by Ingrid Hahn
It was Phoebe.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Max was waiting as Phoebe descended from the carriage into the rain, drops falling on her heated cheeks. She’d come as fast as she could, only to find him so stiff. So formal. And unusually muddy.
“You’ve returned, my lady.” His dark hair was slick with wetness, droplets hanging off the ends of the thick locks over his brow.
She’d had the whole journey back to Sutterton Grange to plan how to broach the subject. Now that she was here, however, none of it seemed right. What could possibly convey the depths of what she felt?
She held herself back, unsure of what was happening. A gust blew, fluttering the damp fabric of her skirts. “We have to talk.”
“Indeed.”
He took her arm, wrapped it around his, and brought her into the house. Phoebe’s heart beat recklessly, her nerves strained taut.
Once inside, however, instead of letting her go, he led her up the stairs. They walked in tense silence. She was unnaturally aware of every sound, every movement, jumping when the floorboards creaked beneath their feet or her foot skimmed unusually hard over a plush rug. She’d missed the smell of the house. The smell of him. The closeness of him.
There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with his man. But on her terms—terms she did not believe he would ever be able to meet.
They came to her bedchamber. Then, she slipped her hand from the crook of his arm, flexing her fingers against the shock of finding herself without his touch.
He shut the door behind them.
Facing him, Phoebe roused her courage. She must be direct, to feel herself every inch the equal of this man and speak her mind clearly and directly.
“We can’t go on as we have been.”
“No.”
She bowed her head. “I was thinking it might be better if—” Oh, sweet Lord, save her. Could she really speak these words? “That it might be better if we parted ways. I don’t think I can be the only one between us to have faith in you. I want to be part of your life, but I feel you keep me and all the wondrous possibilities of the future at bay. I see your reasoning, really I do, but—well, it comes down to the fact that if you can’t see what I see, I don’t think there is any hope for us.”
There was a heavy silence.
Her vision went watery. She’d known it would be difficult—but she hadn’t been prepared for this. “Max, please say something.”
“Perhaps you would indulge me and allow me to show you something?” His voice was low, and the strength of his tone allowed for no refusal.
Blinking away the sting in her eyes, she let out a breath, grateful for the reprieve. “All right.”
“It’s about the future. And about the past, in a way.”
She looked up, searching his stern features for any sign of what was to come and finding no hints. “Oh?”
“Will you wait a moment?”
What was another moment when the rest of her life was in the balance? “Yes. Yes, all right. Have Albina sent up. I should like to change my clothing.”
He nodded and left.
Phoebe wandered to one side of the room. Then the other, the words she had to say running through her mind.
Never had so much been on the line. Her entire happiness—her entire life depended on Max agreeing to change.
She should have seen earlier that he couldn’t.
People didn’t alter. She had enough firsthand experience to have seen as much sooner, no matter how much she had wanted to believe otherwise. Her father had had every incentive in the world to amend his ways. He’d loved his wife. His daughters. He hadn’t wanted to ruin them. In fact, he’d despaired of what he was doing—all the while unable to stop.
She’d had no compassion for him. Still felt none, actually. He’d left more than debts. The estate was in ruin for his heir, her cousin Jeremy, the house stripped, the land and people crushed. And there were secret debts in the dark London underworld that Isabel, his daughter, had somehow agreed to pay to keep the rest of her family safe from being tainted.
Max, though…he was different. Him, she loved. Unlike her wastrel father, she’d glimpsed in her husband the man he was capable of being. She’d promised she’d never leave him, that she’d never hurt him, and she’d never walk away.
But what other choice did she have?
It was hopeless. She trembled, all too aware of where this conversation could lead. All too aware of how unprepared she was to deal with the outcome. Pretending the problem did not exist, however, was not an option.
At least they’d made love once. She’d have that—carry it in her heart until the end of her days as one of the most precious moments of her life. If a child resulted… Her throat closed. If a child resulted from their one coupling, it might be best if Max never knew.
Could she carry such a secret? It would be the worst kind of duplicity. But knowing he’d done something he never, under any circumstances, had wanted to do, might break him. Either way, she would be burdened with a heavy cross.
Yet, she couldn’t help but hope he had gotten a child upon her. A piece of each of them to live on in the world, the living memory of one night where she’d tried to show her husband the path out of darkness.
What she would consider a blessing, Max would consider a curse. That was no way for a child to grow up—with a father who didn’t want him or her.
The door opened a crack, but nobody entered.
“Albina?”
“Turn toward the corner—away from the door.”
It was Max.
What on earth…?
“Turn toward—?”
“Please just do as I ask.”
She shivered in her damp clothing. There was no fire going in her room. This late in the Season, why should there have been, especially when she hadn’t been expected? “Max, what is this about?”
“You’ll see soon enough. Just do as I say.”
“All right.” Crossing her arms under her breasts, she positioned herself so as not to face the door as he’d instructed. She stared out the rain-splattered window and into the gardens beyond so as not to cheat by catching Max’s reflection on the pane.
“Have you turned?”
“I’ve turned.”
The door creaked wide on its hinges. And then there came an odd sound—like furniture being moved over the floor. “Max, what are you—”
“Patience, wife.”
Wife. Yes, she was that, wasn’t she? She would always be his wife in name. But never his wife in heart. After she gave him her one final gift, they would part.
The knowledge brought a sharp pain to the center of her chest. Her vision blurred with hot tears. She wiped them away. Weeping was not an option. She’d be strong, even through what was bound to be the most difficult experience of her life. There was simply not a way their life together could ever work.
The sound stopped.
She frowned with impatience. They had to move past this nonsense and into the long-overdue conversation. “May I turn now?”
“Are you ready?”
“What sort question is that? Of course, I’m ready.”
“Very well, then.” His voice was textured in a way she did not recognize. “You may turn.”
She did. There was an odd…thing he’d placed at the end of her bed. A basket-like container of ornately carved wood draped with white linens, and for a long moment, her mind did not register what it was.
And then, it did.
A shock drove straight through to the tips of her toes. Her heart started pounding so hard, the thumping must have been audible to him, even all the way over on the other side of the room. “You…what…oh, Max, you can’t be serious.”
“I owe you a promise. In light of all my ‘nevers,’ I promise from this moment forward that every day I shall never fail to cherish you.”
“But… I don’t understand.”
He was silent a moment. When he spoke
, his voice was rough and low. “I think it might be better if you stayed, wife.”
“But how can you…” She let out a breath. “I don’t even know how to ask what I want to ask.”
“It’s all right.” He came close to her, taking her hands within his. “If you’re strong enough to have faith in me, I need to be strong enough to have faith in myself.”
“No, Max. You’re wrong. I’d lost faith in you. I was going to leave because—” She shook her head, hot with shame. “How can you ever forgive me?” Because there with the object he’d brought into her room was the evidence that he’d managed the impossible. It was the thing he’d sworn he’d never do. The one promise he’d made to himself that she never believed he’d surrender. “You said you’d never risk—”
“Ah, but a very wise woman informed me a time or two that some risks are worth taking. Besides, my dear. A child isn’t a risk. A child is life.”
For what he’d brought into her room and stood beside, his dark blue eyes wide and uncertain with vulnerability, was a cradle.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Phoebe let Max strip away her garments. One by one, her layers fell to the floor. Then he pulled off his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt, and laid her gently back on the bed. He nuzzled her neck and caressed a breast, lightly tracing a finger around the circle of her areola.
“Phoebe…” His voice was rough. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He reached between them to undo his falls and kick himself free of socks and breeches.
“Max…” The hard ridge of his penis was hot against her belly.
“Yes?” He kept stroking her, moving his hand down between her legs to give her clitoris a delicate caress.
“I don’t want to wait.” It was too much. She was too empty. Too impatient. Too needy.
“Mmm. Neither do I.”
“I need this to be real. I need you to show me.”
He pushed open her legs in response.
She welcomed everything about him, everything he did to her—his weight upon her, each kiss upon her skin, each stroke of his hand over the rounded planes of her body, and the gentle urgency with which he pressed himself inside her.
It was perfect. The way he filled her. It was like a completion, of sorts—her body had been created to accept his.
He began to move, and she with him. It was tender and frantic all at once. The way he rocked his hips as he thrust just so, to hit her at that pleasure point he’d taught her to touch. With each thrust, he was pushing her higher. Her muscles tensed as she strained, eager and greedy to come while he was inside her.
All at once, it happened. She broke, waves of pleasure rippling through her body and down the length of each limb.
Max, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted with fierce determination, jammed himself as deeply inside her as her body would allow. With what sounded like a feral growl, his cock spasmed within her.
…
Max had thought this would have been more difficult. But as they lay curled together in the aftermath of lovemaking, it became evident just how easy loving Phoebe was turning out to be.
She rested in the crook of his arm. He placed a kiss atop her head. “I’m glad you came back to me. Where did you go, anyway? I thought you’d taken refuge with those cousins of yours, but they promised me they’d seen neither hide nor hair of you.”
“I needed a clergyman. A good one. Not that horrid Mr. Allen. I’m appalled he’s the one who married us.”
Max scowled, puzzling out her words. Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. “What are you talking about? Why do you need a clergyman?” They couldn’t very well remarry. The first marriage had been legal enough.
“For the burial.”
He pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at her. “What are you talking about?” There was going to be an exhumation. Not a burial.
She rolled off the bed, found her shift in the pile of fabric strewn about the floor, and slipped the fine billowing lawn over her head. “We should be going down to the churchyard. It’s getting late. I’m expecting them any minute.”
Now she wasn’t making any sense. “Who are you expecting?”
“Come.” She held out her hand to him. “We must dress. Then you’ll see.”
The rain was still coming down as Max crested the hill overlooking the churchyard, Phoebe’s hand inside his. An unfamiliar carriage was stopped in the road before the church. Unfamiliar to these parts, except… Was that Corbeau’s crest on the door?
Sure enough, as Max came to the entrance of the church, his friend appeared, opening one of the great oak doors.
Max took the steps up to stand under the archway, out of the pouring rain. “What are you doing here?” He looked past his friend to see Lady Bennington with Lady Corbeau and Lady Isabel standing in a group with…his mother and Thomas. “All of you?”
Corbeau gave Phoebe a questioning look and then glanced back to Max. “She didn’t tell you she’d written?”
“Written? Written what? You mean the letters to her sisters?” Max turned to Phoebe. “I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on.”
His wife’s eyes shone as she replied. “We’re making a new burial ground for your family, well away from the church. It’s far too late for your family to stay here, I think, regardless of that odious clergyman, Mr. Allen, and it wouldn’t be right for your father to be put elsewhere, away from everyone, so they have to come, too, and naturally the ground will need to be consecrated, which of course is something for which we need a clergyman.”
Max paused, sorting out all she’d said. All his worst fears had come to pass—and then some. He’d thought himself adrift.
How wrong he’d been.
Blackmailing Phoebe had been the worst thing he’d ever done. And it had turned out to be his greatest gift—her. She would be his salvation.
Phoebe looked back to a second approaching carriage. “That would be my cousins, the Fairleighs.”
Max caught Corbeau blinking. His friend looked puzzled. “Which Fairleighs might these be?”
Phoebe looked slightly abashed. “Those Fairleighs, I’m afraid. They’re…well, we’re connected. Somehow. Perhaps. Grace didn’t tell you?”
Max interjected. “But why are they here?”
“I asked them.” She smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not well versed in exactly who your friends are, so I invited those I knew to be my friends. Our friends, that is.” She looked between them, eyes wide with hope. “Any sign of Jane?”
Corbeau shook his head. “None that I’ve seen.”
“Well.” Phoebe looked as though she was trying hard not to be too terribly disappointed. “Jane did have a long journey to make. Who knows if the letter has even reached her by now.”
“But why did you invite them?”
Corbeau was slowly retreating back to the carriage—to give them privacy, no doubt.
“I wanted them to be here to stand with you. I knew this wouldn’t be easy—what am I saying? This will likely be one of the most difficult things you’ve ever faced. You’ve faced too much alone, Max. It’s time to see you don’t have to face anything alone ever again.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
They stood in a drizzle at the graveside in the new plot for the Fitzhugh family. Mr. Mallory had consecrated the ground and overseen the reburial. Intelligent and forward-thinking man that he was, he hadn’t flinched at having so many women present. It wasn’t normally done, of course, women being prone to hysterics—which was rubbish, so far as Phoebe was concerned, not least because there was nothing wrong with a show of emotion for departed loved ones.
The rest had gone, leaving Phoebe and Max time alone in the new cemetery.
One day, not for a very long time, Lord willing, they’d be buried here together, resting side by side for all eternity.
Phoebe risked a glance to her husband.
He caught her looking. “This is all quite
strange.”
“I think it’s the best we could have done under the circumstances. This is that odious clergyman’s doing, but we will not allow it to be his legacy.”
“I don’t know how it can be anything else.”
“By not allowing it to be.” Phoebe touched Max gently on his shoulder.
Max looked at her. “How did you discover his plans?”
“Mrs. Cartwright.”
“Is her son better?”
Phoebe grinned. “Completely recovered. Quite a rambunctious boy, she has. He’ll be a credit to his village one day, mark my words.” Her smile fell away, and her tone sunk to an intimate whisper. “I meant it, you know—what I said back at the church.”
“What was that?” The rawness of his voice was a leaden weight upon her soul.
“You’re not alone, Max.”
When he turned to her, his face was pale as ash. Droplets of water fell from the ends of his hair into his face. Vulnerability shone from his eyes, clear and fathomless. “How can you want to be with me? I blackmailed you. You know all the worst things about me.”
She took his hand, threading her fingers into his. “I know I—I almost failed you…I should have trusted…I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“It was the thought of losing you and your trust that forced me to let go. If you hadn’t wavered, I wouldn’t have known what it was to be free. You were right—I needed to do it myself. But to continue doing it, I need you by my side.”
“You’ll always have me. I’m never going to lose faith again. Max, I love you.”
His lips parted.
“Before you say anything, please trust that I know my own mind and heart.”
“Oh, my sweet.” He kissed her knuckles. “You fought for me when I didn’t know I needed a champion. You don’t think I love you, too?”
In that moment, under the low clouds in a cold late spring rain by the freshly dug graves, Phoebe’s entire world changed. She and Grace would be sharing a commonality, now—a lifetime to look forward to dreamy smiles and contented sighs.
“Truth be told, I’m not sure I ever expected to hear those words from you.” A breeze rustled the sodden black ribbons of her bonnet.
