wandered to the library and down the long hallway where her brother liked to hang his most prized works of art. It was always a peaceful and quiet place, second to the library of course, and so she treasured her time here, wandering through and looking across the famous picturesque scenes that hung in gilded frames on the wall.
However, she was distracted today. She was trying to piece together a few coherent verses, but her mind was also fuzzy from lack of sleep, and so she hadn’t seen that there was someone else in the hallway as well, someone who wasn’t watching his steps and she ran right into him.
Please do not be Charles. Please do not be Charles.
Her thoughts kept running this repeated pattern as she kept her head down, afraid to look up. She almost breathed a loud sigh of relief when she heard the voice that did not belong to him. But who did it belong to exactly? She knelt down to pick up her notebook that had fallen in the process and her fingertips were brushed lightly by the man’s. It was a strange gentle touch and she almost recoiled from its surprising tenderness.
She finally looked up and recognized Philip Winston, the boy who she had never really spoken to growing up but who now was certainly no longer a boy. The only thing that remained of his past looks was his brown hair and green eyes, but everything else had changed.
She remembered in a sort of haze seeing him at the funeral, but before that, she hadn’t seen him in a year. He was much handsomer than she’d remembered, with his broad, athletic shoulders visible under his coat, and lovely smile with straight, white teeth. She felt a little frisson of something rush through her at the realization.
After their apologies to each other, Margaret could tell Philip looked uncomfortable, and she wondered why. Did she look so terrible from her lack of sleep? She put a hand to her hair. Was something wrong that made the man stare at her so? She was just about to say something when out of nowhere, the world clapped back to cold reality, for Charles emerged from the sitting room, his eyes narrowed, clutching his hat.
“Philip, what in the blazes are you doing? We can go into Leonard now.”
Philip said nothing but just kept facing Margaret. He suddenly spluttered into life.
“Of course, Charles. Forgive me. I was merely admiring the…art. And speaking to Lady Whitfield.”
Charles turned, and when he saw Margaret, the lines of his frustrated expression smoothed, and Margaret’s heart sped up as he smiled lazily in her direction. He stepped forward, ever the gentleman, grasping her hand in his and bowing his head to kiss it.
“My Lady, a good morning to you. I am certain you are getting sick of my presence so often in this house.”
Margaret felt the skin of his lips on her hand, and everything tingled. He had always been kind and attentive in greeting her daily, but this? This was more than he had done in a long while. Why was he suddenly doing it now?
She tried to find her voice as she curtsied to him, but nothing came out. At first it was just a few squeaks and mumbled attempts at replies, but still nothing happened. Her face flushed, and her eyes widened when she realized that it had been several moments that she’d been expected to say something back.
Charles narrowed his eyes at her as if wondering what a curious object stood before him, and then brusquely released his hand from hers. Receiving no reply from Margaret, he turned to Philip. “Come, Philip. Let’s go meet our old friend.”
