Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,154

said, thoroughly irritated. “I’ll go downstairs.”

Gunning beamed. “Excellent, sir.”

Phillip stared at his butler in shock. “Are you unwell, Gunning?”

“No, sir. Why do you ask, sir?”

It didn’t seem quite polite to point out that the broad smile made Gunning look a bit like a horse, so Phillip just muttered, “It’s nothing,” and headed down the stairs.

A caller? Who would be calling? No one had come to visit in nearly a year, since the neighbors had finished making their obligatory condolence calls. He supposed he couldn’t really blame them for staying away; the last time one of them had come to visit, Oliver and Amanda had smeared strawberry jam on the chairs.

Lady Winslet had left in a fit of temper quite beyond anything Phillip would have thought healthy for a woman of her years.

Phillip frowned as he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the entry hall. It was a she, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Gunning said his visitor was a she?

Who the devil—

He stopped short; stumbled, even.

Because the woman standing in his entry hall was young, and quite pretty, and when she looked up to meet his gaze, he saw that she had the largest, most achingly beautiful gray eyes he’d ever seen.

He could drown in those eyes.

And Phillip did not, as one might imagine, even think the word drown lightly.

Chapter 2

. . . and then, I’m sure you will not be surprised to hear, I talked far too much. I simply couldn’t stop talking, but I suppose that is what I do when I am nervous. One can only hope I have less cause for nerves as the rest of my life unfolds.

—from Eloise Bridgerton

to her brother Colin,

upon the occasion of

Eloise’s debut into London society

Then she opened her mouth.

“Sir Phillip?” she asked, and before he even had a chance to nod in the affirmative, she said, at quite the speed of lightning, “I’m so terribly sorry to arrive unannounced, but I really had no other option, and to be honest, if I’d sent notice, it probably would have arrived behind me, making the notice really quite moot, as I’m sure you’ll agree, and . . .”

Phillip blinked, certain he was supposed to be following what she was saying but no longer able to make out where one word ended and the next began.

“. . . a long journey, and I’m afraid I didn’t sleep, and so I must beg you to forgive my appearance and . . .”

She was making him dizzy. Would it be rude if he sat down?

“. . . didn’t bring very much, but I had no choice, and . . .”

This had clearly gone on far too long, with no sign, in truth, that it would ever end. If he allowed her to speak for one moment longer, he was quite certain that he would suffer an inner ear imbalance, or perhaps she would swoon from lack of breath and hit her head on the floor. Either way, one of them would be injured and in debilitating pain.

“Madam,” he said, clearing his throat.

If she heard him, she gave no indication, instead saying something about the coach that had apparently conveyed her to his doorstep.

“Madam,” he said, a little louder this time.

“. . . but then I—” She looked up, blinking those devastating gray eyes at him, and for a moment he felt frighteningly off balance. “Yes?” she asked.

Now that he had her attention, he seemed to have forgotten why he’d sought it. “Er,” he asked, “who are you?”

She stared at him for a good five seconds, her lips parting with surprise, and then she finally answered, “Eloise Bridgerton, of course.”

Eloise was fairly certain she was talking too much, and she knew she was talking too fast, but she tended to do that when she was nervous, and while she prided herself on the fact that she was rarely nervous, now seemed like a rather deserving time to explore that emotion, and besides, Sir Phillip—if indeed he was the large bear of a man standing before her—was not at all what she had expected.

“You’re Eloise Bridgerton?”

She looked up into his gaping face and felt the first stirrings of annoyance. “Well, of course I am. Who else would I be?”

“I could not possibly imagine.”

“You did invite me,” she pointed out.

“And you did not respond to my invitation,” he returned.

She swallowed. He had a point there. A rather large one, if one wanted to be fair, which she didn’t. Not just then, anyway.

“I didn’t really have the opportunity,”