“Is that my present?” she asked shyly, putting her arms around his neck.
He nibbled beneath her ear, sending shivers racing across her skin. “That part comes later. For now . . .”
Leaving off, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a black velvet bag tied with a red satin ribbon. Her stomach dropped. The bag reminded her of the jewels he had tried to force on her on the night of the Framingham ball. The memory was not pleasant.
“Go ahead and open it,” he urged.
She slowly untied the ribbon and tipped the contents into her hand. A gasp escaped her lips as a string of shimmering pearls fell into her palm, glowing with a pale, simple beauty.
“Your mother’s,” he said, cuddling her against him. “A gift from the old earl on her eighteenth birthday. I understand she left most of her jewels here when she married your father.”
Phoebe swallowed, overcome with emotion. “She would have had nowhere to wear them.”
But as she fingered the smooth orbs, she knew her mother would have cherished those pearls. She could scarcely imagine how difficult it must have been to leave them—and everything else—behind. Her mother had sacrificed so much for her father.
For love.
Blinking back a rush of tears, she raised her eyes to meet her husband’s gaze. He studied her, his features, as always, a bit stern. But his sea gray eyes smiled at her.
“Thank you, Lucas,” she whispered.
He took the strand from her shaking fingers and fastened it around her neck. She touched the pearls, loving the silky feel against her skin.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, brushing his mouth over her lips. “It’s been a very successful holiday, don’t you think? Silverton and I have stopped trying to kill each other, and the restoration of the manor is moving forward. And a very large part of all that is because of you.”
He kissed her again, lingering on her mouth. “You deserve these pearls, my sweet, along with everything else I can give you. No man could ask for a better wife.”
His affectionate words triggered a wave of guilt that almost overwhelmed her. Would he still feel that way if he knew she was hiding so many secrets? Worse than that, she had lied—to the man she loved. Although her motive had largely been to protect him, he would no doubt see it as a betrayal of his trust, and by his exacting code of honor, it surely was.
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his somber gaze. “I know something’s wrong, Phoebe,” he said quietly. “I’ve known it for the last few days. I haven’t wanted to press you, but as your husband I have a right to know what troubles you.”
Startled, Phoebe choked down a gasp, dismayed at how easily he had read her thoughts. Then again, she had always been a terrible liar, and the secrets had been a dead weight on her soul.
She eyed him, longing to tell him but afraid how he might react. Not afraid for herself, but for the men of the village.
And for him. Who knew what could happen if he decided to confront the smugglers?
His gaze probed, but his quiet smile encouraged her. “You must trust me, my dear. Whatever it is, I’ll listen and try to understand.”
A thousand conflicting emotions tumbled through her, but he patiently waited her out. She studied his calm face, searching for clues, trying to see her way. They often disagreed about important things, but she never doubted that Lucas was a good man. And he had reconciled with Cousin Stephen, relinquishing years of animosity because his family asked it of him. With her love and support, perhaps he might now be ready to make peace with the smugglers, too. Or at least show them mercy.
Regardless, she could not hold the secret inside any longer, not without doing damage to herself, and especially to her relationship with Lucas.
Taking a deep breath, she placed a hand on his chest. “Yes, I have been holding something back.” Her voice quavered a bit, and she stopped.
Lucas stroked her cheek. “It’s all right. Go on.”
Although tempted to look anywhere but at him, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“The day I found Holly in the woods, I encountered something else, too.”
“Yes?”
“I came upon the smuggling gang.”
His face went momentarily blank, but quickly his features seemed to turn to stone. “You mean you actually saw them making a run? On Merritt lands?”
“Ah, well, a bit more than that, actually.”
His wintery gaze froze her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
“Phoebe, stop beating around the bush and explain exactly what happened.”
She longed for a sip of tea to wet her parched lips, but she doubted Lucas would let her get up to do that. His body had tensed, and though his grip was gentle, it was also unyielding.
“Well, I spoke to them,” she said in a weak voice.
His pupils dilated. “Christ!”
She flinched. “There is no need to swear, or to raise your voice, Lucas. I can hear you very well.”
“Phoebe, why in God’s name would you talk to a band of criminals? You could have been hurt!”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she sat ramrod straight, not an easy thing to do while perched on his thighs. “I did not have a choice,” she snapped. “I was in a clearing, freeing Holly from the bush, when they came upon me. There was no chance to run or hide. In fact, if I had tried to run, things might have gone much worse.”
He closed his eyes and inhaled several deep breaths. When he opened them he appeared calmer, although his grip on her remained firm. “Very well. I can accept that circumstances left you no choice. What did you discuss?”
She cast up a prayer of thanks that Lucas did not insist on a detailed accounting of events, especially since Mr. Weston had pointed a gun at her. But still she hesitated. If she told him what they had discussed, she would divulge who was leading the smugglers. And given that her husband did not currently seem in a forgiving mood, that was a bad idea. Especially for poor Sam Weston, whose father would be the first man hauled off to prison.
“Phoebe,” Lucas growled in warning.
“I told them you would not countenance their activities any longer, and that they must give up their ways.”
He snorted. “I bet that went over very well.”
“Some of the men may have listened,” she said with offended dignity.
“I’m sure. How many were there, exactly?”
She made a vague gesture. “It was hard to tell. Most were hidden in the woods.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Why do I have the feeling you’re deliberately leaving things out?”
“It all happened very quickly, and I was frightened. It is hard to remember details.”
His grip tightened. “You were frightened? Did they threaten you?”
“Not really,” she hedged, annoyed she had revealed even that bit of information.
He swore under his breath and his grip on her tightened a fraction. “You are such a terrible liar. Did they have guns?”
Desperate, she clutched the lapel of his coat. She could not lie to him again, even knowing how he would likely react. “Yes, but they did me no harm, I swear. Please, Lucas, just let it go. I am sure the smuggling will die out on its own, now that the local men can get jobs on the estate and in the village.”
“Hell, Phoebe! They came onto my property with guns and threatened my wife. Do you really think I’m going to stand by and let that happen?”
His harsh, unforgiving tones lashed at her. “What are you more concerned about? That they threatened me, or dared to violate the sacred boundaries of your kingdom?”
She tried to struggle off his lap, but he held her fast. Taking her face between his hands, he forced her to look at him. “Phoebe, it scares me to death that something might have happened to you,” he grated out. “You have no idea how dangerous those criminals can be. If anything ever happened to you—” He bit off the words and averted his gaze. Anger curved his features into harsh angles, but Phoebe sensed his fear.
“Lucas,” she said softly, turning his face back to look at her. “You saw me right after it happened. You know I was completely unharmed.”
He took her hands and placed them in her lap. “And while we’re on that subject, why didn’t you tell me about this encounter immediately? Why hide something like this from your husband? Something so vital?”
His eyes had frosted over again, but something else lurked behind the anger. She saw pain, and the fear of trust betrayed. For Lucas, there was no greater sin.
“They had guns,” she explained patiently.
His mouth pulled into something close to a sneer. “Thank you for assuming I would shoot them all on the spot. Your confidence in me is sorely deficient, Madam Wife.”
Her temper flared. “No, you stupid man. I was afraid they would shoot you.”
He gave an incredulous snort. “That’s ridiculous. You’re not supposed to be protecting me. I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
Angry, she struggled to free herself again. This time he let her go, although he had to lash out a hand to keep her from tumbling to the floor. Once she regained her balance, she wrenched her arm from his grasp. “Excuse me for thinking a man and his wife should try to help and protect each other,” she stormed. “I will not make that mistake twice.”
He surged to his feet, eyes blazing with a furious intent. “Please spare me a lecture on domestic philosophy. Just tell me if you recognized any of the men. Now.”
Phoebe propped her hands on her hips and glared up at him. Lucas in a fury made a very intimidating picture, but she knew he would never lift a hand to her—or to any woman—and dark looks alone could not force her to reveal her knowledge, given the actions likely to ensue. He might not think he required her help and protection. She knew better.
He also propped his hands on his hips, his voice going lethally soft. “Phoebe, I insist you tell me if you recognized those men. It is your duty to me, as my wife and countess.”
She pressed her lips firmly together and shook her head. She struggled to remain calm, but inside her emotions roiled and her heart ached with the chasm of mistrust yawning between them. But what other choice did he give her?
“Phoebe, I swear to God—”
Her control finally snapped. “I will not allow violence between thee and these men,” she shouted. “I will not allow it!”
Holly, snoozing in his basket by the fire, came awake with a startled yip. He rushed from his basket and skidded around the desk.
Lucas drew himself up, every inch the soldier. “That’s not up to you. I will be master in my house, Phoebe, and that’s a lesson you’d best learn right now.”
Holly, upset by the harsh tone of his new master’s voice, growled and backed up against Phoebe’s skirts. She scooped him up in her arms. “For shame, Lucas,” she scolded. “You are scaring the dog.”
Her husband stared at her in disbelief. “I wasn’t the one who started yelling. And why is the blasted dog in here anyway, instead of out in the hall? Isn’t there anything or anyone in this damned house who can act normally?”
Since it had been Lucas’s suggestion to place Holly’s basket in his study, Phoebe could only gape at him. Holly, however, responded with a volley of high-pitched barks. Phoebe tried to shush him, but to no avail.
“Oh, Christ,” Lucas muttered. He took the dog from her arms and marched over to retrieve Holly’s basket.
Phoebe started after him. “What are you doing?”
He pointed at her. “You, stay. I’m not done with you.”
“Lucas! Do not talk to me like a dog.”
She peered after him, worrying about Holly. Lucas opened the door to the hall and placed the basket just outside the study. But when he gently deposited the dog back in his cozy nest, he stroked his fuzzy head and, with a soothing murmur, admonished him to go back to sleep. Despite her anger, Phoebe could not hold back a smile.
“What are you smiling about?” Lucas growled as he closed the door behind him.
She wiped her face clean. “Certainly not you.”
He strode back to the desk. “I should think not. I find your defiance most disturbing. Even more so, you lied to me. That is not the behavior I expect of my wife. My Quaker wife. That you of all people could act this way defies belief.”
She froze, stunned by his criticism. If she closed her eyes, she might be listening to another one of her half brother’s endless series of disapproving lectures.
Shaking off her paralysis, she struggled to bring her emotions under control. But all semblance of control slipped from her grasp, overwhelmed by a wave of hurt and shame. And anger, an anger that prompted her to strike back. “I am sorry to be such a disappointment, but your behavior is hardly exemplary, Lucas. Despite your reconciliation with Silverton, I was most distressed by your conduct at Belfield Abbey.”
He had been starting to look as if he regretted his harsh accusation, but her words had him scowling again. “I already apologized to you for being out of sorts at the abbey.”
“That is not what I was referring to,” she said in a tight voice.
“Then what?”
His eyes glittered with a narrow intensity that should have warned her to hold her peace. But the anger and hurt seemed to push the words from her tongue, whether she wished to speak them or not. “It is thee flirting. I know thee does not love me, but that is no excuse to treat me with such disrespect.”
His eyes opened wide. “Me, flirt?” He sounded mystified.
“Do not try to deny it.”
Silence, then understanding dawned in his stormy gaze. “You think I was flirting with Bathsheba Blackmore?”
“You were!”
He shook his head. “I cannot believe this.” With no warning, he shot out an arm to sweep the piles of journals and papers from his desk, sending them crashing to the floor. Then he grabbed her around the waist, lifted her, and gently plopped her on the polished surface. Gasping, she grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself.
“Lucas, what are thee—you doing?”
He pointed at her again. “Stay right there.”
“I repeat, I am not a dog,” she huffed.
He strode to the door and locked it. “I know exactly what you are. You’re my wife, and I’m going to show you precisely what that means.”
He turned, his eyes blazing with a harsh, blatant desire that stole the breath from her body. The air seemed to vibrate around him, parting in waves as he stalked back to her. Even as her breath caught with trepidation, her limbs grew heavy and weak, already craving his touch. When he pushed her skirts up to her thighs and stepped in close, crowding her, she did nothing to resist. Her body was obviously no longer under her control, since she widened her legs to accommodate him and clutched his broad shoulders in a desperate grip.
“What is thee doing?” she whispered.
“I am showing thee that Phoebe Stanton is the only woman I will ever want. And by the time I’m through, you’ll never doubt it again.”
Chapter 33
Phoebe might have pushed Lucas too far. But his rebuke had stung, and her buried insecurities had burst forth in a shocking display of jealousy. She should feel ashamed of her childish outburst, but her husband’s eyes blazed with such passionate hunger that any apology died on her tongue.
His big hands reached around and slipped under her bottom. When he slid her to the edge of the desk and then molded his rock-hard body to her most sensitive part, she let out a squeak of protest. Through the fabric of his breeches, she could feel the aggressive thrust of his erection. Her precarious position forced her to clasp her knees around his lean hips for support.
Despite their battle of words, there was no mistaking what Lucas wanted from her right now.
He swooped down and took her mouth in a punishing kiss, ravaging her with a hot, delicious slide of lips and tongue. She moaned, clutching at his arms as she tried to deny the fierce longing surging through her veins. But just as suddenly as he cl
aimed possession, he broke away. He glanced at her flushed face, then down at her mouth, his expression brooding.
“I . . . I do not understand,” she stammered. “How can you want to do this when we have been fighting?”
His laugh sounded more like a groan. “Ask me later.”
There was likely no explaining it, she decided, since she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and her anger had not abated one whit.
Even as his hands stroked the inside of her thighs, brushing so close to her sex that it made her shiver, she saw bitterness in his dark gaze and in the sternly cut angles of his face. Sadness and regret twisted within her, knowing he saw her lies not as a means to protect him, but as a betrayal of his trust. His first love had betrayed him those long years ago, and Phoebe worried that his heart might now be damaged beyond repair.
His hands moved in sensual patterns over the sensitive skin of her thighs, moving ever closer to her dampening flesh. Phoebe cupped his cheek, bringing his attention back up. His eyes blazed with a need so starkly evident it clawed away the lingering remnants of her own pain.
“I am truly sorry, Lucas,” she whispered.
His gaze narrowed with suspicion, even as his long, clever fingers brushed through her curls and across her sex with a light, teasing motion. She bit her lower lip, forcing back a moan.
“For disobeying me?” he growled.
She shook her head, stroking the hard line of his jaw, now rough with the bristle of his night beard. “No. I am sorry you had to marry a woman you do not love. It was selfish of me to allow you to do so.”
His anger seemed to bleed away. He pressed an affectionate kiss to her brow, then a tender one across her lips. She swallowed hard, her throat growing tight with the taste of his regret.
“Phoebe,” he sighed. “None of this is your fault. Well, lying to me was your fault, but at least I understand why you did it. But the other—” He fell silent for a moment, although his hands continued their gentle play, stroking her with a soothing caress.
“I’m a soldier,” he finally said. “Words don’t come easily to me. I wish—”
His Mistletoe Bride Page 33
