To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke #10)(20)

“What?” The question rumbled up from his chest. Whatever it was, in this moment, he would give it to her to drive back that bitter cynicism.

“Speaking to you,” she said with an honesty that, given the expectations his mother had of him, should have terrified the hell out of him. Instead, her admission caused a lightness in his chest. She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “My mother would be shocked if she knew I spoke to you, a stranger, so.” He started. This woman who’d consumed his thoughts since their chance meeting, whom he’d wondered after and speculated on, was, in fact—a stranger. How singularly odd that he should feel he knew her so very well, still. She cast another look up. “Have I scandalized you?”

He winked. “I’m nearly thirty, with a rogue of a brother and three incorrigible sisters. I assure you, I do not shock easily.”

A full, rich, husky laugh spilled past her lips, further deepening the intimacy of this stolen exchange. “I also have a sister,” she said. “Chloe.” She stared out at the lake, a wistful glimmer in her eyes. “She is my younger sister and, yet, since she was a girl, she’s been so bold and courageous and fearless in showing her emotion and speaking her mind. And I…” Her lips pulled in a grimace and she gave her head a shake. “And I have been anything but those things.”

Bringing his knees up, Miles matched Philippa’s pose and trained his gaze on the same pelican that earned her notice. He picked up a small, flat stone beside the blanket and, with a flick of his hand, skipped it over the surface. It hopped once. Twice. A third time. And then sank. “Ah, but there are different kinds of bravery and boldness, Philippa. You are not your sister.” She stiffened. Did she see herself as a shadow of that other woman? No. Her sister could not possibly be as refreshingly sincere and captivating as this lady. “But your eyes speak a tale of a woman of strength.” She looked at him and their gazes met. “Even if you do not see it in yourself.” He paused. “Which you should.”

Her throat moved.

They returned their gazes to the lake before them and remained in a companionable silence.

Never had he before sat alone with a woman and spoken on anything beyond the polite discourse required of a lord and lady. Yet, for the ease in talking to her, there was also a remarkable ease in the comfortable silence between them. There was no urge on the lady’s part to fill the void. Rather, there was a sincerity to their exchanges that he’d not ever known, not even with Sybil. He clenched and unclenched his jaw. What was it that an understanding he’d long accepted should now set off a violent restlessness inside.

“Do you know something, Miles?” Philippa asked, cutting across the quiet.

He looked at her.

“Today was one of the first times I realized that there are freedoms permitted me.” He frowned as a dark thought slid in of Philippa becoming that jaded widow, preyed on by unscrupulous rakes, and a vicious desire to hunt down those nameless, faceless scoundrels and take them apart with his bare hands filled him. “Freedoms I’d been too cowardly to seize before,” she continued over his silent tumult. The young lady squared her shoulders. “I am a widow. If I wish to speak to you in the middle of Hyde Park, then I’ll do so unapologetically. There’s no scandal to hurt me. I’m not some debutante trying to make a good match. In fact, I do not need to marry again.” She paused, wetting her lips once more. “Unless I wish to.”

Who would be the gentleman to woo her and bring her happiness? For surely, there was, at the very least, one man deserving of her. And why did a seething fury uncoil inside him like a serpent poised to strike? Another breeze stirred the air around them and sent ripples on the lake’s surface. “But someone wishes you to marry, again?” He didn’t realize he held his breath until she spoke.

“My mother.” She gave her head a rueful shake. “And she knows the very person I should wed, too, of course.”

“Ah. I understand that. On that point we are very much alike,” he said. “Our mothers seem to be of like personalities.” The rub of it was Sybil would make him a perfectly acceptable wife. They got on great as children and spoke with a familiar ease one did not often find with members of the opposite sex. And even as he hadn’t wanted to marry Sybil, he would have been content in fulfilling the expectations of their families in marrying her—if it hadn’t been for a chance meeting with Philippa.

In just a brief encounter, she’d stirred questions and curiosities. And desire.

This meeting only yielded a greater desire to know about a lady who so expertly stitched and then confessed to him her disdain for the activity. From that slight statement, and the glint in her eyes, he’d seen beyond the veneer of expected ladylike perfection to a woman with her vitality, who chafed at the strictures placed on her. The strength of her spirit intrigued him in ways he’d never been drawn to another.





Chapter 9


With Miles’ pronouncement, questions whirred in Philippa. Did he intend to fulfill his family’s wishes the way Philippa herself had with Calvin? The idea of Miles in a cold, empty union gutted her. And yet, thinking of him blissfully in love with that nameless lady brought with it a different kind of torture.

Absently, she gathered a stone. “So there is a certain lady?” she asked, pleased with the evenness of her tone. “Someone your family would see you marry?” Her hand shook and the rock shook in her trembling fingers. For her newfound discovery that morn of freedom of thought, this unguarded honesty was still foreign and roused terror in her belly. It went against the woman she’d been for so long; and freeing as it was, it rattled the foundation of her previously ordered world. She made to skip her rock.