Chapter 13 #2
“No,” Phoebe demurred. “I am sure you do not want to hear about that. It was just a bit of folly.”
“Surely not,” the Duke countered. “As you might remember, my lady, I enjoy reading immensely and take great pleasure in sharing the contents of a book with other avid readers.”
“Perhaps you could read a passage aloud for us, Your Grace,” Genevieve piped up. She had dropped into line behind Phoebe and the Duke, leaving just a few steps between them so that she might serve as chaperone.
Phoebe cringed but the Duke laughed lightly.
He leaned closer to Phoebe, and her senses were overwhelmed by the faint scent of baking apples that she had fancied she smelt on his skin before.
“Did you tell your friend what passed between us at Lord Spencer’s Masquerade?”
“Of course not,” Phoebe retorted immediately. “I do not know why Genevieve said such a thing. She…I think she meant to make me blush and…”
“Then she has succeeded.” The Duke lifted his free hand and rubbed his thumb over Phoebe’s right cheek.
Before she could say anything or even bat his hand away and insist that he behaved properly, the Duke pivoted slightly and cast a look backward at Genevieve.
Do you think you should like to hear me read aloud?”
“Oh, immensely, Your Grace,” Genevieve enthused. “Your voice is so rich and splendid. I could listen to you sing for hours. I only imagine that you read just as well.”
“Some would say that I do.” He turned his head once more so that he was looking at Phoebe. “What do you think, my lady?”
“You are an exceptional reader, Your Grace. Your skills are unmatched.”
“I am glad you think so.” He smiled charmingly, then nodded at the fork in the path that lay ahead. “Which way should we go?”
Once more, before Phoebe could reply, Genevieve inserted herself into the conversation.
“I was thinking of picking a few roses to take home to my mama.” She gestured toward the path which wound to the left side of the hedgerows.
“But you said you wanted to see the lilacs, Your Grace.” She raised her right hand and pointed down the other pathway. “The lilac shrubs are over there.”
“I see,” the Duke murmured as another slow smile spread broadly across his face. “Well done, Lady Genevieve. You go pick your roses and we will find our way to the lilacs.”
“See you soon,” Genevieve called after them as the Duke led the way down the right fork of the garden pathway, pulling Phoebe ever so slightly while keeping her close to his side.
Once they were alone, the Duke said conversationally, “Tell me more about this book, Lady Phoebe. If I am to read aloud from it, I should like to know if I am already familiar with the work.”
“No. I mean…” Phoebe was flustered. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “You are not acquainted with this work, Your Grace, because the book Genevieve and I were reading before you joined us was written by… well… by me.”
“Outstanding,” he cheered. “You told me once that you fancied yourself an authoress. And now, I find that you have been hard at work, pursuing your passion. That is commendable, Lady Phoebe.”
“It is?” She stared at him, looking for anything less than sincerity, gazing back at her. She found only genuine ebullience.
“Many people believe they are capable of being great thinkers, splendid writers, and sparkling conversationalists. But it is the truly gifted who can devote themselves to the task and produce results.” He stopped walking abruptly and she halted as well.
Slowly, they turned to face each other. “I should like to tell you how much I admire you, Lady Phoebe.”
“You do?” Her heart fluttered maniacally in her chest as she waited for him to reply.
“Your life has not been easy and even though you face challenges daily, you remain undeterred. You long to be a writer, and so you spend your time writing. That, my lady, is admirable.”
“Oh…” Phoebe stared into the depths of the Duke of Talwyn’s eyes and suddenly felt as if her legs had become nothing more than two gelatinous blobs. She clutched his elbow tightly just to keep herself standing. “I admire you too, Your Grace.”
A beat of silence lingered between them before he whispered, “Why?”
“Your voice,” she answered honestly. “When I hear it, I feel…”
“Yes?”
“I feel like I can do anything… say anything.”
“You can tell me anything, Lady Phoebe. You have told me a great deal about yourself already.”
He reached for her left hand, the one that was encased in the plain white glove. Touching just the tip of her middle finger, the Duke gave the fabric a quick tug. The glove slid slightly and he yanked again.
“How do you feel right now?” he breathed as he pulled on the glove, causing her wrist to become exposed.
“Surprised,” she admitted. “I did not expect you to try to take off my glove.”
“What else?” he urged as he gave one very good yank and the glove slipped off her fingers altogether and fluttered lightly to the ground.
“Now, I am exposed,” Phoebe murmured as her gaze flicked to the discarded glove before returning to his emerald eyes.
“Exposed…” He swirled the word around in his mouth before repeating it a second time. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Ravenous,” she whispered.
“Indeed?” Both his eyebrows shot upward.
“Ravenous for what? What do you need, Lady Phoebe? What do you want?”
“I want you to kiss me,” she said, carelessly throwing caution to the wind.
Phoebe knew that she and the Duke were standing in the garden behind Tripleton House.
At any moment, Genevieve could reappear, or any number of others could come tripping down the path.
Her father, her mother, Lord Birchwood… she did not care who saw her out there with the Duke.
She wanted to experience her first kiss, and she wanted the Duke of Talwyn to be the man to give it to her.
“Done.”
Phoebe had no time to absorb his acquiescence before his mouth was on hers. The Duke pressed his lips to Phoebe’s and a flurry of thoughts raced through her brain.
He is kissing me. The Duke of Talwyn is kissing me.
There were other incoherent bits floating here and there, but Phoebe did not try to decipher any of them. Instead, she poured all her focus into the moment, wanting to memorize it so that she might use this kiss to inspire her writing later.
The scent of apples overwhelmed her nostrils, but Phoebe rather liked the sweet smell. It was comforting.
She moved her mouth into a pucker, reforming her lips to match the motions he was making. It was difficult to do, feel, and experience all these things at once, but she did not want to miss out on any part of this glorious experience.
Her bare hand, the one he had peeled the glove from, rose of its own accord and slipped upward.
She ran her fingers through his hair and the Duke moaned when her nails scrubbed against his scalp.
All this while, his top hat had been tucked under his free arm, but now, he dropped the thing so that he could wrap both arms around her waist.
Phoebe was not sure what he did with his hands, but suddenly it felt as though spiders with exceedingly long legs were dancing up her spine, tickling her in the most delightful way.
“Mmm…” she moaned when the Duke’s tongue poked out of his mouth and slid across the seam between her lips. He flicked at her opening, snakelike, and it was then that she was reminded of the mask he had worn on the first night they met.
As if he could read her thoughts, the Duke pulled away and spoke in a low, husky voice, “I have wanted to kiss you since that night in the small library, Lady Phoebe. When I told you my name was Pyramus and you agreed to be my Thisbe, I was ready to tear down the wall between us and take you in my arms then.”
“What stopped you?” Phoebe panted. Her chest heaved as she inhaled more of the Duke’s intoxicating scent.
“Propriety.”
Phoebe laughed gleefully. “When has the Duke of Talwyn ever cared about propriety.”
“Never.”
Once more, the Duke pressed his mouth to hers. This time when their lips collided, Phoebe was more confident. She did not cheer inwardly but instead took charge of the situation and let her tongue pop out of her mouth so that she might lick his lips.
She felt a surge of power course through her entire body as she threaded her bare fingers through the Duke’s hair and pulled him closer. His hands drifted lower on her back and just as she was starting to wonder where they would wander next, he backed away.
“Now.”
Phoebe blinked at him in confusion. “Now what?”
He disentangled his limbs from hers and stepped backward so that plenty of fresh air wafted between them.
“I care about maintaining propriety now.”
“But…but why?” Phoebe’s voice cracked on that last word, and she was flooded with a sense of shame.
This is not how it’s supposed to go.
The Prince is supposed to take Penelope in his arms and cradle her there until she is fully satisfied.
“Forgive me.”
The Duke stooped, scooped up his silk hat, and deposited it back on top of his head.
“I knew what might happen if I saw you again, Lady Phoebe, but I could not stay away.”
He turned on his heel and beat a hasty retreat down the garden path.
“Wait!” Phoebe left her own glove lying in the dirt so that she might hurry after him. “You do not have to go. You should not leave like this.”
“I must,” he insisted, not bothering to turn around and face her as he offered her this lame rejection.
“I knew what would happen, too,” she said as she gained ground on him and grabbed hold of his elbow. The Duke jerked to a halt.
His eyes, which were now riddled with guilt, darted back and forth between hers. “You did?”
“I asked you to kiss me,” she huffed as she tried to catch her breath. “I wanted to touch you. I still want to.”
“No.” The Duke shook his head vehemently. “I have business I must attend to now, Lady Phoebe.”
“But…” she spluttered. “But then, you will leave me like this?”
His features twisted into a sorrowful expression. “I do not want to leave you, but I must.” He adjusted the brim of his hat, causing one of the daisies to fall out and drop to the grass. “I have business, pressing business, and…forgive me.”
Phoebe could do nothing but watch him leave. The Duke moved as though he was possessed. He sprinted up the stone steps, raced across the green lawn, then disappeared around the corner of the townhouse.
“Where is he going in such a hurry?” Genevieve appeared then. She lifted her hands and shielded her eyes so she might squint into the distance and continue to track the Duke’s movements, but Phoebe did not bother. She knew he was already gone.
“Some place… Any place but here.” Phoebe’s shoulders slumped glumly.
Genevieve bent and retrieved the daisy that lay just an inch away from Phoebe’s shoes.
“I think His Grace dropped this.” She handed the posey to Phoebe.
“That he did.”
Phoebe took the flower and made her way to where she left her book. Gently, she cracked the spine of her journal and opened it to the page where she had left her other dried flower bookmark. Carefully, she placed the token the Duke had left behind between the pages, then she sighed deeply.
“Come along, Genevieve. We ought to go inside now.”
“But what happened with the Duke?” Genevieve asked quietly.
“I shall tell you all about it some other time.”