Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,67
to take care of her, and of you, and so I will.” Edward leaned over to press a brief, soft kiss to her lips, his breath scented pleasantly of cinnamon. “What would you like from Italy? Coral combs for your hair? A cut of glove leather?”
“Bring yourself back safe and sound.”
“That I will do.” He moved to kiss her again, but Phoebe drew back a few inches.
“And make sure to drop off the account ledgers before you leave.”
“Obstinate lady,” Edward whispered with amusement, and stole another kiss. “Incidentally, in all this discussion, Georgiana made an important point: After she leaves the Clare Estate, my frequent visits here may cause some unflattering speculation.”
“I’m not worried about scandal.”
“I am,” Edward said with a grin. “Think of my reputation, if not yours.” He took her hand in a light clasp. “When I return, I’d like to bring my courtship of you out into the open. Will you consider that while I’m gone?”
Phoebe didn’t like the idea at all. Once their courtship was made public, the clock would start ticking toward betrothal.
“Edward,” she said carefully, “you should know that I’m in no hurry to marry again. Now that the fog of grief has cleared away, I intend to take responsibility for the estate, and help my sons learn what they need to know for the future.”
“I can teach them what they need to know. As for the estate—you’re already the lady of the manor—you don’t need to be lord of the manor as well.” He smiled at the idea. “The courtship can wait until you’re ready. I’ve been patient this long, haven’t I?”
“I haven’t asked you to wait,” Phoebe said with a concerned frown.
“No, it’s been my choice, as well as my privilege. However, I don’t like to think of you going without a man’s protection, or the boys without fatherly supervision. There are many ways I can make your life easier. After we marry, I can help manage Georgiana and serve as a buffer between you. She told me it would set her mind at ease to have a man about the house again, especially a family member she trusts.” Lifting her hand to his lips, Edward feathered a kiss across the backs of her fingers. “I’ll give you companionship. Security. We could have children—a sister for Justin and Stephen—perhaps a little boy of our own.”
Phoebe gave Edward’s hand a slight squeeze to convey affection before withdrawing her fingers gently. “My dear friend,” she said carefully, “you deserve your own life, not the remnants of Henry’s old one.”
“I would hardly classify you and the children as ‘remnants.’” Edward reached out and guided her face to his. “I’ve always been fond of you, Phoebe. But now it’s turned into something more.”
Don’t compare, Phoebe commanded herself as she went upstairs. Don’t.
But she couldn’t help it.
Edward had just given her several long and lingering kisses, and truth be told, it had been pleasurable. His lips had been soft and warm, stroking over hers repeatedly, his breath sweet as it mingled with hers. But she had felt nothing close to the dizzying excitement of West Ravenel’s mouth consuming hers, the rough urgency of his embrace. No matter how attractive she might find Edward, he would never leave her shaken with desire, never seduce her into some trembling and mindless version of herself.
It wasn’t a fair comparison. Edward was a perfect gentleman, well-mannered and reserved by nature. West Ravenel, on the other hand, been raised with few constraints, with the result that he spoke and acted more freely than another man of his class would. He was a full-blooded, unpredictable male: part hero, part scoundrel.
He was a mistake she couldn’t afford to make.
Suffused with frustration and longing, Phoebe went to the tiny private parlor where her mother-in-law spent the greater part of each day. The door was ajar. After tapping gently on the jamb and receiving no response, she went inside.
The walls had been covered in deep plum paper, the furniture upholstered in heavy burgundies and browns. Thick brocade curtains had been drawn against the daylight, admitting just enough illumination to reveal Georgiana seated by the window.
The dowager was having tea at a miniature table. She was so still that she might have been a carved marble figure in a mausoleum. The only movement was a continuous curl of steam rising from the porcelain cup in front of her.
Georgiana’s frame had shrunk to diminutive proportions since Henry’s death. Grief had inscribed its history on her face like written