Page 25 of A Lady Most Wayward (The Queen’s Deadly Damsels #5)

Nothing more than this. But her heart squeezed painfully in her chest because she had hoped for more.

Turning, Philippa walked to the door. Before she could turn the handle, Olivia lunged forward, grabbing her arm and spinning her back. ‘Where are you going?’

Wrenching her arm free, Philippa’s nostrils flared and her eyes hardened.

‘Out. You are so desperate for freedom. Well. You have it. Keep your name. I shall find the Crow on my own. I work best that way. Seek your bed, Marchioness. You and your daughter have travel arrangements to make on the morrow. And I have a devil to hunt.’

This time, when Philippa opened the door, Olivia let her go. Yet again, she had no other choice.

* * *

A wild wind kicked up as Philippa followed the trail they took earlier in the day.

It pulled her hair free, tossing it around her shoulders in disarray, tugging at her skirts and tangling them between her legs.

Artemis’ moon battled with the clouds, providing Philippa with enough light to navigate the uneven terrain.

She revelled in the violent weather. It called to a feral part of her soul, clawing to be free.

‘How dare she?’ Philippa raged, her words swept away in the howl of the wind. A howl that echoed the grief in her soul. ‘Accusing me of disloyalty.’

But she didn’t. She accused me of hating myself. And she’s right. Damn her.

‘The unmitigated gall! For her to think she knows me. Knows my love for Liza,’ she fumed.

But she does. And she knows I blame myself for Liza’s death as much as I blame Liza. Because I couldn’t save her. Not from her father. Not from the asylum. And not from herself.

‘One night with Olivia would mean nothing!’ The venom spilt from her, caustic and scathing.

It would mean everything. More than I can hold in my heart. And I would hate myself for betraying Liza, but I would also hate myself for not giving Olivia what she deserves.

‘I want to be alone. I deserve it. It’s easier!

’ she cried out into the darkness, daring the gods to refute her.

A raw sob burst free. She crested the hill and didn’t stop until her toes touched the edge of the world.

Below her, a stormy sea tossed froth and foam against the cliff wall.

Rain fell, joining the tears coursing down her cheeks.

‘Why? Why did you leave me, Liza? Why didn’t you wait for me to find you? I would have found you. I would have saved you.’ Head tipped to the boiling sky, Philippa screamed her questions into the abyss.

‘It isn’t your job to save me, Phil. I need to save myself. And whether I do or don’t, my fate is no longer tied to yours. Nor is your fate tied to mine. I will always carry a piece of you with me. Wherever I go. I love you. And I release you from our promises.’

Liza’s soft voice echoed in Philippa’s mind as the words she wrote in the last letter Philippa received so many years ago came back to her.

Anger gave way to grief. Collapsing on the ground, Philippa let the pain course through her.

‘I can’t let you go, Liza. I promised. My devotion to you is forever.

I couldn’t keep my promise to protect you.

But I must keep my oath to be devoted to you, no matter if we are together or apart. ’

Then you shall never be free. Nor will I. Release me, Phil, as I released you. Love me, and let me go. Live the life you deserve.

Liza’s voice filled her mind, and she felt her soul strain. The mystics believed celestial disturbances could portend a thinning between the veil of life and death. Philippa had no faith in such nonsense, and yet, roses and rosemary danced on the wind. Liza’s scent.

Philippa had never fully given herself to grief.

Because to do so would be admitting it was really over.

But it swept through her, as powerful and overwhelming as the sea.

As cleansing and cold as the rain. As wild and reckless as the wind.

She rocked on her knees, her wails blending with the storm’s cry.

‘I miss you, Liza. How can I move forward in this life without you?’

You already have. The girl I loved is no more. In her place is a fearsome woman. You move forward because you are strong, and relentless, and you must.

Liza always knew how to sway Philippa to her way of thinking. Some things even death couldn’t change. But not this time.

Moments or millennia passed as sorrow seeped from Philippa, sinking into the ground, salting the earth with her pain. Dress sodden, fingers and toes numb, heart empty and echoing, she shook her head, refusing to acquiesce. ‘I can’t. I won’t.’

A crack of lightning split the air.

‘I control my choices. And I won’t let you go, Liza.’

Then you will never be free.

‘I don’t want to be free if that means you are truly gone.’

Yes, she was screaming into a storm. Yes, she was arguing with a woman who died twenty years ago. And yes, the dead woman was right. But Philippa would be damned if she admitted it.

Standing, Philippa staggered back down the hill.

She was chilled to her bones, and her dress was ruined from the muddy field, but something had changed.

Admitting her refusal to move forward – if only to the storm that raged on the edge of the Cornwall sea, and to the imagined ghost of her lover – shifted her anger from Liza to herself.

Where it belonged. Because she was the only person responsible for her misery.

And the only one capable of changing it.

Desperate for warm, dry clothes and a soft bed, Philippa almost missed the flickering yellow of a lantern bobbing along the road leading to the stone house.

A thrill of adrenaline rushed through her veins, blessedly distracting her from personal revelations.

Was Olivia looking for her? Or was this an intruder? Another one of the Devil’s Sons intent on finishing what the highwaymen were unable to accomplish?

Using speed and stealth developed from countless hours of training, Philippa dropped low, gliding over the fields with the grace of a predator.

Her rate of speed would bring her to the house almost simultaneously with the intruder.

The stranger was approaching the front of the house from the road, and she would reach the back from the field.

She could sneak around the edge and determine if this nocturnal guest was friend or foe.

But just as she approached the cobblestone courtyard between the small stable and house, the lantern shifted abruptly, slowly illuminating a wide arc around the left side of the cottage.

He is coming to the back. To the bedrooms.

Philippa adjusted her course. Pressing herself against the stable wall, she kept to the shadows.

If the fickle moon came out from the clouds at the right time, it might just allow her enough light to identify the mysterious intruder.

Of course, it might also allow him to see her, if he was looking in the right direction.

But great risk brings with it great reward.

And sometimes even greater defeat. The thrill of the hunt drowned out any hint of fear.

A nicker and huff from the stable, followed by a stomp of hooves, made it clear at least one creature marked her presence.

The lantern halted abruptly. The cloaked figure stood near the door leading to the kitchen, frozen like a rabbit in the fox’s sights.

Philippa ducked into a darkened alcove used to store hay.

Inching closer to the corner of the stable, she crouched low – hopefully lower than his sight lines – and peeked out, thankful for her dark hair and dress.

Olivia’s curls would be blazing even in the blackest of shadows.

A stupid thought to have, Philippa pushed it aside and focused on the lantern. Wind rushed through the courtyard, granting Philippa two favours.

The moon finally broke free of the clouds.

The man’s hood blew free, exposing his features to the silver moonlight.

Damn. Not a man at all. It’s Hyacinth. What the Devil is she up to?

As if she could hear Philippa’s thoughts, Hyacinth looked from right to left before pulling her hood back over her hair.

Dousing the lantern, she snuck to the kitchen door and slowly twisted the handle.

With a final glance that had Philippa ducking back behind the alcove, the stubborn girl slipped into the house.

Perhaps Callum was right. Mayhap Hyacinth was exchanging more than just letters with a sweetheart. Was she sneaking out in the middle of the night to see a man?

Philippa tapped a finger against her lips.

Olivia’s daughter was as stubborn and headstrong as her mother.

Confronting her about this would only have the girl dig her heels in deeper.

Putting Hyacinth on a ship sailing to America and getting her away from whatever young man she had snuck out to see might protect her from more than just the Devil’s Sons.

It might protect her from her own silly choices.

Philippa couldn’t believe she had granted Olivia her freedom without first extracting the name of the Crow. But in the moment, the words escaped before she could think better of it. Sending Hyacinth into the wilds of America alone seemed just as horrific a crime as letting Olivia escape justice.

But what kind of justice has she experienced? Ten years in an asylum. Separated from her daughter. Her reputation destroyed by a husband intent on controlling her completely. Is that not penance enough for her actions?

An errant image of Olivia and Hyacinth on the deck of a ship, pulling away from the harbour, Olivia’s untameable curls blowing free in the wind, brought another sharp pain to Philippa’s chest.

Why do I care if she leaves? I want her to go and take this incessant need with her.

If Olivia left, Philippa wouldn’t have to examine her heart. She wouldn’t have to face the uncertainty that her life might take an unexpected turn. She wouldn’t have to contend with her desire for another woman when for so long she believed her chance for love died with Liza.

This is not love. I do not love Olivia. I hardly know her.

But the words rang hollow in her heart. Because with every moment they spent together, Philippa was discovering more about Olivia. And each revelation contradicted her preconceived opinions. What if she had been wrong about Olivia all along?

The infallible duchess finally makes a mistake? Impossible.

Her own thoughts mocked her, and Philippa shook her head, though no one could appreciate her disdain as she stood up alone in the darkness.

How arrogant she had become. No better than the men she railed against. Wouldn’t Edward revel in triumph to see his childhood friend finally on the wrong side of the truth?

‘This is ridiculous,’ Philippa muttered to herself. ‘Right or wrong, I’m going to catch my death standing out here contemplating my own failings like a complete idiot.’ Following Hyacinth’s example, she let herself in through the kitchen and dripped down the hall and up the stairs to her room.

The door creaked as she carefully pushed it open and stepped inside.

Olivia had left a candle burning for her.

Something soft and sweet unfurled in her chest even as she tried to push it down.

But the feeling refused to obey, blooming bigger and squeezing her already battered heart.

It was a thoughtful gesture in the midst of a bitter fight.

She began the arduous task of unbuttoning her borrowed gown, a job made infinitely more difficult with numb fingers.

Wishing desperately for Delacroix to help, or even Stokes to come and take the mud-soaked dress away, Philippa tried her best to hang the thing over a chair in hopes it might dry within the next year or two.

Stripping off her wet and icy shift, she stood naked in the centre of the room.

Her skin tightened from the cold, her nipples contracting as a shudder ran through her.

If she were not sharing a bed with Olivia, she would have dove under the covers naked and waited for the heavy blankets to warm her frigid body.

Instead, she grabbed the cotton nightgown Olivia had left out for her, donned it with shaky hands, and carefully pulled back the blanket to slip into bed.

Olivia was turned away from her, but as Philippa’s body sank into the feather mattress, she felt the woman behind her shift and turn.

A warm arm snaked over Philippa’s waist and pulled her close, cocooning Philippa’s body within Olivia’s sweet, soft embrace.

Philippa stiffened, holding her breath, wondering if Olivia was awake.

But the woman mumbled something unintelligible, her breath puffing evenly against the small hairs tickling Philippa’s neck.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Philippa knew she needed to extricate herself from Olivia’s hold.

And she would. Soon. The blonde beauty would be mortified if she woke with Philippa in her arms. But Philippa was so cold, and so tired, and so sore in places that couldn’t be seen or touched.

Olivia’s heat seeped through her numb skin, thawing nerve endings, melting the ice that had so long encased her heart.

One particle at a time, she dissolved into Olivia’s unknowing embrace and drifted to sleep.