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.”