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

then. You must understand that I had to think of these very social stations you mock. I grew up as a poor relation, and I had to strike out on my own. I had to find my own security, and I thought that was what Charles Barlow offered." She gave a bitter laugh, and the sound wrung his heart. "How wrong I was. Here I am, worse off than before."
    "I am here with you." He moved closer and stared deeply into the flecks of gold in the amber depths of her eyes. With one finger, he gently traced the outline of her full lips and the saucy beauty mark just above them. "Lovely, Emily. You don't know how I've suffered because of you."
    Her mouth dropped open in protest, and Philip took full advantage. He tasted her lips slowly at first; enjoying the instant intimacy her parted lips gave him, expecting Emily to push him away. With an endearing sigh, she melted against him, giving him free rein. Throwing caution to the wind, he plundered his muse's mouth. Her special scent of gardenias—the scent that almost drove him mad and made him commission a garden outside his bachelor's quarters in Rome—filled his head, making him dizzy.
    He was driven with a need to strip her of her widow's weeds—to be skin to skin with her and nothing more—laying aside the mistakes of the past and the false social constructs that drove them apart. Roughly, he tugged at her bodice, tearing the ridiculously high collar that concealed her graceful neck.
    Emily gasped, pushing away from him. "Philip, please. The carriage has stopped. We must be in Sheffield."
     
     

~ 4 ~
     
    "Come with you? To ask the duke's help?" Emily glanced up at Philip hopefully.
    He sat back, as though disconcerted by her response. "I suppose so. Your aunt and uncle live close by, after all. I could deliver you to their home, and you could come to Danby to speak with Grandfather—if that's what you truly wish."
    "Oh, Philip. Thank you so much." Emily reached out and took his hand. "The journey won't be half so tiresome if we can travel with you. And I will feel better about asking the duke myself rather than begging intermediaries to do so."
    Philip closed his eyes and brought their joined hands up to his lips. "Then it is settled."
    Emily tried to free herself. That sounded so final, as though she had agreed to something she didn't fully understand. "Philip, please. We shouldn't even be here like this. You make me—uncomfortable."
    He opened her hand, his mouth gently teasing her palm. Shivers ran up her arm, causing her shoulders to jerk. "Good," Philip rejoined. "Then we have something in common. You make me uncomfortable too."
    With her free hand, Emily clutched her shawl more tightly. "I am afraid I gave you the wrong impression, Lord Philip, by allowing you to kiss me earlier. I-I'm not…" Emily trailed off uncertainly. That kind of girl? She always seemed to turn into that kind of girl around Philip Whitton. His hold on her sensibilities was nothing short of remarkable.
    "Call me Lord Philip one more time, and you will answer the consequences, Mrs. Barlow. I'd chuck the bloody title into the sea if it would change anything. If it meant not spending the last two years in torment."
    Anger surged in Emily, bubbling to the surface. What, after all, did the coddled grandson of a duke know of suffering? "Torment? What torment? Didn't you say you had been abroad? Where were you, then?"
    Philip's head snapped up and he regarded her evenly. "Rome. I was studying music."
    "How bad could that have been?" Emily stared at him, confusion overriding anger. Honestly, Philip had grown up with such luxury, such privilege. What did he know of penury? Most people would give their last pound for a trip to Italy—all expenses paid, surely, thanks to the duke.
    He finally let go her hand, and bereft of his touch, her own hand was icy cold and trembling. "It was bad enough." He sighed. As if casting aside an unwinnable argument, he sat back, leaning against the bedpost. "Rose is sweet," he