When the Earl Met His Match

by Stacy Reid

  Her gaze collided with Richard’s, and she noted the razor-sharp anger he was trying to contain. His wife reached out and laced their fingers together. Evie smiled and rested her hand on her gently rounded stomach. “Unfortunately, my pregnancy has been hard on me, so Richard took me to the country for fresh air where I could take long walks. You franked your letter as Lady Huxley, and because of that, our staff did not make the connection it came from you, so it was not forwarded to us in Hampshire.” She cast a glance at the duchess. “We understand that you married into the Winthrop family.”

  “Yes.”

  The duchess sucked in a sharp breath. Phoebe glanced in her direction and cast her a small smile. “Is there something the matter, Mother?”

  “You truly acted without thought for this family’s position and married…married a man with dubious parentage, which the entire society is aware of!” The words choked the duchess as if she could not bear to utter them.

  “I married the Earl of Albury,” she said with icy civility. “An exceedingly kind and wonderful man who accepted me and my child into his life without reservation. Such a man should only be esteemed.”

  “I cannot think how you would talk of such matters without blushing or even having the grace to show mortification!” the duchess said, her eyes flashing her ire.

  Phoebe took a delicate sip of her tea. “Mamma, I will not apologize, nor will I hold myself in contempt for actions I took to save my child.”

  The duchess huffed. “Who else knows about the truth surrounding…your circumstances?”

  “That is not your concern, Mother.”

  “Do you believe because you had the temerity to run away, you can speak however you wish and act in any manner?” her mother snapped in a voice mingled with civility and condescension.

  “Of course,” she said with a mocking smile. “I am the Countess of Albury, and my husband is the Earl. Why would I need permission from you for anything regarding my family?”

  The duchess flushed and spluttered.

  “I heard your plans to force me to the country and then take my child and send her to an orphanage. My child is Lady Francesca Winthrop, a grand heiress with legitimacy. I cannot guess as to why you are sitting before me puffed up with any sort of anger as to her existence and the knowledge of my marriage. They hardly have anything to do with you.”

  The duchess stared as if she had grown several heads and then sagged back against the cushions of the sofa then cast a glance at Richard as if seeking his support.

  Phoebe sent Richard a tight smile. “I would like a carriage prepared—”

  “No.”

  The flat refusal jolted her as nothing else could. “I beg your pardon?”

  She surged to her feet. “Your bounder of a friend kidnapped me from my home! My child…” Her voice cracked. “My child and my husband await my return.”

  Her brother’s jaw tightened. “I do not know the manner of man he is, this Winthrop. I dug, and the rumors I found are not favorable. What kind of brother would I be should I allow you to return to Scotland? You only fled there because you felt you could not come to me. But you could have, Phoebe, and by God, I would have protected you against anything. Even our parents. How can I allow you to go back to a man who must have married you for his own nefarious purposes!”

  She marched over to him and jabbed her fingers against his chest. “Allow? It must have escaped your notice, but I am no longer a child.”

  “Phoebe, based on your letter, he married you at your first meeting with another man’s child within you! Such a man is not honorable.”

  A wicked anger stirred inside her. “How dare you say such a thing!”

  “His intentions cannot be trusted and must be questioned. He is dangerous, and I will not send you back. There has been a lot of buzzing in society about your absence from ton events. Our mother has given several excuses, and I am of the mind to agree with her, though I cannot stand those hypocrites of society, that the best thing to preserve your reputation is to attend a few balls.”

  She stumbled away from him, her chest heaving with her fury. “You do not know Hugh to speak of him so cuttingly. I will not regard it!”

  Something cold and frightening flashed in her brother’s eyes. “Do you fancy that you love him, Phoebe, is that it?”

  Do I love you, Hugh? An indescribable emotion flashed in her chest, and she pressed her hand above her heart. It felt as if her soul had answered her brother’s cutting question. And it had screamed a “yes.” She lifted her chin. “It is my choice to love him with my whole heart.”

  “And does he love you?”

  Phoebe could not say what truth he saw in her eyes, but he closed his eyes against it, almost in denial.

  “I will take pleasure in meeting this Lord Albury,” Richard said darkly.

  She took a step forward. “You are returning me home?”

  Her brother smiled icily. “I will meet him when he comes for you.”

  Phoebe clasped her hands before her. She tried to speak but dared not trust her voice. Finally, she asked, “And if he does not come?”

  This arrested her brother’s movement. “I can see in your eyes you do not believe he will come. If he does not…then he does not deserve for you to ever return. I have enough power, connections, and wealth to make this right. You will adopt the identity of a widow, and I will see to the arrangements. I will also ensure your daughter is brought to you safely and immediately.”

  She swiped at the tears that spilled over. “You dare think I will allow you to make my choices for me? That Hugh will just allow you to swoop in and take our daughter? Have you gone mad?”

  Richard reached for her.

  “Do not touch me,” she said hoarsely. “You are acting very much like the duke and the duchess, trying to control my choices, my life, and my happiness. You believe me powerless because I am in the city without resources of my own, so I must obey your directives. I do not believe I shall forgive you for treating me so shabbily and without a care for what my heart wants.”

  He flinched and lowered his arm. “I am trying to protect—”

  “Perhaps you should try trusting me, big brother. My choices are my own, and should you dare try to rob them from me, I will not stop until I have made you regret it!”

  Shock flared in her brother’s eyes, and when he stepped toward her, it was his wife who touched his arm, pulling all his attention to her. Taking a deep breath and ignoring her mother, who seemed prostrate with nerves on the sofa, Phoebe turned and walked away, hating that she felt so helpless.

  I shall not stay here waiting for rescue. But how could she organize to leave? She could not command any of Richard’s servant to ready the carriage and take her away. Phoebe had no friends in town she could turn to for aid, and she had no money to hire a private coach for such a journey.

  Blast it!

  Will you come for me, Hugh? she silently asked. Deep in her heart, she desperately, foolishly wished he would. Because perhaps then, she might hope that he was falling in love with her, as she had fallen with her whole heart into love with him.

  Reckless, silly heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Money granted power and information, so before Hugh arrived in London, his man of affairs had known Phoebe’s location and exactly where she would be this evening. Hugh had only arrived at his townhouse in Grosvenor Square a little after nine in the evening and was greeted by the under butler and housekeeper, the only two staff who knew how to speak his language.

  Only the old earl had known that Hugh invested heavily into schools for the deaf and mute in London and Scotland and that he had given a significant amount of money to ensure those schools were funded for those who could not afford private tutoring. He had instructed his man of affairs to hire staff for his homes in England from amongst those who had studied at the schools he
had helped his tutor to launch.

  His man of affairs, James Humboldt, hadn’t been able to find a worker of great experience who knew enough of the language to act as butler, but they were able to hire an under butler who himself was hearing impaired and so was competent in sign. His housekeeper, Shirley Bramwell, also was adept at signing and impressively could speak, even if slowly. She was young but very efficient and glad to be working in such a prestigious household without worrying her disadvantages would cost her a job.

  The twelve-room townhouse had been in order, with heavy scents of lemon, beeswax, and freshly cut flowers redolent in the air. Dinner had been waiting, and he had quickly eaten, taken a bath, and then read the report his man had left for him in the study. His wife had been seen about town in the company of her brother, the Marquess of Westfall, and his pregnant wife, Lady Westfall. Phoebe’s brother had a fearsome reputation about town, and his society was more wary than accepting of his presence amongst their lofty ranks.

  He filed that information away and scanned the rest of the report. Yesterday Phoebe had attended a ball, the day before a picnic in Hyde Park, and tonight she would be at Lady Lillian Harte’s ball. One Viscount Malfoy was also seen in the company of his wife, and that man was a close associate of her brother. He lowered the report. Nothing there showed a lady eager to return home to her husband and child. Drumming his fingers on the desk, he assessed the situation from all sides. If her parents and brother were determined to keep her from “the mistake” he had hinted about in his letter, Phoebe would be powerless to fight a man of his reach.

  Perhaps she is just unable to leave, a small voice of reasoning whispered.

  Hugh carefully dressed himself in the appropriate evening style, and the carriage was brought around for his convenience. The ball was not far from his home, and when he arrived, the queue for the ball went past the fronts of several townhouses. Instead of waiting, he exited the carriage and walked past several carriages toward the revelry in the distance. Though his man of affair had procured an invitation, Hugh made his way around the side entrance of the ball and entered through the gardens.

  The merry noises of conversation and laughter spilled outside from the hall and stairs. The sound of an orchestra playing wafted down from the ballroom above. Many ladies and gentlemen loitered outside, and he even detected a couple scandalously kissing in the shadows. Hugh moved unobserved through the throng and made his way into the ball through the open side terrace door. No one questioned if he should be there, but a few lords and ladies cast him a questioning look. A few ladies gave him lingering stares, invitations to wickedness in their gaze as they scanned his body.

  Hugh ignored it all, climbing the stairs to the upper bowers. He stood in the shadows by a Corinthian column, observing the crowd with utmost discretion. Ladies and gentlemen twirled across the ballroom, glittering in their fineries, and he noted a ball in London was very much like those held in Edinburgh.

  He scanned the crowd, searching for his wife. It did not take long for him to find her, so attuned he was to everything about her. Unexpectedly, the tight band across his chest released, and a soft shudder went through his body.

  There you are, my wife.

  She looked so breathtakingly vivid in a dark green gown that had been cut with elegant lines to accentuate her full charms. His Phoebe stood by the sidelines, appearing aloof and untouchable, not like many of the other young ladies flittering about. A few people cast her curious and puzzled frowns. He examined her demeanor now as he thought back to how she had described her season and realized it was vastly different to the story she had told him.

  A man watched her, with an intensity that was…hungry. He was a short red-haired lad who seemed as young as his wife and stared at her with such yearning it was a wonder he did not try to snatch her from the ball and carry her away.

  The young man tugged at his cravat nervously a few times and even downed two glasses of champagne quite hurriedly. That man made his way to her through the crowd, and she deliberately snubbed him by turning away. The fact that she cut the man did not lessen the coldness in Hugh’s gut, for his expression had taken on the cast of someone caught in the throes of love and regret.

  George.

  Everything in Hugh warned him that this was the man who had gotten his wife with child.

  He either did not know the rules of propriety or he did not care for them, because her actions had not deterred the man. He went to her and bowed, holding his hand out for a dance. Several people observed their interactions, and Phoebe, after a slight hesitation, allowed the man to walk her out to the dance floor. There was no doubt she wished to avoid the speculation her refusal might cause, and this man had exploited on that.

  “You have been staring at my sister like a hungry wolf for the last several minutes without care for her reputation,” a dark, dangerous tone drawled nearby. “Be mindful, stranger.”

  Hugh did not acknowledge the man who came up beside him with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Since he spoke of his sister, the man could only be Richard Maitland, the Marquess of Westfall. Hugh had not prepared any notes, and there was no one to translate for him, so he did not even bother to try and indicate he could not speak. That awkwardness when those around him realized he could not speak would inevitably come. Just not now. What Hugh did was kept his regard firmly planted on his wife.

  How beautiful and graceful she looked twirling in the arms of another man. A disturbing, ruthless need trembled inside, and he forcefully squashed it. He would not get angry or become a raving, possessive idiot who would be haunted by anyone’s action.

  “Who are you?” Lord Westfall demanded. A chill of warning edged his words.

  Hugh descended the stairs, ignoring the dark shadow of Lord Westfall, who watched him with a mien of curiosity as if he did not know what to make of him. The dance ended, and the man held onto her gloved elbow and deftly twirled her away and with a quick glance about slipped with her through a side door.

  Something cold and unforgiving throbbed through Hugh. A quick glance at the upper bowers revealed that Lord Westfall was watching him like a hawk. Hugh allowed his lips to quirk in a measure of amusement, and the man’s golden gaze sharpened. Hugh deftly moved through the crowd and out the side door the man had taken his wife. He saw the hem of her gown as it disappeared around a corner. Hugh followed, hugging the shadows, scanning to ensure no one else lingered who could gossip and cause irreparable harm to her reputation.

  “Why have you dragged me here?” came his wife’s scathing demand. “You will release me at once!”

  “Phoebe, please,” the man breathed. “Did you get my letters?”

  Hugh faltered into remarkable stillness. Letters?

  With a scoff, she whirled around and made to head up the stone path back to the ballroom.

  “Please, Phoebe, we have been friends for years! Please…I…I only wish a moment of your time,” the man cried in a choked voice.

  She stopped and closed her eyes briefly, a spasm of emotions crossing her face Hugh could not decipher. The coldness inside grew.

  She turned around. “The only reason I even allowed you to drag me away is because I did not want to start a scene and a scandal. I have people depending on me who would hate for any luridness to attach to our names, and that is the only reason I did not punch you on the nose, George.”

  He chuckled, yet his expression was one of pained regret. “This is what I love about you, Phoebe. Your boldness. How you speak your mind. You are so decided. I…I love you. Please, please let me make this up to you. Marry me, Phoebe!”

  His father had warned him that it was easy to make enemies within the ton, and because of its fickle nature, he should be aware to whom he gave that epithet. One should not be eager to claim an enemy because having a friend was more worthwhile. Yet it was with a sense of pleasure he mentally moved the man before his wife into enemy statu
s.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” she said cuttingly.

  “Your brother…he told me if I wished to do the honourable thing, I should be at tonight’s ball and try and speak with you. He gave me hope, Phoebe…hope that you perhaps think of me with the same longing as I think of you. I want to give you a husband that you love…and one who loves you…a happy life…a happy family. I can give that to you. Please give me a chance to make up for the fool I was.”

  She stared at him for several seconds, and the man seemed to hold his breath, awaiting her reply.

  With a sense of disbelief, Hugh found he did the same thing. He waited, his heart twisting as if a knife had been lodged within.

  She did not answer. Merely turned away. The man grabbed her shoulder and twisted her around. A low growl came from his wife’s throat, and Hugh moved forward, iciness flowing through his veins.

  “George, you will—”

  The man hauled her to him and pressed a kiss to her mouth, cutting off her furious rebuttal.

  …

  Phoebe jerked from George’s embrace, shock tearing through her. A glint entered his eyes, and he reached out a hand to her. Outrage poured through her, and she slapped his hand away and stepped back. “How do you dare? I am a happily married woman!” she said furiously.

  “Married?” he cried, shock slackening his jaw. He appeared a besotted, miserable fool, and Phoebe did not care to offer him any kind words. George squared his shoulders. “Your brother clearly believes that marriage is of little consequence if he is willing to take steps to see us reunited. I even suspected that marriage is a tale to support you returning with a child.”

  She stumbled back. Richard told him? Phoebe breathed harshly, anger and hurt pouring through her veins. “I am not sure what Richard told you but—”

  “I deduced it myself! You disappeared from society without any word like many ladies do who run away to the country for months and return a widow. We have a child, don’t we?” he asked hopefully.