Page 17
Breathe, Annabel. In, out. Or is it out, in?
The possibility loomed like a storm cloud: her father could refuse Halmesbury’s suit. That thought threatened to spiral into panic.
In, out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Philip’s voice interrupted her racing thoughts. “Annabel?”
His hand covered hers, warm and reassuring, halting her nervous tugging at her cuffs.
“Yes, Your Gra—Philip?” She corrected herself, her voice faltering but soft.
* * *
He smiled softly at her slip. “You must relax, sweet. I will handle everything. Within a few hours, you will be safely home, and I will call on your father to make my suit.”
She exhaled shakily, though her lips tilted into a small smile at his calm assurance. “Mrs. Harris will have explained my absence as an illness that kept me in bed. My father will not have checked on me—he rarely does when his routine is undisturbed.”
Philip frowned slightly at the bitterness that tinged her voice. “Good. That gives us the advantage. I will delay my arrival to give you time, and the carriage will drop you close to Baydon Hall so you can ride in as though you were never gone. When I arrive at your home, I will distract Lord Filminster with my proposal.”
She bit her lip, her nerves obvious. “Do you truly believe he will break his arrangement with Richard?”
“I do.” Philip’s voice was firm, his gray eyes steady. “My higher rank and my offer will be irresistible to your father. And as for Richard—he will not dare cross me.”
Annabel’s shoulders sagged in relief, though her fingers still fidgeted. “I cannot thank you enough. I only wish I could remain here with you.”
Philip’s chest tightened at her heartfelt words, warmth spreading through him. “I do not want you to worry,” he said gently. “This will all be resolved quickly, and soon you will never have to think of Richard again.”
Her lips parted, then pressed shut as she blushed. Her gaze dropped to their hands, where his still rested over hers. The sight stirred something deep within him—an urge to reassure her, to see her smile again.
He gave a soft laugh. “I have a question for you, Annabel.”
Her eyes lifted, curious. “What is it?”
“Why would the baron not send for a doctor if he believed you were ill?”
Her cheeks turned scarlet, and she averted her eyes. “Um … the nature of the illness … Mrs. Harris thought it best to prevent inquiries by saying it was …”
Realization dawned, and Philip quickly cut her off to save her further embarrassment. “Ah. That was quite resourceful of Mrs. Harris.”
Annabel’s lips twitched, though her cheeks remained red. “It was necessary.”
He hesitated, his gaze thoughtful. He had another question, one that had been pressing on his mind. Despite his desire to proceed cautiously, his instincts urged him forward. If they were to marry, this was a matter he needed to settle in his own mind.
“Annabel,” he began, his tone quiet but steady. “May I ask something else?”
“Of course.”
Philip shifted slightly, leaning forward. “We have agreed to marry, and I want to be certain that we … suit.” He paused, then continued, his voice lower. “May I seal our agreement with a kiss?”
Her eyes widened, her breath catching for a moment. Philip held himself still, his pulse quickening as he awaited her answer.
Then, with a small nod, she consented.
Relief coursed through him, mingling with a quiet thrill. He moved to sit beside her, careful to give her space. Gently, he raised a hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin.
“Tell me if you feel uncomfortable,” he murmured.
She nodded again, her gaze unwavering as she met his.
