Cheryl Holt by Deeper than Desire Page A

chanced by, she had various mediocre illustrations that would prove her interest in art was a ladylike hobby and nothing she pursued with any enthusiasm.
    In reality, she was drafting copies of Phillip from memory, while eager to catch a glimpse of him.
    It had been three days since she’d seen him. Or more precisely, three nights. After their terrible row in the library, she’d sneaked down often, hoping he would be waiting for her, that she might apologize or discuss what had transpired, but as he’d vowed, he hadn’t deigned to join her.
    She was desperate to know his opinion of their tryst. For her own part, she was confused, perplexed, and restless. The ways he’d touched her had stirred her body in a fashion she didn’t understand. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and she was never comfortable.
    Her nipples had taken on a life of their own. They were constantly erect and rubbing her chemise. Her breathing was elevated, making her corset intolerable because she couldn’t fully inhale. Her loins chafed and itched for a manipulation she didn’t comprehend, so shewas forever shifting about on chairs, yearning to alleviate the torment.
    Was he suffering misery that was remotely similar?
    Oh, how could he have forsaken her so easily? She’d felt such a sense of connection with him, and it made her worry over her obligations to Lord Salisbury. Was she loose? Fickle? How could she be so enamored of Phillip when she was trying to entice Edward into marriage? What did her behavior say about her character and morals?
    She’d liked what Phillip had done to her, had liked it so much that she was wild to do it over and over, as soon as a rendezvous could be arranged. Her greatest regret was that she’d panicked and had begged him to stop.
    If she hadn’t, they could have continued. Phillip would have unveiled the mysteries of what happened between men and women. Most certainly, he would have assuaged the corporeal distress that was driving her mad.
    There had to have been an end point to their conduct, a goal or destination they were attempting to attain, and if they’d kept on, she wouldn’t be languishing so dreadfully.
    Through the bushes, movement captured her attention, and she slid down the bench so she could have a better perspective. Phillip! Finally! Surrounded by several men from the stables. He was leaned against the corral fence, an arm tossed across the top board. His head was tipped back, the sun on his face, and he was so handsome she could barely look at him.
    A charcoal pencil was clutched in her hand, and she’d planned to sketch him, but she was frozen, unable to do anything but stare and admire. She’d had the fabulous rogue all to herself, had explored and caressed and fondled, had kissed him as if there were no tomorrow, and she was ready to do it again, if she could finagle another appointment.
    But how? How to persuade him to spend time with her? It wasn’t as if she could stroll over and ask him to chat. Their stations were so disparate that there was no excuse she could give as to how she’d met him. He’d declared that he wouldn’t parley in the library, so what was she to do?
    Morose and depressed, she observed as he tensed. The men with whom he’d been joking scattered, and another man came into view.
    It was the earl! Talking to Phillip.
    Seen together, they were two peas in a pod. The same height, the same broad shoulders and striking features. The only genuine contrasts were their ages, and the fact that Phillip’s eyes were blue, while Edward’s were brown.
    Phillip was Edward’s illegitimate son! There was no question. No other could have sired him. How could she not have noticed?
    She was furious. He’d never told her, and that seemed like a betrayal.
    She’d thought they were friends! That they’d established a bond that went beyond rank and class. Couldn’t he have trusted her? Was he afraid she’d have swooned? Did he assume she’d been so sheltered that she’d