Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, for she smiled that mysterious smile of hers.
“Agnes will be expecting me,” she said. “And though I don’t conform to all of your rules, I draw the line at staying the night in a man’s house.”
Philip nodded, ignoring the punch of desire at her mention of staying the night.
All manner of wicked things tried to clamber into his brain but of course, he pushed them aside. Not least because he needed to focus on Timothy right now and not his own, base desires.
“Of course,” he said a little stiffly.
She sipped her tea while he sat there awkwardly.
The silence stretched on. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask, yet he couldn’t think of a single question that didn’t sound utterly insane. He wanted to bring the conversation back to where it had been and at the same time, he didn’t.
Finally, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he jumped to his feet.
“I need a real drink,” he said apologetically.
“Thanks be to God,” she whispered before she grinned up at him. “At least tell me you’ve decent Irish whiskey?”
He was so surprised he could only stare at her for a moment and then suddenly, he found himself answering her grin with one of his own.
It didn’t feel strained or unnatural.
And in spite of all the fear and darkness, the worry and guilt, Philip felt – happy. Just a little and just for a moment. But he felt it all the same.
He poured himself a brandy and her a whiskey from his grandfather’s old bottles, thanking providence that there was still some around, before sitting back in front of her and handing her the tumbler, the tepid tea between them forgotten.
Selina took a healthy swallow of her drink, not even flinching as the potent liquid disappeared down her throat.
Another reason to marvel at her, Philip supposed, before he got his rogue thoughts under control once more.
He sipped from his own drink, gaining courage from the brandy’s slight burn before he took a steadying breath, looked her dead in the eye and blurted out the oddest question he’d ever uttered.
“Do you think my dead wife is haunting my son?”
Chapter 7
Selina watched Philip’s face as he asked her the question. He winced slightly as though expecting some sort of death knell just because he’d spoken the words out loud.
She’d tried thinking of him as Lord Breton, but it seemed foolish. Not after what he’d experienced in Timothy’s bedroom. Not after he’d trusted her so implicitly with his son.
To give the man his due, he didn’t laugh or scoff when he asked. He didn’t sneer. His voice didn’t drip sarcasm.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe, she decided while she watched his ice-blue eyes cloud over with fear. It was that he really didn’t want to.
After finishing her drink in one gulp, Selina placed the glass on the table before clasping her hands together and leaning forward in her seat.
“Why don’t you tell me about your wife?” she said by way of answer.
She suspected the man wasn’t as ready for her answers as he was trying to be. And she really needed his honesty if she were going to help.
As she watched, his eyes dulled with such sorrow that Selina’s breath caught.
“You loved her a great deal.”
It was a statement, not a question, and she was disgusted at the envy that clawed at her.
Philip stared at her, seeming to measure his words before he spoke them.
“Charlotte was – fragile,” he said carefully. “I cared a great deal for her. Looked after her. Took care of her.”
Did that equate to love? Selina wondered.
But she kept her thoughts to herself.
What would she know of it, in any case?
“Charlotte’s family were acquainted with mine, and the match was made while I was still at Oxford. I – I wasn’t averse to it. She was pretty and kind, and she had the sweetest disposition.”
Selina nodded, though there was little need. The earl had become lost in his thoughts.
“We were married two years before she fell pregnant for the first time.”
He darted his eyes to her, no doubt thinking that such delicate things shouldn’t be spoken of between a man and a woman, and Selina rolled her eyes.
She’d delivered countless babes with Agnes. Women who would never deign to speak to either of them came seeking help when the lives of their children were at stake.
“The pregnancies – they didn’t last past a couple of months,