Chapter Two
Tilly did not goto her room. It wasn’t as if her mother would check, after all. She may not even recall the command. Prudence surely would, but studying the etiquette handbook wouldn’t be of any use. Tilly already knew the book back to front. Prudence did as well, and would make up questions and situations that were impossible to resolve.
Taking advantage of her freedom, Tilly headed out into the garden. She forwent a shawl or bonnet. She knew the sun would bring out the freckles across her nose, but to confront a beautiful day swaddled like a porcelain figurine was criminal. All those layers of fabric ruined the enjoyment of being outdoors.
After a reassuring glance through the parlor window at the backs of the three women’s heads, Tilly strode to the dappled sunlight under the great oak. She settled on the swing and kicked off, then pumped her legs until she’d worked up momentum. Green grass rushed past. Wind whipped her brown curls back from her face. She leaned back, hands clutching the ropes, and watched the tree branches speed by above.
Unlike most days, the freedom of the swing didn’t conjure a smile. Not with her sister home. For a short while, Tilly’s curtsey had been good enough, her manners acceptable. Mother had taken her to be fitted for three new gowns, the first ones she’d ever owned that were not hand-me-downs. To have dresses that hadn’t been let down at the hem and taken in on top, a constant reminder that she was a second-rate daughter and a beanpole to Prudence’s petite, womanly figure, made Tilly feel pretty.
“Why the frown, sweetling?” a man asked, voice warm and smooth. “Has your smile failed to get you the attention you want?”
Tilly let out a squeak, scaring several roosting birds into flight. She dug her heels into the ground to halt her swing, likely ruining her slippers. Her gaze caught on a tall, startlingly handsome gentleman to her right. He leaned against the wall separating their garden from the duke’s, heedless of his fine garments pressed against the rough stone.
“Who are you?” she demanded. Not good manners, she knew, but neither was sneaking into a garden. She glanced toward the house, wondering if she should call for help.
“I beg your pardon for my rudeness.” He straightened from the wall and executed a flawless bow. “Permit me to introduce myself, as no one is here to do me the honor. I’m Lord James, your neighbor.”
Her pulse jumped. He really was more handsome than rumors claimed, and his eyes were as blue as the summer sky. “I’m Tilly.”
“Just Tilly?” He strolled nearer with an ease that belied both the scandal of their isolation and the fact that he hadn’t been invited.
“That is, Miss Matilda Philmont,” she corrected. She grimaced. Tilly hated her name. Not even Prudence dared call her by it. The last time she had, Tilly upended an entire pot of tea on her, ruining the carpet that used to be in the parlor.
Lord James flashed white teeth in a wicked grin. “I see. Tilly it is, then.”
“Miss Philmont, if you please.” What had possessed her to give her Christian name to a known rake?
Lord James circled her in a lazy saunter. His gaze raked her in a way that conjured a blush. She craned her neck to follow him, leery to let him leave her sight. After a complete circle, he finally stopped behind her. His hands grasped the ropes of the swing just above hers, touching her thumbs. She yanked her hands away.
“What are you doing?” She snapped her head back around so she faced the house, not his broad chest.
“Giving you a push. I interrupted your swinging.” His hands left the swing and settled against her back. “Although, I think this will work better.”
“No thank you.” She jumped off the swing and turned to glare at him. Her back felt scalded where he’d touched her. “How did you get into our garden?”
“I climbed over the wall,” he said. “Isn’t that how gentlemen usually get in?”
“Gentlemen usually don’t.” She took a step backward toward the house.
“So I’ve noticed.” He looked her up and down. “I’ve watched you on this swing nearly every afternoon for a month, and seen nary a gentleman.”
Tilly gasped. “You’ve been watching me?” Outrage outweighed fear of his presence. How dare he spy into her family’s garden?
He nodded over her left shoulder toward his home. “I have indeed. I sit in my study and, instead of working, I turn my chair toward the window, pour a drink, and watch you swing.” He pushed the swing out of the way as he spoke and stopped in front of her. “As my uncle left the books a mess, it’s by far the most pleasant hour of my day.”
Tilly craned her neck to look over her shoulder and caught sight of the large windows of what must be his study, the curtains tied back. “That’s…despicable. You have no right to watch me.” For once, Prudence was correct. The man was a fiend.
“If you don’t wish to be watched, try having less shapely legs.” He grinned down at her. The soft breeze ruffled his dark hair.
Tilly’s face heated. “You’ve been looking at my legs?”
“It would be impossible not to.” He leaned closer. One long-fingered hand neared her cheek.
She slapped him. Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise, an identical expression mirrored on his face. She hadn’t meant to strike him.
He rubbed his cheek, ruddy from the force of the blow. A line formed on his smooth brow. He again looked her up and down, but in an assessing, not leering, sort of way.
Tilly watched him wide-eyed, with no notion what to do or say. She’d just hit a duke. Should she apologize? He certainly should.
