Page 35 of A Trap by the Rakish Duke
Philip looked at her, his brow furrowed. “She will recover fully, will she not?”
The physician nodded. “As long as she rests, Your Grace.”
Aurelia’s brow furrowed with frustration as she watched them. They spoke as though she was not in the room, and it annoyed her deeply.
Philip gave a curt nod and the physician bowed again before stepping out of the room. The moment the door closed behind him, the tension that had filled the space earlier returned.
Five days.
Aurelia’s mind raced, her heart sinking at the thought. She had made so much progress in drawing Philip closer. Could she afford to lose all that ground?
No, I will not allow it.
Philip remained by her bedside, his expression unreadable as he watched her. “You should rest,” he urged, his voice low.
“I suppose I must,” she replied with a sigh, although her mind was already whirring with plans.
She had only just begun.
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you aware that your relentless pacing is quite distracting?” Viscount Whitley’s voice cut through Philip’s thoughts.
They were in the drawing room closest to the study, a chessboard spread out on the table, waiting for the game to begin.
Philip stopped abruptly, realizing his restlessness had betrayed his thoughts. It wasn’t usual for him to pace so frequently, yet here he was, his mind utterly unsettled, all because ofher.
“I did not realize I was,” he grunted, running a hand through his hair as he turned toward Oliver.
The Viscount raised an eyebrow and gestured to the chessboard. “Do you still care for this game, or are we just pretending now?”
Philip gave a noncommittal shrug, his eyes drifting once again toward the window as he tried to shake off the nagging guilt that had settled over him since his ride with Aurelia.
He didn’t know how to explain it to Oliver, or to himself. He had been the cause of his wife’s injury, after all. The additional fact that he hadn’t apologized for it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Apologies were not his forte.
“Is anything the matter?” Oliver’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts again.
“No,” Philip said curtly, although he knew that wasn’t true. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for a suitable explanation. “Just…someone owes me a debt and they are being difficult.”
Oliver chuckled, the sound filled with disbelief. “Is that so? I did not think anyone else could owe you money and give you enough trouble to make you pace like this. Certainly not like your wife’s father.”
Philip’s jaw tightened. He had no response to that; his thoughts were already far away from debts and schemes.
His gaze drifted back to the window. In the distance he could see Aurelia sitting in the garden. Her maid, Eilidh, was with her, carefully setting her injured leg on a stool while Aurelia sipped from a glass.
“Well, well,” Oliver muttered as he followed Philip’s gaze to the garden. “I see now. It’s not a debt that has led to your pacing.” He stood up and walked over to the window and rested a hand on Philip’s shoulder in a companionable gesture. “She is in fact the one troubling you, is she not?”
Philip didn’t answer, his eyes still fixed upon his wife.
He was silent for so long that Oliver spoke again, this time more cautiously.
“You still have the same thoughts you had when you first married her, don’t you? Or…have you changed your mind?”
The question hung in the air for a moment, its weight settling heavily on Philip’s mind. He tore his eyes away from Aurelia and stared down at the chessboard, its pieces unmoved.
“I still think of her the same,” he finally muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. “A piece on the board, no different from the rest.”
