The Defiant Wife (The Three Mrs #2) - Jess Michaels Page 0,30

with the other wives, her friends, she didn’t feel completely part of a group. And yet this man offered her solace, solidarity, acceptance.

“He will be wretched,” she whispered, and hated how her voice broke.

Rhys smiled down at her and his fingers stroked the line of her jaw. “That is why I’m coming with you.”

There was a knock on the study door, and Rhys stepped away as Barton put his head into the room. The butler’s jaw was set. “I deeply apologize, Lord Leighton, Mrs. Montgomery, but you have—”

Pippa stepped closer. “Yes, I heard him. I am so very sorry, Barton.”

He inclined his head and set his shoulders back. “I can put him out on the street if you would prefer, ma’am.”

She smiled at the loyalty. “I would never ask you to do such a thing. I will see him, but you and Mrs. Barton needn’t trouble yourself with any pleasantries. I do not think he will want the hospitality my home has to offer.”

“Then I will stand by at the door to show him out,” Barton said, and gave her a sharp nod before he departed and left her alone with Rhys.

She made a weak half-smile. “As you can tell, my father has been a difficulty many times in this house. I offer you a chance to renege on your offer to stand at my side. I would not blame you the avoidance of him.”

Rhys ignored the offer and held out an arm. She stared at it for a moment and then slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. His arm was strong, she could feel the muscle flexing beneath his jacket as he guided her from the room and down the hall. With every step she felt like she was being taken closer to the gallows.

At the door to the parlor, Rhys stopped. He glanced up the hallway behind her and then the opposite way. When he was certain no one could see them, he stepped a little closer, too close, and smoothed his thumb against her jawline again.

“I wish I could do something to ease this tension,” he said softly.

She swallowed hard because her mind automatically created the scenario where they didn’t go into the parlor at all, but to her bed. Which only created a tension of a different kind inside of her.

And like he read her mind, his jaw clenched a little. “You are impossible,” he whispered, and then he dipped his head and kissed her. Right there in her hall with her father behind the door.

It wasn’t like the other kisses, where passion had been just under the purpose, teasing her with what else could be. This one was gentle, meant to soothe, although it did enflame all the same. She gripped his forearms to steady herself and leaned into him, soaking in his strength and his support and the way he made her feel so alive with just one touch.

When she pulled away, the anxiety of seeing her father had faded a little. That was what this man she loved could do with just the briefest touch. She smiled at him, wobbly but sincere, and then drew a deep breath and opened the door.

Rhys hadn’t meant to kiss Phillipa. That seemed to be becoming a personal refrain, because it kept happening. But God’s teeth, having her in his arms was worth all the pain he knew would follow at some point. He pushed that aside, because the pain she was about to face was far more present.

He saw her settle herself before she opened the door. When she was nervous, she always gave her shoulders a little shake, as if she were willing strength into her body. And then she entered the room, with him at her heels.

The man he presumed was her father stood by the window, arms folded, facing the door as they entered. Rhys took him in with one sweeping glance before Mr. Windridge spoke. He was tall, though not as tall as Rhys, with fading blond hair much like his daughter’s. His eyes were different, though, dark brown rather than her vibrant green. Still, Rhys could see the similarities from parent to child.

“How dare you come back here?” Windridge snapped as a greeting.

Phillipa flinched ever so slightly at the harshness of the question, but then she motioned Rhys forward. “Father, this is the Earl of Leighton. My lord, may I present Mr. Calvin Windridge, the owner of Windridge’s Assembly.”

Rhys stretched his hand out, though he had no desire