by Stacy Reid
Phoebe was decidedly unsure of just how she should feel about her assessment of him in that moment. She found him vaguely disturbing and terribly compelling. “Is that why you advertised for a wife? Not wanting to wade through the scandal and idle gossip you would have faced in the marriage mart.”
“The old earl is dying with only a few weeks left to live. Advertising seemed the most expedient way of satisfying his wish before…”
“Dying! I cannot credit it!” The earl, while he avoided her most ardently, did not act like a man who hovered at death’s door. “Are you certain?”
“I am.”
“You do not seem alarmed by the prospect that something so dreadful hovers.”
“I have accepted it, and so has he.”
Her heart ached for him, and that notion that he was so very carefully contained with his emotions occurred to her again. Do you not feel? She was tempted to ask but wisely held her reckless tongue. “Will you be taking Caroline with us when we return to England?”
He glanced away toward the small waterfall for several moments before lifting his hands and signing, “Yes.”
“Are you worried about her reception?”
“She is dreadfully improper and has big dreams in her heart. Those dreams will take her to London for a come out that must be spectacular.”
Phoebe hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. “She is also not the earl’s daughter,” she said softly, unable to understand how their mother could have been so terribly selfish. “Where…may I ask where your mother is?”
“In Edinburgh. She is quite famous for her charm and beauty, and the papers take great pleasure in recounting her famous exploits.”
“Is she to return home soon?” It had been several weeks since they had married, and no one had mentioned the marchioness. Phoebe had even wondered if their mother had died and had thought it odd no portrait of hers hung in the hallways.
“Unlikely, since she left us some fifteen years ago and has never been back once.”
A shock went through Phoebe’s entire body; then their gazes collided. “She left?” The scandal must have been horrifying. Good heavens. “By her own choice or did the earl…”
His eyes chilled, and discomfort curled through Phoebe.
“By her own will. The confines of marriage and children were gathered to be dull. We are uncertain since no explanation has ever been given.”
How abominable of her. Phoebe leaned forward and grasped one of his hands. She laced their fingers together, wishing to comfort him in any manner she could. He allowed this, a curious expression in his eyes. “I am so terribly sorry for the pain you must have endured and must still suffer knowing she is here in Scotland and quite uncaring!”
A brow arched, his gaze grew even more remote, and when he tugged his hands from hers for a moment, she felt bereft.
“You mistake the matter. It is of no consequences that she is gone. Good riddance to her disloyalty and inconstancy.”
She winced at his flat dismissal. “But surely should she return—” It was that remarkable indifference in his mien that caused her to stop speaking.
An uncomfortable silence lingered, and she couldn’t say what madness prompted her to ask, “And if one day I should leave?” Phoebe discerned that the reserve she had always sensed within him was rooted deeply in this very moment. It felt silly that she asked, and she took a breath to beg him to ignore her words when his fingers leaped to life.
“If it is after you have done your part of the bargain, if you are to leave, it would be of little consequence.”
“Oh!” she gasped, almost overcome by mortification. Phoebe believed she interpreted it correctly to mean that she was of little to no consequence to him. She realized in that moment he had no expectations of her, beyond whatever had prompted him to marry her. The awareness left her feeling wretched.
His eyes caressed over her face, searching every nuance of her expression. How stricken she must appear, and she schooled her features into a pleasant mask. The ache that filled her heart was bewildering because it was all for the man before her. How he must have hurt when his mother left, enough so that he seemed to exile his emotions from all states of feeling.
She recalled with perfect clarity then, his letters and how indignant she had initially been at his dismissal of love.
I do not plan to leave you, she promised him silently, a soft smile curving her mouth.
The shift in her countenance had him canting his head and staring at her.
“Your smile, it is very beautiful.”
Her cheeks coloured under the heated intensity of his gaze. How foolish! To blush so easily at a compliment as if she were a silly girl fresh from the school room. “You flatter me, thank you.” Before he could respond, she continued, “I would like to dip my feet in the brook.” The cool water had a wonderful way of easing the ache she oftentimes endured in her ankles, and this ritual had become a part of their morning routine.
With spry grace, he pushed to his feet before coming over to her. It was always so difficult to get up, and Phoebe suspected that soon they would have to stop coming here, because surely her belly would only get larger. The doctor had informed her she had at least two months to go before the birthing, and to Phoebe’s mind, each day her belly grew an inch. He came down to almost her level, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and braced as he eased her to her feet.
Once standing, she did not release his shoulders as she normally did but peered up at his face, which had remained carefully inscrutable. She lifted her fingers to his forehead and brushed aside that stubborn curl of hair once more. He gripped her hand, as if he could not bear that tender ministration.
But instead of pushing her away as she’d anticipated, he kissed her fingers. Phoebe made no further attempt to speak, nor did she dare question him any more about his past. They spent the rest of the day together, and she couldn’t recall ever having a grander time playing chess, cribbage, and even reading.
That evening, after taking a tray in her room, having been too exhausted to dress up for dinner, Phoebe lay in bed on her side. They hadn’t talked again about what her moving to his chamber meant and when exactly she would do so. Tomorrow she would inform Sarah, and then they could start discussing the colour to do over the walls and the type of fabric she would require to swath the windows and to hang over the crib.
An odd sort of anxiety beat in her breast, and with a great struggle, she shifted and turned onto her back. It felt as if the roasted duck in cream sauce and asparagus she had eaten an hour ago would rush back up and she would cast her account. With a frustrated groan, she turned on her other side. At that moment, the connecting door opened, and her breath audibly caught.
Her husband framed the doorway, dressed in a dark blue silk banyan. Phoebe pushed to her elbows and tried to sit up, hating that it was getting so difficult. Her heart pounded when Hugh padded over to her, and Phoebe couldn’t help gasping when he dipped, placed one of his hands beneath her shoulder and the other under her hips, and effortlessly lifted her into his arms and made his way to his chamber.
Oh God! Her heart raced so fast, she feared fainting.
“Are you…are we to sleep together?” she asked, flushing at the squeak in her voice.
He paused on the threshold to enter his room. It took immense courage for her to lift her head to peer up into his face. He returned her stare, and her throat dried at the tenderness in his eyes. They also hinted an unfathomable message she could not decipher.
Her lips parted on a soundless sigh when he lowered his head. But he did not kiss her lips as she had anticipated, just pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her heart pounded, and though she was in his arms, Phoebe swore her knees trembled.
The warmth of his lips vanished from her skin, and he moved with her, entering his chamber. Inside his room was dark, except for the low-burn
ing fire at the far-left corner. He walked with her over to the large canopied bed in the center of the room. She pressed her face into the crook of his throat and inhaled deeply of his warm, masculine scent. Her heart surged, and a shiver of longing chased wickedly along her spine. He carefully deposited her on the bed and lowered the canopy before going around to the next side of the bed and climbing on.
They lay facing each other, and she could barely discern his features with that small flicker of light from the hearth. Yet she could feel his eyes on her. I’ve never slept beside another, she wanted to say, but her tongue would not obey. Phoebe wasn’t certain how long she lay there unable to sleep. She shifted several times, trying to find comfort, to no avail. It had been like this almost every night for the past week, and she dreaded the idea that it would go on for another two months.
With a soft groan, she turned to her side. There was a dip on the bed behind her, and her entire body came alive as Hugh’s presence drifted nearer. A warm hand rested on her hip, and she felt his curiosity as if it were a tangible entity.
“My lower back aches dreadfully,” she confessed, wincing at the pitiful sob in her tone. “And my feet ache. From my knees down to my ankles. Dr. Edward swears these are all symptoms of pregnancy, but I have been intolerably miserable these past few days!”
A kiss was pressed to her shoulder, a touch meant to soothe, and it did, for the tension leaked from her body. His warmth left her, the bed dipped, and though she strained to hear, he did not leave the room. He came back on the bed, and when she looked about, his shadow was below hers.
She swallowed when he took her foot into his arms. Something cold touched her skin, and she gasped but did not tug her foot from his grasp. A scent rose in the air; it was oddly pleasant, an aroma of lemon and peppermint. He rubbed from the tip of her toes, down the bottom of her feet, around her ankle, and up to her knees. The relief she felt in her leg was beyond wonderful. He attended to both feet for several moments before he stopped.
“Thank you,” she said in a soft, drowsy sigh, turning on her side.
Her eyes flew open when his length pressed closer from behind. But it was the shock of feeling him reach around her shoulder to deftly unbutton her nightgown that had her faltering into alarming stillness. Phoebe couldn’t breathe. She dared not breathe. Oh, but how her heart trembled as she welcomed his touch. She offered no protest; in truth, she was not capable of speech.
The silence in the darkness of the chamber felt thick and perilous.
Phoebe’s chest rose and fell erratically when he eased the nightgown from her shoulders. She even helped him when he encouraged her to rise slightly, so he could ease the material from her other shoulder. When she realized the action would bare her breasts to the night air, she gripped his hand, which still held a bit of her gown. Her action had both their hands resting against her bare skin, right above her cleavage. She hadn’t worn a chemisette to bed, not liking the friction it caused against her breasts that were increasingly tender and sensitive.
She bit down on her lower lip, gripping the front of the unbuttoned nightgown. “I…I…I am naked beneath the gown,” she said huskily.
Hugh offered no response—of course he could offer none, she thought inanely.
He shifted closer, and she closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. The contact jolted her, and her entire body trembled for a second. Birds took flight in her stomach, and with a sigh, she leaned back against him. She bit her lips even harder when he turned his head and brushed another kiss right at that spot below her ear…then down to her neck. Her trembling fingers released his hand and her gown, which fell and was only stopped by the high rise of her belly.
The chilled air rushed over her skin, pebbling her nipples and raising fine bumps on her skin. Phoebe had never been so aware of another person in her life, and the dull ache in her heart almost felt unbearable as she waited with helpless fascination for him to act.
Her belly went hot with a frightful surge of hunger when he coasted his hands over her shoulders and down, dragging her nightgown with it. She gasped when something cold touched her skin, and that breathy sound transformed to a moan as his fingers started a deep massage into her lower back.
The pleasure of it was incredible, the ache which had been a torment these few nights easing immediately. Her maidservant had tried to assuage her pain and discomfort, but her fingers lacked the strength of Hugh’s. Several pillows supported her as she lay on her side, so scandalously bared as her husband spent several minutes kneading her back, and sometimes even up to her shoulder. All the tension leaked from her, and peace seeped over her entire body.
“Hugh, I am falling asleep,” she murmured drowsily, her lashes fluttering closed.
He paused, and Phoebe smiled when he pressed a kiss atop her shoulders as if to say, Sleep, then. Then he resumed his ministrations, just a bit more tenderly this time, but just as relaxing and sublime.
Something indefinable turned over inside of her. Phoebe hoped she was not still that silly girl who longed for sweet sentiments. The old dreams of the forever kind of love she’d always hungered for, the one that would allow her to live a life of joy, was forever from her reach. This man did not believe in fate or love. The simple fact was their marriage was only built on the use they had of each other to save their family. Nothing more.
Do not be silly, Phoebe! she told herself fiercely. Do not go wishing for more than he will ever be able to give. The possibility of feeling more for him, only to never have those sentiments returned, sent a painful jolt of apprehension through her.
That way only led to heartache, pain, and disappointed expectations. And I am smarter than that. Dear God, please let me be smarter than to fall hopelessly in love with Hugh Winthrop.
Chapter Eleven
Phoebe slowly came awake, the warm rays of the sun heating her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered open, and she froze. Oh! Somehow, she was in the very center of the large bed, her head pillowed on a chest, and a gentle but unbreakable clasp on her shoulder. Hugh breathed deeply and evenly behind her.
The urgent need to tend to her morning ablutions had her wiggling against him as she sought to turn around. She managed to extricate herself from his hold and was about to shift and face him when he rose and came above her. Phoebe fell back against the pillow and peered up at him. It was when his lashes lowered and his gaze swept over her in a quick but very thorough glance that she recalled the scandalous way her clothes were arranged. And they were no longer swathed in darkness. Mortification swamped her senses, along with a most aggravating curl of desire.
“You…” she started to say and then with a horrified groan slapped a hand over her mouth.
She reached between them and tugged at the sheets to place it over her mouth, effectively covering her exposed breasts. His eyes widened, and she blushed. Surely married couples in the ton or anyone did not speak to each other before washing and cleaning their mouths!
Humor lit in his eyes, and he dipped his head.
“You must not kiss me!” she said, though the words sound muffled.
The dratted man ignored her alarm and kissed her firmly. Though the silken sheet was between their mouths, Phoebe felt the heated imprint of his lips, and her stomach flipped alarmingly. When he lifted his head, a wide smile curved his mouth, and he looked happy. The very notion of it had her staring at him with wide eyes. She lifted her fingers to his mouth, tracing the shape of his smile with her thumb.
Phoebe tugged the sheet from her mouth to her chin. “You have a beautiful smile, Hugh.”
He wrinkled his nose.
Phoebe glowered. “You started it! Now you’ll simply have to suffer my terrible breath!”
He grabbed her lingering fingers and pressed a kiss to them before leaning down and touching his lips to hers again.
Her belly rippled, and he broke their kiss to peer down. The baby moved
, and Hugh jerked a bit. He glanced up briefly, a look of wonder on his face, and she did not protest when he pressed his palm against her stomach to feel the powerful kicks of the baby. They stayed like that for a bit, and she held on to the urge to demand the chamber pot so that he could have this moment.
He lowered himself even more and kissed her belly. She could feel the shape of his smile through the sheet and nightgown. Why are you so wonderful? A sob hitched in her throat, and she was embarrassed to feel her eyes smarting.
At that soft, distressed sound, he glanced up with a frown. Hugh shifted, coming back up to face her. He arched a brow, and she understood the silent question.
“I do not think you can possibly be real,” she said hoarsely. “Surely there must be something villainous you are hiding.”
With one hand he made a sign. “Why?”
Because some foolish part of me believes you are the husband I’ve always wanted. Yet she could not say it aloud. It felt too uncertain and frightful and intense. And silly. Do not forget silly.
“Because I greeted our baby?”
She stared at him for several moments before she lurched up and hugged him fiercely. There was a moment before he wrapped his arms around her. Phoebe distantly realized that she was sobbing as if her heart was breaking and that his arms had tightened around her, and his heartbeat at his throat where her face was buried jerked furiously.
“I am not sad,” she said, squeezing him even closer. “Far from it. My heart feels such peace and relief, a place I never thought I could be given this past year.”
He lowered his chin to her head and simply returned her embrace. Phoebe’s lids fluttered closed, and she drifted off into sleep, clasped in his arms.
