The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War), Eva Devon [e textbook reader .TXT] 📗

It went straight to his heart and pierced it like a knife. God, he could scarce draw breath. Her sunny blonde locks bounced about her face. And she carried a basket upon her arm which was quite large. And she maneuvered it and herself through the doorway.

He scowled at her.

“Join us,” he said grudgingly, waving her in.

She said nothing, apparently unwilling to make comment on his dour mood and poor manners. In answer, she thumped the big basket down upon the table before the fire, pulled the string on her cloak, whipped it off, and threw it down on the settee.

She turned to face them triumphantly.

Phillipa tucked a lock of her sunny hair behind her ear. “You have a guest.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I have two guests. One of them is welcome.”

For one single moment she blinked, and it looked as if she was going to say something quite terse, but then she swallowed, planted her hands on her hips, and took a step forward. “That’s enough from you, Grey,” she said before turning to Merrill. “How'd you do? I'm Lady Philippa and you are...”

Had she just dismissed him? Had she truly just ignored him turning his comment into what he could now only call the precursor to a tantrum?

She had. God, she was magnificent.

“First Lieutenant Merrill,” his friend said with a sweeping bow.

“How do you do, First Lieutenant Merrill?” she said.

“Very well. Thank you,” Merrill replied, his lips twitching. “I have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She swung her gaze to himself, and Grey wished that he could throttle Merrill in that moment. He did not wish Philippa to know that she was much in his thoughts or that he had talked so very much about her.

“Is this true?” she asked, her eyes widening.

Grey let out a huff of a noise.

“Indeed,” Merrill continued, delighted to share. “There wasn't a single dinner that he did not bring up your name. He carried your letters about with him everywhere and—”

“Cease!” Grey barked. “It's true. I had a boyish fancy, and it was very enjoyable having Philippa's company aboard the ships through her letters. It was very vital to my happiness at that time.”

“You weren't happy,” Merrill stated, his voice abruptly factual.

Grey rolled his eyes. “Better and better, Merrill, you keep sticking your foot in it.”

“I thought he wasn’t,” she said gently. “And yet he was so successful aboard the ship.”

“Oh yes,” Merrill agreed. “He was an excellent officer, but none of us were happy. It was a terrible circumstance. You must understand. It's not usual to speak ill of the British line, but Captain Adams, well, he made our lives hell.”

She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Captain Adams?” Merrill repeated. “Have you not heard of Captain Adams?”

She swung her gaze from man to man before inquiring, “Do you refer to Captain Cruelty?”

Merrill locked eyes with him, curious.

Grey nodded. “That is the appellation which I gave him in my letters. I did not wish to burden Philippa with the knowledge of the man who was behaving in such horrific ways. Besides, I did not know at the time if it would get me into a great deal of trouble if I named him.”

Her lips tightened. “I'm so sorry it was such a difficult circumstance. For both of you.”

“War is a difficult circumstance,” Grey drawled. “I don't know why we try to make it any different. So many people try to make it a jolly thing of boys going off to war to have a good time. It's not.”

Merrill tensed, wary. “It's true, but it is also one of the only professions for a gentleman. So many young men have no opportunity except to join the Navy. Not everyone is born to inherit a title or have wealth, Grey.”

Grey’s gut twisted. “Forgive me. I meant no offense. You’re correct. But that doesn't make it right. Young boys going off to be officers, barely more than children. It is astounding. And the system itself is just the most barbaric thing in the entire world.”

“Perhaps you would have enjoyed the Army,” Merrill said, attempting to bring levity to the conversation.

“I doubt it,” Grey replied. The army was only slightly less brutal than the Navy. “I don't follow orders well.”

Once again, Philippa looked from man to man. “Who truly enjoys following orders? Certainly not myself. And yet as a woman, I do find myself obliged to follow them almost daily.”

Grey ground his teeth down. It was true. Women were condemned to follow. And if they stepped out of line, they were often punished or condemned. He remembered her letters, the constant comments about her father, about her sisters, about how they had little life with the Earl of Harrowton at the helm of their future.

He inclined his head, acknowledging his dislike for her position.

“It's a fair point, Philippa,” he said softly. “You do not have to worry about the battles that we did, but you have battles of a different kind. Do you not? But now it seems that your father has gone to Italy, and you shall not have to worry about him forcing you into a poor marriage.”

Merrill drew in a breath. “Had your father arranged an unfortunate marriage for you, Lady Phillipa? Grey certainly never mentioned-”

“No,” she cut in quickly, “I had no intentions of marrying anyone, though I'm sure my father had ideas. My older sister, Augusta, had to be married first in his estimation and my sister, Felicity. . . Well, that was a very difficult state of affairs. We thought that she was marrying for love, but it did not turn out to be so. Luckily, she escaped the machinations of evil men at the last moment.”

Grey tensed. “Yes, I heard the story. I'm terribly sorry.”

“My father is a bounder,” Philippa said truthfully.

Grey studied her, looking for signs of pain.

Philippa was such a good, kind soul that he hated the idea that she had suffered so brutally at the hands of her