“What’s to understand?” Amelia regarded her with contempt. “You can’t imagine a mouse like you could hold the Earl of Erskine.”
“Stop it!” With a total lack of chivalry, Erskine tried to tug Amelia’s arms from around his neck. But she fought his attempts to free himself. If he’d been prepared to hurt her, he could have broken away. But of course he wasn’t willing to hurt Amelia, whatever wounds he inflicted on Philippa’s aching heart.
“Blair, there’s no point hiding the truth,” Amelia said in a sickeningly sweet tone, pressing closer.
“You have to trust me, Philippa. This isn’t what it looks like.” His voice was rough. With chagrin because she’d discovered his treachery? Or because this scene had some innocent explanation?
He stared over Amelia’s ruffled gold head to where Philippa stood, struggling to accept what she saw. It shouldn’t be so difficult. After all, she’d always known this man for a rake.
Amelia turned fully toward her, grasping Blair’s arm. Hectic color marked her cheeks. Proof of emotion? Certainly not proof of embarrassment. Her demeanor conveyed no shred of shame.
As if Caroline were no more significant than a fly, Philippa shook her off. Another shaky step forward, although what could she do when she reached the couple? Scratch out Amelia’s eyes? Scratch out Blair’s?
Her hands fisted at her sides, even as her urge for violence sank under desolation. What was the point of tantrums? If Blair wanted Amelia, Philippa couldn’t do anything about it.
Oh, Blair. How could you make me like you, then betray me this way? It’s too cruel.
“Devil take you, leave me be,” he snapped at Amelia.
Amelia cried out in rage as he shook free and strode right up to Philippa, stopping mere inches from her. Instead of letting him go, Amelia staggered after him, clawing at his arm.
“Blair, it’s too late,” she gasped. “She knows now.”
“Don’t listen to her, Philippa lass.” He sounded more Scottish than she’d ever heard him as he extended his hand in her direction. Distantly she noticed that it was unsteady, but the knowledge offered no comfort. Even if he tried to escape Amelia’s clutches, Philippa could have told him that what her sister stole, she kept. That had been true from the moment Amelia had snatched Philippa’s first doll.
“Don’t—” Philippa retreated a pace before he could touch her. She focused on Amelia and spoke in a raw voice. “What about Mr. Fox?”
Amelia attached herself to Blair’s side. “He’ll have to let me go. As you’ll have to let Blair go.”
How Philippa loathed hearing his Christian name on her sister’s lips. This afternoon, she’d felt privileged to call him Blair. Now she felt cheap and stupid and shabby.
“But there will be a scandal.” A stupid thing to worry about. Scandal had tarred this Christmas gathering from the moment Amelia had written to Erskine.
“Better a scandal than two broken hearts,” Amelia said, visi
bly savoring the drama.
The urge to cry was nigh overwhelming. She’d had no reason to believe Erskine would be faithful. No reason to believe—except that fragile bond between them woven in the darkness of a cold Christmas Eve. Better by far to discover his treachery before becoming his wife.
If only Philippa’s despairing heart believed that she meant that.
But even as she stood trembling in the center of the library, shock receded. Her usually reliable mind started to work.
And her mind, as it was inclined to, questioned the evidence.
On the surface, it made perfect sense that sophisticated Lord Erskine would prefer her sister. But the man she came to know wasn’t at all a careless, destructive rogue who rode roughshod over honor’s demands. In fact, if Blair meant to jilt her, she’d offered him the perfect opportunity mere hours ago.
Yet despite her arguments, he’d stuck stubbornly to his commitment.
And if he was such a rogue, he’d had plenty of chances to have his way with Philippa, and still evade penalty, apart from some extra gossip linked to his already infamous name. He could have taken her in the dressing room. He could have leaped on her this afternoon.
She blushed to remember how she’d invited his caresses. And still he’d played the gentleman.
As confusion receded, Philippa met Blair’s gaze. He didn’t look like a man about to claim his darling. He looked like he struggled against a nightmare. His attention didn’t shift from her, as if sheer force of will could convince Philippa to follow the ridiculous demands of her heart.
Were her growing suspicions of Amelia wishful thinking?
But this lovers’ tryst felt staged. Something about the way Amelia grabbed Blair didn’t ring true. As if she was terrified he’d run away. Not the behavior of a woman confident of a man’s love.