My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,98

blacksmith. Father Riggs was a gentle, stooped man, as dear to her as a grandfather. He was standing under an oak tree. The sun was slanting through the boughs, and his black cassock was dappled, as if it had been spotted with rainwater.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, my dear Miss Philippa. And it will be my honor to perform your wedding ceremony on Saturday,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

Philippa couldn’t quite manage a smile, but she nodded.

The vicar drew a little closer and scrutinized her face. “My dear, are you . . .” He stopped and began again. “Often those of the fair sex feel a trifle reluctant to marry, but I assure you that the rewards of being a dutiful and loving wife are remarkable, and realized not merely in heaven.”

Philippa nodded absently. She was wondering whether a broken heart ever scarred over. She returned her attention to the vicar when she saw that his face had grown soft and regretful, as if he were consigning her to the gallows rather than the altar.

He put a consoling hand on her arm. “I will certainly—” But at that moment she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves on cobblestones and her heart bounded. Surely it was Wick at last! She spun about so quickly that the priest’s hand fell from her arm. It was—

It was Rodney.

As soon as he saw her, he jerked his head to the two young men riding with him. They withdrew to the opposite side of the square, and Rodney swung off his horse. For a moment, he simply stood before her, his face tight, before by an effort of will, it seemed, he regained his habitual sleepy look.

At last, he bent into a bow. “Miss Philippa.” At the bow’s lowest point, she saw that he would be bald quite soon. Bald as an egg, likely.

She curtsied, and held out her hand to be kissed. “Mr. Durfey.”

“Ah, the dear betrothed couple!” Father Riggs chortled beside her.

They ignored him.

Rodney took her hand in his, raised it to his lips, and didn’t release it. “Philippa,” he said, with a windy sigh. “Ah, Philippa.”

Philippa said nothing. Instead, she looked at Rodney as a naturalist might examine a specimen, cataloging the thinning hair, the arrogant yet indolent slope to his chin, the genuine—yes, genuine—affection in his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he said finally, still clinging to her hand.

Philippa forced her mouth to curve upwards, but pulled her fingers away. “It’s quite all right.”

“I—I didn’t understand. I was slightly mad, I think. Your beauty is intoxicating.”

Philippa didn’t think he was mad. She thought that he was simply lustful, and that he would always be lustful. It was part of Rodney, together with his fleshy thighs and his warm eyes. She knew in that second that he would not be faithful to her. Not Rodney, not once he was a baronet. He would rove on, cheerfully deflowering maidens in barns, or perhaps even inns.

But at the moment, he was all hers, for good or ill. He snatched up her hand again, and held it tightly. “I love you,” he said, turning his shoulder on the vicar. “I love you, Philippa. I’ll do whatever you wish.”

She could see that he meant it. Rodney would frolic now and then with a willing woman—in a barn or otherwise—but at night he would return to her, with that love shining in his eyes.

For a second she felt as if she couldn’t breathe, as if she were trapped behind a pane of glass, looking out at a world she couldn’t touch. Panic filled her, the suffocating fear that she would spend the rest of her life without ever being in the arms of the person she loved.

And all the more suffocating for being always in the arms of a person who loved her.

Dimly, Philippa became aware that she was swaying, her heart clenched at the thought of the life that lay ahead of her. Father Riggs squealed something, began fanning her with his hat.

Rodney pulled her to his chest, smashing her nose into his coat. She smelled starched linen and sweat. She was held there for several moments, lights playing behind her closed eyes, like the dappled sunlight on the vicar’s cassock. Her heart was beating in her ears as loudly as if a hunting party was pounding through the forest.

No . . .

It wasn’t her heart.

She pulled away sharply and turned to see a great party, all on horseback, slow to a walk