Page 69 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
Whatever were they on about?
Edward drifted to the doorway of the drawing room. A nervous little maid was cleaning tea things while Phily regarded herself in a small looking glass.
From what he could see, she looked as she always had. Her hair might have been twisted into a more elaborate style that suited a married lady, her gown a different color than the virginal white she had always worn in her youth, but in terms of the essentials, she was the same as ever. Still the handsomest woman of his acquaintance.
“Lord Edward!” she cried, shoving the looking glass between cushions on the divan where she received worshippers. “Do come in.”
She’d spotted him, damn and blast. Until that moment, he hadn’t been sure about paying the call. But the decision was made for him now, so off he went to see what had inspired her to summon him.
When he approached, Phily paused in her motions, as if struck by a realization. “But you’re not Lord Edward anymore, are you?” she asked, her voice trained to perfection. “Lord Netherwallop, my apologies.”
Edward bowed his head, cringing inwardly at that ridiculous courtesy title yet again.
“My condolences on the death of your brother. I wish I could have attended his funeral, but I fear I was encumbered with another confinement,” she said. “Take a seat and let me pour you some tea.”
After consuming half of his cup and with the polite allotment of time for a call nearly over, Edward realized Phily had no intention of telling him why he’d been summoned.
“Your Grace, if I may be so bold—”
“Yes, do be so bold as to come see this fine hunting scene,” she said, rising gracefully and moving towards a painting.
Edward regarded it from across the room. It seemed ordinary enough — why would she be summoning him to look at a painting like any of one hundred others?
“Do you still enjoy a hunt, Lord Ed—Netherwallop?”
Did he enjoy a hunt now that he wasn’t racing beside the greatest horsewoman of the day, was what she was asking. He wondered if Tencendor would fold for Phily as he did Lady Millicent or if he’d recognize her for the fox she was.
“I find my schedule does not allow for diversions such as hunts,” he said, joining her. Why pretend he was the same as ever when everyone in London knew of Dick Stone, the celebrated stud? He was on his way out, in any event.
“What does your schedule allow?” she asked lowly from his side.
Edward looked down at her and attempted to recall whether he’d felt anything for her beyond the beauty of her face and figure. To be sure, she’d wounded his pride when she bent and spread for the duke, but it wasn’t a severing of anything deeper.
“Consider me a cit now,” he said, hoping to make light of his immensely lowered status. “I might as well work in a bank. Thus, my schedule is rather regimented.”
“Oh, you handle deposits, do you?” she asked, her lips pursed as if she knew exactly how provocative her words were.
“I certainly make them,” he said, staring down the front of her bodice. She was a far sight more interesting now than when she’d been a simpering miss!
“Well, I am in need of a deposit myself, you see,” she said, her eyes connecting with his. “I’ve played too deep.”
Edward came closer but held himself back from fitting a hand at her trim waist.
There was a commotion, likely callers, at the entrance, and Edward moved a respectful distance away. He also tried to recall what he liked to eat for dinner when dining alone. He’d usually pick up meat pies, but they weren’t the same since Tobias ran off.
In a flurry of movement, Phily felt at the painted panel in front of them and pushed him into a corridor revealed when the thing popped open.
“Upstairs, third door on the right. I’ll be up to dress for dinner after concluding this call,” she said, snapping the panel shut behind him.
Edward looked about the dark passageway and groaned. He’d been trying to exit this house and only ended up further ensconced in Phily’s web!
Not to mention a cobweb, he thought, batting it away. At least he could be fairly certain that she wasn’t sending gentlemen to her private chambers regularly, else the path might be less dusty.
At the third door, Edward listened before entering, then eased himself inside.
It was a boudoir worthy of Madame Pompadour herself. A freestanding deep bath stood in front of windows. Phily bathed while surveying her domain, Grosvenor Square. How fitting. A collection of chaises longues decorated the room, as if she needed a variety of surfaces on which to drape her lovely body; using the same one each day might prove grim. Pillows, feathers, beads, gold leaf, and looking glasses abounded, making the room feel more like a storehouse of treasure than a place to dress.
Edward touched the silver-backed brushes on Phily’s dressing table and turned a comb this way and that. The room was so exuberantly feminine, an intoxicating bower of fragrance and flowers no doubt snipped from the duchess’s own garden. He sniffed a bottle of scent and found that it didn’t repulse him. She had good taste.
