Chapter Eighteen

The next day, Phoebe called upon her brother to bid him adieu. The duke was still away on a trip to Italy, so she had been spared meeting him on this trip. Not that she was at all anxious about a confrontation with her father. Phoebe suspected it was the annual trip he took there with his mistress. It was always under the pretext of meeting business investors, but she had been able to tell because the duchess would spend each night at a ball as if to distract herself from the knowledge that her husband was with another woman. Often, Phoebe wondered if the duchess had a similar discreet arrangement.

She had left a note at home for Hugh, and once he finished his meeting with his man of affairs, he would pay a visit to Richard. She knocked on the library door and opened it, smiling at the sight of Evie and her brother locked in a passionate embrace.

Evie pulled away and patted her elegant coiffeur, a delightful blush on her lovely face.

“I shall leave you both alone,” she said, with a wide smile at Phoebe. “When your lord arrives, I will insist that he stay for dinner. I will go and organize the menu now.”

Phoebe nodded, and soon she was alone with Richard.

“I admit when I saw Lord Albury last night staring at you, I did not gather he was your husband, but a scoundrel I would have to teach a painful lesson,” he said by way of greeting.

She hurried over to sit on the sofa. “How was he looking at me? By any chance, the way you normally stare at Evie?”

Richard cast her a surprised glance, and before he could reply, Viscount Malfoy entered the library without knocking, looking a bit angry and anxious. A state Phoebe thought unique to the man.

Richard lowered his drink, and he dealt his friend a questioning stare. “What is it, man? I’ve never seen you appeared so rattled.”

“Something strange is happening,” the Sparrow said tightly, walking over to the mantle to pour himself a glass of brandy, which he swallowed in one long drink.

“What?”

“This morning I was paid an early morning call by my banker. Someone has bought my debts. Then my solicitor came around only minutes later, informing me those debts were called in. It is even worse. Three investments that I’ve made, ones that you recommended, I was suddenly closed out of.” A harsh bark of laugh escaped the viscount. “I set out about town to try and find out what the hell is happening. I sent my connections in the underworld to discover any information, and the word that came back to me is that I have grievously wronged someone who is powerfully wealthy to make the world turn at his commands. Rubbish, if you ask me, but upon returning to my townhouse, I’ve discovered someone bought the damn townhouse I was letting, and I no longer have a home.”

Phoebe slowly eased from off the sofa, her heart pounding. She recalled the dark, unfathomable look in her husband’s eyes last night. What she had perceived to be indifference had been possessive anger and ruthless resolve to ensure making Malfoy pay for taking her from Scotland.

Pleasure burst bright and hot inside her heart.

“I can see from your expression that you know what is happening,” Richard said.

Phoebe glanced up to see her brother staring at her coolly, and the Viscount’s eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“It is just a theory on my part,” she murmured, sauntering over to the mantle to pour sherry into a glass. She took a considering sip, staring at the viscount with a deliberate smile hovering on her lips.

“I gather it is more than a theory,” the viscount said tightly. “You look quite pleased at the inconvenience I am experiencing.”

She lifted a shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “You were the one who kidnapped me from my husband and child.”

“At my orders,” Richard interjected smoothly.

“A-Are you saying this is the work of your husband?” the viscount spluttered.

“Yes.” A thought occurred to her. “I wonder what he will do to George!” Phoebe had not a thought of him since she saw her husband last night.

Richard stiffened. “George Hastings?”

“Yes, George,” Phoebe said tartly. “You encouraged him to approach me, and he said some foolish things and kissed me without my permission. My husband saw it all, I suspect.”

The viscount frowned. “I cannot believe this would be your husband. I was watching you last night, Lady Phoebe, and—”

“Lady Albury,” she interjected with a smile, willing to always remind them to whom she was married. “And I cannot understand why you are watching me.”

He had the grace to tug at his cravat as if discomfited. “When Albury saw young George taking liberties, I tell you, Richard, the young earl did not care one jot. He simply held out his hand, she placed hers in his, and they left. He could have issued a private challenge to Mr. Hastings or planted a facer. He did neither! Why should I believe that man is now responsible for my woes?”

Phoebe could not help the delighted laugh that slipped from her.

“You are pleased?” Richard demanded.

“I am terribly pleased that my husband feels something that is not indifference.”

A single knock came on the door, and her husband sauntered inside. Her heart leaped, stuttered, and then began to pound. A surge of longing and an ache travelled through her heart. He had only to be in the same room, and the response came unbidden.

He was astonishingly handsome in dark trousers and jacket, a brilliant blue waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. His eyes, so very distant and unaffected, scanned the room, touching briefly on Richard then lingering on her. He smiled briefly in greeting, but the sentiment did not quite reach his eyes. It was like a knife slicing through her. She had fallen in love with a man who obviously desired her, but a man who would never be able to tell her he loved her.

The Sparrow he ignored completely. The insult was subtle but unmistakable.

Was Hugh recalling the fierce way he had tumbled her last night and the wicked way he had made her sob and scream his name? A wave of heat engulfed her face, and she quickly glanced away from his intense stare.

His fingers lifted, and he signed.

“My husband is pleased to make your acquaintance, Richard. Given the hasty and unexpected circumstances of our marriage, he understands why you panicked in your actions to bring me home. He thanks you for your hospitality in having me these last few days and looks forward to meeting with you regularly when we return from Scotland. Our family is currently in mourning, so we will miss the upcoming season. He extends an invitation for you to visit us in Scotland at your earliest convenience,” she translated.

Sparrow’s eyes widened as the import of their actions hit him. His hand tightened around his glass.

“I see,” Richard murmured, staring at her husband. “I’ve been made to understand you’ve made ruinous steps toward Lord Malfoy. Many would call it an overreaction to the matter.”

Hugh’s fingers lifted. Each time his gaze touched hers, her heart trembled in response. Richard and Sparrow looked to her for interaction.

Phoebe bit back her smile as she translated. “I am not many.”

“Do you have nothing more to say?” Sparrow snapped.

Finally, he shifted his gaze to the viscount. “This is a lesson I trust you will remember well. I’ve restrained myself, as my wife assured me you did not hurt her. But you did frighten her and caused her to worry. I am serious about anything that affects her.”

Phoebe carefully repeated exactly what her husband signed. Richard’s lips twitched, and the viscount’s expression grew more foreboding.

“I should call you out for this,” Sparrow said icily. “Many children in the slums depend on my wealth to survive. Dozens, in fact, and you casually play God with their life and welfare.”

Tension snapped through Phoebe as her husband signed. She cleared her throat and carefully translated, “If you wish to call me out and lose your life, I will oblige.”

A tense, perilous silence blanketed the library, and Richard’s face was carefully composed as he stared at her husband. Phoebe could tell he was wondering if he should allow her to go back with him. Anxiety cramped her stomach. She did not want Hugh and Richard to fight. She had always been loyal to her brother, but that was before she got married. Unquestionably, she would stand with Hugh, always. The awareness was painfully shattering. Oh God, she loved him, desperately so.

His fingers moved again, and Phoebe said, “I trust you will tread carefully in the future, knowing you have such vulnerable dependents.”

Then he faced her. “I will wait in the hallway while you say your good-byes. Your few items of apparel have been packed, and our carriage is waiting. I propose for Franny’s sake we delay no longer.”

Then he turned and left.

“My…he has always been a man of few words,” she said by way of explanation, flushing slightly.

“That’s it?” the viscount demanded. “I have words to say to him,” he said and marched out of the library.

With a sigh, Phoebe faced her brother. “Our carriage is waiting on me. Franny is waiting on us, and we must leave right away.”

Richard scrubbed a hand over his face. “I will convey your regrets to Evie and to our mother. The duchess returned to her townhouse. I will send her a note that you are returning home. She was hoping to have us over for dinner tonight.”

“Thank you. I am very astonished you and Mother have come to some sort of amicable resolution. And Father, too?”

“Your disappearance brought us together. The relationship is still…very tentative, but I have seen their efforts with Emily. Her illegitimacy is not a sore point for them anymore. Unless they are pretending. Either way, my daughter is happy to know her grandparents.”

“I have missed little Emily,” she whispered, thinking of the beautiful, golden-eyed child her brother loved with his whole heart.

Richard smiled. “I have not asked about my niece.”

“Francesca Winthrop. She is…wonderful, Richard.”

“And Albury has willingly claimed her as his?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

Richard stared at her. “George—”

“No. He is in the past, and I do not even think of him. None of his words impacted me last night. We were friends, but I did not love him.”

Richard frowned; then he stiffened. “I will clean up the mess I made, I promise. I will be careful to not reveal the child, for he will cause trouble over it, though he knows you are no longer available to him. Why do you frown?”

“There is a part of me that feels incredibly sad that George might never know that he has a daughter,” she murmured.

“It would be foolish to tell him given that he showed up here this morning, creating a scene even after seeing you with your earl last night. Any fool watching you dancing could see the attachment.” Richard cleared his throat. “The knowledge would serve George no purpose, since he can never claim or acknowledge her in any way. The scandal and damage that would cause does not bear thinking about.”

Phoebe nodded. “I am aware of that, so I do not know why I should feel this sadness for him. Do not mistake me, I do not feel this sadness for my daughter, for in Hugh, she has a father who is incomparable.”

“I agree,” Richard said with a small smile. “There are days I also wonder if I will ever reveal to little Emily the identity of her mother. Perhaps when she is of age, but I do not want to ever hurt Evie, who has lovingly claimed Emily as a daughter.”

“I believe it is a discussion Hugh and I will also have in the future,” Phoebe said contemplatively. “Thank heavens that is years from now. George is in the past, and I bear him no ill will. In truth, when I think I might have been married to him, I get terrified because I would have missed Hugh and the wonderful life I have with him.”

“Is it, Phoebe?” her brother demanded. “Is it wonderful?”

“Yes.” She took a few steps closer to him. “We will need your support and those of your friends.” Especially the Duke of Wolverton, who was influential. Though he’d had his own scandal of a young lady climbing into his bed at a house party to deliberately compromise him, that had turned out well, and those whispers had died down, and many even admired his duchess for her daring.

“Society will love your husband because he is enigmatic.”

“And when he is no longer a curiosity?”

“He is too wealthy for that to happen. Even I have heard about the Winthrop wealth. It is rumored in the millions.”

That jolted Phoebe. She hoped that enigma and his wealth would be enough to pave the way when their mourning period was over.

“How old is Winthrop?” Richard murmured

“Five and twenty.”

“He is ruthless for one so young.”

“So are you,” she whispered. “And so is Father. Perhaps I was destined to fall in love with a man with a similar inclination.”

Richard’s eyes sharpened. “So you truly love him?”

She pressed a hand against her stomach. “Frightfully so.”

“I can see that I have little need to worry about your safety.”

She smiled.

“I will worry about your heart,” he said gruffly.

Phoebe’s eyes widened to hear her once-cynical brother speak so casually about matters of the heart. His apparent weakness for Evie was something Phoebe would never get used to seeing. “What about my heart?” she murmured.

“While he is protective of you, Albury does not look at you like a man in love,” he said with brutal frankness. “You must protect yourself, Phoebe. You might be unwilling to admit it, but that man had ulterior motives for marrying you. I do not want you to hide from it and leave yourself open to pain.”

She flinched as a quiver of pain arrowed through her chest. Phoebe did everything to hide the torment digging at her heart. “He is frightfully contained with his emotions, but I assure you not only is he protective of me, but he treats me with kindness. He also desires me quite a lot.”

Richard scowled and tugged at his neckcloth as if she made him uncomfortable at the mention of her husband desiring her.

“Protection and kindness are not love,” he retorted.

She wanted to yell at him that he should leave her some hope. Why did she feel so horribly vulnerable and scared? “Perhaps they are the beginning of it.”

Her brother hesitated, and his gaze lowered briefly to her hands. It was then she realized she had them clenched tightly around the edges of her skirt. She released her dress as if she had been singed and smoothed the wrinkles.

“If you ever need to breathe…come to me, Phoebe. My home is always open to you, and no one can take you from it unless you are willing.”

She nodded and walked over to him to press a kiss to his cheek. When she moved to walk away, he enfolded her in a hug. “I love you, poppet.”

Tears formed in her eyes. The last time Richard had been this affectionate and called her poppet was before Francis had died.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

A few minutes later, she went outside to see her husband waiting patiently in the hallway, the viscount nowhere to be seen. Hugh turned at the closing of the door and held out his hand. Her heart thumped as she placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to sweep her away from her brother’s residence to the waiting carriage outside.

Once they were settled inside the carriage, she leaned her head against the squab, painfully aware that his stare had not left her person. Never the kind of person to shy away from scrutiny, she lowered her gaze to his. A strange stirring began in the pit of her stomach and drifted lower.

His gaze moved to her mouth, his desire to kiss her a tangible thing. Phoebe went over to him and sat in his lap. She twined her hands around his neck and kissed him. He responded immediately, but her heart went cold.

The unrestrained passion he normally kissed her with was missing. It was just as ravaging and deep, rousing her pleasure, but something was missing.

“Tell me what is wrong,” she whispered against his mouth. “Share with me.”

There was a terrible air of indifference around him. His face was inscrutable, and she hated that contained emotion.

“Such oversentimentality is not necessary in our marriage.”

For several moments, she felt as though she couldn’t drag enough air into her lungs. “I see,” she finally said stiffly, moving from off his lap to settle against the squabs.

He thought sharing their feelings an oversentimentality.

“I might no longer have your tender considerations, but I demand your respect,” she said with biting civility.

This arrested his attention.

“I can tell there is something different between us…I feel the loss of it here,” she said, pressing the flat of her palm against her chest. “It writhes inside, hot and terrible, and I ache. I have asked twice, you have ignored me, and that, my Lord, is intolerable.”

A flash of admiration lit in his gaze. He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, and for a moment, she savored the wonderful caress. But then he lowered his hand, and her skin grew cold again.

“Our marriage is one of convenience. You will have my loyalty, faithfulness, and protection always.”

She managed to say, after a brief struggle, “Is this your way of saying I must not muddy the water with talk of love and sentimentality?”

He stared at her for several moments. “George asked you to be with him. He was confident that you still loved him. Why did you not answer his question?”

The shock that tore through her felt as if someone had dropped her into a lake in winter. Awareness bloomed through her. “I was simply not interested and had no wish to waste my efforts in explaining my stance. It was not because I considered his offer or was confused! Do you think me capable of abandoning the vows I made to you before God?”

“Anyone is capable of acting in a manner to satisfy the desires of their heart.”

“Do you not trust me, know that I am faithful to our marriage?” The words felt like glass scraping along her throat. “I trust you, Hugh. In the months we’ve been married, I’ve come to know your heart and character, and the manner of man I see is who I admire, even as I yearn that he would fall in love with me…as I have fallen in love with him. You’ve known me as long as I’ve known you, but you think so little of my character…” Her voice broke, and she stared at him, hating the pain worming through her heart.

“I suppose you have stopped loving George, then.”

Phoebe did not understand why the words pierced her heart in such a violent manner. “I do not love George. I never did. You heard him declaring his love and promising all sorts of rubbish. You know he…he…” She took a deep breath. “To feel even a smidgen of jealously is normal under the circumstance—”

The sharp slashing motion of his hand faltered her speech, and Phoebe’s throat went dry at the briefest flash of torment that crossed his features. “I am not the jealous sort, nor will I ever be. Do you think me so weak that I would allow myself to be tortured over another man kissing you? Do you think I would be foolish enough to ever make myself so weak to a woman where she could drop me to my knees and leave me there to suffer with a craving she does not return?”

“Of course, I do not think you weak. Loving and caring for another is not weak.”

His eyes widened with incredulity, and the smile that hovered across his lips scared her. It seemed derisive and…dismissive.

“Do not speak,” she breathed shakily. “We are not ourselves at this moment, and I believe—”

His expression hardened, and his fingers spoke for him. “I am myself, Phoebe.”

“Are you?” she demanded, hating that her lips trembled, and intolerable tears burned behind her eyelids. “I was ashamed at how silly I had been with George. That is the only reason I shied away from speaking about him at all. I should have explained everything to you the moment you asked me to marry you. I did not love him when I acted with recklessness, and I do not love him now. So if George plays any role in how you are feeling now, please dismiss him from your awareness.”

When he said nothing, she lifted her chin, holding his stare with hers.

“I cannot tell when I started to fall in love with you, Hugh. I did…I do love you, and love matters so much.”

“Don’t.”

“Ambrose—”

“Don’t. I am not that man, and I will never be that man.”

Her chest rose and fell raggedly.

Then to her shock, he lurched from his seat to sit beside her. Hugh cupped her cheeks, lifting her face to his so he could press his mouth to her forehead. The brush of his lips was cold, indifferent, and a knife to her heart.

Then he dropped his hands and signed. “You are my wife. You are my family. Of course, I will care for you always, Phoebe. But I am not interested in love or sentiments. I am not interested in how it makes people fools…how it breaks their spirit and how it makes them lose all semblance of self and pride. You knew this about me from my letters, so do not look at me with those wounded eyes, as if I have broken something inside you. I was never that man, nor will I ever be.”

Her lips trembling fiercely, she fought the need to cry. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks, and her chest burned with the effort to hold her hurt inside. If her husband had even cared a bit about the love that she felt for him, he would have offered something more than, “I am not that man.”

He had not offered any hope that their union might continue with the same tenderness as before, with the same joy and anticipation of a new day.

I was never that man nor will I ever be.

She tried to bring back her earlier resolve that she was quite fine with a marriage that only existed for mutual benefit, but that belief could no longer be held in her heart. Every smile, touch, kiss, conversation between them had altered her. And she suspected he had been, too, but instead of welcoming it, he had grabbed it into his fist and shattered that budding love.

And for the first time in months, Phoebe eased back away from him, into the shadows of the carriage, and silently wept.