Loving the Enemy

Chapter 10

13 August 1815

Day 4 of confused Torture

Philip woke up this morning feeling refreshed. If it were really due to the tea...Lady Healey must have gotten the right of it though the whole concoction tasted quite vile to him. He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the taste while simultaneously biting back his smile as he recalled the conversation after.

And the dangerous situation he'd found himself in with Miss Kendall. At that memory, his staff grew harder and he stared down at the himself tenting the bedcovers. He grasped his member through the bedcovers and squeezed himself, willing it to deflate before Christopher's valet entered to get him ready for the day.

It'd taken every inch of his willpower to walk away from her last night.

Although he'd called the tea pungent, but the scent of lavender and chamomile emanating from her had all but made his mouth water. As he stood behind her, he desperately wanted to press a kiss to her swanlike neck, her smooth collarbone, her pretty shoulder.

He sighed as he felt himself grow harder still. The animalistic part of him missed Mrs Colston, only because he liked that she could relieve him of such situations. But he could teach Miss Kendall to do the same without having to compromise her virginity...

When he realised what he was thinking, he had to forcefully stopped himself from going any further. She was an unmarried lady and he had no business thinking about teaching her, an innocent virgin, such acts. It was as good as deflowering her. Not unless he wanted to marry her.

Although he had told Kendall that he wasn't considering marriage at all — he was but three and twenty — he realised it wouldn't be a hardship to be married to her. He already found her beddable, and she was obviously attracted to him, though she didn't know that.

But it was more than just the matters of the flesh. He'd relished every conversation they had. He wasn't lying when he said he enjoyed the ones where she'd put him in his place, for he liked that he could pit his wit against hers. Even if he lost, it simply meant his opponent was a worthy one.

Furthermore, she had a good heart. He'd had the good fortune to witness her compassion, and he even was at the receiving end of it last night.

In essence, she was...perfect.

Whoever she did eventually marry would be one lucky swain. The bitterness and envy burst through his self-constructed dam and he was filled with anger at her imaginary husband. Whoever it would be, that man would never deserve her.

And neither would he.

His inability to love her would put her in the exact same situation the countess was in and he never ever wanted to be the one to snuff out the light in her.

Realising the impossible situation he was in, he cursed the air blue. But it seemed his body wasn't in agreement with his mind for his prick still hadn't gone done one bit.

It seemed there was only one solution to this problem.

He pushed aside the covers to take himself in his hand. If he couldn't have her in real life, at least in the confines of his mind, he would be able to enjoy her attentions without consequences.

He closed his eyes. His hand was nearly violent in its attentions as he imagined her bending her head, her mahogany curls brushing his shoulders and her cerulean blue eyes looking at him full of mischief as she lowered her body, taking him inside her swiftly and completely while she pressed her lips to him.

He erupted so violently he saw stars.

Refusing to open his eyes, he delighted in the image of her atop him, wondering why it felt so familiar, as if he'd seen this tableau somewhere.