Page 58 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
“You are the love of my life. You should never forget that.”
Margaret felt dizzy.
He loves me?
He was smiling at her like she was a treasure to behold. Finally. At long last. The moment she had so longed for, dreamed for. The man she had previously wanted with every fiber of her being was suddenly spewing forth his love as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her old self would have jumped into his arms, accepting him instantly.
But she now frowned and waited. She waited to feel what she’d expected to feel at that moment. Only, it didn’t come.
It is not there. This is wrong. All wrong.
Confused, Margaret took another step back, and a flash of red crossed Charles’ face but was gone in an instant. He said, “Do not marry Philip. He cannot make you feel as I do. I know that. I have had your heart for too long, Margaret.”
There was the smooth, honey-like voice of his again. It used to be arresting, to make her feel as though under a spell, but now it felt flat upon her ears, and she only felt angry. Margaret knew that she loved Philip. Her affection for him still pumped in her breast. “No one can make me feel like Philip,” she replied, and turned away to leave, until she felt his hand on her arm.
As if she weighed nothing, Charles spun her around and pulled her into arms and into his kiss. Her mind flashed white for a moment in the shock and surprise of it. She responded to his gentle movements for only a moment.
And yet, there was something wanting in this embrace. He was not Philip. There was no heart in it anymore, and she pulled back, her cheeks red with embarrassment and shame.
“Philip,” Margaret heard Charles say with a pale face, and her heart flew out of her body as she turned to see a uniformed Philip in the doorway to the drawing room blinking in surprise at the both of them. Before words came to her mouth, Philip was gone, dropping something behind him. Her heart followed Philip out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Philip,” Charles said quietly, and Philip looked at him for a moment, confused how and when Charles had gotten there and what in the bloody hell he was doing so close to his betrothed. Margaret was red-faced, and her fingers touched her lips. It all made sense then.
Of course she would kiss Charles.
He hadn’t been able to wait to see her bright face again, and then, he saw it. Her face. Her mouth, touching none other than Charles’ lips, and when they finally turned his way, Philip had felt the floor fall out from under him.
And so he left, dropping her gift as he went, hearing Margaret’s cries from behind him, calling him back to her. But he couldn’t go back. He wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed, angry, or just disappointed. Was life really so cruel?
He heard two sets of footsteps following after, and as he waited for his hat at the door, he turned around, a scowl on his face. Margaret’s eyes were wide. “Philip, where are you going? It is not as it seems. I love you! Only you!”
Charles said, “Philip, I did not wish to hurt you.”
Philip glanced up at a slightly discomfited Charles and then back at Margaret.
He wanted to beat Charles to a pulp, but it would do nothing to change what had just happened. It wasn’t worth it.
“I never want to see either of you again,” he growled and left the house, feeling like he left his heart behind him in the Bartley Manor drawing room.
Instead of rushing back in and demanding an explanation, he got on his horse and galloped down the street, back to his house. A drop of rain fell on his cheek, and he looked up to see dark clouds gather. “Ah, simply perfect. What else could go wrong?” But the storm matched his mood, swirling dark clouds in his mind and a pain in his chest.
When he arrived at his house, the storm had turned into a deluge. Leaving the horse at the stable, he stomped into his house, scaring his mother as she exited the drawing room, a book in her hand. “Philip! You are home!” She moved close to him, ready to wrap him in a hug, but instead, she pulled back. “And you are soaked through!”
Philip wiped his wet face with his equally wet sleeve. He tried to keep the brewing anger out of his tone as he said, “Yes, Mother. There is a storm outside.” He looked down at the floor where he had created a vast lake of muddy water. “I am sorry about the floor.”
“Mrs. Gibbs! We need towels.” Diana’s tinny voice rang in the hallways and in a few moments, clean, fresh towels were brought and Philip took one in his hands to wipe over his damp hair and neck. He removed his sodden jacket, handing it to the waiting footman.
His mother finally approached him and placed a light kiss on his damp cheek. “Philip, it is so good to have you back.”
Philip’s heart softened just a little as he saw the relief on his mother’s face that he had returned safely, even if it was just training. It helped to quell the searing pain that was already pulsing through his heart at the sight of Margaret and Charles.
“I will be going away soon again,” he said, ignoring the childish tone in which he said it. He knew he needed to get away. There was no way he could remain in London after what he had witnessed.
“Go. Change out of your wet clothes and come and join us for tea. I do not want my son dying of pneumonia because he had the poor sense to ride a horse through the rain instead of a carriage.” His mother walked off in her usual elegant manner, and Philip raced up to his room, eager to be alone for a moment and encased within four walls. He was afraid of what he might do.
Everything was suddenly coming to a head, and he was in the middle of it. His best friend was potentially on the brink of death, but that very same best friend had just kissed his intended. His. After years of rejecting that woman, he suddenly claimed her? And Margaret? Had she played him for a fool? Was she simply playing along until Charles revealed his affection for her?
