The Unexpected Heiress. Kaitlin O'Riley
with double doors of polished mahogany. The interior of the dignified and elegant home was even more impressive than the exterior.
Yet, Phillip took no notice of any of it as he hurried up the staircase to his bedroom. Being the heir had its benefits, but it also had its burdens. And lately, he seemed to be more burdened by everything in his life than reaping any benefits.
Nothing seemed to appeal to him anymore. None of his usual interests anyway. Lately, the pressure to be the ideal son, to be the exemplary heir, and to meet all the obligations that were required of him was too crushing and all consuming. He was expected to live up to his parents’ perfect marriage and his cousins’ perfect marriages. He was tired of trying to be perfect. He felt boxed in and hemmed in, as if he were a hothouse plant that had no room to grow.
He was trapped in a flawless life that was predestined for him, and no one seemed to understand that he had been given no choice in any of it.
“Ah, there you are, Phillip.”
Phillip froze with his hand on the doorknob of his bedroom door.
He had been so close to a clean escape! This was not going to be pretty. He knew exactly what was going to be said to him, and he did not want to hear it.
With an exasperated sigh, Phillip turned reluctantly to face his father.
Lucien Sinclair, the Marquis of Stancliff, was a tall man who walked with great confidence and authority as he stepped closer to his son. His dark brows drew together in concern, and something else . . . perhaps disappointment?
Glancing away, Phillip avoided his father’s disapproving eyes.
“Phillip.”
“Father.”
Lucien stopped a few feet from him. “You’re just getting home, aren’t you?”
“I just finished having breakfast.” Phillip evaded the question. “I’m going to rest for a bit. I have a crushing headache this morning.”
His father’s voice hardened. “Yes, I should imagine you would have a nasty headache. One usually accompanies a hangover.”
There was a weighted pause.
Phillip remained silent, for there was nothing else to say. He hadn’t the energy to deny the truth. With his fingers itching to turn the doorknob, he stood still. He was mere inches to being in the comfort of his luxurious bed. His entire body ached and throbbed with the need to lie down and hide from the world.
“I thought I made it perfectly clear last week, and the week before that, how I felt about your behavior of late and of the questionable company you’ve been keeping.” The tone of his father’s voice was ominous.
“Yes, sir. I recall our conversations.”
How could Phillip not? He hated disappointing his father and had felt like a miscreant schoolboy those evenings in his study. Was the last time only a week ago? Or longer? He seemed to have lost track of time.
At some point in the not too distant past, he had promised his father that he would curb his wilder ways. That he would drink less. Gamble less. He had vowed that he’d stop cavorting with Lady Katherine Vickers. He had meant to keep all those promises too. Truly he had. He knew his father disapproved of how Phillip had been conducting himself, and Phillip had meant to change things for the better.
He knew he was behaving shamelessly lately, yet he didn’t know why he couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing so.
Phillip had had every intention of coming home at a respectable hour last night. But then one glass of champagne had led to another and another, and he was having such a wonderful time. And he had been winning the game of faro he’d been playing.
Then there had been Lady Katherine . . .
She had worn the most daring red velvet gown he’d ever seen. Even for a woman out of mourning for her dead husband, it was quite scandalous. But that was part of Katherine’s allure. The seductive combination of her daring, carefree, and wanton behavior and her lush figure, ample bosom, and silky blond hair seemed to light an unquenchable fire in him, and only she could douse the flames she had set.
He had tried to end things with her once, but he simply couldn’t. Katherine’s mercurial moods made it too difficult. She was constantly pushing him away and pulling him back. He had believed she didn’t want him any longer, and then, God help him, last night!
Last night she had clearly made her desire for him known. She’d whispered the wickedest words in his ear while he sat at the gaming table. Last night, he would have followed her into the pits of hell if she had asked him to. Instead, he just followed her into her bedroom . . .
“Phillip? Did you hear what I just said?”
Phillip shook himself from his delicious recollections of being in Katherine’s bed and tried to focus his bleary eyes on his father.
“Yes, sir, I heard you.”
“I am serious about what I said to you. I shall cut off all your funds if I see you in this condition again. You will not get even another shilling.”
Surely his father was jesting? He wouldn’t really cut him off financially, just for having a little illicit fun? But one look at his father’s expression told Phillip otherwise.
“You’re past the age of youthful hijinks, Phillip. We’ve let this behavior go on far too long, and there’s no excuse for it. Your mother and I have been quite concerned about you for the last six months or so. And you’re more than fortunate that your mother didn’t see you in your current state. She’d be heartbroken. We’ve talked about this before. And you promised us you would show some self-control. You should be settling down, taking more than just a passing interest in the estate which will one day belong to you, perhaps even taking a wife.” He sighed heavily, almost wearily. “But you need to do something more productive with your days than sleeping off the liquor from the night before.”
Staring mutely at his father, Phillip had nothing to say.
His head was pounding so hard he could barely see straight. Exhausted beyond reason, he closed his eyes for one blessed second. It felt heavenly. Without meaning to, he slouched against the doorframe.
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. Go to bed, Phillip,” his father muttered with undisguised disgust. “This conversation is over. For now.”
Feeling like the lowest of the low, Phillip pried his eyes open and saw his father taking long strides down the corridor away from him.
He then forced himself to move, opening the door to his bedroom at last. Without waiting for his valet, he shrugged out of his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed among the down pillows on his wide, four-poster bed.
The last thing Phillip recalled before falling into a dreamless sleep was thinking that, yes, he would change. He was quite sorry for how he had been behaving. He would make his parents proud of him again. Soon. He’d change soon enough.
He would do all that he was supposed to do to be the perfect son . . . when he wasn’t so damned tired.
3
You Can’t Judge a Book by Its Cover
Meredith Rose Remington couldn’t believe her good fortune.
She had only been in London a few days when she stumbled upon the most charming little bookshop just a few blocks from her aunt’s house in Mayfair. The bells above the door jingled as she walked into Hamilton’s Book Shoppe.
Immediately, she felt at home in the light and airy store, which was so attractively and invitingly arranged it almost begged for browsers to come inside the shop and look around. Books had always held a special place in Meredith’s heart, and she had practically haunted one crowded and dusty bookshop back in New York.
But this one . . . this one!
Hamilton’s