Page 53 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
“I have a plan in mind, and I will need to stop by the booksellers on the way.”
“Ah, so she is a reading woman, is she?”
“So she is. As well as a writing one. And she enjoys painting,” Philip added proudly.
“So many accomplishments,” Collingsworth slurred. He watched Philip for a moment. They had never spoken again of Collingsworth’s warning about the real danger that Charles was involved in, and even though Philip knew he needed to find out more, he was a little grateful.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know truly who was behind the letters, for as Brent had told him, he had other matters to think of. But there was the safety of Margaret and the others to consider.
“Yes, she is quite accomplished.”
Darling tapped his finger to his chin, a sly look on his face. “And yet it is a wonder she sees anything in you! We are all second or third sons, we have no fortunes to inherit, and yet she is a lady and has chosen you.”
“Perhaps she desires other things more so than wealth?” Philip put forth, needling his friends.
Collingsworth laughed. “It is either money or the matters of the bedroom, my friends. Perhaps that is where you truly succeed, Winston?”
The men burst into loud, raucous laughter, and Philip leaned back, his arms over his chest, grinning. He would not let on that he and Margaret had never done such a thing, but he could feel himself craving it. With each day that passed, his love for her still remained, and the desire grew in kind.
He wanted her, and he hoped that she did too. He was certain of it, though, after the last kiss they had shared. He knew that once it was to occur, they would both be ablaze with fire, but that would have to wait, and he would have to simply burn on his own for the next few weeks.
Philip took another drink of his whiskey, and then stood up. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your celebration, but I must head back to the barracks for one more night of rest. I would not wish to let my betrothed embrace me stinking of whiskey and the lingering odors of the rest of you men.”
Philip’s could hear his comrades’ laughter at his back, and when he moved outside the door to the local pub, he turned his way for home. He did not want to hire a carriage. The cool evening air and a little sight of the stars would be enough for him that evening. While he walked, he rubbed his face with his hands, eager to leave the night behind him, ready to face the dawn and what it would bring.
Margaret.
But as he walked, he began to notice something. The streets were not very busy, and while he could hear footsteps of all kinds wandering about the walkways, there was one set that kept a steady rhythm, matching his. He tried to slow, and the footsteps slowed. Then, he sped up, and the footsteps did the same behind him.
Slowly, Philip turned around. He could hear a rustling movement, and he saw a dark figure disappear into the shadows, standing against a wall. Who on earth could it be? Who would wish to follow him?
“Who’s there?” he called out. No answer.
Then he knew. This had to have something to do with Charles. Clenching his fists, he turned back around and began to walk again, quickly. The adrenaline rushing through him was slowly pushing away any effect the alcohol had, but he still felt too fuzzy to confront anyone with any real success.
However, he felt some comfort. Surely, the mystery figure would not think of following him into the barracks. He wouldn’t be able to get past the armed guards. But still, the thought of someone attempting to watch him or to eventually catch up to him made his heart pump wildly. He had been too focused on having a good time that he forgot how important it was to still think about Charles and his situation.
Anyone in the ton would know who the Earl of Durby’s friends were, and Philip was high on the list. He was definitely someone that Charles cared about, the group of which the letter had threatened to hurt. As he came up to the barracks with the two soldiers outside, bearing their guns, the footsteps simply disappeared, and Philip found himself staring at a shadow as it left the path and moved off into the darkness of the night, out of the gaze of the streetlamps.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant Winston?” The young soldier to the left asked.
Philip nodded and tried to smile. “All is well. Just a little too much whiskey. It was nothing.”
The soldier chuckled, and when Philip moved into the barracks, the soldier didn’t hear him whisper, “At least I hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next morning, Margaret awoke with an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Her recent happiness had been doused, and she was angry. The culprit was Charles. As she stepped out of bed and called for the maid, she began to pace, her anger only growing.
“Why should he come here? And why should he stay for so long? And why, oh, why should he profess such things to me when he has ignored me these nearly ten years past?” She threw up her arms, unable to explain any of it.
Last evening, Charles had stayed so late after dinner that she needed to go to bed as an excuse to escape him. He had constantly looked her way, practically ignoring Leonard, one of his oldest friends and current business partner. It made no sense at all. Since she had to leave the room, she had not had the chance to speak to Juliet, and that was what she most desperately needed to do. Juliet would help her clear everything in her mind.
With that thought in her head, Margaret began to breathe a little easier. “Yes, I shall speak to Juliet. Besides, Philip should be back any day now, and we can announce our engagement! With him here things will be better. Brighter,” she smiled.
In an hour, she was down to breakfast, feeling ever so slightly better, hopeful that she could find the words to tell Charles that no, she was not interested in further conversation with him, especially if they were to be alone. Yes, she would tell him, and then they could move on peacefully as old friends. As they had been before, for that is what they were. She mouthed the practiced words to herself as she pushed open the door to the breakfast room.
“Good mornin—” she called out, expecting to see her nephew, sister-in-law, and brother together as she usually did, but instead, she found them with Charles as well, sitting with a silly and oddly-placed grin on his face next to Leonard at the head of the table.
