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.”
Painfully aware that she was still clasped intimately against him, she turned her head and lowered her gaze to the letter.
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.
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.
The slash of his hand as he motioned her to leave was almost violent. Phoebe hesitated then lifted her chin and walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away from him, not certain how to offer comfort to someone who had not asked for it.
“I…” Phoebe impatiently pushed away strands of hair from her forehead and eyes. “I cannot imagine the pain you must feel that he is gone. But I am here should you need me, even if it is to rest your shoulders against mine as we sit in silence.”
He regarded her with a slight crease between his brows. “I do not fear death, or loss, or even pain. Your words are not needed.”
“Because you chose to deny their existence…or the emotions that come with their existence does not mean they are not there, buried deep, fighting to break free.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes before all expression shuttered. “Your naive reasoning is astounding.”
The words were cutting even though he had signed them. She lifted her hands and slowly signed as she said, “And I can tell right now you are a wounded wolf and you are pushing me away in your need to not feel. I know your heart is breaking…because he’s your father, you loved him, and now he is forever lost to you.”
His throat worked on a swallow, the veil cracked, grief and such pain brewed in his eyes that it was awful to witness. His lashes lowered when he glanced back up, all emotions contained. Without speaking, he dismissed her by turning his back to her, facing the cliffs and the raging seas below. She went up to him and hugged him tightly from behind, her face pressing close to his back. He stiffened, and then a deep shudder worked through him until his entire body trembled. She held him tightly, comforting him silently. He gripped both of her wrists, which she anchored around his waist, and she braced for him to push her away. Instead, he held on to her hands as if they were lifelines.
Her throat burned with unshed tears, and her heart ached relentlessly for him. She had only been a part of their family for a little over five months, but Phoebe had been charmed by the old earl’s eccentric view on life. She had liked him a lot. It was unfathomable to think what his children might be feeling at his departure.
They stayed like that for a long time. Phoebe couldn’t tell how long had passed, but even as the wind sliced at her back and she quaked from the chill, she did not let him go. The soles of her feet ached from standing for surely what was over an hour on the rocky incline of the cliffside, but she did not move. They just stood there, waiting as the surf crashed against the coast in frothy, violent waves and the air grew even more chilled. At times Hugh shuddered, and at times he was so still, he was an effigy of a marble statue.
Phoebe only knew she must never let him go, so she did not.
After another several moments, he lifted her wrists from around his waist and kissed each of her clenched fists. Then he pushed them to his side. She released him but did not step back. He turned around, and his beautiful eyes were carefully contained.
“Thank you,” he signed, his lips quirking in a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “I am obliged to you for your company. You may leave now.”
“No.”
“Phoebe, you will leave—”
“No.”
They stared at each other for long moments. He cupped her cheeks, dipped slightly, and kissed her with violent tenderness. This Phoebe had not expected, and in his embrace, she felt the force of his grief, the pain, and the desperation of his loss. She tasted something dark and dangerous, something sweet and hot, something never felt before in all the kisses they had exchanged.
With a gasp, her lips parted, allowing him inside, and he plundered, ravishing her lips over and over. Odd and terrifying sensations crashed against her senses when his mouth slanted over hers with greed and something fierce that she was unable to identify. When he released Phoebe, her lips felt bruised, her heart felt alive, and her body…she trembled to be closer to him.
He gently pushed her away from him, but she took a step forward, and he moved back, shaking his head slowly, the indifferent veil cracking and raw and powerful hunger leaping in his eyes. His finger jerked as he said, “No, not like this.”
“What is not like this?” she asked softly, though she knew. Dear God, she knew for something hot and a bit scary trembled low in her belly. The air was chilled, but her palms were dampened with sweat.
“This first time we make love…will not be when I am feeling so much.”
Awareness blossomed through her and her lips parted in wonder. Control was very important to her husband. All those nights he had kissed her, and when their passion had burned around them, he would always pull away, the hands braced above her head trembling. A few deep breaths later, his kisses would change, and then he would hold her in his arms, and they slept.
She had been wondering how to seduce him when every night after kissing her endlessly he would disappear to the lake. She would sit at the window and watch him swim, admiring his body but lacking the courage to follow him. The one night she had drummed up the nerve and went down there had once again turned into them laughing and romping as if they were loons.
After she’d dipped her toe into the water and yelped at the coldness, he had hauled himself from the water with a dare in his eyes. She had shrieked and sprinted away, knowing he was chasing her. He had caught her in the hallway and flung her over his shoulder and made his way to their bedroom. Though her heart had pounded with such anticipation, he had only kissed her forehead before bundling her under the sheets, then joined her.
She tested his limits, threatened the icy clasp he had on his feelings.
I make you lose control. “Our first time will be like this,” she said softly. “I want the real you in my bed, making me burn with pleasure.”
His eyes darkened, and he could only stare at her.
“If you will admit it…we’ve had each other already.”
A flush mounted on his cheek, and he stepped back one more step. Phoebe ran to him in a few steps and jumped. Shock flared in his gaze, but he caught her effortlessly, and she scandalously wrapped her legs around his hips, uncaring dress and pelisse had ridden up to her thighs and her stocking-clad legs and half boots were on display. Now they were face to face.
“Every night you’ve been running from me to the lake, trying to drown the images in your mind of taking me. In your thoughts you are not controlled, are you, my husband?” She nipped the corner of his lips. “You ravish me. And the desperate hunger that fills you scares you.”
He shook his head slowly, as if in a daze.
“You cannot deny it, for I know it because I too have had you,” she whispered, right at his ear.
A powerful quake went through him.
“Shall I tell you how I’ve had you, husband? How many nights in my thoughts you’ve kissed more than my lips…how many nights I’ve imagined that you kissed all over my body to that aching heart of me. Shall I tell you how many nights you’ve climbed atop me and pushed my nightgown to my hips and entered my body? Shall I tell you in my dreams I’ve sobbed from the delight of it even though I have never experienced such a pleasure?”
His chest rose and fell, and the hands gripping her hips tightened almost painfully.
A wave of heat rushed through her, and though she blushed frightfully, Phoebe continued. “I’ve had you in my dreams…every night since the first time you kissed me.” She kissed the corner of his mouth then bit on his bottom lip tenderly before peering into his eyes. “Show me…tonight…now…show me all the ways you have taken me. Claim me as yours.”