Not disliking her was hardly loving her!
And she would have settled for him going down on at leastoneknee and asking with some small enthusiasm for her hand.
Philip draped an arm around the back of the seat, lightly touching her. She tried not to stiffen but couldn’t relax the rigidity that had taken hold of her shoulders.
“Once I have faced the gawkers in Town and got past the initial humiliation, I will ignore them,” he said, not sounding as sure as he ought to.
Closing her eyes, she wished there was a way she could fix this, but she had betrayed the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Philip hadn’t thought it could be worse than he’d feared, but it was. Some arse who believed himself humorous had even hung black crape over his doorway and along the wrought iron fence in front. It must have recently happened or his butler would have taken it down.
Unless perhaps his butler was the one who did it!
Snatching at it, tearing off a swag of fabric as he tossed open his door, he then recalled his manners and stepped to the side.
“After you, Lady Mercer.”
Philip wished she hadn’t flinched when he said those words. In any case, she entered his home, now hers, at least until he sold it. It was mid-afternoon, as they had taken their time to get back. The only good thing about the long journey had been their two nights of passionate swiving. When they were stripped to bare skin, saying nothing, they communicated perfectly.
His butler appeared from the back of the house at a quick pace, looking grim-faced for having been caught unawares.
“I am home, Mr. Cherville.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And this is Lady Mercer, my wife.”
“Welcome, my lady,” his butler greeted her respectfully, his thoughts on the matter of a hasty marriage unknown as always.
“See to it her ladyship’s bags are—”
“Bag, just one,” Miranda interrupted him, then turned to his butler.
“You see, I was visiting my cousins in Northampton. Thus, I had only one small trunk with me anyway, and then we went to Scotland on a moment’s notice, so I have even less at present. Tomorrow, I will go home and pack up my things. Home,” she explained to Mr. Cherville who was manfully trying to follow her tale, “is on Russell Square. My father is Sir William Bright, the magistrate.”
His butler nodded, his face placid.
Then she turned to Philip. “May I send a courier for my trunk in Northampton?”
“You are thinking of everything at once. All in good time. First, I’ll show you your room and then—”
“Myroom?” she repeated. “Am I to have my own room? Are we not to share one? My parents never slept apart. I know the nobility try to emulate royalty, but—”
“Miranda,” he cut her off, sending Mr. Cherville an apologetic look. Undoubtedly the man must be wondering what type of creature his employer had brought into their home.
“Send the lady’s single bag up toourroom, along with mine. We’ll take tea in the upstairs salon. And bring all my correspondence there, too. I imagine there is quite a lot of it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Philip gestured for her to precede him upstairs.
With her lips pursed, she nodded and ascended.
“Up one more flight if you wish to see our bedroom,” he told her, and up they went with him enjoying the view of her backside. At least he still had that. “Do you have a lady’s maid you wish to bring from home?”
“No,” she said. “My father is partial to retaining the people he knows and trusts. Eliza shall remain in his employ.”
