“Oh, Philip…” Sympathy crushed her heart as she imagined a young boy, blaming himself, and his father, doing the same. “You were a child-”
“Who did not keep his word.” He looked up from their joined hands and met her gaze. “If I’d kept my word, she wouldn’t have gone outdoors.”
“She was a grown woman who was the victim of an unwise decision-a choice she made.”
“A choice she would not have made if I’d kept my word.” His eyes seemed to burn into hers. “When my father learned that I’d failed, that she’d left the house, he told me that a man is only as good as his word. That a man who does not honor his word is nothing. I’ve never failed to keep my word ever since that day. I’ve failed in other ways, but not in that way. Nor do I intend to, ever again.”
And suddenly she understood his single-minded determination to solve the curse so he could marry before his father succumbed to his illness. It wasn’t simply a matter that he’d struck an agreement with his father-Philip had given his word to do so.
“Mother’s death drove a deep wedge between Father and me. He blamed himself and he blamed me. I blamed myself, and we couldn’t seem to breach the ever-widening chasm separating us. Catherine tried to help, reminding us that even before that fateful day, Mother’s illness had advanced beyond hope. Father and I both knew that, but we were both with her when she died, we both saw her suffering and struggling for each breath. She hadn’t had many more months to live, but she died sooner than she had to.”
He blew out a long breath. “With Father spending most of his time seeing to his estates, I spent mine with an array of disinterested private tutors. The situation grew worse when I was sent away to Eton, where I learned that boys, no matter how supposedly well-bred, can inflict great pain, not only with their fists, but with cruel words as well. The fact that I was a failure at school in every way- except academically-did not help the situation with my father. Seeing Catherine during my school holidays was the lone ray of sunshine during those dark years. Her, and the comfort I found in my studies, when I lost myself in the wonders of the past, in the lives of people I did not know.”
He paused for several seconds, then he appeared to shake off the remnants of the past and his gaze focused back on hers. “With both my father and I needing to escape the tension festering between us, he offered me the chance to further my studies abroad, and I grabbed the opportunity. We struck our bargain-that I would return to England and marry in exchange for his financial backing. As much as I desperately wanted to go, I was terrified to leave my home. I was painfully shy, still awkward and clumsy.”
The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “But once I departed England, no one knew me, or had knowledge of my past failures, and I reveled in the freedom this afforded me. The strenuous physical activity my travels required, along with the fresh air, all strengthened me, and for the first time in my life, I felt as if I belonged. I met Bakari, then Andrew, who is not only a keen pugilist, but an accomplished fencer. He taught me the finer nuances of pugilism and swordplay, and I taught him how to read ancient scripts. He was no more anxious to discuss his past than I was, and we became fast friends. Indeed, except for Catherine, Bakari and Andrew were the first real friends I’d ever had.”
His words faded, and silence surrounded them. She wanted to say something, but what could she say to a man who had just bared his soul to her? A man she’d fed nothing but a pack of lies to? Don’t be naive-honesty only works if you have nothing to hide.
Feelings bombarded her so quickly, and with such force, she couldn’t separate them, couldn’t bring one into sharp focus before it was shoved aside by another. Sympathy. Guilt. Compassion. Commiseration.
Deep, abiding affection.
The need to touch him, comfort him, overwhelmed her, and it took all her strength not to draw him into her arms. Instead, she merely squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Philip,” the inadequate words and gesture in no way expressing the depth of her jumbled feelings.
“Thank you.” A bit of the tension left his features. “Over the years, I corresponded regularly with Father. Our letters were stilted at first, but after a while some of the tension dissipated, as clearly we both found it easier to communicate through letters than face-to-face. But all the tension returned three years ago when he wrote, demanding my return to England, as he’d arranged a marriage for me. I refused. Partly because I was not yet ready to come home, but also because I’d become quite stubborn in my own right and I did not take kindly to such an autocratic order. As you can guess, our relationship suffered anew because of it. We still corresponded, but it was strained. And then I received his letter telling me he was dying. That, of course, made me realize it was time to come home. I’d hoped that my return to England and my marriage would heal the rift between us. But then I stumbled upon the Stone of Tears.”
Another wave of sympathy washed over her. “Yes. An extremely unfortunate bit of luck.”
“In some ways, yes, with Mary Binsmore’s death being the most tragic. But the curse has not brought only bad luck.”
Her brows shot upward. “How can you say that? The curse lost you Lady Sarah.”
Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips, shooting a tingle up her arm. “Yes. But the curse led me to you.”
Thirteen
Meredith’s heart stuttered a halt, then slammed against her rib cage. The curse led me to you…
Before she could think of an appropriate reply-no doubt because there wasn’t one-he smiled. “Forgive me, please. I did not mean to inject our evening with ghosts from the past. There are still several more courses to enjoy, and Bakari will treat me to his most fearsome scowl if I do not serve his masterpieces in a timely manner.”
Clearly he wished to change the subject, and she was more than willing to comply. Surely the simple routine, the ordinary nature of sharing the remainder of their meal would dispel the air of intimacy that had closed in on them during their conversation. Although how she would ever erase the unsettling feelings his story had wrought upon her, she did not know.
The next two courses consisted of thinly sliced duck, then a savory lamb stew, after which she felt warm and sated and relaxed. Surrounded by the fluffy pillows, it was as if she were encased in a velvety cocoon.
“I cannot decide which dish was more delicious,” she said, watching him lift the lid off yet another platter. “Bakari is a gifted chef. If I were you, I’d station him in the kitchen rather than the foyer.”
He laughed. “Wait until you taste this.” He held a small china bowl containing what appeared to be a combination of custard and thin layers of cake, decorated with a drizzle of chopped nuts and a golden syrup. Obviously a dessert, but one unfamiliar to her. Scooping up a spoonful of the concoction, he held the spoon to her lips. The delicate scents of honey and cinnamon teased her, urging her to eat the offering, but she hesitated, her earlier tension rushing back at the intimacy of his gesture. It was one thing to share a meal with him. It was quite another for him to feed her.
“Try it, Meredith,” he said softly. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
She parted her lips, and he fed her the morsel, then slowly slipped the spoon from between her lips. A heady combination of tastes and textures delighted her mouth- silky-smooth custard, spongy cake, crunchy nuts, sweet honey, the tang of cinnamon. Her gaze locked to his, she slowly chewed, then swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden racing of her heart. The heated awareness of him that she’d managed to push aside roared back to life, inching tingling warmth up her spine.