It was not enough.
She wanted more but there were too many clothes between them, too little time to waste in idle chatter and her thoughts were so muddled by the sensations traipsing amok through her body at the moment she could not have found the words to ask for what she wanted if she tried.
Amazingly, she did not have to.
Edward seemed to know instinctively what she wanted, what she needed, and moved quickly to oblige. With hurried motions, he tugged off his coat, discarding it without a thought before gathering her into his embrace once more. His mouth fitted itself to hers and his hands—oh, his wonderful hands!—moved along some unseen path to all the places she yearned for them to be. He molded her to him, pressing closer here, tugging there, pausing for a blissful moment elsewhere while his kisses stole her breath at the same moment as they dared her to breathe.
She did the same, pulling him to her, exploring the curves of his body while her own greedily drank in the pleasures offered by his touch. When his hand slipped into the space between her thighs, however, pressing upon the part of her that seemed to ache for him the most, a whimper of pure delight slipped out on a ragged, breathy sigh.
A deep, agonized moan immediately filled the space between them and it took a second for her to realize the sound had come from him. Her fingers instantly stilled and she opened her eyes to stare into his. “Have I hurt you?”
Another groan, and his forehead came to rest upon hers.
“Nay, you have done no harm—other than to make me desperate for what I cannot have.” He lifted his head, but rather than meet the temptation in her limpid gaze, he scanned the horizon instead. “We must stop, Phoebe.”
“Stop?” Her chest still heaved with each breath and her fingers yet tingled for want of another feel of him. She slid her hands over his shoulders and down the length of his back, pausing just at the curve at the top of his buttocks.
He tensed and grunted in response. “Aye, Phoebe, we must cease this delicious torment ere I forget I am a gentleman and take you right here in the grass for all of nature to see.”
Her nose crinkled in protest, she said, “Nature is a lady, Edward, and has no qualms against practicing a bit of discretion. I am certain she will not mind to turn her eyes away.”
Edward chuckled and dropped a quick kiss on the end of her nose. “While I would dearly love to agree, I greatly fear this must be the exact reason your brother was determined to ruin our outings by gracing us with his unwanted presence these past days. Do you really want to give him the satisfaction of being right?”
Her brow rose. “I would not care in the least, but I suppose it would crush your prideful ego to do so. Very well,” she sighed. “We shall stop. But you should know I find your kisses intriguing as well as delightful, and I absolutely refuse to wait so long to have a taste of them again in the future.”
He busied himself with helping her straighten her clothing. “Then you admit to arranging a private outing today simply because you could not wait another moment for my kiss?”
Phoebe could feel her cheeks flush.
“Wholeheartedly,” she admitted unabashedly, her inquisitive gaze studying him as he tugged the bodice of her habit up to cover her breasts. “Are you ashamed of me for having the courage to do so?”
Gathering up his coat, he shrugged into it, shaking his head all the while. “Nay. But I daresay you will need far more than courage later when the time comes to face your brother.”
“Then let us delay that moment for as long as possible, my lord.” She turned her face up to his for another kiss and then moved to take up the reins of her mount, surprised the old girl hadn't wandered away during her and Edward's moment of unexpected passion. “Shall we race to that stand of trees just over the rise?”
Edward helped her into the saddle and then untied his own mount. Glancing up to the spot she mentioned, he thought ironically that he would never see this stretch of meadow the same again. A grin tugged at his lips. “Winner gets a kiss?”
“If the loser agrees to join me for luncheon with the family,” she offered cheekily and whirled her mare around, nudging her into a fast trot in the opposite direction.
Still grinning, Edward swung up onto his own mount. Like a pup who was far too eager for a pat or a treat from his mistress, he dutifully followed.
Two hours later, the couple leisurely made their way toward the stables, their mounts trailing behind them at the ends of reins loosely held. Phoebe leaned against Edward, seemingly content and completely at ease with both the day and the man who walked at her side. Edward, however, braced himself for the coming confrontation with her brothers. As if she could feel his tension mounting with each step they took, Phoebe leaned close to whisper, “Tristan won't eat you, you know. He will be angry because I managed to slip out without him but I can handle him well enough.”
“While I am glad to know your courage has not failed where your younger brother is concerned,” Edward said in response, his tone wry, “it is, unfortunately, the elder to whom I must answer.”
She glanced up at him, surprised to learn the greatest portion of his concern was on answering to Lucien. She shrugged. “I fear I cannot help you there. Lucien is different these days, mostly due to Claire, I believe, but I still find myself at a loss when it comes to anticipating how he may react in any given moment.”
“Perhaps the presence of guests will aid us,” Edward said, gesturing toward the stables where a dull black carriage waited. Phoebe's brow knit in a slight frown but she said nothing, so he continued to with her in silence to the house.
“Phoebe! Mister Claybourne! How lovely of you to join us, at last!” Alaina called out to them in an overly loud voice the minute they stepped through the door.
Phoebe cringed. “Christ, Alaina, must you alert the entire shire to our arrival?”
Excusing herself from her betrothed, Phoebe headed toward the stairs to change for luncheon while Edward was escorted by Severn to a guest room to freshen up.
Twenty minutes later, Phoebe rejoined the family and Edward led her to a seat at the table which had been set up on the terrace before taking his own across from her, seating himself between Emily and Claire. To Emily, he said, “Your sister tells me you have an affinity for sewing? She mentioned a number of very elaborate tapestries...”
Em's eyes lit up and she nodded. “Indeed, my lord. Perhaps I shall gift Phoebe with a few from my collection for your wedding.”
“I am certain she would like that.”
Alaina laughed. “Em's tapestries? Phoebe? You didn't tell him, did you?” she asked of her sister.
Phoebe bit her lip to keep from grinning and wrinkled her nose. “I did not.”
Alaina leaned close to Edward to explain. “Despite my many hours of expert tutelage, your bride-to-be cannot sew her own initials—a fact with which our Em was so delighted, it led her to create pictures of everything imaginable on linen. There is very little at which Em can best our Phoebs, you see, and when she discovered Phoebe could not sew, she applied herself to learning and took to it like a duck to water. Now, there are literally hundreds of tapestries in Em's collection—and we forced Tristan to sit through a viewing of more than half of those this morning.”
Turning to Phoebe, she whispered, “Where were you? We expected you back hours ago!”
“Racing,” she answered without batting an eyelash. “Edward is a very good horseman. It took three tries to best him but I finally won and here we are.”
“So I see,” Tristan growled from the doorway. “And while you were out racing with Mister Claybourne, did you perchance bother to give your reputation a thought? Have you the slightest inkling what could have happened if the two of you were seen?”
Leaning back, Phoebe put a hand to her throat. Feigning horror, she opened her eyes wide. “My reputation? Dear me, I never gave it a thought. But now—oh, how traumatic it might have been to be forced to wed my own betrothed!”
Blinking innocently, sh
e continued, “And you, brother? Did you give a thought to how fiendish your behavior has been? I vow Mister Claybourne would have gone away screaming mad had he been subjected to one more outing with you.”
“Perhaps 'twas his point, Phoebe?” Edward offered. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “There is naught over which to concern yourself, St. Daine. Phoebe and I took a few turns across the meadow and then rode here straightaway. She is a very adept rider.”
“Her ability to handle a horse was never in question, Claybourne. It is her blatant disregard for family and propriety which concerns me.”
She saw Edward bristle. “Disregard for family? Unlike some, Phoebe never forgets how crucial some actions are when it comes to family. I—”
“Concerned, Tris?” Phoebe interrupted, hoping to prevent the escalation of tempers she sensed brewing just beneath the surface of this turn of conversation. “But I suppose you must have been, considering I learned from the best—and you were a most brilliant teacher, if I must say so.”
Tristan turned his glare on her, as she had intended. His nostrils flared. “Don't try and turn this into a sibling rivalry issue, Phoebs. It was never like that between you and I and your disappearance this morning without a chaperon was...”
“Not as immediately worrisome as the summons we received a moment ago,” Lucien countered from the opposite doorway. “We are to appear before the magistrate in three days.”
A pallor immediately fell over the gathering.
Claire left her seat and went to stand at Lucien's side. Phoebe saw her hand slip into his and her eyes went immediately to Edward. Unfortunately, he was too far away to offer a similar comfort. Not that it would help. The instant Lucien had spoken, her heart squeezed in panic and she greatly feared no amount of physical compassion could ease the sudden fear she felt for her brother.
Her gaze slid to meet Tristan's and her anxieties tripled. There was a look of such haunted anguish in his eyes. For the tiniest moment, she saw him squeeze them closed and when he reopened them, the light which had been there before had entirely vanished. “Tris?”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, his throat working with the effort, but no words came forth. Finally, he said, “I seem to have lost my appetite.”
Turning on his heel, he left the family to what was left of their meal but no one could seem to dredge up even a token interest in the previously sumptuous display of food before them. Phoebe saw him pause to take a bottle of Lucien's finest Scotch from the liquor cabinet before heading for the stairs.
“But your weddings are barely more than a se'ennight away!” Alaina protested. “How can we concentrate on the preparations when we are all so concerned about Tristan? Can you not have this dratted hearing postponed, Lucien?”
Leading Claire back to the table, one hand resting at the small of her back, he shook his head as he helped her into her seat before taking his own at her side. “I fear not. It is probably for the best to get it done. Once the hearing is past, we can put this entire tragic episode behind us, and get on with our lives, at last.”
“Even if it ends with Tristan's death?” Phoebe demanded. She tossed her napkin onto the table and got up to follow her brother, her steps hurried.
Three days.
She had but three days more to spend with her brother before he must stand in front of strangers who would decide his fate; whose word would determine whether he lived or died, and the knowledge terrified her.
After his homecoming, she had somehow managed to put this moment out of her thoughts. He was back, home at last, and she supposed his return had somehow dampened her fear that he might again be taken from them and soon. Then, she had been so annoyed by Tristan's immediate dislike for Edward, so determined to keep her word despite her brother's objections, that she had neglected to recall there were more hurdles yet to cross before he would truly be free. But she had felt so certain he would come around, that he would eventually explain the situation that had led to his being tried for the death of Lady Chelsea Hastings—only he had run out of time.
She should have stayed home, forced him to talk about it, she silently chastened, but she had stubbornly elected to spend her time with Edward instead. How could she have been so blind? So naive? Tristan needed her and she had ignored him. In her defense, he had wanted her to ignore Edward and the promise she had made, she rationalized. He had wanted her to recant, to go back on her word, to push Edward completely out of her life—and that was something she could not do, even if she wanted to.
Could she?
Nay, she could not. But for the life of her, she could not manage to summon a reason why. Why was it suddenly so difficult to imagine putting Edward out of her life?
Confused now, her steps slowed.
She had never expected to like him. She had never imagined she might even fall in love with him—most especially not this soon. But there was definitely an indisputable connection between them, an unexpected passion neither she nor Edward could deny.
Was it love?
Her steps slowing even more, she tried to imagine waking up each day without thinking of him, of going through her afternoons with no expectations of having him appear at some point in her day and found that she could not. Edward Claybourne had become as much an integral part of her life as her own brothers.
Halting outside Tristan's door, she stared off into the distance, her thoughts in turmoil.
How could she choose between them? How could she make a choice between honor and loyalty and love? How could Tristan even ask her to?
11
Reclined against the head of his bed, one hand wrapped around a bottle of Lucien's finest Scotch and the other balancing the double measure of unsteady amber liquid in his recently filled glass, Tristan knew the exact moment when Phoebe paused outside his door.
“Tristan? I am sorry I went out without you this morning,” she called without preamble from the hallway before, with the barest pretense of a knock, she pushed her way into the room.
He didn't bother to upbraid her for entering without permission. Instead, he stared at her in silence, letting his droll expression say all too clearly how little stock he put in her apology even before his mocking tone confirmed it. “Are you? I find that hard to believe.”
As she pushed the door closed behind her, he noted the high color of a blush staining her cheeks and knew her conscience was the only thing that had forced her admission to the contrary. “Well, no, not really, because I enjoy Edward's company and you have been a boor these past days. But I truly am sorry I cannot have the time back.”
Her fingers played with the seams hidden in the side of her skirts but the look she gave him was direct. The blank yet piercing stare he leveled upon her in return was one of such cold indifference that he could see shame further heighten the fire currently burning in her cheeks. As if suddenly overwhelmed by a deep sense of remorse her tone could not convey, she hastily averted her gaze and whispered, “Don't make this difficult, Tris. You know I sincerely regret that I chose not to share the morning with the both of you.”
“Because I'll be dead in three days time?” Tristan scoffed. “What matters a little funeral? You'll have one less overbearing brother to deal with, that's all. You'll be wed a mere handful of days afterward and everything will be wonderful, no?”
“You forget the mourning period, Tristan,” she said, sarcasm making her words seem less strained. “There is no need for me to remind you if you die three days hence, the weddings will be postponed.”
“If the date had not yet been set, I might be tempted to speak with the magistrate myself to hasten things along, considering. It might be the only way to make you see sense in the matter.” And he did wish she would reconsider her agreement to wed Edward Claybourne. For her to give up her one chance at love—for him—pained him greatly but he knew nothing short of dying would make her go back on her word. “Fear not, however, for I have no doubt Lucien will see to it that his marriage to
Claire takes place before I hand my wicked soul over into Death's cold hand.”
Staring down into the amber liquid in his glass, he mumbled, “You'll have your Edward and the rest of your whole bloody life ahead of you so don't regret a few moments missed that you would have felt forced to spend with me, Phoebe.”
She marched across the thick carpet to the chair beside his bed, sat carefully upon the dark, woodsy upholstery and scowled. “Really, Tris, there is no need to be cruel about it, or quite so certain you will die.” When he said nothing in response, she prodded yet again. “Are you sure there is nothing more you can think of which might save you from this horrible fate?”
Tristan merely nodded at her through his daze. His words came slowly when they came, as if he were choosing them at random from someplace far far away. “Only one. A knife, perhaps. Thrown by the hand of a skilled assassin, well versed in such matters. Probably best if it were aimed at my throat,” he said, making motions with his hands which were still filled with glass and bottle toward his neck. “But there is at least a small chance it could sever the rope I'll be dangling from instead if the fellow's aim is a bit high.”
He paused just long enough to toss back half the whiskey in his glass before picking up where he left off. “Of course, the force of my fall will already have done its damage, leaving me gasping and broken and unable to feel my extremities. Arms. Legs...”
“Tristan, stop!” Phoebe demanded, rising to her feet, and he saw that she was unable to halt the shudders coursing through her. “That is the most horrid, gruesome—” she paused to draw in a settling breath, and then continued with, “positively terrifying vision imaginable! Why is it so difficult for you to suppress your churlish need to frighten me with such imaginings at every possible turn?”
An Unexpected Passion (Unexpected Series Book 2) Page 9
