Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,168

wolfish smile, she was rather pretty, and more than once this afternoon he’d caught himself looking at her, wondering how she’d feel in his arms, whether she’d respond to his kiss.

His body tightened at the thought. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman. More years than he cared to count.

More years, quite honestly, than any man would care to admit to.

He’d not availed himself of any of the services offered by the barmaids at the local public inn, preferring his women more freshly washed and, in truth, not quite so anonymous.

Or maybe more anonymous. None of those barmaids were likely to leave the village during their lifetime, and Phillip enjoyed his time at the public inn too much to ruin it by constantly having to run into women with whom he’d once lain and no longer cared to.

And before Marina’s death—well, he’d never even considered being unfaithful to her, despite the fact that they’d not shared a bed since the twins were quite young.

She’d been so melancholy following their birth. Marina had always seemed fragile and overly pensive, but it was only after Oliver and Amanda had arrived that she’d sunk into her own world of sorrow and despair. It had been horrifying for Phillip, watching the life behind her eyes slip away, day by day, until all that was left was an eerie flatness, the barest shadow of the woman who had once existed.

He knew that women couldn’t have relations immediately following childbirth, but even once she was physically healed he couldn’t have even imagined forcing himself upon her. How was one supposed to lust after a woman who always looked as if she might cry?

When the twins were a bit older, and Phillip had thought—hoped, really—that Marina was getting better, he had visited her in her bedchamber.

Once.

She had not refused him, but nor had she taken part in his lovemaking. She’d just lain there, doing nothing, her head turned to the side, her eyes open, barely blinking.

It was almost as if she hadn’t been there at all.

He’d left feeling soiled, morally corrupt, as if he’d somehow violated her, even though she had never uttered the word no.

And he had never touched her again.

His needs weren’t so great that he needed to slake them upon a woman who lay beneath him like a corpse.

And he never wanted to feel again as he had that final night. Once he’d returned to his own room, he’d promptly emptied the contents of his stomach, shaking and trembling, disgusted with himself. He had behaved like an animal, desperately trying to rouse in her some sort—any sort—of response. When that had proven impossible, he’d grown angry with her, wanted to punish her.

And that had terrified him.

He’d been too rough. He didn’t think he’d hurt her, but he hadn’t been gentle. And he never wanted to see that side of himself again.

But Marina was gone.

Gone.

And Eloise was different. She wasn’t going to cry at the drop of a hat or shut herself in her room, picking at her food and crying into her pillow.

Eloise had spirit. Backbone.

Eloise was happy.

And if that wasn’t a good criterion for a wife, he didn’t know what was.

He paused at the base of the stairs to check his pocket watch. He had told Eloise that supper would be at seven and that he would meet her outside her door to take her down to the dining room. He didn’t want to be early and appear too eager.

On the other hand, it wouldn’t do to be late. There was little to be gained in making her think he was disinterested.

He snapped his watch shut and rolled his eyes. He was behaving no better than a green boy. This was ridiculous. He was master of his own house and an accomplished scientist. He ought not to be counting minutes just so he could best win a woman’s favor.

But even as he thought that, he opened his watch for one more check. Three minutes prior to seven. Excellent. That would give him just enough time to ascend the stairs and meet her outside her door with precisely one minute to spare.

He grinned, enjoying his warm flush of desire at the thought of her in an evening gown. He hoped it was blue. She would look lovely in blue.

His smile deepened. She would look lovely in nothing at all.

Except when he found her, upstairs in the hall outside her bedchamber, her hair had gone white.

As, it seemed, had the rest