To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke #10)(38)

His mother opened and closed her mouth. “But…but…”

Miles flexed his jaw, tired of her disparagement of Philippa. “I intend to marry her.” Regardless of the expectations his mother had of or for Miles.

“You needn’t marry her.” His mother threw her hands up. “She is a widow.”

A black curtain of rage descended over his vision, momentarily blinding him, and he quelled her with a glare. “Have a care. That woman will be your daughter-in-law.” If she’ll have me.

The marchioness sputtered. “Sh-she said she would not marry you. A liar and a wanton.” She muttered that last part under her breath.

He froze. “What?”

“I said a liar and a…” At his black glare, her words trailed off. Color rushed his mother’s cheeks and she slapped one palm against the other. “I paid Lady Philippa a visit a few days ago in order to ascertain the state of your affairs.”

He choked. “You paid her a visit?” Fury and outrage gripped him. He thought of Philippa receiving his mother as a visitor and dealing with the woman’s vitriol. “What did you say to her?” he demanded. “What did you say?” he boomed, when she remained unyielding.

She jumped. “I explained you required an heir. I sought to determine if she could give you that heir.”

A growl worked up his chest and he let a vile curse fly, ignoring the way his mother gasped. He swiped his hand over his face. Philippa had endured a hellish marriage where her husband had seen her as nothing more than a broodmare for his babes. With her insensitive and bold questioning, his mother had demonstrated the same singular focus all Society held dear. Of all the unkindness Philippa had received, he’d now add his mother to one of those who’d done wrong by her. Regret pitted his belly. “Get out,” he seethed.

His mother rocked back on her heels. “Miles?” she squeaked.

He shoved to his feet and layering his palms upon his desk, he leaned forward. “I am marrying her,” he said again through hard lips. “And I will not allow you to disparage her. Are we clear, madam?”

She blinked.

“Are. We. Clear?” he bit out in succinct tones.

His mother gave a juddering nod.

And without another word or glance for his mother, he stalked from the room. He had a widow to woo.





Chapter 16


In the light of a new day, with her scandal gracing the front pages of every scandal sheet, Philippa came to a very powerful realization about her family—they were more forgiving of ill-behavior than she’d ever credited.

Following her hasty departure of Lord Essex’s ballroom, she’d braced for a tide of stern admonishment and a flurry of tears from her mother. Alas, they’d ridden the whole of the carriage ride in silence with not a single word uttered. And when they’d arrived home and she’d been asked to meet them in Gabriel’s office, she’d held her breath, waiting for the explosion.

That hadn’t come. Instead, Gabriel had quietly informed her that the family would be retiring to the country and then the unthinkable had happened. He’d asked if she and her daughters would join them. Asked, when she’d only ever truly been ordered about. There should be a thrill of victory in that. There should be a sense of triumph that even with the scandal she’d brought down on the family last evening, they’d not admonished and lectured the way they had done for the whole of her life.

So where was the sense of victory? Instead, all she knew was this great, gaping hole in her heart. Her throat worked painfully and she pressed her eyes closed hard. For one week of her life, she had been so very happy and felt alive in ways she’d never, ever felt.

Because of him. Miles. She sucked in a pained breath and her chest throbbed with a dull ache. Philippa leaned her forehead against the smooth windowpane. In the streets below, servants carried the trunks to the three waiting carriages as the final preparations took place for their departure.

“My lady?” Releasing the curtain, Philippa spun around and faced the servant at the doorway. “His Lordship said it is time.”

It is time.

Philippa struggled to drag forth a suitable thanks, but her throat constricted. Instead, touching her fingers to the silly pendant that hung about her throat, she managed a slight nod. The retreating footsteps and the faint click of the door as it closed filled the quiet. Philippa returned her attention to the activity below. Her maid finished filing away the last of her garments and then closed the trunk with a final, decisive click.

That click resonated with a finality that stabbed at her. It represented the end of the most gloriously romantic week she’d known in the whole of her existence. For when she boarded that carriage and departed for the country, a now scandalous widow, Miles’ life would carry on as it had before her.

He would marry. Mayhap not his Sybil Cunning, but there would be another, a woman who, no doubt, deserved him more than Philippa ever could. Oh, God. Agony ripped through her and she hugged her arms close to her waist. And every day of her life she would hate the woman who called him husband; would hate her with a vicious envy that she should know the love of such a man.

She ignored the faint sound of the door opening and focused on breathing. Anything except this pain knifing slowly away at her insides. “Please inform my brother I will be down shortly,” she said through clenched teeth.