He smiled, and her breath caught. He was…too handsome. Wanting something to distract her from her absurd awareness, she reached for the small plate with the cake. Breaking off a piece with a fork, she popped the cake into her mouth. It was divine, and she ate a few more bites, terribly conscious that he watched her the entire time, and she wondered what flickered through his mind, as his thoughts drifted across his face. There lingered a faint cynicism in his expression, a hint of ruthlessness, and self-assurance. Phoebe was intimately acquainted with the merciless prejudice of high society and how terrible they could be when they decided someone did not fit into their image of perfection, wit, and grace. How did one get so confident with so much stacked against him?
He reached for a fresh piece of paper and scrawled something on it, and then he pushed it across the table. His gaze never left her face, but what thoughts were running in his head, it would have been impossible to have guessed. The viscount was truly an inscrutable fellow. She leaned over slightly to read.
Will you marry me, Lady Phoebe?
The plate, cake, and fork slipped from her hands and clattered to the carpet. “Marry you?”
He nodded.
The shock was tremendous and wouldn’t go away. She clasped hands together and fixed her eyes on his face. “Oh, no! Do you mean it? Or do you jest?”
He shook his head slowly. The eyes that watched her held a good deal of shrewdness.
“Yes!” she said quickly, all the fears, anger, doubt, shame, and uncertainty she’d been feeling for months pushed aside as crashing relief surged through her entire body. “Yes…yes, I’ll marry you. I am very grateful,” she repeated on a choked gasp.
Her hands were badly shaking, and she pressed them to her lips. “But wait, I…that makes no sense. You are…you…I…what is happening?” Then to her utter humiliation, she burst into tears.
Hating that she appeared so out of sorts, she surged to her feet and hurried toward the window. A finger fleetingly touched her shoulder, and she swiped at her tears before facing him. His expression was sober, and he handed her a note, which she took with trembling hands. Phoebe opened it carefully.
I know you are scared, and I am sorry for it. Thank you for agreeing to marry me, and I know the immense courage it took for you to journey this far without friends or family. We will have a marriage of mutual convenience, respect, and honor to each other. Your child will be mine, and I will not treat him or her any differently than if he or she was my own. I vow to take you and your baby into my keeping. Your safety and well-being, and whatever it is that you fear, I will take care of. I ask you to trust that I will handle this for you.
Hugh.
Her hands shook awfully, and Phoebe had to read over some bits several times. His name is Hugh, she thought inanely. Then she glanced up into the eyes that watched every nuance of her expression. “You knew I’d say yes,” she said hoarsely. Of course he did and had prepared this letter in advance, to reassure her, to offer his protection. Was this the same gentleman of wealth and distinction who wrote to her that he was indifferent to the more tender sentiments?
“What if…what if my baby is a boy? He would be your heir. I…I cannot do that…I…” She glanced away and closed her eyes. Phoebe desperately wanted to be selfish and shout yes! repeatedly. But did he understand to what he was committing? “What if my child is a boy?”
From the early age of fourteen, her mother had started to impress upon her that she must marry well and then provide her lord with an heir and a spare expeditiously. It made no sense that he would overlook the possibility and the implication of her child being a boy.
A thumb and forefinger gently pinched her chin and lifted her face. His touch jolted Phoebe, and another fierce tremble went through her entire body. Everything he could say reflected in his eyes. They darkened with unfathomable emotions, and it was as if she could feel his promise wrapping itself around her like a tangible entity. It was quite disconcerting, his undivided attention and unwavering regard. Her chest hurt with the effort to remain unaffected.
Do you believe me? his piercing gaze seemed to ask. And she did. God help her, despite her vow to never rely on any promise from a man again, she believed the one before her. The notion felt frightening. She only needed the protection and power of his name. Never once had she dreamed of any affection, love, trust, or anything extraordinary. That was what most tonnish marriages were—a simple, civil, and tolerable union.
From his letters, she understood what he wanted from his wife. Yet here he was offering to protect and claim her child as his. His gaze was fierce and demanding, willing her to accept his promise, willing her to see and have total confidence in his honor.
“I believe you,” she whispered, then she stepped forward and hugged him fiercely.
Phoebe did not know why she did it, only knew she had to, even if now that she had acted on the impulse, it was mildly awkward. Despite her belly in between them, she still managed to wrap most of her hands high around his back and press her face into his chest.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He did not return her embrace; Phoebe gathered she had startled him too much. Finding herself flustered, she lowered her arms and stepped back. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I will never forget your kindness.” And I shall repay you however I can.
An indefinable emotion flashed in his eyes, and Phoebe admitted fainting was a possibility when his head lowered. His mouth hovered a mere breath from hers, and something elusive whispered through her heart. Do not be a fool, Phoebe. This…whatever this was had nothing to do with the heart. It was a simple ba
rgain of convenience, and she would eventually understand how he would use her as surely as she was using him. She dearly hoped he wanted a great deal, for Phoebe could not imagine how she could ever repay his kindness.
All thoughts scattered when he kissed the corner of her mouth. It was such a soft caress, yet her lashes fluttered closed, and she savored the touch of his lips to her skin. Everything about him comforted Phoebe at this moment…his soft kiss, his scent, and the gentle yet commanding way he clasped her chin had her heart shuddering in her chest. Another press of his lips went perilously close to her mouth. Then he placed his mouth perfectly atop hers.
Oh! The softest of whimpers escaped her, and he swallowed the small noise. His mouth moved on hers, so slowly, so gently. Her belly went hot with a frightful surge of hunger, confusing her.
“I don’t…don’t understand…it is just a kiss,” she mumbled against his mouth. She’d been kissed several times before and had felt nothing akin to this desperate ache, the wonderful and unexpected heat blooming through her body.
His fingers released her chin, his thumb brushed against her cheek in a feather-light caress, and it was then she realized he traced the path of a tear. Her stomach twisted itself into a knot, and her breath hitched at the weakness that assailed her. Then, to her relief, he stepped away, giving her the chance to reassert her walls that had alarmingly crumbled too soon and too effortlessly. He sketched a sharp bow, spun around, and walked away, only to falter in the center of the room.
Phoebe pressed a hand to her chest as if that would have stopped the furious pounding of her heart. She waited, though she was not at all certain for what. Suddenly her senses seemed more alive. Then he whirled around, and in two long strides, he was before her. This time he held her cheeks with both palms, lifted her face, and his mouth caught her cry of surprise.
Dear God.