Page 18 of A Lady Most Wayward (The Queen’s Deadly Damsels #5)

Philippa reached out, pausing just before she brushed her fingers over Olivia’s lips. She fisted her hand, stepped back, and turned away. ‘I am at war with myself, a battle I fear I’m losing,’ she whispered. Then louder: ‘Did you find any food?’

Olivia wasn’t sure how to respond. Why? Why was Philippa warring with herself? What about Olivia caused such conflict within a woman who never hesitated? Never doubted herself. Always knew the path she meant to walk.

Air rushed from her lungs as she focused on answering Philippa’s question, because she had no answers for her own.

‘It may have once been food. But not any more. I found a jar of something black and terrifying, a few cherry pits long since eaten by some creature, and another jar of weevil-infested flour. We’ll just have to ration what we took from the carriage. ’

She’s hiding something. Why else would she retreat?

There was a reason Philippa preferred conflict over conversation. And Olivia was desperate to uncover exactly what the reason might be. The investigated becoming the investigator.

If she reveals her weakness, I might be able to use it to my advantage.

But that wasn’t the real reason she wanted to pull away Philippa’s shields and see the woman beneath the armour.

She does not fascinate me.

But it was no use. She couldn’t deny her interest in Philippa.

Nor could she stop herself from comparing the fierce attraction she felt for the duchess to the far softer flame she had once carried for her lady’s maid over a decade ago.

It was the difference between a crucible and a candle. Which troubled Olivia exceedingly.

Daisy had awakened Olivia to the joys of sexual pleasure between two people when attraction and respect combined to create magic.

The few weeks they shared over a decade past had been a revelation.

Olivia fell hard for the young woman with the passion of infatuation.

At first, she thought her desires were an anomaly.

That her maid held her in thrall like a witch.

She thought she might only be attracted to another woman because that woman was Daisy.

But during her years in the asylum, she had much time for reflection.

She realised that, while Percival was a terrible match in every capacity, no man had ever sparked her interest. It mattered not if they were honourable, handsome, funny, or fascinating.

She might enjoy their company, but she had never lusted after them the way she did with women.

Not just Daisy, but other women as well, even though she never acted on her impulses.

When fantasy was her only form of escape in the asylum, she didn’t always imagine Daisy, but she always imagined women.

Faceless, nameless, soft and strong female bodies that quickened her need in the dark nights.

Olivia would always hold Daisy in a sacred part of her heart, and she would never forgive Percival for sending her away to face a cruel world with no reference, no connection, and no hope of a safe future.

But in the asylum, she grew to realise Daisy was her first love, but not the love of Olivia’s life.

Her guilt over Daisy’s fate never eased, but her yearning for her faded like a painting left too long in the sun.

And now, seeing Philippa’s obvious grief over her lost love, it was clear Olivia had never experienced connection on such a deep level.

She wondered if it was possible for someone who had loved so deeply as Philippa to ever love again.

This is not love. It is only lust. It means nothing. I can ignore my lust.

But she didn’t want to ignore it. She wanted to indulge. A decidedly disastrous idea. It was a shame disaster always found her so easily.

* * *

Philippa cursed silently. It seemed no matter what she did to steel herself against Olivia, the fair-haired temptress refused to cooperate.

What right does she have to ask such impertinent questions? And why can’t she stay on her side of this damnably small bed?

Olivia shifted on the mattress. Her thigh pressed against Philippa’s, the honeysuckle and vanilla scent making it impossible for Philippa to focus.

She was plotting her next step in taking down the last leader of the Devil’s Sons, but her logical plans kept fizzing into mist every time Olivia moved next to her.

The fire burned low, and the crackle and pop of logs was a sharp contrast to the constant crash of waves outside the window.

Her wayward thoughts kept bouncing between faded memories of Liza and much more vivid images of her adventure with Olivia.

Her earlier conversation with the marchioness repeated in her mind, like she was worrying a loose button until the damn thing fell off entirely.

‘Why are you always at war with me, Duchess?’

‘I’m not always at war, you know.’ Philippa’s voice was loud to her own ears. She immediately wanted to call the words back. The last thing she wished was for Olivia to think Philippa had been silently obsessing over her question for the past several hours.

I’ve been obsessing over many things. Her question is just one of them.

Olivia breathed in, and Philippa felt the sheet they shared shift. She refused to imagine Olivia’s unbound breasts being the cause of the linen’s movement.

‘Truly? I can’t imagine you at peace.’ Olivia’s husky voice played over Philippa’s senses like someone plucking a cello string. Low vibrations resonating into the depths of her soul. ‘Maybe I am the cause. You haven’t liked me from the start.’

Philippa rolled her eyes. A useless expression as Olivia was staring at the ceiling, and it was too dark to make out much in the quiet room. ‘It has nothing to do with whether or not I like you.’

‘But you don’t. At least admit that.’

Tapping her finger on the sheet, Philippa contemplated her answer. ‘I don’t like the way you make me feel.’ It was far more honest than she wanted to be, and once more, she regretted her words.

‘Angry?’ Olivia asked.

‘No, anger is something I’m used to feeling. I like anger. It’s far better than fear.’

Olivia shifted on her side, bending her elbow to rest her head on her hand so she could face Philippa.

They had no pillows and were using their coats.

She used her free hand to re-bunch the material beneath her elbow.

Her blonde curls shone in the sliver of moonlight peeking between wind-chased clouds.

One curl fell over Olivia’s cheek, and Philippa resisted the urge to reach out and tuck the silky strand behind her delicate ear.

An ear she desperately wanted to nibble, if only to hear what sounds the woman might make.

‘What is the Duchess of Dorsett possibly frightened of? The Queen’s Deadliest Damsel. A fearsome creature with pistols in her pocket and daggers in her boots. Men tremble in terror of you.’

‘It isn’t men who worry me.’

Doing what Philippa could not, Olivia reached out and let her finger follow a strand of Philippa’s hair from her forehead down to where it lay on her shoulder.

‘Who is it then? Certainly not me.’

Philippa twisted to mirror Olivia’s pose. Their faces were only inches apart, and the fire was warm on her back. ‘It’s me. I’m frightened of myself.’

Olivia’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t understand.’

Because I hardly understand. So how can I possibly explain the thoughts racing in my head?

She never spoke of Liza. At least, not to anyone but Liza’s brother, Edward.

But for reasons she refused to examine, she wanted to speak of her now.

To Olivia. And why not? The marchioness already hated Philippa.

Confessing her darkest crimes wouldn’t change Olivia’s opinion of Philippa one whit, nor did she care.

Liar.

Pressing her lips together, she breathed deeply through her nose and savoured the scent of Olivia.

‘Control is something I prize as it is something women are rarely given. Control of my choices. My future. My feelings. I’m sure you understand.

’ She waited for Olivia’s nod. ‘I think every woman does. It was the one thing I despised about loving Liza.’ Even saying the words aloud shattered a wall she’d built deep within.

A barrier to contain the blackness of her soul.

Olivia didn’t say anything. She just held Philippa’s gaze with her own. Steady and true. The silence allowed Philippa to continue.

‘Loving her was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.’

‘Tell me what you love most about me.’ Liza scrunched her face, her hair haloed on the green grass as a bee buzzed lazily nearby.

Philippa rolled over and stroked her fingers over Liza’s soft cheek. They had shared their first passionate kiss only a few weeks prior, but already she knew this was it. This was forever.

‘I love everything I know about you, and everything I’ve yet to learn.’

Liza giggled and shook her head. ‘You’re supposed to say you love my eyes. Or my mouth. Or my hair, silly.’

Philippa rubbed her thumb along Liza’s jaw. ‘Those are just things on the outside. I like those things. But I love what’s inside you.’

Liza popped up and grabbed Philippa’s hand, pressing it against her chest. ‘Like my heart?’

Philippa leaned forward, hovering a moment away from Liza’s mouth. ‘Yes. I love your heart.’

She pulled herself from the memory. If they had known how things would end, would they have altered how they loved each other? It was a question Philippa would never be able to answer.

She cleared her throat. ‘And loving Liza was the most devastating thing I’ve ever experienced. Losing her nearly broke me. I vowed to love her forever. And I do. But I also swore to never let myself be so vulnerable again. To never give my love to another. Because I had no control when she died.’