Page 18 of The Confessions of a Lady
Liam swallowed down his still-aching grief. ‘Is that why you have come, Philippa? To comfort me? Please. I neither want nor do I need such softness. We are warriors. We do not lick our wounds. We heal. Harder than before, and ready for the next battle. Or we die.’
Philippa nodded. ‘Yes. But we are also human. Life is not just a string of battles.’
‘Tell me, when is the last time you put down your weapons?’
She thwacked her fan against the armrest. ‘Hardly the point, Liam. We are not simply machines of destruction.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s easier to be a machine. At least now I’m destroying to protect instead of to conquer.’
‘Fine. But we must still accept our humanity, which also means accepting our weaknesses.’ Her cobalt eyes trapped him.
God damn her. She sees too much.
‘What weaknesses do you accept? About yourself, Duchess of Dorsett?’
Philippa rolled her eyes. ‘This conversation isn’t about my weaknesses. If I had any, I certainly wouldn’t share them with you.’
‘But you get to be privy to mine?’
She curled her lips in a satisfied smirk. ‘Exactly. Life is rarely fair. You know this better than most. And I know better than most how kindness can cut deeper than cruelty. So, I shall cease being kind to you.’
‘This is your version of kindness?’
Shrugging, Philippa examined the seam of her glove. ‘It was.’ She plucked a loose thread before returning her gaze to Liam. ‘So, you are done sulking in the Cheshire countryside, feeling woe begotten and sorry for yourself.’
‘I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself.’ She certainly wasted no time in shedding her “kindness”. Liam didn’t enjoy being chastised by the duchess.
‘Weren’t you?’
How effortlessly she sparked his ire. And well she knew it. Rage had always been a source of strength for Liam. Now, it pushed out his lingering grief and replaced it with focused purpose. A novel tactic the duchess used with brutal efficiency. He wasn’t sure whether to aim his anger at her or be impressed by her ability to shake him so easily from his melancholy.
‘I was not,’ he growled.
‘Wonderful.’ She picked up a cushion next to her, attempted to fluff it, tsked in disgust, then shoved the offending object behind her. ‘But to the point, you are here now – finally – and we have much to do.’
‘We?’ Alarm replaced Liam’s anger. ‘I don’t recall the Queen saying anything about a joint venture.’
‘You don’t recall it because the Queen didn’t speak with you about this. She spoke to me. And told me to relay the message.’
‘You may outrank me, Philippa, but I don’t answer to you.’
Philippa snorted. Leaning against the back of her chair, she rubbed her index finger against her thumb. ‘You most certainly do. I outrank you in more than just title, Liam. The Queen does not wish you to take on these men alone and she sent me here to ensure that doesn’t happen.’
‘These men are dangerous. Whoever challenges them risks his or her life.’
‘Exactly. Without my help, you’ll be dead within the week.’
‘Would that be such a great loss? Finally, an end to the evil Renquist line.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Please. What a load of rubbish. Evil is not inherited, Liam. That is just an excuse for weak men to avoid accountability for their actions. Evil is a choice. Just as easily determined as courage. Honour. Valour. And with drastically different outcomes for all involved.’
‘Don’t you see, I am trying to choose courage. Honour. Valour.’
‘I know. And I am going to help you.’
‘I don’t need your help.’
The duchess raised a single black brow in an eloquent counterargument.
