Philip remained silent, too tired to coax a real answer out of her.
She inclined her head in his direction, the pink silk reflecting on her face. She looked ethereally beautiful. It wasn’t fair. How could a woman who infuriated him in one breath completely disarm him in another?
“When Alicia came to visit…” She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look at him. “She said that you and she were involved more than I knew.”
“What?” Philip laughed in surprise, before his anger caught up with him. “And you believed her?”
“Not at first. I wasn’t sure what to believe. But then I saw the two of you today… I stepped outside for air during the wedding breakfast, and you were dragging her away into the woods. I watched for a while, and I heard you arguing.” Her eyes flashed open, and she sat up. “What am I supposed to assume from that? I wanted to ask you to tell me the truth, but I was too angry with you and too afraid.”
He could hardly believe what he was hearing. She had jumped to all the wrong conclusions.
Not jumped.She had been led there by someone bent on misleading her. Someone she had once trusted and admired more than anyone in the world.
“Let me put the lion’s share of your doubts to rest,” he said, trying not to sound as indignant as he felt. “There has been nothing between me and any woman since I left on my commission.” He doubted she grasped the shame of what he had just admitted. Not even George and Simon knew how lonely he had been. “That you would think I was capable of such a thing… Have I not proven my character to you at all?”
“I’m sorry,” Anna murmured.
“Are you? For I am…”
He didn’t know what he was. Relieved, partly, that she had been cross with him for something he hadn’t even done. But angry—terribly angry—that she had thought so little of him as to believe something like that in the first place. But could he really blame her? He had witnessed firsthand Alicia’s attempts at manipulation that afternoon.
He rose from the vanity. “I am tired of all these misunderstandings.”
“There has been nothing else.” Anna shook her head, her eyes widening in fear. She scrambled off the bed, stopping before him and placing her hands on his chest. “I promise you, that alone was the cause of my anger. And if you are telling the truth… no, I cantellthat you are being honest with me. I feel so… I should never have listened to her.”
Philip looked down at her, frozen in place by the feel of her hands through the fabric of his vest. One hand rested over his heart, and he worried she would feel its wild rhythm. Beating for her.
She seemed to realize how she was holding him, too close for comfort, and flexed her fingers hesitantly against his chest.
“If my forgiveness will put an end to the strain between us,” he said, his voice catching, “then take it. This has been a day of discovery for us both. When Alicia and I spoke—for she did speak to me and nothing more—she revealed the reason for your disappearance the night of the opera.”
Anna looked up at him in fear. Her hands fell to her sides, and he missed her touch immediately. He seized a hand and held it aloft—a feeble attempt at comforting her.
“It does not matter. If you were afraid of discovery then, you need not be afraid now.” He blinked, thinking back to that night and the story he had forced upon her. “I had mistakenly thought all this time that you had met… That you had not been…”
He was too ashamed of himself to finish his sentence.
“Oh…” Anna mumbled. “You thought I had met… a lover.”
“Or something like it.” He let go of her, stepping back. “And in my mind, if you had been capable of that, then it was not such a terrible thing to spend time with you. Because while I was not worthy of you… I was closer to being worthy when you were… When I thought you were…”
“I understand,” she said. “You don’t need to say anything else. I don’t mind. We have both made mistakes.”
She stepped toward him, and he pulled back on instinct, not trusting himself enough to touch her again.
It was their wedding night. And when she was looking at him like that, with willingness and yearning to be held, he worried he wouldn’t be able to control himself. She would regret it in the morning, and so would he. Succumbing to his desire for her would only cause her pain…
He backed into the armoire behind them by accident, and it rattled against the wall. The sound caught him by surprise. Hollow, echoing. There was an empty space behind the armoire and the wall, just enough room for something to lay unnoticed by them.
He pushed the armoire aside an inch, revealing a gold and red rope behind it, so close to the shade of the curtains that the servant who had prepared the room might have mistaken it as part of the drapery.
“The bell,” Anna said, laughing in disbelief.
There was more to the sound than he wanted to admit. Sorrow that he had no more reason to stay with her.
Philip mustered a smile and reached out a hand to pull it. He could feel Anna tense as he did. She would have let him stay—he could feel it. And he wanted to. By God, did he want to. But it wouldn’t have been right.
Moments later, when Anna had fallen back into bed, the bell rang in some far-off place in the manor, and Philip entered his father’s death chamber alone.
