Why not have a proper drink?” he asked and without awaiting an answer, he moved and poured a healthy measure of whiskey into a glass.
Selina felt oddly touched that he now kept the drink on hand. Though truth be told, Agnes had been partaking of the drink more than she.
Selina reached out to take the glass from him, unsurprised at the jolt of awareness that shot through her when their fingers touched.
“Thank you,” she said softly into the awkward, tension-filled silence.
Selina couldn’t imagine what had caused this sudden divide, and she hated herself for worrying about it so. Having always prided herself on not caring what people thought of her, it was a bitter pill to swallow that in the end, she was apparently no different to the simpering misses she used to pity who hung on the words and actions of men.
For here she was, desperately wondering what he was thinking, and desperate to once again feel his lips against her own.
Finally, when she couldn’t stand the quiet any longer, she spoke.
“Are you well?”
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, for he spun toward her and whereas before his eyes had been dull and vacant, now they gleamed with blue fire.
“Am I well?” he laughed, the sound harsh and humourless. “God, Selina I don’t give a damn about how I feel, and neither should you.”
She didn’t know what to say in response to such a thing so she said nothing, just sipped her drink and wondered at his strange mood.
After an age, he slammed his own tumbler, now empty, onto his desk and turned to face her.
“Are you well?” he asked. His tone was so different now. Soft and concerned. And it sent her heart fluttering, even as she laughed.
“You already asked me that. How much have you drunk?”
This time, his smile was at least genuine.
“Not nearly as much as I should have liked,” he said wryly before becoming all seriousness once more. “In truth, I haven’t been able to do anything other than sit here worrying about you.”
His words set her poor, overworked heart hammering.
“When you didn’t wake up – I don’t mind telling you, the fear was palpable. Mrs. Healy eventually threw me out of your room, and I can assure you were she not as frightening and formidable as she is, I’d still be there now. I sat with Timmy for a while, but he didn’t stir. I couldn’t sleep myself until I knew you were well, so I’ve been sitting here all evening not quite knowing what to do with myself.”
Once again, Selina found herself not knowing what to say.
“Timothy should sleep easily for the night,” she said gently.
But rather than reassure him, her answer just seemed to agitate him further.
“I know that,” he said gruffly. “And I’m more grateful than I could ever say for that. But what about you, Selina? How much of a toll will this take on you when it keeps happening? What happens if next time you don’t recover as quickly? Or at all?”
She could only stare at him for a while, her eyes taking note of the fear behind the anger, the concern behind the harshness.
“Philip – that’s never happened before. And –“
“Exactly!” The word burst from his lips and suddenly he was right in front of her, grasping her arms.
The whiskey tumbler fell to the ground, but he either didn’t notice or care.
“Exactly.” He repeated. “What this is – this hold Charlotte has on Timmy, if it even is Charlotte – it’s too strong. It could hurt you, Selina. Damn it, it has hurt you.”
“Philip, I’m not hurt – I just –“
“No,” he interrupted. “It has to stop. Don’t you understand? I couldn’t bear it to see you like that, Selina. I can’t stand the idea of you being hurt because of this, because of me.”
“Listen,” she said firmly, praying that he would.
He seemed to be on the verge of his mind snapping. And she was so close now. So close to freeing Timothy and Charlotte. And yes, even Philip.
And God help her, she wanted him free. Not just for his sake or for Timothy’s. But for her own.
Because she’d done exactly what she’d promised Agnes she wouldn’t. She’d fallen in love with him.
Even though she was a gypsy orphan and he was an English lord.
Even though his heart was so tangled up in guilt and grief that it likely didn’t have any room for her.
Still, she loved him.
She was her mother’s daughter after all.
Chapter 13
Because Philip