by Stacy Reid
Her eyes darkened with anticipation for the kisses that inevitably came every time they saw each other. He bit the inside of his lips, not liking how quickly his body responded to her sensuality or how she made his heart quiver. Liar. You like it.
Bloody hell. He did like it.
“Our lesson is over.” He was moving before he finished signing, up to her side, thrusting his hands through her hair that shimmered over his fingers like waterfall.
“Yes,” she murmured, a wicked smile playing about her lips. “My absolute favorite part of our day.”
That hint of carnality stole the breath from his lungs. Then she leaned in, and their mouths met. Though he emitted no sound, Hugh swore hunger vibrated deep inside his chest and rose into his throat. This…yes…he looked forward to this every day as well. Kissing her, tasting her, becoming obsessed by her, yet never taking it further than their endless kissing.
The flavor of her mouth was sweet—oranges, gingerbread, and ratafia—yet also something elusive, sublime. The control he’d held on his passions these few weeks cracked, and he gathered her into his arms so that she was almost sitting in his lap. And not once did their mouths part.
He felt as if someone had broken something apart inside of him and placed it back haphazardly. Hugh couldn’t quite grasp a hold of the perplexing sensations worming through him. He kissed her deeply, their tongues sliding with carnal intent against each other. Then with soft kisses and even softer bites and nibbles against her lush mouth. At times he was rough, then he was gentle. But the only thing Hugh was certain of was kissing was no longer enough. He daresay his wife agreed, for she twisted, and her large belly bumped into his stomach as she thrust her fingers through his hair as their passion flamed bright and wicked.
He allowed his hand to curve up and settle over one of her breasts. She froze into expectant stillness; even their mouths had stopped moving, though they did not break their kiss. Hugh opened his eyes to see hers wide open and staring at him. They drew apart, and he did not break his gaze, holding her regard with his.
Her chest rose and fell, her breathing a bit fractured. And suddenly he knew no one had ever touched her breast before. He’d already sensed her inexperience when they had their first kiss, but this now confirmed her first time had not been a wildly passionate encounter but the first blush of passion, which had been fumbling and possibly awkward.
Thank Christ.
He did not feel an ounce of regret for that selfish desire. He had never felt like this before, and he suspected it was the same for her. Whatever this was, he was damned glad they would explore it together, and he wanted to be the one to leave her breathless and trembling after he had ridden her for the night. Gently he outlined the shape of her breast before pressing his palm flat against that soft décolletage. He could feel her heartbeat.
Her stomach rippled, and he dropped his hand as if fire had singed him. “What was that?”
With a gasp, she pressed her hand to her belly. “I have never felt it so strong before.”
“It?”
“I…the baby moves, all the time.”
“It does?”
She nodded and tried to sign along the words even as she spoke them, a method they used to ensure the words and signs matched. “The first time it happened, I was so scared I burst into tears. It was Sarah who assured me it was normal, and I am not at death’s door. And then Dr. Edwards informed me that it is quite the norm and my agitation over the matter was needless.”
He lowered his gaze to her belly, a feeling of alarm tripping through him when it seemed as if her dress itself moved. He arched a brow, amazed, when her belly undulated for several moments. “What do you think it is doing?”
“Dancing, maybe?”
He sent her a scowl, and she smiled, the loveliness of it rendering his mouth dry.
“Would you…would you like to feel?” she asked with such shyness he could only stare at her, just stare. Then he nodded.
Her throat worked on a swallow, then she took one of his hands in hers and rested it atop her high belly. The flesh underneath his palm shifted and rippled, and a sense of awe filled his heart.
“After I stopped being frightened by it, I think that look on your face is exactly how I felt. I… Sometimes I cannot believe there is a baby inside me. A life that is growing, that is dependent on my wisdom and love to grow and survive,” she said softly, her eyes filled with a curious deep longing.
He caught a flash of awareness of her responsibility, that similar sense of awe, and a good deal of fright. Suddenly he ached for her. Since her pregnancy she had been alone, ignorant of what to expect, and without the support most ladies received from family and friends when they went into confinement. Yet she hadn’t withered under the stress of it but had held steady. Admiration swelled inside Hugh.
He hadn’t really been there, despite telling her this child was also his. He didn’t ask after it, for well, it was not here yet, and he hadn’t really dwelled on what would be required of him when the child was born.
They would have nursemaids, nannies, and tutors. What role would he really be playing? He recalled then how often her maidservant would rush to the lady to assist her from a chair or to reach a book for her. And he also knew Sarah had been sleeping in her chamber on a pallet, and sometimes he would hear her maidservant’s low and soothing whispers that all would be well with the child, just wait and see.
Hugh looked down at his palm on her belly. He was needed even at this stage—to comfort her whenever she seemed uncertain, to feel the child when it moved, to speak about her fear of the upcoming birthing if there was any. The idea shook him, and he frowned at the strangeness of the emotions that filled him. If he did not know better, Hugh would say he was anxious.
And what do you feel, my lady?
She dipped her head closer to his. “You are staring, my lord.” Without waiting for his reply, she whispered, “Do you wish to know why I suspect her to be dancing?”
He didn’t question how she knew the sex of the baby, simply nodded.
She started to sing, a bawdy tune that would have mortified the sensibilities of any young lady. Hugh grinned, and to his surprise, the movements under his palm became even more erratic. She was corrupting the child, and he loved it. Phoebe changed from the lively song to a soft sweet melody, and the baby quieted, the ripples dying until they were nonexistent.
“Isn’t that simply fascinating?” she whispered. “She responds to my voice. I could hardly credit it the first time I realized.”
He nodded, and she fairly glowed her pleasure.
“Do you believe the baby to be a girl?”
“I fervently hope so. You…you deserve to have an heir of your own bloodline.”
“Boy or girl, I would love them as my own.” His heart pounded, and he wondered about this love he spoke of. What would it feel like? The same protective, warm feeling he felt all his life for his siblings?
She leaned forward. “Before…before coming here, I had little opportunity to think about the fact I was with child. It seems odd considering it was that truth that upended my life. I was so scared of what might happen to me…to my baby that I never really dwelled on the fact I am having a baby. That I am to be a mother.”
“And now?”
The radiance of her smile hit him squarely in the gut.
“I…I find that I am looking forward so very much to meeting my child. I never imagined I would feel such a love for someone I’ve never met before.” She gave him a tender, searching look. “It must be quite odd for you as well. Two months ago, you were not a father.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug and looked away as if made uncomfortable by her assessment.
He placed a finger under her chin and directed her gaze back to him. “I was never a man afraid of changes. The more unexpected they were, the more challenging.”
“So you hav
e no fear?” she whispered, her gaze searching every nuance of his expression.
He held up his thumb and forefinger into a pinch. Then signed. “Maybe just a smidgen. I have no wish to disappoint you or the baby. If you find that I am disappointing your expectations, my lady, I ask you tell me right away.”
She laughed, the sound light…and perhaps even happy. “That I shall do,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of his chin. With all the kisses they exchanged today, this one…unfathomably this one made his throat ache with its sweetness.
His fingers jerked to life, and he asked, “Will you move into my chamber?”
Chapter Ten
Phoebe nearly choked, she drew in her breath so sharply. And it had nothing to do with how delightfully scandalous she was pressed up against her husband, nor did it have to do with the wonderful kisses she swore she could still feel against her mouth or the molten need which had settled hot and troubling low in her belly.
For a moment, Phoebe did not comprehend his meaning, then she wondered if she misread the signs. She had been diligent in studying his language, even reading the sign manual and dictionary written by Charles Michel de l’Epée, a man Hugh said had the honor of being called the father of sign language. It had been quite fascinating to learn this new language and to discover that their British manuals had variations on certain signs. It was all so very illuminating, and it had helped her immensely along with the daily conversational lessons she had with her husband. “Please repeat,” she whispered, watching his face intently. “Did you…did you ask me to move into your chamber?”
He reached for the paper and quill, pressing them against her lap to write. Whenever he had a lot to say, he would do this, fearing perhaps she would not be able to keep pace as he expressed himself.
We will convert your room to be a nursery for the baby.
Emotions tightened her throat as he continued writing.
On our wing of the house, it is only our chambers, a few sitting rooms, a music room, and a smaller library. The nursery is on the east wing, and I’ve seen you standing in that room looking forlorn. I suspect you want to be closer to the child, so let us share my exceptionally large room and our baby will only be a connecting door away. Very unconventional, I know, but are we not the masters of our home? I daresay we can do whatever we want.
Phoebe flung her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, and squeezed. She eased back, cupped his jaw tenderly, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you!”
Before she could lean back, he turned his head so their lips were a mere whisper apart. He had such extraordinary eyes—cobalt with a fleck of sapphire. And in that beautiful stare, there was a faint glimpse of humor in his eyes and arousal so profound she blushed. Despite using every excuse under the sun to ravish her lips so often, he showed the most admirable restraint in not seducing her further.
“I have been here six weeks now,” she said, brushing a curl from his forehead.
He did not object to her tender ministration but leaned even further into her touch. She went frightfully warm inside. Each day they grew closer, but there was still a reserve in his gaze at times, as if he were a watcher of their interactions and not a participant.
It had made her feel odd, and she had been incredibly careful to maintain a facade of propriety, which he had smashed earlier with his request for her to be unrestrained. Now she wanted the same from him. That he was honorable and kind was a given, but there was so much more that felt unreachable to her. Phoebe wanted to know him even if he would never allow himself to love her. But that is quite fine, she staunchly reminded herself. I shall not love him, either. This is simply a business arrangement and a friendship.
Pushing aside the heaviness suddenly pressing against her chest, she asked, “How…how does marrying me benefit you?”
His eyes became hooded, piercing, and watchful, like a hawk. Unexpectedly, her heart jerked. “Hugh…will you tell me?”
He gently clasped her hips and urged her back against the cushions and the tree trunk. The position was comfortable given the paddings of cushion and blanket beneath her.
He shifted on the blankets, sitting by her feet so they could see each other clearly. The entire affair was far more serious than she had supposed. There was a flatness about his lips and a distance in his eyes that had not been present earlier.
“What is it?”
His eyes held her for long moments, then he signed, “I am a bastard.”
She took a quick breath of utter astonishment. Then the shock of discovery hit her full force, and she pressed a palm over her heart. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am not my father’s child. My mother had an affair, and I am the product of it.”
Her lips parted, and she took a few breaths before she said, “You are not a bastard. Please do not refer to yourself as such. While your father might have been someone else, the earl claimed you as his child.” She rested a hand on her high mound protectively. “Just as how my child is legitimate because of our marriage.”
A glint of something undefinable moved in his gaze. “The ton will not see it as such.”
“They will not have a choice.” Then she recalled the paintings in the hallway and that Caroline and the other little boy in the picture looked nothing like the earl, either. A heavy suspicion lodged in her heart, and he watched her with flat eyes, surely waiting for her to arrive at the inevitable conclusion.
A deeper understanding of why he wanted an influential family to connect with his settled inside her. Dear God. She stared at him, horror icing through her. If the ton was aware of this, or even speculated upon his legitimacy and caused a scandal, the duke and duchess would not stand in support.
“Hugh,” she whispered achingly, considerably dismayed. He had given her so much, and not even in that regard would she be able to be there for him. “You will have my full support and loyalty in every way.”
She owed him that even if society would dare to try and cut them because of old rumors and scandals. Phoebe squeezed his fingers. “I will be there in every way. If they try to cut you or Caroline or all of us, I shall certainly not spare them my indifference or anger.”
His mouth hitched in a fleeting smile. “I know that much about you. It is one of the reasons I married you.”
A warm feeling suffused her entire body. “But my parents, they are the ones with the power to shape society’s opinions to their will. The duke and duchess…they are deplorably proper. They…I…”
“When needed, your father will provide his support.”
Phoebe was stunned. “It is useless to think that he would!”
“I will be able to compel him to do so.”
She wavered, trying to comprehend his certainty. “How could you possibly do that?”
A touch of a smile curved his lips, and the hint of ruthlessness to it faltered her speech. She watched his fingers and expression carefully as he signed.
“Many of the investments your father is deeply entrenched in, the Winthrops own the controlling interest. If the duke’s support is required in any manner, he would have little choice but to give it.”
A lesson her father had always impressed upon his children was recalled to her mind. Within the ton, those with money and a title are the most powerful. A position the duke himself immensely enjoyed. If that money was threatened even a bit, his admirable position would be endangered. Her thoughts whirled. “My father partakes in investments where you own the controlling interest?”
Hugh’s fingers moved. “Several.”
“But you did not know we would be married,” she said, a bit of confusion twisting through her.
He signed slowly, and she watched his expression and fingers keenly.
“The earl and I have planned my return these last few years as if we would head into battle. The most powerful and influential families
of the ton have been studied, secrets, scandals, financial weaknesses and strengths collected. The value of marrying any one of their daughters is incalculable. When you fell into my hands, I daresay we were beyond fortunate.”
She arched a brow as a spurt of amusement caught her off-guard. “Fell into your hands? How odiously ominous. But I do understand now…I am the doorway needed to reach my family and many other powerful connections in the ton.”
A piercing disquiet filled her, and she tried to push it away. It was the power of her connections why his father had not protested their match. She was still amazed Hugh had married her given he must have possessed other choices. Phoebe realized then a part of her wished there had been something inside of him that had reacted to her as a woman…something in him that wanted her without the connections more than anything else.
He nodded once, his eyes carefully measuring her reaction.
“Do you suppose society is aware of your family’s secret?”
His flinch was subtle, but it was there. “Years ago, they were very much aware, and the scandal of it all but ruined my father. To protect us, he took his children and left England. We have not returned since.”
“And once you do…there are those who will stir those old rumours with the violence of a winter storm.”
“Yes.”
A lesser family would simply stay away from it all, as many did who had fallen to ruin. The entire family would eschew all of society and bury themselves away in the country with little opportunities for any pursuits, whether it be studies, marriage, or the frivolous kind—all would be made impossible.
If any family that had been cut dared to return to town without the approval of those who deemed themselves the arbiters of high society’s circle, they would find themselves shunned socially, politically, and even financially as bank doors and investment clubs would be closed to their queries. Those powerful lords and ladies in the ton could be merciless when they deem a family should stay away.
Memories of how terrible they had been to her brother set her throat to aching. Only that he had been even more ruthless and uncaring of society’s opinion had seen him, his darling wife Evie, and his band of children, whom he had taken into his heart and home, safe. And her family, Hugh and Caroline, would face it shortly. And it seemed her husband might be just as cunning in dealing with the lot.
