“No,” she whispered. “Not that I have ever seen. You are…good, Rhys.” His stomach flipped at the use of his first name. “And what you are forced to clean up is not fair,” she finished.
He shook his head as he pondered that. The concept was one he’d done a great deal of thought about the last few weeks and months. “Life isn’t fair.”
“Don’t we both know it,” she said.
He wanted to touch her then. Not take her hand, which could be construed benignly enough, but stroke her cheek. Cup her chin. Draw her into his lap and put her arms around her. Just feel that she was real. Pretend that she was his. An illusion that would vanish when the sun hit it, but who cared? For the moments it felt true it would be amazing.
He blinked and broke the spell. “We have an early morning and it was a long day,” he said, setting his napkin on the tabletop. “Perhaps I should escort you up?”
She dropped her gaze from his. “I think that would be best.”
She stood and he followed her. He wanted to offer her an arm, but didn’t. They walked together, never touching, across the dining hall and through to the stairs that led to the chambers above. She pointed in the direction of her own and stopped in front of a door that was just three down from his own.
So close. Yet so far away.
She managed to look at him again, though she did not meet his eyes. “Thank you for the company,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying even in the narrow hall. “And for the kindness.”
He inclined his head. “You will always have it. Good evening.”
“Good night,” she said, and then turned away, disappearing into the room.
He stood staring at the door for a long moment before he managed to get his feet moving toward his chamber. As he staggered inside, he let out the curse that had been clogging his throat for the entire night.
“Bloody fucking hell.”
The scent of Phillipa was still in his nostrils, he could almost feel the pressure of her fingers on his hand. He wanted, more than anything, to go back to her door, haul her into his arms and learn her taste. He wanted to drown himself in her body until he didn’t even remember all the good reasons that kept them apart.
But he couldn’t, so what he was left with was a rising erection and a longing that would never be quenched except in fantasy.
Which he would indulge in now.
He crossed to the bed and flipped the placard of his trousers down with a flick of his wrist. His cock, half-hard from thoughts of her, bobbed free and he caught it, stroking the length as he leaned against the edge of the high mattress. How he’d love to have her here, watch her fingers clench the coverlet as he undressed her. Feel her backside push against him in invitation.
He spit on his hand and stroked himself harder, arching his hips like he would if it were Phillipa he was claiming. He’d be out of control if he touched her. He would grip her hips, grind her back against him as she panted and keened.
And he would make her come. With his tongue, with his fingers, with his cock. He would make her come over and over until she was slick with sweat. Until she was shaking with the exertion of it.
He was close to orgasm now, and hurried. With her, he wouldn’t. He would take his time, but fantasy allowed for selfishness and he squeezed his eyes shut as he pretended it was her tight, wet body that gripped him. Pretended she was crying out his name.
Rhys. Rhys. Rhys.
He could almost hear her voice saying it, like she’d said it at supper. Almost feel her legs locked around his hips.
He came in great heavy spurts, collapsing against the edge of the bed with a gasp. It had been some time since he allowed himself this pleasure.
He rested his head on his forearm as his heart rate returned to normal. As fantasy faded and was replaced by cold, hard reality.
What he wanted he could not have.
This wasn’t the first time that statement was true. It likely wouldn’t be the last. The best thing he could do was stop torturing himself like this. It was no good to anyone.
Pippa leaned back on the door, her hands shaking and her mind racing as she heard Rhys’s footsteps move away at last. And yet the troubles he created in her body and her heart and her soul remained as if he were still there looking into her eyes.
The Earl of Leighton was her late…
Well, she couldn’t quite call Erasmus her husband, could she? Their union wasn’t legal, it wasn’t binding, it wasn’t true. But the man had been her lover. At once point she’d even thought she loved him.
So wanting his brother now was…unseemly. Wrong.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, as if saying it out loud would somehow make her understand it better.
“Ma’am?”
She jumped because in her distraction she hadn’t even noticed that Nan was lying on the narrow bed near the fire. She’d been sleeping, it seemed, and now she got up, eyes bleary and concerned.
“Nothing,” Pippa gasped. “Just woolgathering. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Not at all,” Nan said. “The travel just puts me out of sorts and I dozed off while I was reading my book. Did you have a nice supper?”
“Yes,” Pippa said, and it wasn’t a lie. “But I think the travel has affected me the same way it has you. Will you help me undress? Perhaps I’ll try to sleep a little early, too.”
Nan nodded and hustled to do her duty, chatting away as she did so. Pippa half-listened, nodding and making sounds of support. But in truth, her mind wandered to her time with Rhys. To the feelings he inspired just by being near her.
And to the fact that none of it mattered. She had to let this go. And she had to do it soon.
Chapter 4
Pippa drew a deep breath as the carriage slowed to a stop. She had a few moments before the door was opened, and she needed to gather herself so that she could pretend everything was fine and normal.
It had been a long morning of travel since they’d left the inn a few hours before. Rhys had ridden outside the entire time, as if he was just as dedicated to putting distance between them as she was. She ought to have been pleased at that thought, but instead she’d been restless. She had tried to read and couldn’t concentrate. When Nan chatted with her, she found herself becoming distracted.
It would not do, especially since they were stopping for a picnic lunch before moving on for the day. She would have to sit beside Rhys again and pretend everything was fine.
The door opened on that thought, and the man, himself, peeked in. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, calm and casual, as if he weren’t troubled at all as she was.
And of course he likely wasn’t. Every once in a while he looked at her like he felt a stirring of the same connection she did. Perhaps he found her attractive. But that didn’t seem to make him uncomfortable. Likely it meant nothing to him.
“My lord,” she said, and heard how cold her tone sounded.
He held out a hand to her, and she swallowed hard before she took it. Even though they were each wearing gloves, the spark from making contact with him still rippled through her. She released him as soon as she could, pacing toward the wide field where the driver and groom were spreading out the food packed back at the inn earlier in the day.