Phoebe flinched at the mention of love, and her heart sped to an alarming pace. He loved her? She wanted to turn to him, to see if his expression confirmed or denied his father’s words, but her neck felt suddenly immobilized. She couldn’t turn if her life depended upon it. It was certainly fear that had rendered her thus, for she wasn’t sure what would happen if his eyes denied the marquess’s assessment.
Instead, she remained focused on Lord Eastleigh and launched into an abbreviated account of her life and her upbringing, her interests and her dislikes, until it became apparent the man was growing weary.
“I have tired you out with my incessant rambling, my lord,” she said with a smile.
He smiled back with fondness in his eyes and reached for her hand. “I could never tire of you, my dear,” he rasped. “But I tire quickly of this blasted illness.” He coughed a bit, and Lady Eastleigh was back at his side in an instant with a glass of water.
“We will leave you to rest, Father,” Benjamin said from behind her.
He gently took her by the elbow to help her from the chair.
“Wait!” said Phoebe, an idea coming to her all of a sudden. She looked at Benjamin, then Lord Eastleigh, and finally stopped at the marchioness. “Do you think it would be too much to ask that we have the ceremony here tomorrow? So that his lordship might be able to witness it?”
There was a pause before Benjamin leaned in to whisper, “Are you sure, darling? I thought you would want to at least have a chapel wedding.”
Perhaps that had been her dream once upon a time. A grand wedding in a grand church with pews filled with friends and family. But none of that seemed to matter now. It had been Lord Eastleigh’s dream to see his son marry before he died, and that was far more important than a silly chapel wedding.
“I would rather have it here . . . if that’s all right, of course.” She looked up at her fiancé and saw the joy in his eyes, the approval in his smile.
“It is up to you, Father,” he said, but the marquess was already sound asleep.
“I am absolutely certain it would be all right,” Lady Eastleigh put in. “Now, why don’t you two go downstairs with the rest of them, and we will see you in the morning.”
They bid goodnight to Lady Eastleigh, left the master suite and started in the direction of the large drawing room where they had congregated earlier, before dinner. But halfway there, Benjamin tugged lightly on her arm and pulled her into his embrace. They stood in the darkened hallway like that for a few minutes before he finally released his grip on her. She tilted her chin up so she could look at him and noticed the intense longing in his eyes.
“Phoebe, I . . . I don’t know how to thank you for—” His voice broke, and so did Phoebe’s heart.
“There is no need to thank me,” she told him. “It is what I want.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to say that. I know it can’t be in keeping with your dreams. I have seen how women get over their wedding day. I’ve taken all that away from you by insisting on a hasty wedding. And now—”
“And now it will be absolutely perfect.” She smiled and reached up to smooth the worried frown from his forehead. “It is the people who make a wedding special, not the location or the flowers or any of that. Please believe me when I say this is what I want. You are what I want.”
She held her breath, wondering if she’d said too much. Surely, he knew from her behavior just how much she cared for him, but they’d yet to express their feelings with words. She thought about what his father had said about his being in love with her and wondered if it was true. If he truly did love her, even after such a short period of time. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility—she loved him, after all—but perhaps it was too much to hope for so soon.
And what did it matter, anyway? She would marry him whether he loved her or not, for it would be difficult, after the past week, to imagine her life without him. Furthermore, it was obvious he cared for her, and even desired her, which was far more than most women could say of their husbands.
His lips came down on hers, firm and needy, coaxing her to open to him. She didn’t hesitate to grant him entry, and she allowed her tongue to mingle and tease with his, while her hands roamed his hard, muscular shoulders. There was more to this kiss than she had felt in ones prior. He had always been gentle and careful with her. But not tonight.
He kissed her harder, held her tighter, breathed a little heavier than ever before. And Phoebe could not get enough. She felt weak, as if her legs might give way any moment, and urgent, as if she might never be able to get close enough to this man.
She snaked her foot around his calf, pressing herself against his leg, trying to satiate an urge she didn’t quite understand. He pressed back with his muscular thigh and Phoebe felt the blood rush to her ears. She wanted more, more, of this sensational feeling, but she wasn’t sure how to go about getting it. However, she was positive Benjamin would know how to give it to her.
When his mouth left hers and began to travel down her neck, stopping to tease the sensitive dip where her pulse throbbed, she whispered, “Take me to your room.”
There was a groan—a low, reluctant groan—as Benjamin lifted his head, straightened his leg and set Phoebe away from him by several feet. She stared at him, breathless and wanting, wondering what had happened.
“Was it something I said?” she asked, hoping to break the tension that crackled between them.
It worked. He chuckled. “While no one in this household would think much of it were I to take you to my room a mere twelve or so hours before I marry you, I would.”
She said nothing, only blinked at him, surprised by his virtuous declaration. She was supposed to be the virtuous one, wasn’t she? The virgin, saving herself for her wedding day? Yet here she stood, desperate to make the throbbing between her legs go away, the ache in her breasts, with not a thought for her own virtue.
He moved towards her, and she dared to hope that perhaps in the infinitesimal seconds that had passed, he might have changed his mind. A strong hand caressed her cheek and moved into her hair. She thought for a moment that he might pull her to him again for another kiss, but he didn’t. Not the kind of kiss she was craving, anyhow. He merely placed a tender peck to her forehead, and said, “I want to do this the proper way, Phoebe, my love. And I will force myself to wait until tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s not exactly fair, is it?” Phoebe asked, a sense of bravado washing over her.
“I’m sorry?” Benjamin stared at her, his brows raised in surprise.
“By forcing yourself to wait, you are also forcing me to wait, and I’m not sure I like that scenario . . . not right this moment at least.”
Benjamin chuckled again and shook his head. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know. In the Shakespearian way, of course.”
What did Shakespeare have to do with this? “Would you care to explain?” she asked, not enjoying being left in the dark.
“No.” He took her firmly by the elbow and started off in a brisk walk down the corridor. “Not tonight, anyway.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it didn’t much matter. The air between them had cooled in the course of their conversation, and she was ready to acquiesce. He was right, anyhow. Their wedding was a mere twelve hours away, and then she supposed she had the rest of her life to figure out how to satiate the incessant throb between her legs. Or to learn how exactly she would be the death of him. It didn’t sound very romantic, but one never knew. She would save judgment for tomorrow.
By the time they gained the stairs, Phoebe had decided she did not want to mingle with the family tonight. She was getting married in the morning, so it was best she have a good night’s sleep to appear fresh and awake for her nuptials.
Benjamin agreed it was for the best. “I think I shall turn in myself,” he said, leaning in to give her another chaste kiss on her cheek. “Sleep well, my darling.”
They parted ways, and Phoebe sauntered sl
owly back to her room, one floor above. She was sleepy and ready to climb into bed, but when she did, the second her head hit the pillow, she knew she wouldn’t enjoy a wink of sleep that night.
Chapter 13
The morning of his wedding, Benjamin woke early and went to the master suite to see if he could gain a few moments alone with his father. Of course, the marquess was still sleeping, so Benjamin settled into the armchair beside the bed and waited. He must have nodded off, for he was awakened by his father’s voice.
“She's lovely, son. I say you've done well for yourself.”
Benjamin looked up to see his father trying to prop himself higher on his pillows. He immediately jumped to help.
Lord Eastleigh balked, clearly frustrated at needing help to sit up, but said, “Thank you,” nonetheless.
“Do the doctors permit you to drink?” Ben asked, knowing how much his father cherished his smuggled brandy.
“I hardly think it matters at this point.”
Benjamin's jaw tensed and twitched. Certainly his father was deteriorating, but he still didn't like to hear him talk like that. “If refraining from it will keep you with us longer, it most certainly does.”
“Look at me, Benjamin.” He did. “I'm not getting any better. It's time you come to grips with that and got me a blasted drink.”
He grimaced but did as his father bid him. Once they were settled, his father said once again, “She is a lovely girl, Ben.”
“I know.” Benjamin nodded. “I'm glad you like her.”
“How could I not? She is sweet and kind, with just enough fire to make her interesting. She reminds me of your mother when she was younger.”
Benjamin had never thought about it before, but it was true. Perhaps that was what attracted him to her in the first place. He'd always admired his mother—her strength of will and good heart. Phoebe, though young still, certainly had those same qualities.
“So you are happy with my choice?”
His father turned and focused his watery eyes on Benjamin. “You have always made me proud, Son. This is no exception.”
Benjamin stared back at his father, wondering what he would think of him if he knew the truth. That he had shot a man and fled his life out of fear and self-loathing. That the coward in him hadn’t even told Phoebe. He could never tell his father this, of course. It would only upset him, and Benjamin wanted his father's last thoughts of him to be good ones. There was no point ruining the man's impression, no matter how misguided it was.
“You are very quiet,” Lord Eastleigh observed after a few moments of silence.
Indeed, he was. And riddled with guilt. Not just over Phoebe, but over the fact he'd run off for a year and wasted precious time in America that could have been spent with his father.
“I'm sorry, Father,” he said, unable to look at him as he did.
His apology was met with a soft snore. It was just as well. The man needed his rest.
***
Before Benjamin knew it, he was standing in his father’s bedchamber with the rest of his family and the minister, awaiting his bride. Katherine, who had been somewhat put out by the fact they weren’t having the wedding at the church, had collected flowers from their hothouse and ordered that all the curtains be pulled back and the windows cracked for the occasion.
Though Benjamin would have been content to marry Phoebe in a dungeon, he was glad for his sister’s fussing. This way it would at least feel more like a proper wedding; he wanted that for Phoebe.
He turned to his father and noticed the color in his cheeks was higher than yesterday. And though it was weak, his smile was wide. Ben thrilled at the fact he had been able to fulfill his father’s wishes. It was quite a boon that Benjamin happened to be falling madly in love with his bride.
Becky poked her head into the room, and everyone turned to look at her. “She’s ready,” she announced, and the family moved into position.
Benjamin and the minister stood at the foot of the bed, where the marquess would have a good view of the nuptials. Everyone else lined up in two rows, forming an aisle for Phoebe to walk down with her mother. Kat, William and his mother stood on one side, the twins on the other.
Once they were all settled, Becky swung the door open to reveal Phoebe and Lady Grimsby waiting on the other side. Benjamin’s breath caught and his heart swelled. She was perhaps the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and within a matter of minutes, she would be his. All his. Forever.
As they began the slow walk to the makeshift alter, Benjamin took the opportunity to admire the woman who would be his wife. She wore a yellow gown, so pale it was almost cream, made of thin muslin that fluttered about her ankles as she walked. It hugged her voluptuous curves and Ben found himself struggling to control his ardor. Good God, it wasn’t easy. The high waist of the gown fit snuggly below her bust, pushing her milky white breasts up until they very nearly poured from the neckline. But they didn’t, and that was what Ben found so very arousing.
He forced his eyes from her neckline to her face, suddenly very aware that he stood next to a man of the cloth. She bore the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen her wear. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips plumped, her eyes round and shining. Young spring daisies were strung through Phoebe’s thick auburn hair, which had been partially gathered on top of her head; the rest of the luxurious length cascaded down her back in a wavy mass.
Ben itched with the desire to run his fingers through her thick locks, but obviously, he refrained for the time being. It would be his priority, though, once they said
I do.
And then she was upon him, kissing her mother on the cheek and then turning to face him with that brilliant smile. He smiled back. He couldn’t help it; she was so radiant, and she was his . . . almost.
The minister began the ceremony with the famous words “Dearly beloved,” and that was all Benjamin heard. He was far too focused on the woman before him to pay attention to what the old vicar was saying. It wasn’t until he was prompted that he shook himself from his bride-induced trance.
“Do you, Benjamin Kendrick Wetherby, take Phoebe Isadora Blake to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?”
It was in this moment that Benjamin thought of Phoebe’s father. He wondered if perhaps he should have been forthright and told her about the duel; about the horrible thing he’d done a year ago. Perhaps he should have, for now he never could. Did that sort of dishonesty bode well for a happy marriage? Certainly hesitating before one said “I do” did not, so before too much time passed, Benjamin pushed the thoughts of the old baron from his mind and answered, “I do.”
The minister repeated the question to Phoebe, who promptly responded with an eager “I do” as well, and then Benjamin was encouraged to kiss his bride.
It felt a little awkward with his entire family bearing down on them and the reverend mere inches away, but Lord knew he wanted more than anything to seal their vows with a kiss. So, he stepped forward and gathered her in his arms, pulled her close and planted his lips on hers. It wasn’t enough; he might never get enough, but for now it would have to do. He released her to a chorus of congratulations and hugs, and then, before they all left to enjoy the wedding breakfast downstairs, Benjamin and Phoebe approached Lord Eastleigh.
He was exhausted—that much was obvious—but he seemed filled with joy at the same time.
He held out his hand for Benjamin to shake. “Congratulations, my son,” he said. Then he turned to Phoebe, who leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. “Welcome to our family, Lady Glastonbury.”
***
Phoebe didn’t prolong their time at the wedding breakfast on purpose. At least, not on a completely conscious level. She was simply having a wonderful time with her new family, trying to assimilate herself into their sparring and teasing. It was great fun, she had to admit, and she thril
led at the thought that she was a part of them now.
In the back of her mind, she knew as soon as they left the breakfast and retired to Benjamin’s bedchamber, she probably wouldn’t see the light of day for quite some time. What she had been desperate for last night, she felt apprehensive about this morning. It wasn’t every day a girl lost her virginity, after all.
The night before, her head had spun with speculation. Would he want to see her in the nude? Would he expect her to do things to him?
Oh, Lord, she hoped not. She could handle being stark naked with him as long as he didn’t expect her to know what to do in regard to his person. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. Perhaps with that hard appendage that seemed to come into play every time he pressed her close for a kiss.
A blush crept to her cheeks, but she wasn’t exactly sure why. She wasn’t even entirely positive what that thing was! Why should she already be embarrassed about it?
“I do hope that blush is for me,” Benjamin whispered close to her ear as she raised her champagne flute to her lips.
The bubbles tickled and teased her tongue as they made their way down her throat, but the intoxicating drink did nothing to calm her sudden nerves. She tried to smile at her husband, but she was sure it ended up looking more like a grimace. Benjamin, however, had no trouble bringing a smile to his lips. He looked positively elated. Phoebe only hoped she wouldn’t dampen his elation once they were in bed.
“Are you all right, darling?” he asked as he took her hand in his.
“Fine,” she choked. “Just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
Phoebe felt the color rush into her cheeks, and her ears roared with embarrassment. Trying to maintain her composure, she cleared her throat and asked, “What would I have to be nervous about?”
Gentleman Never Tells (Regency Historical Romance) Page 10