Chapter Nineteen
The softest of kisses brushed against Phoebe’s nape, and she closed her eyes against the pain and pleasure that caress wrought. Her husband stroked the side of her arm over the silken sleeves of her nightgown. That brought a lump in her throat as she fought the urge to cry. Burying the useless emotion, she turned in the cage of his arms and twined her hands around his neck. They had returned from England to their home in Scotland a little over a month now, and each day it was hammered in her heart that he would never fall in love with her.
Everyone in the household tried to honor the old earl’s wish by not swathing the mansion in black. But they had refrained from all social gathering, and each invitation that had braved the wintry roads from Aberdeen and Edinburgh had been declined. They privately mourned him and had no wish to return to Society until a full year had passed. Until that time, they had a reprieve from the malicious rumors they might face. But it reassured Phoebe greatly that her brothers and his influential friends would stand boldly ready to welcome the Winthrops into their folds. The hurdles they would endure would still be tremendous, but Phoebe was willing to brave it all for dear Caroline.
She traced his full lips with her finger, thinking of the polite routine they had fallen into and how, while comfortable, it felt empty. Each morning they would break their fast together, then he would spend an hour or more with Franny before he disappeared behind the closed door of his office. There he would stay for hours, until the dinner bell rang. Other times he would leave the estate and only return at the lowering of the sun. Their dinner conversations were about the weather and sometimes about her meetings with the solicitors she had invited to help with the construction of Hope, the tentative name of her charity. It had sunk deep into her bones that what they now had was a normal ton marriage. He had no expectations of her, and she should have none beyond the polite courtesy, his name, and money.
So many ladies would be satisfied and find their happiness in the arms of a lover. That very notion was repugnant to her heart and honor. How could so many in society accept a marriage without love and affection as the normal way of things? How could anyone scoff at a love match?
He nipped at the finger across his lips before sucking it into his mouth. Her knees weakened, and she moaned, sagging against him. He released her finger. A tug at the strings of her nightgown bared her throat fully and the mound of her breasts. Their chamber was cast in more shadows than light; still she risked glancing up, for Phoebe could not look into his beautiful eyes anymore without a dagger tearing into her heart.
Whenever our gazes collide, your eyes are so carefully contained. How do I bear staring at you?
He gripped her hips and lifted her in his arms, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips. Within a few strides, he had them tumbling on the bed, her nightgown pushed to her waist, his hot lips at her throat.
Whenever we make love, you do not kiss me anymore.
She closed her eyes against that pained awareness. Her husband hadn’t kissed her lips since London. Wicked heat curled low in her belly, and even as he reached between them and notched his manhood at her wet aching entrance, her body quivered in delight and her heart cried at its emptiness. The duality of the emotions wrecked her. A wild cry ripped from Phoebe as he buried himself to the hilt in one stroke.
She held him to her, agonizing pleasure pummeling her body as he loved her with sometimes slow and torturous strokes, then wicked and ravaging plunges. When they found their pleasure together several moments later, she turned to her side, pillowing her hand beneath her cheek. The bed dipped as he disappeared, then he returned with a washcloth to clean away his seed and lowered her nightgown.
Her heart pounded, and she shifted to lay on her back and stare at the darkened ceiling.
She had been enduring his civility and the polite indifference, which only thawed briefly when he took her to heights of bliss. And she was not the sort to endure anything for long without acting. Phoebe had long accepted that she was reckless and impulsive, and if she wanted contentment in her marriage, perhaps she should fashion a reckless plan that would allow her husband to fall in love with her.
What did ladies of the ton do to make gentlemen write poems and sonnets in their names? And artful love letters.
Perhaps she could write a letter and ask Evie. As Evie had regaled Phoebe at the celebratory ball after her wedding, she had been in love with Richard for so very long, but her cold-hearted brother had been impervious to Evie. That was until she had boldly taken the reins and decided to seduce him into noticing her.
But you already come to my bed every night.
She truly had no notion what to do.
Hugh lay beside her, and several minutes later, she could tell that he was still awake. He rolled to her, gripped her hips, and tugged her onto his chest. This he did every night, for she refused to curl into his arms anymore. If he wanted her there, he would damn well reach for her.
Yet he did not wrap his arms around her or kiss her forehead as he had done in the past. Though her back was pressed to his chest and she could feel the beat of his heart against her skin, there was a divide that seemed impossible to cross.
He had drawn an invisible line, and nothing she had done had breached that line or his impenetrable silence on the matter. Phoebe could no longer pretend or ignore the truth. Their previous relationship had been altered indelibly and might never return.
Phoebe closed her eyes and pressed a trembling finger to her lips. She recalled each wonderful memory: how they had laughed while they raced together, the lanterns in the sky, the sweet and tender way he would kiss her, the beautiful way he had played the flute…and then she allowed the images to disintegrate as if fire had burned them to ashes and then the wind picked them up and scattered them across the wasteland.
I can tell that everything is different between us. You say nothing, but you do not have to. I feel the distance in your every touch, in your lack of kisses, the way you hold me in the night. It says though we are in the same room…the same bed, we are miles apart, and you are not interested in ending that distance.
She closed her eyes to trap her tears, but they still leaked, ran down her temple, and onto his chest. A tight tension wound through his frame when he felt her tears, and the sudden pounding of his heart echoed through her body. Yet neither of them moved.
“Do not expect me to love you forever when you are indifferent to me,” she whispered in the stillness of the dark. “I will not suffer for my heart to break daily.”
Thud.
His heart felt as if it had slammed against his ribcage. Yet he did not move. A massive boulder of loss pressed against her chest. It hurt, somewhere deep down, that she did not have his love and her presence in his life was merely tolerated. All the feelings she had been bottling inside these last few weeks as she still smiled brightly and went about her day broke. Fierce and complex sensations tumbled through Phoebe, and an unrelenting fist closed itself over her heart.
How utterly silly I’ve been in hoping for more from another gentleman. But I am to be blamed, for I willingly deceived my own heart. Never once had Hugh promised more than a marriage of convenience. Phoebe resolved to lock away the foolish hope she’d had in her heart and never allow it to resurface.
…
Hugh’s feet crunched in the snow as he held a very bundled Franny in his arms, strolling back to the main house, a playful Wolf yipping by their side. Once the weather proved pleasant, he would take his daughter for a walk, for she loved the outdoors. She would always perk up, her gaze staring about in wonder as she babbled her pleasure. He peeked down at her, and he could barely see her rosy cheek through her swaddle.
He felt his wife before he saw her. His reaction to her nearness couldn’t be explained; it simply was. Hugh’s heart would race and the fine hair at his nape would prickle. The soft footfall indicated she was near, but he did not turn around. This morning she hadn’t joined him when he walked with their daughter. And last night. He closed his eyes against the memory, but the words had been interred in his thoughts and had been haunting him since she spoke them.
Do not expect me to love you forever when you are indifferent to me.
The pain in her voice had profoundly shocked him, for he had not meant to hurt her. That had never been his intention, yet he had thoughtlessly done so. Every action had been about ensuring she did not matter too much, but she still mattered—surely she saw that. Yet there was an air of melancholy that had been increasing daily, and to witness it gutted him. It mattered to Hugh that Phoebe was happy, that she was contented with her lot as his countess. That mattered to him as breathing was necessary. Yet he thought it ridiculous that three simple little words, “I love you,” could be what she needed to hear.
Is that what you need from me, my wife? I love you?
He hadn’t forgotten her sweet, fervent cry when he had been buried inside of her. Hugh often lingered over that declaration, wondering at the way his heart pounded when he recalled the instant those words had left her lips and the dread he had felt that she might expect a return of such sentiment.
Despite his vow to be alert to the danger she presented, Hugh ensured he treated her with care and respect, yet frustratingly he could see that for his wife and her romantic sensibilities, it was not enough when their union was more than what most ton marriages owned.
It was idiotic. What the hell did saying, “I love you,” have to do with a good marriage? They were just words. They held no power or benefit, so why did she want them? And why am I unable to admit to them? He wondered if he were to sign it, that would make her feel better. Franny chortled, and he peered down into her dimpled smile. A fierce emotion swelled in his heart, and he found himself bringing her close to nuzzle that small bit of exposed cheek. She yawned, and when he brought her to his chest, she snuggled against him with a sigh of contentment.
Do I love you, Franny? This feeling that I must protect you against all harm and be there for you in every way, is this love?
He loved his daughter, Hugh knew, for it was a similar emotion he felt regarding Caroline, William, and his father. So why was it so difficult to think of his wife and love in the same breath?
A startling awareness wormed through his heart, faltering his steps.
Because you are the only one whom loving can break me if I should allow it. If I love you…my love for you would turn you into my reason and if I should lose you…what, then?
Memories he hadn’t allow himself to recall in years surfaced, and he willingly closed his eyes and walked through them. He saw her…his mother, the love she had for him, evident in the tender way she would kiss and sing to him. He felt it, the ravaging pain when he had curled on the floor of his bedroom and cried for her for days. He saw the old earl, in the gardens sobbing when he thought no one was around. The shame in Caroline’s eyes when she sat by the lake, staring at her reflection and wondering aloud at the identity of her real father before sobbing her heart out. All because of love. So much pain because of that bloody word.
More than a word, something unfathomable whispered through him. Hugh scowled. If it was more than a word, he had no notion what the hell it represented, having never felt this ephemeral love. Hating that he was twisted inside, he turned around. His wife was a vision in a red redingote with a similarly bright red bonnet, a vivid contrast to the pristine white snow she trudged upon. Phoebe’s head was lowered, her brows gently furrowed, her thumb of one hand caught between her teeth as she read, with evident anxiety, her novel. Her eyes grew wider, the thumb slipped from her hand, and she pressed that palm to her chest, and to his amusement, she did a twirl.
So it was a happy ending, then.
On her second twirl, she noticed that he watched her. That bright, delightful smile dimmed, shadows growing in her eyes. The steps that came to him no longer hurried as they usually did, as if she couldn’t wait to be with him. Now as she strolled over, those steps were tentative and unsure.
Holding Franny securely to his chest, he signed with the other hand. “Will you walk with me?”
There was the barest hesitation before she nodded. They strolled in silence for several minutes, and it did not feel as sublime as their previous strolls, which had hinted at so many mysteries to unlock between them. The air felt tight with tension and uncertainty.
“Phoebe, ahoy!”
The shout of Caroline had his wife spinning around and waving.
“I will see what Caroline wants,” she said with a quick smile that did not brighten her eyes.
As he watched his wife’s retreating figure, something painful lodged against his stomach, and the heart he thought untouched grew heavy with an indefinable emotion. The loss of how wonderful, carefree, and passionate she had been in the beginning tore through him with agonizing force.
Once there had been trust in her eyes and a sweet arousing fire of such hunger. A craving for that irrepressible smile and the improper way she would sometimes laugh and run without shoes tore through him. And by God, he longed to hold her close to him, to kiss her again, to play by the meadows…but he had given all that up, but this…this was the first time the loss of it almost brought him to his knees.
How hadn’t he realized the bitter cost?
…
A week later, Hugh rode his horse with speed along the lanes leading to his home. He needed to speak to Phoebe, even though he was not certain what he wanted to say. To distract himself with thoughts of her, he had taken on the menial task of mucking out the stalls of his stables, the workmen looking on with a sense of shock. Normally, he worked until his muscles burned and the sun had lowered in the sky. But today, it was barely noon, and he stopped. Thunder had rumbled in the distance with the threat of rain, and it had felt imperative that he return home.
The stablemaster’s wife had brought the man luncheon, a simple fare of potatoes and fish, but Henry hadn’t been able to stop smiling. The tender way he had taken her hand in his and led her to the side of the stable had dragged Hugh’s feet closer so he could observe them. Whatever they spoke about had delighted the wife, for she had swatted his hand and laughed before hugging her husband. Hugh had touched his arm, recalling a time when Phoebe would lightly punch him or how she would loop their hands together as they strolled by their meadow. His damn throat had burned, and to his shock, his eyes had smarted.
Henry had glanced up and seen him. The man had hurried over and said, “Forgive me, milord, the missus isnad feeling too well, and…and she foolishly believes she will be going onto her reward soon, so she visits me here at every opportunity. She dinna realize I ain’t ever letting her go. I’ll send her off right away, milord.”
“No,” he had signed. “Be with your wife.”
A light misting rain had begun to fall, and lightning forked against the sky. The stablemaster had walked away, paused for a long time, then turned to Hugh and said, “It ain’t my place milord, forgive me for overstepping, but I need to say it anyway. I dinna think the one tormenting yer thoughts so that a man of yer stature would muck horse-shite should ever be let go.”
Hugh had kept his face carefully composed and hadn’t made a reply. But one thought that had eclipsed all else had been, I’ve never planned on letting her go. Ever.
He slowed, bringing his horse to a stop in the forecourt of the mansion. Dismounting, he lowered the reins and hurried up the graveled pathway. What the hell had he truly accomplished by deciding to hold the old earl’s lessons close to his heart? He had avoided kissing Phoebe, because her lips were honeyed intoxication, and just a brief press of her mouth to his rendered him weak. Hugh could no longer bear to look at her when she played and sang to Franny. Whenever he saw his wife, her vision of loveliness would strike a weakening blow to his heart, and the polite civility he tried to cloak himself in would shake violently. He couldn’t spend the days at his house, for every detail of her, no matter how small, was imprinted on his mind. Hugh would visit his stables and spend the day with his horses, his thoughts tormented with his wife.
For fucking sakes. He was a damn fool. How long can I exist without your smile? Without feeling your lips on mine? How long can I bear you not looking into my eyes…how long can I bear your tears in the night and your unhappiness?
The butler held the door open, and Hugh handed over his coat and hat, tugging off his gloves as he walked down the hallway. He couldn’t go to Phoebe like this. He needed to take a bath and render himself presentable. Caroline paced along the hallway, a concentrated frown on her face. When she saw him, a heavy sigh of relief slipped from her, and she rushed toward him. He held up his hands because he was filthy with sweat, the scent of horses, grass, and whatever the hell he mucked from the stalls.
“Phoebe is not here,” she blurted.
He stopped. “I gather she is taking a walk with Franny. I will collect the umbrella and go to her. Though I believe she will take shelter at one of the gazebos.”
Caroline bit her lip, appearing distinctly uncomfortable. “She took the carriage and Franny. Her maidservant, Sarah, and Franny’s nursemaid accompanied her, along with a few valises and hatboxes.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I saw her reading a letter before…before she left.” His sister looked away, a flush on her face.
“What letter?”
“I did not mean to read it, but it was just there on the floor.” Then she dipped into her pocket and held it out to him.
Unable to read any more, Hugh looked at the date. This was a letter from George sent months ago, before that bounder had kidnapped her to London. Hugh crushed it in his fist. “This was a letter received months ago. This has nothing to do with Phoebe leaving now.”
He made to walk away and froze. What if? Hugh sucked in a harsh breath.
“What is it?” Caroline demanded.
“I just had a thought.”
“And that is?”
Hugh hesitated then finally signed. “He offers her everything I did not.” The words of George that night in the gardens echoed in his thoughts. Let me love you…give you a happy life. What if she had gone to the person who could offer her the desires in her heart? He shook his head and dismissed the thought immediately. She had honor, and her character was not inconstant. Yet he had disappointed and hurt her so much that she had left.
The agony that arrowed through Hugh’s heart was numbing. Merciful Christ. She had left without knowing…without knowing that he really did want her with every emotion in his heart. He rubbed the spot on his chest where he swore it physically ached. What if he could not convince Phoebe to come back? Fuck! His father had given up his pride and chased their mother to Edinburgh and begged her to return home. What if…
Hugh closed his eyes against the raw emotions bubbling inside. Bloody hell. It was happening again. Only this time…this time something dark and powerful quaked in his heart, and it felt like fear and sorrow.
Hugh could not envision a life without Phoebe.
His sister held out her arm. “Here, she left a letter for you.”
He plucked it from her hand and opened it.
He turned the letter over. Where was the rest of it? Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face and read that last line again.
She was not able to divorce him, but her family had enough power and connections to keep them divided forever. Clearly, she had run to her brother, the powerful Marquess of Westfall, and that man was a dangerous person to make his enemy. But if it came to that, it damn well would because he was never letting go of her.
To Hugh’s shock, he realized his eyes stung and his throat burned something fiercely.
Phoebe has left this marriage, and that is all my fault for being a bacon-brained buffoon.
The pain that cleaved through him then was enough to have him leaning weakly against the wall to the staircase, his forehead dropping with a heavy thud against the paneled oak.
He pushed from the wall. “How long ago did she leave?”
“About an hour.”
He could catch her. “The carriage is pulled by a team of four?”
“Yes.”
Swallowing, he turned around and signed, demanding his fastest and most powerful horse.
“Hugh,” Caroline cried.
He turned to face her. “What is it?”
“You…you are going after her?”
He nodded once.
Relief lit in her eyes. “Surely not in your state of disarray? And …you smell.”
Ignoring her, he hurried out to the stables and mounted the large black stallion that was brought to him.
“Milord, it’s best you take the landau or the smaller carriage. It promises to rain fiercely,” Mr. Gervase said, looking considerably concerned.
Hugh collected the reins and nudged his horse into a trot along the driveaway and to the lanes leading to the open country road. The snow had been melting, and the roads were mud logged and should have slowed their carriage. Once he had cleared the driveaway, he urged his horse into a flat-out run. It tormented him, the pain he must have caused Phoebe for her to decide to flee their marriage.
A tight feeling twisted in his chest. I am so damned sorry, Phoebe, so damned sorry.
It felt pointless to wonder when she had snuck under his guard and pierced his protective barrier that had lingered around his heart for fifteen years. It had happened. With each smile, that lovely tinkling laugh, her large brown eyes, which peered at him with such joy. Every touch and kiss had been slowly hammering at him, and he hadn’t been aware of how much he had grown to need her.
The rain started to sleet from the sky, and he rode without stopping. He had been travelling at a hard pace for over an hour when he spied the slow-moving carriage in the distance. Hugh urged his horse until he had caught up with them. The coachman and the tiger recognized him, and they slowed the horses, pulling the conveyance at his signal. Launching from his horse, he rapped on the carriage window.
The curtains parted, and that small window opened. His wife’s eyes went wide with shock. “Hugh?”
He nodded. She stared at him with unsettling intensity. “What…what are you doing here? Good heavens, you are soaked. Come inside before you catch your death!”
His fingers trembled too badly, so he clenched his hands in tight fists at his side. Finally, he signed. “Do not leave me.”
She stilled for long moments but made no reply, only stared at him, her eyes wide and lips parted.
“Do not leave me.” He signed again, uncaring that his hands evidently shook. “I am weak to you, Phoebe…I am weak for you.” He dropped to his knees in the mud-soaked earth. She pushed her head through the windows, uncaring of the rain, and peered down at him. Even his coachman and the tiger stared, but Hugh only cared that Phoebe was looking at him.
“If you keep going, I will chase you. I will not stop chasing and pleading with you to let me hold you…to let me love you until the end of our days. Nothing will make me give up. I do not care about pride or even the possibility of being shattered. Because I know you…and what I know is that you are a lady of quality, of kindness, of patience, of boldness, of courage, of love…a woman who would walk beside the man she loves with only one thought…and that is to live her happiest life with him and their children.”
The curtains dropped, and her face disappeared. Something dark tore through his heart, and he rushed forward, but then she was there jumping out of the carriage into the rain without waiting for the steps to be knocked down. Such relief pulsed through him, he swayed.
“Hugh?” she questioned softly, her steps hesitant.
He would have given anything for her to rush to his side once more, her face flushed and enlivened. A puckered brow stared back at him with caution, her hovering distance felt like a thousand miles and not just a few steps.
“Please…please do not leave, do not ever leave, for I would not be able to bear not sharing the joys of life with you.”
“Leave you?” She pressed a hand over her chest. “Did you not get my letter?”
“I got it.”
Confusion knitted her brows. “All two pages?”
He lifted the single piece of paper that had been crumpled in his grip.
“Hugh—”
“I love you.”
She stared at him, just stared, her face carefully contained. Did she understood what he said? What if because he had never said the words, she did not know the sign that communicated it? He thumped a fist against his chest and peered at her through the sleeting rain.
“I love you.”
The motion was almost violent, but he felt desperate that she should understand. “I was afraid. Afraid of loving you…afraid of love…because I thought what I knew of it only led to pain. But everything with you is the opposite. You are my reason. My weakness. My strength. You are my joy, Phoebe. The happiness you seek in life, I see it every day in your smiles, in your eyes, in the way you touch me…the way you kiss me, the way you hold me against your body.”
She took a step back, and his heart cracked.
“How detestable I’ve been to treat you with indifference when I so desperately love you. I conceived marriage to be my duty to my father, who scarified much for me, and nothing more. I did not believe in love…in truth, I did not think about it, for it was insignificant to everything I envisioned for my life. I must have fallen lamentably short of all your expectations with my distance. These last few weeks how I’ve held myself from you sinks me quite below reproach, especially since…the moment you sent me your first letter, against everything I’ve experience and learned, I was captivated.”
She took a small step toward him, her lips parted, and her palm pressed against her heart. Her bonnet hung limply on her head, and her dress had soaked.
Their gaze collided. And he realized then it had been weeks since she looked him directly in the eye.
“My feelings are unalterable. I love you…desperately. You are my reason, Phoebe…and you have been from the very first letter…it just took me a while to know it.”
She rushed to him and flung herself at him. Hugh did not care her momentum had toppled him over into the muddy earth. It only mattered that she was on top of him, staring down at him, heartbreaking love glowing in her eyes.
He closed his eyes in abject relief. She kissed his lids, the warmth of her breath, the loving touch of her hand against his cheek burning away the cold.
“I love you, Hugh.” He felt the shape of her words against his lips, and they burrowed deep inside his heart.
He cupped her cheek and kissed her tenderly, barely brushing his lips over hers. And I’ll ensure you never regret it, my love.
…
Later that night, Hugh slipped from the sleeping arm of his wife. He paused when she muttered, twisted, and flung one of her legs over his, trapping him. With a smile, he gently arranged her and eased from the bed. After quickly dressing in his trousers and shirt, he left the room and made his way to the library. He drew up to see Caroline there, curled on the sofa, reading a book. She glanced up when she saw him.
“It is frightfully late.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I could not sleep. Why are you here?”
He padded over to the large desk and look down. “Phoebe had mentioned the letter she wrote me spanned two pages. I only saw the first one.”
“I know,” Caroline said softly with a smile.
Hugh stilled. It was then he recalled she had been the one to frantically alarm him that Phoebe had left him.
“You took it?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Did Phoebe not inform you of the content?”
“No. Our thoughts were elsewhere. I simply thought it odd I only found the one sheet.”
Caroline stood and strolled over to him. “I saw when she left the letter for you on your desk. I read them and then removed the second page.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I wanted you to realize how much you love and need her. I hoped the first page would be enough to make you rush after her like a madman.”
She dipped her hand in the deep pocket of her skirt and withdrew the second sheet. Tipping on her toes, she kissed his cheek and without another word turned and left the library.
Hugh glanced down at the folded sheet. Nothing would have prevented him from going after Phoebe. He unfolded the paper. Christ. He recalled the fear he had felt when he’d read that last line on the first page.
And then nothing. He swallowed and read what had been missing.
A piercing love filled his heart, and Hugh smiled. The light flickered, and he turned up the wick on the lamp, sat on the edge of his desk, and continued reading.