Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

I t was late in the afternoon and the sun hung low in the sky, casting streaks of gold over where Philip sat, his brow furrowed as he pored over a stack of documents.

The papers in front of him were important, concerning the estate's finances and a few lingering debts, but he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

His thoughts, rather inconveniently, kept drifting back to the kiss he had shared with Aurelia the day before.

The softness of her lips, the way she had yielded to him for just a moment; it was all so vivid in his mind that he could still feel the warmth of her body beneath his hands.

Focus.

He scowled, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Ours is not a marriage founded on love or mutual respect. Aurelia is merely a payment, a means to settle part of her father's debt.

He had to remind himself just who she was. She wasn't his wife; not in every sense of the word.

And yet, Philip couldn't shake the image of her from his thoughts. It wasn't just the kiss; it was the way she had looked at him, as though she had been trying to reach past the walls he had erected around himself.

Frustrated, he rang for his butler.

"You called for me, Your Grace?" Mr. Wimbledon asked, his hands folded behind his back.

Philip nodded and rose from his seat, approaching the large window that overlooked the expansive fields of Oakdale Manor.

He needed air, perhaps even a ride, just to rid himself of these bothersome thoughts. But as he stepped toward the window, something, or rather, someone, caught his eye.

Aurelia.

She was in the field, bow in hand, aiming an arrow at a target in the distance.

"What in the devil is she doing?" he muttered under his breath.

"Your Grace?" Mr. Wimbledon inquired.

Philip turned, blinking as though he had just realized his butler was there. "You may return," he told him. He had wanted to ask about Aurelia, but there she was.

Mr. Wimbledon bowed and scurried out of the study.

Philip turned back to the window. Aurelia looked graceful yet determined, with a certain look in her eyes as though she had been waiting for him to notice her.

Philip's brow furrowed as he observed her a moment longer. The sun caught in her hair, making her seem almost ethereal.

Was she…practicing archery? And why did it seem as though she intended for him to see her?

She was daring him to come to her.

Philip smirked. It was a dare he had no difficulty accepting.

Without further delay, he hurried outside to meet her in the field.

As he approached, Aurelia loosed an arrow. It barely skimmed the edge of the target before landing in the grass, but her attention remained focused ahead, as though she hadn't noticed his presence. Philip knew better, but he wanted to play along.

"And what, may I ask, are you doing?" His tone was casual, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity he couldn't quite hide.

"Practicing how to shoot," Aurelia replied without turning to him, her tone light but carrying a hint of something else, something almost playful.

"I want to feel that thrill again," she added, with a glance over her shoulder. "Or am I forbidden to touch a bow and arrow in your absence? I did not handle your lucky arrow."

There was something about the way she said it that caught him off guard.

Philip narrowed his eyes at her. Her tone wasn't defiant, nor was it entirely submissive.

"I didn't say you were forbidden," he muttered, his gaze drifting to the bow in her hands. "Carry on."

She nodded, returning to her stance and fumbling through the steps of nocking another arrow. It was clear that she remembered little of what he had taught her before: the string was pulled too tight, and her grip was awkward and unsteady.

She loosed the arrow, and it veered off course entirely, landing far away from the target.

Frustrated, Aurelia bit her lip before turning to him. "Will you be so kind as to refresh my memory on the steps to meeting my target?"

Her voice was softer now, more inviting, and the way she looked at him stirred a strange sensation in his chest.

Philip hesitated for a moment, considering her request. Then, tilting his head slightly as if to study her further, he finally gave in.

"Very well," he said, stepping closer.

As he positioned himself behind her, the memory of their nearness during the last lesson flashed through his mind. However, this time, it felt different.

Philip noticed that she was not as stiff or unsure as she had been before. Instead, she leaned into him, her posture open and her movements more assured, as though she had learned something about herself in such a brief time.

It unsettled him, though not in an entirely unpleasant way.

Philip placed his arms around her, his hands gently guiding hers as she held the bow. The scent of her hair, faintly perfumed from her bath, tickled his nostrils, and he found himself all too aware of the feel of her body against his.

He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the task at hand. "You are holding it too tightly," he murmured, his voice unintentionally husky. "Relax your grip…Remember what I told you…the bow has to be an extension of you."

Aurelia did as he instructed, her body relaxing under his touch. Philip's fingers wrapped around hers, adjusting her aim, and for a brief moment the world seemed to stand still around them. The only sound was the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the only sensation was the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

"Now," he whispered, his lips close to her ear, "release."

Aurelia loosed the arrow, and this time, it struck the target with a soft thud. She turned to him with a bright smile, her eyes shining with triumph.

"Again," she whispered, tilting her head up slightly to meet his gaze. Her hand reached for his, lingering longer than necessary.

Philip's pulse quickened. He stared at her, trying to discern her motives, but all he could feel was the heat rising between them.

Is this part of some plan?

He kept his gaze trained on her, watching for any signs of weakness. Aurelia's body was tense, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she tried to nock the arrow. The thin thread of vulnerability was there, just enough for him to notice, but it was buried beneath layers of defiance.

He had expected some form of resistance from her. After all, she was the daughter of a man who'd done nothing but scheme and manipulate his way through life. She was bound to have inherited a knack for deception, and Philip wasn't about to let himself fall into whatever trap she might be laying.

"Why archery, Aurelia." It was a quiet command, not a question. "Is this another attempt to keep me at a distance? Or are you simply distracting yourself from the reality of your situation?"

She turned her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. "Is that what you think this is, Your Grace? A distraction?"

Her voice was soft but edged with a challenge, as though she knew full well what game they were playing.

Philip said nothing, allowing the silence to do the work for him. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of rising to her bait. Instead, he studied her; the set of her shoulders, the way she held the bow too tightly, her lips pressed together in concentration.

Aurelia shifted, drawing in a deep breath as if steadying herself. She raised the bow once more, aligning it with the target, though her movements were still too stiff, too deliberate.

She was trying too hard, and he knew why.

This wasn't about archery at all. It was about control; control over her life, her circumstances, and him .

"I wonder," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the target, "if you are determined to see the worst in me because it is easier than acknowledging that we might be more alike than you think."

Philip's jaw tightened. "Do not flatter yourself. You and I are nothing alike."

Aurelia lowered the bow slightly, just enough to glance back at him over her shoulder. "Are we not?"

Her expression was unreadable, but there was something unsettling in the way she looked at him; something knowing.

"You hide behind your duty to your brother and your need for vengeance, but perhaps it is only because you're afraid of feeling anything else."

His stomach churned. No one dared to speak to him like this, especially not the daughter of the man responsible for his brother's death. But there she stood, challenging him, her words hitting closer to the truth than he cared to admit.

"Enough." His voice was sharp, cutting through the charged air between them. "You know nothing of my reasons, nor of my brother. Do not presume to understand what drives me."

Aurelia turned fully to face him now, the bow hanging loosely in her hand. "Then explain it to me," she demanded softly, her eyes locked onto his. "Tell me why you hate me so much."

Philip's pulse quickened, but he didn't let it show. He couldn't let her see that her words had any effect on him. She wanted him to react, to let his guard slip, but he wouldn't give her that satisfaction. His expression hardened and he took a deliberate step closer, towering over her.

"I do not hate you, Duchess," he said, his voice low and even. "I do not think about you enough to hate you. You may try to provoke me, but do not mistake my actions for interest."

Aurelia stood her ground, lifting her chin slightly as if to meet his challenge. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why I am worth your attention, Your Grace."

Her voice was still calm, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes; something more dangerous.

Philip studied her for a long moment, the tension between them thickening.

His wife was more cunning than he had anticipated, more skilled at playing this game. But he wouldn't be drawn in. Not by her provocations and certainly not by the flicker of temptation she seemed determined to ignite in him.

"Whatever game you are playing," he said quietly, leaning in just enough to make his presence undeniable, "know this: I always win."

Aurelia's gaze didn't falter. Instead, she gave a slow, deliberate smile that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. "Then let the games begin."

She turned back to the target and raised the bow once more, but Philip didn't step away. He remained close, his eyes never leaving her. The pull between them was unquestionable, and he knew she could feel it too, but he refused to give her the upper hand.

Her fingers loosened, and the arrow flew forward, striking the edge of the target with a soft thud.

Philip exhaled slowly, his gaze steady on her as she turned back, the weight of the moment hanging between them like a drawn arrow.

"I think that's enough for today," she intoned, her voice once again masking the tension that lingered in the air.

Without waiting for his response, she began to walk away, leaving him standing in the field, his fists clenched at his sides.

Philip had never been one to lose control, especially not over something as trivial as a woman. But as he watched her retreating figure, a grim realization began to dawn on him.

Aurelia was more than a pawn; she had become a complication in his life, one he could no longer afford to ignore.