She met his eyes, then wished she hadn’t. If he’d been lethal to her common sense in the dark, here lit with gold in the late sun, he was devastating. He was dressed for the country in buff breeches and a dark blue coat that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and his height. His thick dark hair was disheveled as though he’d recently run his hand through it.
“That’s…that’s what I want to talk about.” She wished she sounded more confident. But something in the way he studied her reminded her of his discomfiting kisses.
He watched her as though he guessed how unhappy and confused she’d been. “I know you’re worried—”
She spoke quickly. “Can we go into the summerhouse? It’s freezing, and I feel exposed out here.” If anyone reported her meeting Lord Erskine, it would only add fuel to the catty gossip about her brazenness.
“Very well.” He gestured for her to precede him up the shallow flight of stairs into the wooden pagoda. Even when determined to dislike him, she’d noted Lord Erskine’s perfect manners.
He paused in the doorway as she subsided onto the red lacquer bench running around the room. The building, cleared of furniture and fabrics, felt cavernous and cold. She’d chosen this place for its seclusion. She wanted a frank and uninterrupted discussion. Only now as she looked up at Lord Erskine’s shadowed face did she question that decision. Something about the isolation and the pretty, empty room suggested a lovers’ rendezvous.
The last impression she wanted to convey.
“Please sit down,” she said shakily, staring down to where her hands twined together in her lap. It wasn’t much warmer inside than it had been outside. “I’m sure you know why I asked you to meet me.”
He stepped into the summerhouse, sitting beside her but not, she noted with relief, too close. “I’m hoping it’s because you want more kisses.”
She choked on appalled laughter as her gaze flickered away from his. Clearly the romantic isolation had struck him as well. “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous.”
“That’s a pity. I’ve been thinking about kissing you ever since Christmas Eve. I enjoyed it. I’d very much like to do it again.”
She gasped and stared at him. He appeared sincere, but of course, he couldn’t be. “Stop it.”
In the enclosed space, their voices echoed oddly. The sun on the snowdrifts outside created a white, eerie light inside.
Those slashing black brows lowered with displeasure. “If we’re to marry, it’s best if we’re honest.”
Philippa leaped to her feet and began to pace. Nervous energy made her steps quick and staccato so that the heels of her half-boots clicked across the chinoiserie tiles. “That’s precisely it.”
She sucked in a breath and told herself to be resolute. Which was harder than she’d expected when she’d skulked in her room plotting this meeting.
“What’s precisely it, my love?”
The endearment, however meaningless, spoken in his soft Scottish burr made her shiver with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. “Don’t call me that.”
He shrugged and lounged back against the sill, pushing the window behind him open a fraction. The breeze played with his hair, free to touch him when she wasn’t. At her sides, her fingers curled as she bit back a surge of longing.
Seeing him again proved more…difficult than Philippa had expected. She hadn’t counted on quite how many barriers their captivity had shattered. It must be her imagination, but her nostrils flared at a hint of his clean, sandalwood scent. Since Christmas Eve, sandalwood had haunted her dreams.
“What is it, Philippa?”
She stopped her restless pacing and leveled her shoulders like a soldier facing a cavalry charge. “We can’t marry.”
Although he maintained his casual pose, Erskine’s muscles tightened with denial. Damn it, he wasn’t backing out and if he had his way, neither was she. “Of course we can.”
That ruffled his sparrow’s delicate feathers. Temper added color to cheeks that had been too pale when she’d met him outside in the snow
. That neat, rounded body also seemed slighter than it had when he’d left for London.
Hell, he shouldn’t have left her alone, but he hadn’t had any choice. Still, he could imagine how her bloody awful family had treated her in his absence. After he married Philippa, he’d make damned sure that they showed more care.
In the days since he’d seen her, his uncharacteristic urge to protect this girl hadn’t faded. He’d taken one look at the spiritless, unhappy young woman who had greeted him and he’d wanted to punch someone. Then kiss her until she became once more the soft, passionate armful of a few nights ago.
“You’re not listening, my lord.” To his relief, she sounded much more like the girl who had challenged him in his room. “Nobody can force me to marry you.”
Without straightening from his slouch, he arched his eyebrows. He knew his cool reaction threw her off balance. Just what he wanted while he worked out how to convince her against jilting him.
He should have anticipated something like this. Despite her outward quietness, Philippa Sanders wasn’t meek and obedient. Married life promised to be interesting. “You agreed—”