by Stacy Reid
He smiled.
Phoebe moved a few steps closer. “Do you have a sudden curiosity to learn more about me?”
“More like a powerful hunger.”
Her eyes widened, as if the notion startled her, then she smiled widely. “I led a very restrained life, as expected of the daughter of a duke. From the age of six years old, I had several tutors and governesses. I…I did not enjoy the privilege of being outdoors much, and since I’ve been here, I’ve learned that I love the feel of the grass against my bare toes, the rustling of the wind as it whips my dress around my legs, the feel of the rain as it falls against my skin, the sound of the birds, the whistle of the wind down the mountains and through the trees. I think before I was caged…and now…” She laughed lightly, a bit wistfully. “Now, through my disgrace, I have found the joy of life.”
He thought of the days when she would go out onto the lawns, her feet bare, and simply lift her face to the sky and smile. Even yesterday she had done it, and he had stood in the very window watching her, craving something he did not fully understand. She had lifted a hand and beckoned him out, and Hugh had gone, stood beside her, and they had sky gazed for an inordinate amount of time.
Her softly whispered, “Beautiful,” had been the only word spoken between them before he had gone back to overseeing his duties. Hugh resolved then to construct her own special garden and parklands, with all the flowers and birds she loved.
“What is the scariest thing you’ve ever done?”
“When I was fifteen and my brother lay dying from a fever, I snuck outside in the night with only Sarah to inform the woman he loved that she needed him. I did not care that I might encounter footpads or terrifying creatures.”
He had already known of her courage but this… Admiration filled him in a great rush. “Tell me more.”
She arched a brow before tapping her cheek thoughtfully. “I love music, especially the pianoforte. There was a time I spent hours each day playing.”
“What about your friends?”
“I never made many,” she said softly, her eyes searching his face intently. “I only had one season, and most of the girls my age found it more appropriate to view me as a competitive enemy as they tried to capture the attention of society’s most eligible bachelors. Do you have a trusted friend and confidant?”
“No.”
“That is it, a mere no?”
“I never quite fitted in anywhere. My studies were done here with tutors renowned for their skills in sign language.”
Her eyes were soft with sorrow. “You did not indulge in those pursuits many young lords of the ton partake in?”
What was it that she thought those gentlemen did? “Such as?”
Her eyes sparked with challenging humor. “Racing, the mistresses, the exclusive gentleman’s clubs, gambling, living lavish and extravagant off their inheritance?”
“I was never invited to take part in any of those here. Nor in Edinburgh whenever I visited our business interests there. But those occupations would never have appealed to my senses even if I had been invited.”
A secret smile hovered on her lush mouth as she took another step closer.
His hands lifted slowly as he considered the unique puzzle of his wife. “I wonder…”
“What do you wonder?”
“You make my heart beat faster by being close to me.” The surprise of that discovery went through him like a violent jolt.
That confession had her gripping the edges of her gown.
“I wonder if it is the same for you, or am I alone in this strange madness?”
Her gaze softened. “Yes, it is the same for me.”
He experienced a moment of pleasure and uncertainty. At his lack of response, she asked, “Does my closeness makes you think of kissing me?”
“I would astonish myself if I did not crave your lips upon mine.”
Her lashes lowered briefly, and when her gaze lifted to his once more, a deep awareness flowered through Hugh. His wife wanted him. A wicked dare peeked from the gaze staring so boldly at him.
“Do you think of doing more…than kissing?” she murmured.
He gripped the edge of the desk, fighting the need to grab her, to toss her onto the surface and have his wicked way with her. He did not know much about childbirth and what time it took to recover. Hugh had been very mindful of her sensibilities and constitution these past few weeks, waiting for her to let him know when she needed more. Though she responded to his seductive kisses with wanton abandonment, she’d never demanded for more. And thus, he had restrained himself, believing that she would know best when her body was ready. “Yes.”
The very air around them seemed to tremble with expectations.
“Who was that man earlier?”
They stared at each other.
“He said that he is Viscount Malfoy and that he was here to take me back to London. I refused, and he left.”
All the warmth he’d been feeling vanished, and cool caution settled along his spine. “That is not a matter of little consequence.”
She lifted a shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “It is, because I belong here…with you and Franny and Caroline and the earl. I daresay when we are ready, we will return to England.”
Hugh straightened, and she glanced down, staring a long time at his desk.
“Is that a letter for me?” she asked, reaching for the paper.
He grabbed it and held it away from her. Hugh wasn’t quite ready for her to read his disjointed thoughts, not when he was bewildered by them himself. She tried to snatch the paper from him, and he stood and lifted his hand in the air. Phoebe scowled up at him then rolled her eyes in an unladylike fashion.
“Hugh?”
His silence was its own answer.
“I shall yield to all persuasion when you next kiss me,” she said softly.
His breath caught at that unexpected provocation and promise. Then she turned and walked away without waiting for his response.
Chapter Fourteen
Phoebe could feel Hugh’s stare like a physical caress along her nape then down to her hip. I’ll yield to your persuasion… Or more like his ravishment. Only a few steps away from the door, she whirled around and ran toward him without checking her speed. His beautiful eyes widened, and before he could react or even guess her intention, Phoebe jumped, grabbing his shoulders to haul herself up so she could wrap her legs around his hips. She did not concentrate on this very scandalous and outrageous position—that her dress had been pushed to her knees and she was wrapped around her husband like a vine, her ankles hooked around his back—but releasing one of his shoulders, she lunged to pluck the note he had been trying to hide.
Yes! She turned her triumphant gaze to him and realized their mouths were mere inches apart and her husband had frozen. Clearly, he had not expected her actions, but Phoebe hadn’t thought it would have so shocked him that he’d turned into this marble effigy.
She could feel his heartbeat against her breasts, which she had pressed so firmly against his chest. A wave of heat overwhelmed Phoebe, and she was unexpectedly mortified and intensely aware that she could feel every imprint of her lord’s body against hers. Her fingers tightened reflexively on his shoulder, and his lashes closed briefly, as if he savoured the sting of her nails that penetrated through the layers of his jacket and shirt.
“I’ve been improper,” she whispered, painfully aware of how close his lips were.
Phoebe placed the note close to her cheek. “Please take it back.”
“Read it.”
“I…no, you did not want me to, and I should not have acted with such wanton disregard for your privacy—”
He pressed a finger to her parted lips. Then he lifted those fingers and signed, “Phoebe?”
“Yes?”
“Read it.”
Pa
infully aware that she was still clasped intimately against him, she turned her head and lowered her gaze to the letter.
Dear Phoebe,
I like you.
I have started out wrong. I am happy that you are my wife. I listen to you sing to our daughter, and her chortles of joy make my heart hurt. I’ve never felt such an emotion before, but I’ve gathered it is a good thing, because I also want to smile whenever I see Franny and you together. Whenever you laugh, her legs kick, and her smile is comparable to the beauty of yours. How I wish she could hear my voice, even if once. How I wish I could sing for you…laugh with you.
I’ve learned the beauty and power in the sweet sounds of laughter since I met you, and I regret, I deeply regret that I might never do the same for you. I now wonder if you would come to dislike my silence and the bareness it can offer. Permit me to give you something I’ve only ever played for myself in the dark of the night when I am alone and wistful. I learned to play the flute on my travels around the world, and it is the only sound my lips can make. Allow me to sing to you, laugh with you, and speak with you with those sounds.
The paper wavered in her hands, and a splat of water dropped on it. With a sense of alarm, she realized silent tears ran down her cheek. She lifted her gaze to him. “I am being silly. I do not know why I am crying.”
He lowered her down, and she was so very aware of the slide of his body against hers.
“Would you…would you play for me now?”
He regarded her silently for a long minute, and she desperately wished she knew his innermost thoughts. He stepped away from her and went to the bookshelves, where he retrieved a rectangular-shaped box with an exquisitely carved design on the surface. Hugh opened it and lifted out a strange flute.
Phoebe gasped at the beauty of it and padded over to his side. It was unlike any she’d ever seen, the colour a pale green, almost like jade. He lifted it to his lips, and she grabbed his wrist, halting him. Phoebe grabbed his hand, tugging him to go with her. She smiled when he followed her to the open window.
“Let’s sneak out here to the gardens.”
He glanced behind them to the door.
“I know we can go outside and exit through the drawing room, but this seems more…exciting.”
His lips curved slightly, and she collected that to mean he approved. She quickly toed off her slippers and swung one of her feet over the window while gripping his shoulder for balance. The day dress rode up her shins to reveal her stocking-clad legs. Feeling his stare on her limbs, she turned away, hiding her smile.
Quickly he helped her through the windows before following. Once he was fully out, she hurried ahead on the stone path to the side gardens. Phoebe gasped when he tugged her arm, and when she whirled around, he glanced pointedly at her stocking-clad feet on the cold ground. Her husband held out the jade flute to her, which she grasped, then he dipped and swept her into his arms. With a squeak, she hurriedly wound her arms around his neck and held on, careful to ensure she did not drop the flute.
A dangerous sensation thrilled in her heart. A hint of a smile hovered about his mouth, but he did not look down at her, just continued toward the gardens with long, powerful strides. Phoebe sensed he was quite pleased with himself and could not understand why he had lifted her in his arms. Not that she would protest, she liked being there.
They entered the side gardens, and he lowered her to her feet and collected his flute. She sat on a stone bench by the Grecian fountain, and he sat on another opposite her. Hugh held her stare in an unbreakable hold and lifted the instrument to his mouth. He placed his lips along the body, to the second hole, and his fingers covered the fourth and the six. Then he blew.
A wind-like sound, beautiful and haunting, lifted in the air. Shivers rippled over her skin, and her lips parted as she stared at him in astonishment. Phoebe had never heard a sound so dark and brilliant, so majestic and haunting. She stood as if pulled by an invisible string to stand before him. The entire moment felt ethereal as the air between them vibrated and pulsed with such emotions, her throat ached.
I feel as if I am fated to love you, Hugh Winthrop, for I’ve never dreamed I could feel such a yearning for another soul.
Without breaking his rhythm, Hugh stood and peered down at her as he played. At times the music echoed plaintively, then it lifted in the air, rich and compelling. What are you saying to me? she silently asked, unable to look away from the blue brilliance of his eyes. And the music answered. The sounds that poured forth felt pure, yet too intense, for her heart quaked with the unnamed sensations filling it, and it was all evoked by the music he made.
“Hugh,” she whispered. “I…”
An ugly sound intruded upon the beauty of the night. The music stopped abruptly, and they both looked around to see Caroline with tears streaming down at her cheeks.
“Please come inside,” she said in a soft, composed tone, very much at odds with the pain in her eyes and the wetness on her face.
“The old earl…” Her throat worked to swallow, and she pressed a palm over her chest. “Our father…he has died.”
…
Two weeks had passed since the earl went on to his rewards with a smile on his face. There hadn’t been any cries of alarm or pain before his passing. He’d spent his evening reading to Franny before kissing her small tuft of hair and retiring to his chamber. It had been his valet who had found him lying on the bed, his hands across his chest and that contented curve to his mouth. Though his passing had been expected, a blanket of grief settled over the castle, and rain had fallen intermittently since with a gloomy rumble of thunder and lightning cutting across the sky.
Lord Albury had been laid to rest in the family crypt only yesterday. Phoebe had not known him long, yet it felt as if a part of her heart had been removed. The earl had left each person a letter, and she had been surprised that he had left one for her, too. She had read it so many times, the words were interred in her heart.
Dear Viscountess Huxley,
My dear Phoebe. It was a pleasure to know you in the short time allotted to us. You are a very delightful young lady who has brought much joy to my son. I have seen much smiling from him and an air of hope that I doubt the lad himself is aware surrounds him. I thank you for that, for I did not realize how severe he had been in his countenance.
I must warn you, though he is very attentive to his lady wife, he might never express certain sentiments I can see in your eyes each time you stare at him. Do not hope in vain for it, and you will not suffer any disappointment. Do not push for more than he is able to give, do not give him the opportunity to doubt your loyalty, and you will not suffer heartache. I daresay once you’ve minded this old fool’s teaching, your union will be one of contentment.
I thank you for the joy of Francesca and that I was able to dote on my granddaughter before I go on to my reward. I’ve left a letter for Hugh, Caroline, and William as well. It is my wish that our homes are not transformed into tombs of grief. Dear God, no black crepes and mourning attire for the world to see and speculate. You will miss me where it counts the most, in your hearts, and that, my dears, is more than enough.
Love, your father.
Phoebe had read his letter several times and cried privately in her room, not wanting to intrude on Caroline and the servants who openly grieved for their beloved master. Shockingly, he had left an unentailed estate to Franny with an inheritance of fifty thousand pounds and a few beloved jewels that had belonged to his mother. Franny had also received her own letter, which he had left instruction not to be opened until she was eighteen years of age. Phoebe’s thoughts turned to the very man the earl warned her to not expect tender sentiments.
Hugh…
The last few days had seen him ensconced in his study with several lawyers and solicitors from Edinburgh and even a couple from London as they drafted petitions to the Lord Chancellor for a writ of summons
to the House of Lords for Hugh to be recognized as the legal heir to the earldom. There would come a time when Hugh would be introduced to his house of Peers in the house of Lords, and he would be required to read the Oath of Allegiance at the end of the ceremony. She wondered how he would traverse those waters when the time came. Would they allow him to sign his oath?
The very thought of her husband conjured him, and her breath quickened. Phoebe pressed her hands against the glass of her windows and stared at the figure striding across the lawns toward the beckoning cliffs in the distance. She had a suspicion since the evening he wrote her the letter and played the flute to her that he held her in considerable affections and that he might be falling in love with her.
However, the warm, attentive husband she was too hopelessly falling in love with had been notably absent since the earl had gone. Hugh still treated her with polite kindness, but his eyes once again expressed civil indifference. When he lay beside her in the night, she fretted if she should turn into his arms to comfort him. Would he rebuff her advances, or would he welcome her support?
His coldness had been too much, and she hadn’t found the courage to cross the distance that seemed like insurmountable miles. Staring at his purposeful stride, she lurched to her feet, collected her coat, and slipped her feet into slippers. Her hair rippled down her shoulders and back freely, but she did not care to summon Sarah to help her tame her tresses and put on a bonnet. The overwhelming urge to simply hug her husband and to let him know that he was not alone dominated her thoughts.
Phoebe hurried outside and along the paved pathway, almost running to keep her husband in sight. She did not call his name or stop once, running to him until she was panting and breathless. Several minutes passed before she slowed her pace, gripping her pelisse tightly around her body to ward off the chill in the air. The October wind was harsh, signalling this winter would be fierce.
“Hugh,” she called.
The wind snatched her words, but somehow, he had heard her. His shoulders had stiffened, and he seemed to take a deep breath before he faced her. His eyes skimmed over her as she hurried to him, the wind whipping her hair about her face and shoulders.
