It was strong hot tea. The honey in it made it slide down her throat.
She lay back against the pillow and gave him a brooding look. “I think that girl must have been mad.”
Phillip placed the teacup on the night table and sat on the bed beside her. In an unconscious gesture, he smoothed a lock of auburn hair from her forehead.
“What girl? Any girl I know?”
“The girl you were once engaged to, the girl you mentioned when you were trying to pry me open yesterday, and her name slipped out of your mouth, and then I had you.”
“Actually, she wasn’t mad, but perhaps she is now. Who knows? One can only pray.”
“What was she?”
“She wasn’t honorable. Do you understand that?”
“All I know is that if I made a promise to someone, I would stick to it unless someone was torturing me too much for me to bear.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how I feel about honor.”
“You don’t still pine for her, do you, Phillip?”
“Pine? What a foolish word. No, I rarely even think about her now. It’s just that she’s in London so I still see her and remember. Perhaps the memories are good to have. They keep perspective. They discourage acting before thinking things through thoroughly. Just why do you think her mad?”
“It’s obvious. With you about, Phillip, she would have been able to make so many economies. She would hardly have required more than one servant.”
“I am rather a good servant, aren’t I? Throughout my life I’ve done bits and pieces of things, but never so much in so little an amount of time. Actually, truth be told, I’m relieved that I was able to make food that we could digest. I have only one major failure.”
“Oh no, surely not. Even the flat bread that you didn’t mean to be flat was still all right. Come, what is this major failure? Come, tell me. I’m sure I can talk you out of it.”
“You don’t trust me. I’ve done everything I can think of, used every argument that came to mind, but it does no good. You don’t trust me. I’ve told you stories that have spanned my twenty-six years, but the recounting left you unmoved. You still don’t trust me. You haven’t told me anything that would enable me to help you. Now, you are a good liar. With a few more years, you should be nearly as good as I am. But lies aren’t what are needed here.”
She’d made one stupid remark about that Elaine person and just look where it had gotten her. A sermon about trust. Well, curse it and curse him. She smoothed the green coverlet over her lap and stared at the bedposts.
She’d closed down again. Well, damn. He felt a surge of anger and savored it. “You must know,” he said now, his voice turning hard, “that the servants who care for this house will be able to return any day now. The weather has warmed and the snow is melting. If I’m to help you return safely to your family—wherever they may live—you will have to make a clean breast of it. Was Diablo your horse, Sabrina? Did you grandfather shoot him?”
Her head snapped around so fast, he nearly laughed. But he didn’t, just gave her that hard-eyed stare. “How do you know about Diablo? I was only ten years old. My sister took him without my knowing of it and crammed him over a fence.” The memory swamped her. She felt her throat closing. It had been eight years ago.
“What happened?”
“He broke his leg on the landing. He had to be put down. How did you know about Diablo?”
“You were delirious in your fever. You cried out about him.”
He read the fear on her face and he wanted to shake her. “Did I speak of anything else?”
“Trevor.”
“Yes, Trevor,” she repeated and turned away from him.
Phillip wanted to shake her but he couldn’t. When she was well enough to shake but good, it would be too late. He rose and looked down at her. “If you don’t tell me the truth, if you don’t arm me with the facts I need to protect you, then you reduce me to nothing. Listen to me. No matter what happened, I can help you, if you’ll but tell me the truth.”
“What happened to me has nothing to do with you, Phillip. I’m nearly well. By tomorrow morning I should be completely fit. It you would take me to Borhamwood, to the posting house, you need never see me again.”
“I can’t do that, Sabrina, and you must know that I can’t. You’re a young lady. You’re eighteen years old. I can’t assist you to escape from your family and put you on a common stage to London. You cannot begin to imagine the sort of man you could meet on that stage. No, I would never do that. Forget it, and tell me the truth.”
He would bend, but he wouldn’t break. He’d drawn the line across the path. She didn’t look at him, just shook her head. After he left her to go to the kitchen to make their dinner, she thought long and hard about her plan. It hadn’t been fair to involve him even in that. No, she couldn’t very well expect an honorable man to put her on a stage bound for London.
Phillip appeared thoughtful during the evening. He didn’t say much, but she knew he was aware of her, aware of how many bites of his stew she’d eaten, how many mouthfuls of bread she’d chewed. She knew he was worried about her. For a moment she felt uncertain. Then she thought about the hideous chaos that would await her at Monmouth Abbey were she to allow him to take her back there. It was all she could do not to shudder.