Chapter Nine

Phoebe’s feet were propped on Hugh’s lap. Her red bonnet discarded onto the blankets, and his hands were beneath the dress of his wife. They had been married now for a little over a month, and for the last few weeks, in the mornings after breaking their fast, they would walk together to this peaceful secluded meadow surrounded by the woodlands of his estate. The grass here was lush and thick, the flowers pleasantly scented, and a small waterfall gushed from the hills to settle into a brook, which babbled gently in the background.

His wife reclined like a pasha on several blankets and a mound of cushions that he had especially made up for her daily. In between her and the large willow tree trunk she rested against was about six large, fluffy cushions, and beside her Wolf sprawled on his side. The sun peeked through the canopy of trees, splashing a warm golden glow over her rosy cheeks.

“This is so wonderful,” she muttered, biting into an apple and ruffling Wolf’s hair with her other hand. “It is so astonishing that it was you whom I ended up marrying. It feels fated…don’t you think?”

How whimsical you are, he thought but did not respond, not wanting to dim the bright light of joy that had seemed to sparkle in her eyes. He could have pointed out that since she was in this part of Scotland at the time he’d been ill, there was some logical probability that she would have been the one to find Wolf. That probability also extended to her replying to his letter, since Caroline had advertised his need for a wife in the London papers. Probabilities were infinite, and this situation had simply been like that. Yet Hugh could not dismiss how frightfully surreal it felt that after weeks of corresponding through letters, with his fascination growing, he’d married her.

Are we, though…were we fated to meet? He was not a man given to whimsy, so his hands remained silent.

Her stomach had gotten much larger in the month since they had married, and she moved much slower as she shuffled about the castle. He’d often found himself hovering in the background, silently watching her, and to Hugh’s amusement whenever he finally turned away, he saw his father watching him with a scowl.

The doctor had called upon her a few days ago with a midwife, and Hugh had asked questions about her swollen feet. The advice had been to do a deep massage on the area and his wife would surely feel relief. He smiled to recall how she had blushed the first day he had taken her feet into his lap and rubbed them.

Today, though…this was the first morning he had removed her stockings. With a deft flick of his fingers, he loosened the garter holding the stocking up. Her breath hitched, and she gripped the blankets tightly when his fingers brushed the back of her knees and hooked into the edge of the silken stocking.

That tell-tale sign of arousal had the front of his trousers going tight. Her body shuddered slightly, the lace at her throat parted, and he saw the soft shadows above the mound of her breast. Sweet Christ.

Why was he so aware of her?

Hugh swallowed, and it wasn’t by design that he slid the stocking off her foot so slowly…so sensually, it was as if he couldn’t help it. Bloody hell! What made it more torturous was that the red day dress billowed over his hands, denying his eyes the sight of the loveliness of her skin. He kept his eyes on her face and rolled down the stocking past her ankle then tugged it off her foot. He glanced down. She wiggled her toes, and a sigh escaped her lips. The ankle was more swollen than usual, and he took his time, sinking his fingers into her tissue, massaging and rubbing.

She lifted her fingers and signed, “This feels…” When she could not form the word she wished, she grinned and said, “Divine. This feels divine.”

When she smiled, she seemed to light up something unfathomable inside him, she was so beautiful.

“Let me show you,” he released her ankle and signed.

He shifted up close to her on the blanket then clenched both hands in a fist before him, lifting up the index finger on each hand and pushing them up as if to the sky, but careful to stop at his shoulders.

She repeated the motion and said, “Divine.”

He nodded. She was a very quick study, and she was adept at learning his language at a rate which even seemed to impress Hugh’s father. Often times Hugh would see him watching them with the blackest of scowls, which had appeared to fade lately to reluctant admiration. The old earl evidently admired her ardent honesty in learning to communicate with him better. Even his siblings had taken years to learn his language, and they mostly communicated with writing. Her willingness to learn, as she told him, so they could speak more often had the strangest effect on his heart whenever he thought of it. To Hugh’s mind, it felt like his heart trembled and an odd sensation would assail his senses. He had no notion what it was, but he did not like that which he could not control, so he ignored it stalwartly.

With a small smile, he resumed his rub, coasting his palms and fingers from the sole of her foot, up to her ankle and her shin, then down the same path, over and over.

“Ahhh,” she said in one of her exaggerated sighs of bliss.

The feel of her soft skin against the tip of his fingers was an endless source of delight. How curious it all was, his growing enchantment with the girl before him. No…not a girl, his wife, a woman in her own right. Hugh gently massaged Phoebe’s foot, clenching his teeth, ruthlessly commanding his body not to respond to the moans of arousal she emitted. A lovely flush spread from her cheeks to her throat, and her lashes fluttered their relief.

Is this how you will look when I finally make love with you? How lovely…free and unrestrained she appeared. To his astonishment, her fingers released the blanket, formed a fist, which thumped the spot beside her. “How odiously frustrating!”

They both froze at that outburst, and their gazes collided. In the golden depth of her eyes, just for a minute, he saw the wild, passionate creature he knew existed inside her. Her lashes lowered briefly, and when she lifted her eyes to him once again, her expression was suitably dignified—and mortified. “Forgive me, my lord. I…my outburst was unbecoming.”

There was the creature who tried to be so very demure and proper. In their daily interactions, at odd times he would glimpse a flash of fire, of defiance or an irrepressible nature, before she would bury it under cool civility and propriety. Hugh realized he did not like the acting.

“I liked your outburst.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, and he did not like how unsure she seemed in the moment.

“I hardly believe you did,” she said dryly. And even in that expression of flat sarcasm he caught a peek at her true character, and he liked it.

He reached for a piece of paper from the small pile, grabbed the quill, and wrote. I do. Please…never believe that you must hide yourself from me. I daresay if we are to be friends, we should endeavour to be honest with each other, especially in our reactions. When we are alone, the appearance of gentility is not required. Please, Phoebe, be yourself with me.

Her head was lowered, and she took her time reading his note. A long time. Though she had yet to lift her regard to his, he saw the hint of smile curve her lush lips, and her fingers tightened on the paper ever so slightly.

Those large golden eyes finally lifted to him, and in her gaze, there was a sparkle that had not been there before. “I must warn you; you’ll be shocked!”

She watched carefully as he signed. “My sensibilities and nerves will survive.”

Phoebe chuckled, the sound rich and throaty. “Well, if you are most certain, my lord.”

Then she lifted her hand to her chin, untied the bonnet, and removed it from her head. After carelessly dropping it onto the blanket, she attacked her hair, which had been caught in an updo of waves and curls, and withdrew several pins.

It perplexed him how his heart raced. A riotous tumble of hair came down her shoulders to spread over the mound of her belly. Her cheeks were rounder and flushed becomingly, and she smiled. An escaping curl tumbled over her forehead, and she pursed her lips and blew at it.

The silliness of that action pulled a smile from him. Befuddlingly, he was…enchanted.

“I have been wanting to do that. I am very much obliged to you, my lord.”

A rumble sounded in the distance, and she glanced up at the thick canopy above their heads. “I do hope it does not rain today! I daresay the favorite part of my day is coming here. I feel I do not wish to return to the castle but to lie here under this thick canopy of trees and stare at the sky, and then maybe sleep!”

She wrinkled her nose, and humor lit in her expressive eyes. His lady often remarked with some amusement how much she loved to sleep now when before she had enjoyed waking up at the crack of dawn so as not to miss the day passing by.

He tapped her legs, and she lowered her gaze to his.

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 have 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?”