Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A s Phoebe lingered far longer in Townsend House to hear what Daphne had to teach her in the art of flirting, she had no idea just what had transpired at Wentworth Park in her absence.
When she walked in through the back door, at half an hour past six, with barely enough time to spare to change for dinner, she was surprised to find that all of the servants, including Amelia, had been summoned to the foyer by Charles himself.
What in the world is going on? Phoebe thought to herself as she cautiously approached the scene.
Charles was pacing the length of the carpet with his broad back to her. His dark, curly hair looked as if he had raked his fingers through it countless times so that it had become a tousled mess that made him look even more devilishly handsome than he already was. His icy blue eyes blazed with a cold fury—if such a thing could even be possible.
“You mean to say that none of you have even seen the Marchioness leave the grounds?” he growled, turning to face the servants all lined up before him. Every single one of them looked rather pale and anxious.
Even Huxley was not spared the wrath of her husband, and he had been in service at Wentworth Park ever since Charles had come to the country estate.
“You!” he turned towards the poor butler, who admirably maintained his composure despite his wan complexion. “When was the last time you saw the Marchioness?”
“I came upon her just as she was leaving Your Lordship’s study,” Huxley replied in a soft and measured voice, as if he feared that the slightest change in intonation would set off his master’s fury. “She…appeared rather piqued, if I may say so myself.”
“And did she say anything to you, then?”
The butler shook his head. “Not to me, milord, no. She did mutter something under her breath.”
“And what was that?”
“That she shall not countenance being imprisoned in the manor.”
Phoebe stiffened when she heard what the butler said. She had said those very words, but more to herself and out of annoyance than anything else.
“And you did not find this peculiar?” Charles questioned him harshly. “That your mistress would deem herself a prisoner?”
The butler shook his head again. “Well, considering after last night—”
“What about last night?”
“Well, considering how Your Lordship left the dining hall last night, I thought that perhaps you and the Marchioness were not in accord…”
That particular sentence invoked a strange hush upon everyone gathered.
As Phoebe looked on at Charles, noting the stiffening of his shoulders and the way he clenched his jaw, she could tell that her disappearance had affected him greatly. She felt her heart flutter in her chest as she stared at the man before her, who was clearly distraught in spite of his cold appearance.
“Well then, it is a pity you have not considered that she intended to run away from me!” he growled.
At his words, Phoebe felt her heart clench in her chest and decided that things had gone on too long.
“Well, Huxley would never be so silly as to think I would run away from you, My Lord,” she announced, walking towards him with a bright smile on her face.
Charles whirled around, the expression of shock on his face nearly causing Phoebe to giggle before it melted into fury.
“You!” he muttered. “Where have you been? Did you know that I have turned the entire estate upside down looking for you?”
He might be furious because she disobeyed him, but Phoebe could see the worry and fear shining clearly in his eyes.
And the relief to find her standing before him.
“I know that you must be angry with me,” she told him softly, reaching out to place a placating hand on his tense arm. “But if you must take me to task, I hope you would not do it in front of the servants.”
It was at that point that her husband perhaps recalled that they still had an audience before them and with a furious glare in their direction, he bit out, “Out! All of you!”
The servants did not need to be told twice and hastily left the foyer, leaving only Phoebe standing there to face the wrath of her husband.
“I am so sorry, Your Lordship— Charles ,” she amended, hoping her voice sounded contrite enough despite the fluttering joy that filled her to know that he had been most distraught to find her gone.
And that he actually worried that she had left him.
“I had only meant to visit my sisters for a short while, but I lost track of the time,” she explained. “Not that it should absolve me, but I thought that you should know that I never intended to leave you or run away from you.”
His scathing glare did not soften in the slightest. Instead, he loomed over her like the fearful, domineering beast that Daphne had thought him to be. She could see that there was no reasoning with him. That he did not, will not hear whatever it was she had to say.
Whatever joy she felt seemed to disappear in that instant.
Phoebe, however, was done bowing and scraping to his wishes. She had apologized to him and admitted her fault in this matter. Could he not see that it was his dismissive attitude towards her that sent her over the wall?
She straightened her back and lifted her chin defiantly at him, looking him squarely in the eyes.
Charles seemed to be taken aback at first, before glowering right back at her.
“You are forbidden from ever leaving Wentworth Park again!” he lashed out.
Phoebe’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “So, you do intend to hold me a prisoner in this place?”
“You have never seen a true prison, my dear wife,” he told her in a low, dangerous voice. “Hopefully, you will never encounter it in your entire lifetime.”
“But I did, did I not?” Phoebe met his gaze squarely. “That room beneath the trapdoor where we first met—that was a prison, was it not?”
He looked confused for a moment, and then shook his head. “You are not allowed to go there as well.”
“Very well then,” she retorted sarcastically. “You might as well write a book on all the places I am forbidden to go. I suppose you can write several volumes of it—”
“I am doing this for your own good!”
Phoebe was much too incensed with him right now to even consider that he might actually be doing this out of some misguided concern for her well-being.
However, she absolutely despised being yelled at and treated like a child. His cold treatment of her would have been much more preferable to this.
Never before had she met a man who made her want to tear her hair at the roots and at the same time, press her body to his in such wanton ways that the thought of it made her toes curl in her shoes.
As she glared at him, he stood before her like an implacable wall. An extremely handsome, devastatingly sensual wall.
What would it feel like to be kissed by those lips? Phoebe wondered as her angry gaze drifted to the sensual fullness of his mouth, pressed into a line of irritated arrogance as it was.
The combination of repressed lust and anger never made for a rational concoction, but those two had been brewing within her chest since the day he appeared at Townsend Manor.
Simmered quietly as the days passed between them.
And now, it boiled over.
She crossed the distance before him, noting the wariness that flashed in his eyes. Without hesitation, she grasped the back of his head and pulled him down to her lips.
For the first time in her life, she was gleefully thankful for the advantage that her height provided her.
Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt his initial resistance. She braced herself for the rejection that she knew would be swift and merciless in its coming.
She certainly did not expect him to kiss her back .
Her lips, angry and fierce, were still the softest he had ever felt.
Charles felt his mind go blank the moment Phoebe had stepped up to him and pulled his lips to crash down on hers—but that lasted only a mere moment as the fire he had been leashing for the better part of the week exploded out from him.
His self-control had been hanging by a thread; now, it had snapped .
With a groan, he sank his fingers into her hair as his lips moved upon her untutored ones. He could vaguely hear some of her hairpins clattering at their feet, but he could care less.
Phoebe might not have had any experience in the art of kissing—a fact that filled him with sheer masculine pride—but what she lacked in that department, she made up for with sheer passion.
And, by all that was holy, was she the most wonderful student! She learned quickly just how to fit her mouth to his and had him groaning into the kiss. Her body molded to his chest as his tongue swiped along her bottom lip.
When she moaned softly, her body arching into his, how could he resist delving into the velvety sweetness of her mouth?
He would plunder her until they were both out of breath. Ravish her until they were both dizzy from the lack of air…
When he finally dragged his lips away from the sweetness of her mouth, her eyes slowly fluttered open. He could see his own lust reflected in their warm caramel gaze.
It was then that the enormity of what they had done, what he had done, crashed upon Charles.
He wrenched himself away from her, the separation an almost physical ache that screamed through him.
“I…I should not have done that,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. So, sorry—”
“Sorry.” The word came out in an indignant huff.
Charles painstakingly raised his gaze back to her. Her lips—swollen from their kiss—had hooked up in a bitter smile. Her back was ramrod straight as if a bar had been lodged in her very spine. Color had risen to her cheeks, her heaving breasts, and in spite of himself, he could not help but want her all the more.
“You are sorry .”
He wanted to reach out to her. To tell her he had not meant it that way.
But Phoebe had already stepped out of his reach, shaking her head, her thick locks in wanton disarray.
“Well, I am sorry, too,” she spat out, before she turned on her heel and rushed out of the dining room without sparing him another glance.
Even then, he had wanted to chase after her. Make amends with her.
Push her up against the wall and let her know in no uncertain terms that she was his …
In the past few days since he had known her, she had managed to twist him up in so many knots that he honestly did not know where one ended and another one began. His mind—previously ordered and logical—had become a complete and utter mess, lusting after her at every waking moment, even when he should have been furious with her.
He stomped off in the direction of his rooms when he came upon O’Malley, who appeared to be heading off into the dining hall to test the dinner.
To prevent Phoebe from asking further questions about him testing the food, he had started having the footman test it a good half hour before dinnertime.
“Good evening, milord,” O’Malley greeted him. Perhaps the footman had seen the thunderous look on his face, for he refrained from making his usual remarks.
“I will not be dining at the dining hall tonight,” Charles bit out angrily.
“Will you be having supper brought to your rooms, milord?”
In the past, there were times when Charles had been so engrossed with his work that the footman would bring his dinner to him in his study.
He paused, before nodding curtly and stomping off in the direction of his rooms. Then, he stopped, and without even looking at the footman, he added, “You may also bring the Marchioness’s food to me for inspection before it is brought to her.”
“As you wish, milord.”
In all honesty, he had no appetite for dinner. All of it had dissipated, reduced to cinders and dust in the conflagration of his lust and anger.
Never before had Charles experienced such conflicting emotions.
Only Phoebe had managed to evoke them from him.
As he opened the door to his bedchamber, he wondered briefly if he would even be able to sleep at all tonight. Of late, all he could think about when he saw his bed was the tangle of their naked limbs upon the pristine sheets.
The sweat glistening off her skin as he surged into her sweet warmth.
The delicious moans that would fill the cold silence of his bedchamber.
He had the distinct feeling that sleep would be a long time coming to him tonight.