A Summons From the Duke by Jerrica Knight-Catania, Lilia Birney, Samantha Grace

long ago—by society's standards, she was decidedly on the shelf.
    The carriage slowed to a halt, and Philip peered outside. "We're at the inn," he announced. "Go inside and warm yourself—I'll bespeak a room for you if you wish."
    "Oh, no indeed, thank you. I must be going. I need to return to Sheffield as quickly as possible." She gathered her cloak and prepared to step out of the carriage.
    With a gentle but insistent hand, Philip pushed her back onto the seat. "What awaits you in Sheffield?"
    "My daughter. I must pack up our home and move back to my aunt and uncle's now that Charles has passed."
    Philip looked down at her, the color draining from his face. "You have a child?"
    "Yes, Rose. She is but two years old. I must go to her quickly and prepare for our travel."
    Philip released his hold on her arm and stepped outside the carriage. He extended his hand to Emily.
    "I'll take you home."
    ~ * ~
    Why had he made such a daft promise? From the moment the words slipped from his lips, 'twas obvious he had made a mistake. It meant two more days of traveling next to his temptress and muse, giving himself the double pain and pleasure of seeing her but not being able to touch her—not in the way he wanted, not in the way he had dreamed for two years.
    Philip snuck a quick sip of the burning contents of his flask. Was it worse to sit on the box with Giles and the coachman, freezing and denying himself the painful pleasure of Emily's company? Or was it better in the close confines of the carriage, pretending not to notice her rapid, appraising glances? To engage in idle prattle about the weather while watching that enchanting beauty mark above Emily's mouth, like a pert little exclamation point above her smiles?
    Yesterday he chose the former. Today, the last leg of the trip before Sheffield, the latter was thrust upon him. A somewhat raw throat and the threat of snow in the air meant the remainder of the trip must be spent inside the coach. He shifted on his seat, glancing over at Emily. She was reading—or at least pretending to. He hadn't seen her turn the page in a good five minutes.
    "Emily, why are you going to live with your family? Why not continue living in Sheffield?"
    She jumped, dropping her book. Deftly, he scooped it up and placed it on the bench beside him.
    "Circumstances dictate that we must move." She blushed so easily. She was never good at deception. It was one of the things he found most attractive about her.
    "What circumstances?" All right, so he was pressing her. He wanted the truth.
    "Those of a financial nature." She flicked a glance over his visage and then sighed, her shoulders drooping. "If you must know, my husband's affairs collapsed. We are paupers now. I am staying with my aunt and uncle until I can find a position or vocation somewhere."
    "I'm sorry to hear it." And he was. No rush of exultation followed her confession. His rival had been a poor provider, and probably a poor husband, too. But Emily's downfall did not bring him any joy.
    "Thank you. And thank you for offering to bring me to Sheffield. You travel so much faster than the public post. The company is more agreeable, too." She offered a shy smile.
    He stared at her, unwilling to let this brief spark die out. "Why did you marry him?"
    Her eyes, the exact shade of sherry in a decanter, flashed back. "Because he asked me," she replied tartly.
    "You didn't give me a chance to," he admonished in a voice so low, he wasn't sure it had registered.
    "As if the son of a marquess would stoop to marry a commoner," she rejoined, her voice hushed and her head bowed.
    "Do not speak so. We were never like that. Not you and I." He crossed the space between them, grasping her hands in his as he sat down beside her. "What are mere social stations when there is love?"
    She tried to remove her hands, but he refused to release her. "Lord Philip, you mustn't say these things. The past is over and done with."
    "Philip. You used to call me Philip."
    "Philip,