Page 28 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes wide and questioning. He could see her hesitation, and he softened his tone. “Please?”

After a beat, she moved hesitantly toward him. Before she could settle, he reached out and lifted her effortlessly onto his lap. She let out a small gasp, her hands flying to his chest as if to steady herself. He chuckled softly, unable to resist teasing her a little.

“Philip!” she exclaimed, though her tone lacked any real reproach.

“Yes, Annabel?” he replied, his lips curving in a slow smile.

She shifted slightly, her face a delightful shade of pink. “This … this does not seem proper.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You are my wife. I believe that makes it entirely proper.”

Her lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. Instead, she looked at him, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and something that looked very much like trust. The realization sent a strange warmth spreading through his chest.

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly, his tone softening.

She hesitated, then nodded. The vulnerability in the slight gesture made his heart twist.

“Do not be,” he murmured, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Her eyes met his, and the sincerity in her gaze made him feel as though the world had steadied beneath him. “I believe you,” she replied softly.

Those three words struck him harder than he expected. He tightened his arms around her slightly, a surge of protectiveness washing over him. She had chosen him, trusted him, despite the whirlwind of circumstances that had brought them together. He would not fail her.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting the simple act speak the words he could not yet say.

“I am glad you are my wife,” he declared quietly, his voice rough with emotion he had not intended to reveal.

She blinked up at him, her own expression softening. “And I am grateful for you,” she replied, her fingers clutching at his lapels.

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. Philip felt a profound sense of contentment settle over him. Whatever doubts had plagued him in the days leading up to their wedding faded. This woman, his Annabel, was everything he had not dared to hope for. He would do whatever it took to keep her happy.

He shifted slightly, his arms still around her. “Annabel,” he began, his voice low. “I have wanted this moment since the day we met. You must know that I⁠—”

But he stopped himself. She deserved more than rushed declarations in the back of a carriage. There would be time enough for that later. For now, he would let her set the pace.

“Never mind,” he said with a small smile. “We will have plenty of time to talk later.”

She tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes, but she did not press him. Instead, she rested her head against his shoulder, her trust warming him in a way he had not thought possible.

As the carriage swayed gently, Philip let himself enjoy the moment. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to believe that the future might hold something more than duty and regret.

But as Annabel’s breathing steadied against him, he could not entirely banish the shadow of Richard’s earlier words. Secrets had a way of surfacing, no matter how deeply buried. And when they did, he prayed they would not shatter the fragile trust he had built with the woman now nestled in his arms.

Chapter Ten

“The beginning is always today.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

Their argument started over dinner. After a long day of traveling, both Annabel and Philip were weary by the time the meal was served. The cold ham, braised potatoes, and thyme carrots had been quickly prepared at Philip’s request for a simple supper, hoping to ease their arrival at Avonmead.

Both had fallen on their food with the desperation of travelers who had not eaten properly in hours, silence reigning until their initial hunger was satisfied.

“Philip, why have you not spoken with Richard in three years?” Annabel’s question cut through the soft clatter of silverware.

Philip froze mid-motion, his fork hovering over his plate. He set it down deliberately, feigning a casual deportment that did not fool her. “My sweet, it is our first night together. Let us not spoil it by discussing Richard. Another time, perhaps?”