Sweet Summer Kisses, Page 3

  “Elucidate?” Nigel chuckled, shaking his head. “Do you know, any normal person would have said explain. Or perhaps clarify. But yes, allow me to elucidate: you’re glad I introduced us.”

  Directing his gaze to the mottled gray stones on which they tread, Philip gave a little shrug. “I am not sorry to have made their acquaintance. And it’s good to know the viscount is staying near us. Fortunately, I’ve yet to meet him, what with his efforts to settle his affairs after inheriting the title and moving to England.”

  “Forget the bloody viscount. You know I’m referring to Miss Abbington. She’s a tempting armful, if a bit of a bluestocking for my usual tastes. How many languages did she say she speaks?”

  Five, if one included her rather polished, upper-class native English. And oddly enough, since he’d learned her Christian name first, he couldn’t help but think of her as Libby instead of the proper Miss Abbington. It suited her. She was light and sweet, yet with an underlying intelligence that he found rather appealing. French, Italian, Latin, and passably good at Spanish? She was clearly talented.

  A fact that had no bearing on either Nigel or Philip, since they hadn’t come several hundred miles to be distracted by a woman.

  Feigning disinterest, Philip shook his head. “I’m sure I don’t know. However, she is obviously from a good family, so please do your best to use discretion when speaking to or about the woman. Actually, that applies to both women.”

  “Jesus, Philip, do you ever give it a rest?” There was real frustration in Nigel’s voice as he threw up his hands. “We’re in the middle of Spain, for God’s sake—who are you worried will overhear? And more to the point, so what if they do? Thanks to your absurd insistence, no one knows who we really are, and even if they did, it’s not a bloody crime to find a woman attractive.”

  The muscles in Philip’s cheeks hardened as he clenched his teeth. His brother was missing the point. Their anonymity was meant to strip them of their preferential treatment; he hadn’t expected for Nigel to look at it as a sort of carte blanche, enabling him to act any way he pleased without consequence. “I think we’ve gone far enough. Let’s head back.”

  “Oh, would you look at that,” his brother broke in, the words clipped. “A lovely little pub. Why don’t you scurry on back to the inn while I soothe this parched throat of mine.”

  Squinting past the partially shuttered windows to the dim interior, Philip shook his head. “It is my understanding that public houses require funds, remarkably enough.”

  Nigel reached into his pocket and produced a palmful of coins. It was impossible to tell if his eyebrow was raised in challenge or triumph. “Then it’s a good thing I stumbled upon a bit of blunt along the way.” The metal pieces clinked as he jostled his hand before shoving them back into his pocket.

  Exasperation speared through Philip like a blunted arrow. “Are we adding theft to your list of sins, then?”

  “I consider it an advance on the money I’ll collect at the end of this trip. Now if you’ll excuse me, I find I’m suddenly in the mood for a little drink.” Giving an exaggerated bow, Nigel turned and stalked toward the pub.

  Philip blew out a long breath. Their first day in Seville had not gone at all like he had imagined. If he was going to get through to his brother, he had to stop reacting like a blasted governess and start acting like the concerned brother he was. Nigel was still impressionable. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have lost a small fortune to that rat bastard of an earl, Lord Malcolm. From what Philip could gather, Malcolm had expertly manipulated Nigel, exploiting his youth and desire to be looked upon as his own man.

  Not that Nigel hadn’t been at fault, too. He was quickly gaining a reputation for fast living and hell-raising that Philip knew had to be nipped in the bud before his brother ended up just like their father. He had to tread carefully, though. Otherwise his brother would just dig in and refuse to listen to anything Philip said.

  Pressing his lips into a thin line, he turned and headed back toward the inn. He’d let Nigel have his distance. In the meantime, perhaps it would behoove him if Philip could remember what it was like to actually relax for a moment.

  ~*~

  Libby doubted she would ever get used to the beauty of a Spanish sunrise. From the vantage point of the fourth-floor balcony, she watched as soft orange light kissed the rounded clay tiles of rooftops all over the city. It was much quieter than London ever was this time of day, lending a remarkable peace for a place so densely populated.

  “You’re up awfully early.”

  She smiled over her shoulder to Amelia, who yawned as she padded toward the open doors. Her friend was still dressed in her nightgown and wrapper, with her hair gathered in a long braid that hung over her right shoulder. The bedchambers were on the third floor, but in the few days they had been here, Amelia had learned that the top floor balcony was Libby’s favorite spot.

  “I’m always up this early. You’re the one who likes to sleep late,” Libby teased as she turned and leaned her back against the black wrought-iron railing.

  Amelia settled onto the small settee several feet away. Given her attire, Libby wasn’t surprised that she didn’t step outside. “Seven in the morning is hardly late. Certainly not by city standards.” The sentence was punctuated by another yawn.

  “Too true. But I am anxious to do some more exploring today. I thought perhaps we could see the cathedral first, as I am positively dying to see St. Ferdinand’s tomb.” Libby paused, quirking a brow. “That did not sound quite as I had intended.”

  Amelia laughed. “Fortunately for you, I know what you mean. Of course we may start there. I know how much you have been looking forward to it.”

  Biting her lip, Libby pushed away from the railing and went to join her friend on the settee. “I thought perhaps we could invite the Westbrook brothers to join us. They are quite the fish out of water here, after all,” she added with an innocent smile.

  “Uh-huh,” Amelia said, lifting a knowing brow. “And which fish is it, exactly, that you are most concerned for?”

  “I don’t mind saying Mr. Philip Westbrook has quite caught my eye. But you needn’t worry. I’ve no plans to husband hunt anytime soon. If nothing else, the Season taught me that. I merely think the added company would be good fun, and I’m happy to serve as translator for us all.”

  “My, what a generous offer,” Amelia said drily, though her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Who am I to deny your services to our fellow countrymen? If you like, I’ll have a note delivered to them.”

  Anticipation coursed through Libby’s veins as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, you are the absolute best. Thank you, and I promise I shall be on my very best behavior.”

  “Yes, please do. I’m quite the worst person in the world to be acting as chaperone, and I would hate to incur your uncle’s wrath.”

  Libby made a face. “I know. Uncle Robert is a beast, but Aunt Margaret would protect us both.” She had been quite the hero last year when Libby’s sister had butted heads with Uncle Robert.

  Amelia tilted her head. “Libby, my dear, you are quite missing the point. I don’t wish to get out of trouble; I wish to avoid it.”

  Laughing, Libby held a hand over her heart. “I solemnly swear not to cause, find, or otherwise invite trouble for the whole of the time I am in your charge.”

  Lord Winters strolled into the room, his large frame expertly outfitted in a handsome gray jacket and buff-colored breeches. “I’m not sure I want to know what brought about that sort of promise,” he mused, his deep voice liberally sprinkled with wry amusement.

  Amelia smiled up at him, her whole visage brightening in his presence. “Libby wishes for an invitation to be issued to the Westbrook brothers for our sightseeing excursion today.”

  “The pair you told me about yesterday?” At Amelia’s nod, he cut his dark gaze toward Libby. “They’d best behave themselves. If I know my wife, there will be a loaded pistol within reach at all times. And if I know myself,” he
added, his American accent thickening, “I’ll be happy to introduce them to my fists should they step outside the bounds of propriety.”

  Knowing what she did about how the viscount broke nearly every rule in the book while wooing Amelia, Libby almost laughed. He was large and imposing, but she knew him to be quite the sweetheart beneath his scoundrel exterior. “My goodness, that was positively big brother-like of you to say. Completely unnecessary, but noted. And you are more than welcome to join us.”

  His chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “That sounds much more agreeable than my day of meetings, but for some reason, they keep expecting me to attend.”

  “Then we shall tell you all about it tonight over dinner,” Amelia said, coming to her feet to slip her hands in his. In this, they were much like Eleanor and her husband Nick. Little touches, stolen glances, knowing smiles—all the things that made Libby’s eternally romantic heart happy.

  ~*~

  That same heart was absolutely bursting with excitement hours later when the Westbrook brothers arrived. As Libby and Amelia came down to join them in the drawing room, Libby had to work to keep her enthusiasm at bay. Neither of the men seemed to hear them as they approached the open doorway. Libby’s gaze flitted to Philip first. He stood tall and dignified beside the window, his hands resting behind his back. She could easily imagine him posing exactly in that manner for a portrait.

  His brother, on the other hand, sat draped on the oversized chair dominating the back corner of the room. His hair was slightly mussed and pale-purple half-moons tinted the delicate skin beneath his eyes. He looked exactly like her cousin William whenever he stayed out carousing all night with his friends.

  Philip noticed them first, turning away from the window with a polite smile already in place. “Good morning, Lady Winters, Miss Abbington. My brother and I are honored that you should think of us to join you today.” His actual words were much more welcoming than the stiff way in which they were delivered. Nothing overt, but something about his precise enunciations spoke to some vague displeasure.

  Nigel, on the other hand, grinned broadly as he came to his feet. “Ah, our rescuers. Good day to you both. I’m forever in your debt for your offer. Otherwise, I might have been stuck in the company of none but my brother the whole day, and I do believe that is a fate best not contemplated.”

  It was spoken in light, honeyed tones, but Libby could practically feel the tension between them. Had she been hasty in inviting two people she barely knew to spend so much of the day with them? She certainly hoped not.

  “I might have said the same thing about my sister at some point,” she replied, matching his tone. “No one loves or loathes quite like siblings.”

  She was relieved to see the glimmer of amusement in Philip’s eyes. “Indeed, Miss Abbington. As the eldest of four, I can agree wholeheartedly with that statement.”

  Amelia shook her head. “As an only child, I can’t speak with any authority about siblings, but I imagine it might be like having an opponent, coconspirator, and confidant all in one.”

  “Depends on your point of view, I should think,” Nigel said, setting his hands on his hips. “As the youngest sibling, I was much less the confidant and much more the unwanted tagalong. Or more recently, the drag-along.”

  Libby glanced toward Philip, who was pressing his lips together. Yes, there was definitely some undercurrent between them again today. Wishing to diffuse it as best she could, she said, “Thank goodness such things are left behind in childhood. I am so grateful for my sister now that we are both adults.”

  Nodding briskly, Philip said, “As I am sure she is for you. Now then, shall we be on our way? I’ve heard that the cathedral can be quite busy during the day.”

  “Absolutely,” she said, perking up at the mention of the cathedral. “I’ve been wanting to see it ever since Amelia’s first mention of a sojourn in Spain. I’m particularly looking forward to St. Ferdinand’s tomb.”

  For the first time that morning, Philip’s face relaxed. “Ah, I can imagine why. For someone of your linguistic talent, a tomb inscribed with four languages must be something to behold.”

  As they filed from the room, Libby naturally aligned with Philip as they spoke. He held out his arm as they stepped outside, and she smiled and laid her hand along the superfine wool of his pale-blue jacket. She could smell the crisp, clean scent of his shaving soap, and as if of their own volition, her eyes darted to the smooth skin of his stubble-free jaw. For one mad moment, she imagined removing her glove and gauging the smoothness when her fingertips.

  Drawing in a quiet breath, she nodded. “I’ve never even seen early-Castilian writing before, let alone heard it spoken. I’m only passably familiar with Hebrew and Arabic. But I am quite accomplished in Latin, so I am eager to compare the other languages to it.”

  From behind them, Nigel chuckled. “That’s all well and good, but you do realize we’ll be viewing a dead body, I hope.”

  Libby wrinkled her nose at the reminder. In theory, yes, she did know it, but it was less bothersome to simply imagine it was like visiting any cemetery or mausoleum. “It does sound quite ghoulish when you say it like that.”

  Philip’s jaw tightened as he glanced back at his brother with narrowed eyes. Directing his attention back to the pavement in front of them, he patted her hand reassuringly. “Do feel free to ignore my brother, Miss Abbington. I fear he may have gotten his hands on a gothic novel or two whilst at Eton. I have every confidence the experience will be a good one.”

  She sucked in a surprised breath before belatedly covering the sound with a cough. She wouldn’t have expected him to set his hand atop her like that. The weight and warmth of his fingers covering hers was deliciously welcome. “I’m sure it will be,” she murmured, not daring to move her hand so much as an inch. If she were very lucky, perhaps he would leave it there.

  ~*~

  Philip hadn’t missed Libby’s soft intake of air when his hand had touched hers. It was a small thing, something he probably shouldn’t have noticed, but for some reason, he was much more attuned to her than he should have been. He had noticed her sudden stillness, as well, and he’d allowed his hand to rest where it was, light enough that she could easily break the contact.

  As furious as he was that his brother had accepted the invitation without consulting him, Philip could not bring himself to regret being by Libby’s side just then. He had been determined to start anew with Nigel this morning, to set aside the contention of yesterday—of the whole month, really—and attempt to focus on the two of them.

  He had purposely intended to discourage any more contact with Miss Abbington and the viscountess, knowing full well that Libby was far too interesting for his own good. Something about her had managed to slip beneath his normal disinterest in young misses. She was the perfect mix of irreverence, humor, intelligence, and beauty. Then there were the looks he had caught from her. Those were the most dangerous of all. She was interested, of that he was sure. Normally, that wouldn’t mean anything to him, but on this trip, knowing that she had no idea he was a duke . . . ?

  It was very heady, indeed.

  His whole life he had been viewed through the lens of his title—even before he had it. As heir apparent, he already possessed the courtesy title of marquis, and there was no doubt of his eventual ascension. But with Libby, the draw between them was natural, unaffected by title, wealth, or position. He had felt it when they’d first met, and walking beside her now, there was no denying that the flicker of attraction was growing.

  Unfortunately, it was also a distraction he feared would disrupt his efforts with his brother. Philip could almost see the man sliding into the persona Philip so disliked. The same persona that had already cost Nigel so much, thanks to the brashness it fostered.

  Nigel had completely ignored Philip’s stated instructions to politely decline any invitation they might receive from the ladies. When the missive had come this morning, Philip had been out exploring while Nigel had slept
off the effects of the night before. He’d not hesitated to accept before Philip returned, knowing full well he was thumbing his nose at his brother by doing so.

  Well, so be it. What was done was done, and there was no use allowing it to ruin the day. And truly, with Libby’s slender form beside him, her light floral scent teasing his nose, Philip’s annoyance was quickly evaporating. Since it was clearly not possible to avoid her company today, he might as well enjoy it. Perhaps in the process his brother could learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady.

  As the four of them walked along, they chatted idly about their surroundings, the various shops, and even the weather. Despite the fact that it wasn’t yet noon, the sun was already fierce, beating down on them with an intensity that was unlike anything they were used to. Though they stayed in the shade as much as they could, Libby was making use of the dainty pink-and-white parasol she had brought along.

  “I can already tell I shall be covered in freckles by the time I return home,” she said, her skin rosy in the pink-tinged shade. “My aunt will have a fit, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a small price to pay for the experience.”

  Philip returned her smile, grateful for the narrow pavement that made it necessary for them to walk in pairs. Nigel was several paces behind, engaged in conversation with Lady Winters about firearms, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “I shouldn’t worry overmuch, were I you. Freckles are one of those things women seem to notice much more than men.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Perhaps I should refer her to you when she rings a peal over my head about it.” Her tone was lighthearted enough that Philip knew she wasn’t overly concerned about it.

  “Do you live with your aunt, then?”

  Since she’d not mentioned her parents, it was a good bet that they were no longer around. A shame, given her youth. As far as he could tell, she was about nineteen or twenty. His own father had died when Philip was twenty-two, and even that was much too young to lose a parent, as far as he was concerned.