* * *
As requested,Jeffrey found himself on the doorstep of the house bordering Cavendish Square at precisely ten o’clock. Should he knock? He instantly felt like an idiot at even thinking thusly. Of course he should knock. He was not here for some secret assignation. He had been invited here for a polite discussion with the lady of the house. True, it was not exactly conventional, but it was Phoebe who had invited him, and as he had previously ascertained time and again, she was not a particularly conventional woman.
He was slightly surprised when she herself answered the door. He could only stand there for a moment as he took her in. Her green eyes seemed as though they were beckoning to him, the way she looked up at him through the dim light. She wore a gown of midnight blue, which, though modestly cut, without gloves and her dark hair swimming around her shoulders, drew him in like a siren calling sailors into the rocks — full of danger yet completely impossible to resist. At this moment she could ask him anything and he didn’t know how he could possibly refuse.
She stared back at him in equal measure, a lone sconce on the wall behind her outlining her silhouette, until finally she seemed to realize she had yet to say anything.
“Oh, forgive me,” she said, shaking her head as a slightly abashed smile teased her lips and she opened the door wider. “Come in, please.”
He did so, turning to face her once they were within the small, interesting foyer.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, though he was finding it difficult to focus on anything besides the red of her lips as they moved. Then she reached out and undid the ties of his cloak, holding out her hand for him to remove it and pass it to her along with his hat. He was unsure of exactly how to navigate this, having never previously given a woman his outerwear.
“Where is your butler?” he asked instead.
“He has retired,” she said. “He is rather elderly, and becomes exhausted past nine.”
“And you still keep him on?’
“Of course!” she replied, somewhat indignant. “Glover has been with us for ages, and he will remain with us until he determines it is time to depart from his duties. He has been loyal to my family for years, and I certainly will not turn on him.”
“I never meant to suggest—”
“My apologies,” she said, her face losing its edge as she took his cloak from his hand before he could protest. “I am slightly on edge this evening and I am afraid it is getting the better of me.”
“What exactly is it that you have to be nervous about?” he asked, hoping it was that she had an answer for him, but not wanting to become too expectant.
She said nothing, but, having stowed his garments, turned to the stairs and began climbing.
“Come,” she said, beckoning with her hand, and of course he was powerless to resist. “We’ll avoid my father’s parlor for this evening, I think. The other is far more comfortable.”
He actually rather liked her father’s parlor, though it was as eccentric as the man himself. It was interesting — unlike any he had ever seen before in all of England. But he did as she said, following her down the corridor. Wherever she chose to take him, he seemed inclined to follow, was he being honest.
The room they entered was dimly lit, the roaring fire in the hearth casting a glow throughout the room, illuminating the fine furniture, the gold walls, and the face of the woman who sat on the settee before him. As much as he longed to sit next to her, to run his fingers down her face as he watched her changing expressions, he had a feeling that this was more of an occasion for serious conversation, and so instead he took a seat across from her, where he could hopefully better concentrate on whatever it was she had to say.
“Will Lady Aurelia be joining us?” he asked, though he knew the answer before she began to shake her head.
“No, Aunt Aurelia is out at an engagement this evening,” she responded.
“And you chose not to attend with her?”
“No,” she said with another shake. “It is a gathering amongst friends she has been well acquainted with for years. I am afraid if I accompanied her, I would be the youngest by a couple of decades. They have no wish for me to attend!”
“I believe you would always make for a welcome guest at parties,” he murmured, and he squinted in the dim light to better ascertain whether her cheeks had turned pink. Was Phoebe blushing at a simple compliment from him? She really was out of sorts tonight.
“I would not say that is always the case, Lord Berkley.”
“Jeffrey.”
“Yes, Jeffrey, my apologies,” she said, coloring all the more. “But you see, sometimes I can be found arguing with and slapping very polite, well-respected marquesses in the drawing rooms of balls, which does not make me the ideal guest.”
He laughed at that, and the tension in the room eased somewhat. He loved that she could bring this out of him — the carefree side that was so often hidden under the weight of his responsibilities.
She took a breath, stood, and then came to sit beside him on the settee. Oh, he wished she hadn’t done that. Now she was far too close, and her scent of oranges and cinnamon filled his senses, emanating from her unbound hair. His well-ordered, calculated thoughts began to flee, replaced by only thoughts of her, with him, under him — he took a sharp inhale of breath.
“Phoebe,” he murmured, taking her hands in his and pulling them into his lap. “Before you say anything, I feel there are some aspects of our… relationship that I should clarify. When I whispered those words to you at the theatre, they seemed impulsive, and perhaps presumptuous. So I would like to better explain to you my thoughts.”
He looked deep into her eyes, which were as murky as the waters of a country pond. Hidden within them were her thoughts regarding him and his words, but he could no more make them out than he could determine a pattern of the stars in the cloudy sky.
“When we met, it was… passionate, I suppose you could say, though not in the way one might expect. Everything I heard you say went against all of my morals, all of the long-held beliefs with which my father raised me. And yet there was something about you that took hold over me and wouldn’t let go. You refused to leave my mind, and every time I saw you, I actually found more that I liked about you, that attracted me to you all the more. You get along very well with my family, who can be rather difficult. You love my dog, who most find rather trying, and you are kind. You are generous, honest, and good. You stand up for what you believe in. And even if I do not share those same beliefs, well, a husband and wife are bound to disagree time and again, are they not? As long as they care for one another and their families, that is what truly matters. So please, be my wife, Phoebe Winters.”
Her eyes became watery as he spoke, and he smiled gently at her, for he knew that, despite her tough exterior, Phoebe’s heart was true.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” she said with a bit of a moan, and he took that as acceptance, and leaned in, softly brushing his lips over hers. He simply tasted at first, slowly nibbling her bottom lip, softly licking the top. Her hands came to his chest, and for a moment he had a strange worry that she would push him away, but instead her fingers dug into his chest, and his breath hitched.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, heady with the thought that everything this woman was — trying, but true — would be his, forever.