A Dark and Brooding Gentleman

by Margaret McPhee

  ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

  ‘The man you met last night.’

  ‘I told you, I met no one.’ She set a determined look upon her face and tried to walk right past him. ‘If you will excuse me, I must attend to Mrs Hunter. She will be wondering where I have got to.’ But he caught her arm and pulled her to him.

  ‘Why will you not trust me, Phoebe?’ he whispered and the underlying pain in his voice echoed that in her heart.

  ‘I trust you, Sebastian. You must know that.’ She stared up into his eyes.

  ‘Then tell me what is going on.’

  She glanced away in despair. ‘I cannot.’

  ‘Cannot or will not?’ he demanded.

  She looked up at him, took his face between her hands. ‘Sebastian, I trust you with my very life, truly I do. But this matter of which we speak, this is the one thing I cannot tell. Please believe me, were there any other way.’

  ‘You do not have to do this, Phoebe. I can help you. I can keep you safe, if that is what you fear.’

  She dropped her hands and tried to turn away, knowing the irony of the situation. ‘This has nothing to do with my safety.’

  But he would not let her go. ‘Who are you protecting?’

  You, she wanted to cry. My papa. But she said nothing, just shook her head.

  ‘Phoebe.’ His fingers stroked soothingly against her cheek. ‘Do you not know I would lay down my life for you?’

  She turned her head to kiss the tips of his fingers. ‘And I, for you.’

  ‘But still you will not tell me?’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘Forgive me, Sebastian,’ she whispered and reached up to touch her lips briefly against his.

  ‘Phoebe …’ She could hear the torture in his voice.

  They stared into one another’s eyes. And when his mouth moved slowly to hers she kissed him with all the love and all the tenderness that was in her heart. Telling him with her actions what she could not tell him in words. She threaded her hands through his hair, pulling him closer, pressing herself to him, needing his strength, needing his passion.

  She shivered in delight as his hands swept over her body, stroking over the swell of her hips, her buttocks, up over her ribcage. Their bodies clung together. They breathed the same breath. They kissed until she no longer knew where she ended and he began. And Phoebe knew she would never love anyone the way she loved Hunter.

  A knock sounded. By the time the door opened, Hunter had thrust Phoebe behind him and turned to face the door.

  ‘So sorry to intrude, old man.’ Lord Bullford was glancing away in obvious embarrassment. ‘Came to warn you that Mrs H. has noticed her companion is missing.’ He cleared his throat several times and did not look once in Phoebe’s direction.

  Hunter scowled at his friend, but his words when uttered were civil enough. ‘Thank you, Bullford.’

  Lord Bullford disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, his footsteps fading to merge with the low lilt of the music.

  ‘I must go,’ she said.

  Hunter nodded. ‘I will follow in a while so it is not apparent we have been together.’

  She walked away and left him, to follow down the dark corridor all the way back to the ballroom.

  The morning after the ball Phoebe and Mrs Hunter sat in the morning room, drinking coffee and eating toast. Sebastian had not yet emerged from his bedchamber.

  ‘And how is your head this morning, Phoebe?’ enquired Mrs Hunter.

  ‘Much recovered, thank you, ma’am.’ Phoebe sipped at her coffee and ignored the slice of toast that lay on her plate.

  ‘You should have told me you were taken unwell with it last night. I was quite worried when you disappeared for such a while.’

  ‘I am sorry to have worried you. I thought only to step away from the heat and bright lights and music for a while.’

  ‘Well, as long as you are recovered now.’

  ‘Completely,’ said Phoebe. She drank some more coffee to try to dispel the thick blanket of fatigue that seemed to cloak her brain this morning. She had slept little. All the thoughts in her head were of Sebastian and her papa, of the Messenger and the gentleman in the carriage. And the words that kept running through her head were Sebastian’s: Do you not know I would lay down my life for you.

  ‘I plan a day of rest and recovery today, so that we will be fresh for tomorrow. I thought an afternoon visit to Mrs Stanebridge, then an early night,’ said Mrs Hunter.

  ‘A good idea, ma’am.’ Yet, in truth, Phoebe knew that she could settle to nothing. Her nerves felt frayed, her mind in turmoil; her body ached for a sleep that would not come no matter how long she lay upon a bed. Time was running out. Phoebe had only one more day to steal the ring.

  Hunter did not leave the house, yet he stayed away from Phoebe and his mother, seeking instead the comfort of his father’s library. Trenton had been given instructions to deliver any letters that might arrive addressed to Miss Allardyce to Hunter himself. And when the ladies went visiting in the afternoon, he sent two footmen to follow discreetly to guard their safety. He stared out onto the London street that was so different from his moor and he waited for the day to pass and the night to come.

  He sensed the flare of emotion in Phoebe when she saw him enter the drawing room after the ladies’ return, but she hid it well. Her attention stayed fixed on his mother and the stories she relayed of their afternoon at Mrs Stanebridge’s. She smiled in all the right places, made the right agreements and nodded frequently, yet beneath the façade of normality there was such an air of tension about her that he did not know how his mother could fail to notice it.

  ‘I am having dinner with Fallingham tonight and will probably stay there overnight.’

  His mother gave a nod. ‘But you will be back tomorrow to take Miss Allardyce and me to Colonel and Mrs Morely’s as you promised?’

  ‘Of course.’ Hunter smiled, then toyed with the wolf’s-head ring, twisting it in small rotations around his finger in an abstract manner.

  His mother did not miss the movement. She peered across at his hand. ‘Is that your father’s ring you are wearing?’

  He glanced down at the ring, and the wolf’s eyes stared back up at him. ‘It is. I had forgotten that I was wearing it,’ he lied. He rang the bell, then twisted the ring from his finger and held it upon the flat of his palm for a moment.

  ‘I never did like it,’ said his mother, ‘but Edward would not be without it.’

  When Trenton arrived Hunter handed him the ring. ‘Please see that it is placed in the jewel casket in my bedchamber.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘I will see you tomorrow, Mother.’ He gave her a small bow and then turned to Phoebe, who was sitting as still and pale as a statue, her eyes trained on the ring. ‘Miss Allardyce.’ Her eyes moved to meet his, and there was such a look in them that Hunter’s resolve almost broke—relief, disbelief, sorrow and guilt.

  ‘Mr Hunter,’ she said softly and gave him a curtsy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By midnight the last of the servants had retired for the night. Mrs Hunter had long since been abed and Phoebe was standing fully dressed in her faded blue muslin by the window of the guest bedchamber. The night sky was clear, the moon waning, shrinking towards the crescent it would soon become, and the street lamps still burned, their orange glow lighting the darkness. The opportunity for which she had prayed and hoped and waited all of these weeks past was finally here. And the moment was bittersweet. She both dreaded and longed to hold the ring in her hand, to slip it into her pocket and walk away. Tomorrow she would wear the red shawl by the window and await the Messenger’s instructions. And finally she would give him the ring. It would be done. She would be a thief and a traitor, and Sebastian and her papa would be safe.

  She knew she could not stay as Mrs Hunter’s companion after that, not when she had abused her trust, and not with all that lay between her and Sebastian. To face him knowing what she had d
one would be a torture she did not think she could bear. She would give notice, travel back to Glasgow, find some other way to survive. She had her health. She was fit and strong and not afraid to work, even as a maid if needs be.

  With trembling fingers she struck the tinderbox and lit her candle, then quietly made her way to Sebastian’s bedchamber.

  The curtains had been closed so the room was in darkness. Her heart was beating in a fast thudding fury as the door clicked shut behind her. The room still held Sebastian’s scent, his cologne and soap and the smell of the man himself. She stopped where she was, allowed herself to breathe in that familiar scent and felt her heart and her body tingle in response. She bit her lip as the sensations washed over her, and she heard again the whisper of his voice: Do you not know I would lay down my life for you? She forced herself to the task. Holding the candle aloft, she surveyed the dim shadowed room by its tiny flickering light.

  It was not so large a room, indeed barely larger than the guest room in which she was ensconced and very much smaller than the lady’s room in which Mrs Hunter now slept. She wondered why Sebastian had not taken the room designated for the master of the house. But maybe this had been his room as a boy, and maybe there were too many associations with the room that had been his father’s. On the right-hand side of the room a large four-poster bed faced out from the wall. Even in the candlelight she could see the undisturbed bedding was a deep rich claret to match the curtains that covered the window. She let her gaze linger a moment there, imagining Hunter’s dark head against the pillow, and his body naked beneath the sheets. She felt her heart swell with love for him.

  There was a small bedside cabinet to the left of the bed and, on the right, a dressing screen. On the wall to her immediate left-hand side, the mahogany-framed fireplace was dark and empty. Ahead of her, on top of the chest of drawers, sat the same ebony wooden casket that she had searched at Blackloch, not hidden away this time but sitting proudly on display. She took a deep breath, moved forwards and set her candlestick down by its side.

  The lid raised easily and without a single sound; she searched the top black velvet-lined tray. There was Sebastian’s diamond cravat pin and his signet ring. She lifted the tray out and sat it down beside her candlestick while she returned to the casket. Beneath where the tray had lain were the two saucily painted snuffboxes she had seen before and Sebastian’s gold pocket watch. But the wolf’s-head ring was not there. She began to rake again through the items of the tray. And then she heard the noise. She glanced around and the diamond pin fell from her fingers as she gasped and backed away, for there in front of the dressing screen stood Sebastian.

  ‘I thought that you had.’ she whispered.

  ‘I know what you thought, Phoebe,’ he said softly as he came to stand before her.

  ‘I …’ There was nothing she could say, not a single explanation that would excuse her presence in his bedchamber, rummaging through his jewellery casket. She stared at him in horror, knowing what this meant for both him and her papa.

  ‘You will not find it in there.’ He slipped his fingers to the watch pocket of his waistcoat. At the end of the chain dangled not a watch, but the wolf’s-head ring. He freed it from its anchoring and sat it upon his palm before holding his hand out before her. ‘As I said, I keep it close to my heart.’

  She looked from the ring to Sebastian’s face. ‘How could you know?’

  ‘From the time you looked upon my father’s portrait in the study at Blackloch I have known, Phoebe,’ he said with such gentleness that it made her want to weep.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sebastian.’ She placed her hands over her face, covering her eyes, knowing that all was lost.

  ‘You may as well tell me about it now.’

  ‘I cannot,’ she whispered, frightened that if she did it would only make matters worse for both Sebastian and her father.

  There was a small silence and then she heard him move, felt him take her in his arms. ‘You know that I love you, Phoebe.’

  ‘You must not love me.’

  ‘It is too late,’ he said softly against her ear. ‘My heart is already yours as yours is mine. Do you deny it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then tell me what this is all about.’

  ‘Please do not ask me.’ She touched her fingers to his mouth to stop his words.

  He kissed them before drawing them away. ‘You know I cannot do that.’ And there was such a determination in his eyes that she feared her own resolve. ‘What power has this man over you?’

  But she just shook her head and spoke with a certainty she did not feel. ‘I will not tell you, Sebastian, no matter how many times you ask me.’

  ‘Then you leave me no alternative, Phoebe.’ He stared down into her eyes. ‘I will wear my father’s ring to Lady Faversham’s rout tomorrow. Flaunt it to whomsoever it is that is pulling your strings. And set the whisper that you have told me all.’

  ‘No! Please Sebastian, I beg of you, do not!’ Phoebe felt the blood drain from her face. She stared at him in horror and mounting panic.

  ‘But I must, Phoebe … if you will not tell me.’ And the look on his face was so adamant that she knew that he would do it.

  ‘They will kill you, if you do,’ she said in a voice that was all of despair. And she could not stop the tears that leaked from her eyes. ‘And they will kill my papa, too.’

  ‘They threatened your father.’ Sebastian placed his hands upon her upper arms and she could see the concern and the anger on his face. ‘I should have realised.’

  She nodded.

  ‘But he is in the Tolbooth.’

  ‘They have already beaten him and I do not doubt their threats to take the matter further. They are very powerful, Sebastian. The gentleman who held me hooded yesterday told me he has eyes and ears everywhere.’

  ‘Held you hooded?’ She saw something change in his face. Saw the clenching of his jaw and the danger in his eyes. ‘I think you had better start at the beginning, Phoebe, and tell me all.’

  And Phoebe did. She told him of the Messenger at the Tolbooth and how at first the threats had been directed only against her papa. She told him of the letters and of her meeting in the carriage with the gentleman. And of the threats to Hunter … of what they were willing to do to have the ring. Of how she was to steal it and the means of communication. Every last little detail there was to tell.

  ‘Now do you understand why I could not tell you?’ she asked. ‘I could not risk my father’s life. I could not risk yours.’ She took his face in her hands feeling the rasp of the beard stubble beneath her fingers. ‘What is so special about this ring that it would cost two men their lives?’

  ‘It should hold significance for me alone, Phoebe. My father entrusted it to me as he lay dying.’

  ‘I know what the ring means to you, Sebastian, truly I do.’ And her heart was aching with his pain. ‘But you must let me give it to them.’

  ‘Never.’ The word was unyielding. ‘With his last breath my father made me swear to guard the ring with my life. I will not break that oath, Phoebe.’

  ‘Please! Your father would have understood.’

  ‘I will not part with it.’ There was such vehemence in his voice that she knew he would not be persuaded and all the fear and panic bubbled up to overflow.

  ‘They will kill you, Sebastian! And they will kill my father, too! Do you not understand?’

  He slipped the ring back into his pocket and took her hands in his own.

  ‘Phoebe, trust me in this. I will find another way. Have no fear—for I will see that your father is safe. And I will discover who is behind this and deal with them for what they have done to you.’

  He did not understand the power and reach of the men who wanted the ring. She stared up into his eyes, felt a terrible despair roll through her and wept in earnest.

  Hunter gently wiped away her tears and pulled her to him. ‘Hush, my love, do not be afraid. All will be well.’ He held her to him and str
oked her hair and whispered words of reassurance. She cried until there were no more tears, cried until she felt empty, then just stood there in his arms, her face hidden against his chest.

  Beneath her cheek she could feel the strong steady beat of his heart and, in the arms that surrounded her, the warmth of his love. He was everything to her: her heart, her love, her life. She raised her eyes to look up into his beloved face.

  ‘I love you, Sebastian. I love you so very much.’ She cupped his cheek with her hand, caressing the fine stubble.

  ‘I love you, too, Phoebe.’ He turned his face to kiss her fingers and then slid his hand against her scalp, holding her to stare down into her eyes, and there was such love and absolute integrity in his gaze that she could not doubt the truth of it.

  Sebastian reached her mouth to his and kissed her with such tenderness. His hands trailed down over her arms to take her hands in his, entwining their fingers as surely as their hearts were entwined.

  ‘You were always my love, Phoebe,’ he whispered. ‘And you always will be.’ And he kissed her again, slowly, meaningfully, as if to substantiate the words of his promise. They kissed and in their kiss there was a merging of their hearts, a merging of their souls. They kissed and she did not let herself think of the danger and darkness and hopelessness that surrounded them. She did not look beyond to all that lay ahead. She loved him. She loved him, and she knew there would only ever be this one night.

  All of her joy was in that kiss, and all of her sorrow.

  All of her passion and despair. Everything she had found and everything she would lose. And as the flame that had burned between them always flared and raged she laid her heart open to its blaze.

  He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the line of her jaw, capturing her hands to the small of her back and holding them there to support her as he arched her to him. Her head lolled back, exposing her neck all the more to his mouth. He trailed kisses all the way down her throat, nuzzling the hollow in its base, lapping against her, tasting her, kissing her until her breasts were straining against the blue muslin, aching for his touch, longing for it. His lips slid lower over her décolletage, his breath hot and moist through the muslin.