Chapter 16 #2
His features were so handsome in the dark. He was Pyramus; he was the Duke of Talwyn. He was the man who had spoken to her in low, seductive tones beyond a latticed wall, and he was also the man who had secluded a whole tent for them just to warn her about the truths of her terrible fiancé.
Was what he had done, or said, enough?
Was what he had done, or said, enough?
Had he orchestrated what happened tonight?
“Are you pleased?” Phoebe cried, her voice thin and breathy.
“You were right, Sebastian. But what does that matter? You may have saved me from Lord Birchwood, but you have not rescued me from my parents. You have not given me another option! I must marry another man of my parents’ choosing, they insist upon it.
I shall be engaged again before the end of the Season. ”
“Phoebe.” He moved closer to her. As he drew nearer, she could see the wealth of despair in his eyes. “Phoebe, I did not realize—”
“Of course you did not!” she retorted. “Men like you never do because you are above regulations and expectations. You do not understand.”
“Do you really think I cannot understand what it is like to live under the rule of a tyrannical parent?” Sebastian asked her coolly. “Do you honestly think I am incapable of seeing your struggles and turning a blind eye upon them?”
“No.” All her feelings twisted and turned in her stomach. She sagged under the weight of her own turmoil. “How did you even know about Lord Birchwood’s dealings? There is clearly evidence enough for an arrest, so you were right.”
Sebastian’s shoulders stiffened, and his mouth drew into a grim line. “I have my connections.”
“That answer is not good enough. Not right now. Not when I am the one to suffer the consequences of your meddling.”
“Phoebe.” The Duke reached for her. “You sound as if you are sorry to see Lord Birchwood led away in shackles.”
“No!” she cried. “No, I am relieved. But I am dreading who might take his place. And I am so overwhelmed by everything that is happening. How did you know about him? About his debts, his business?”
His jaw tightened “It does not matter. I do not want you to concern yourself.”
Phoebe let out a bitter laugh. “I am far past that, considering I am—was? Perhaps still am—his betrothed.”
“You are not.” Sebastian said that with so much conviction she felt inclined to believe it. “Not anymore.”
“Do not give me such hope,” she whispered. “Because I cannot let myself have even that.”
He took a step closer to her. “Why not?”
“You know why not.” She looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the ballroom, as if she might see her parents watching her. “You warned me about him, why?”
She pulled her gaze back to him.
“I care for you, Phoebe. I could not let you let the lies grow so thick around you that you could no longer see the truth.”
“And what is the truth?” Phoebe demanded. Her voice had become rather shrill, but she did not lower it or try to temper her anxiety. She simply stared at Sebastian and implored him to be honest with her. “Tell me one real, true thing, Sebastian. Anything. So long as you deal with me justly.”
“Very well.” Sebastian looked up at the moon.
Silvery beams fell upon his handsome face, and Phoebe nearly wept at the sight of him. She backed away so that he stood on one side of the pillar, while she occupied the other.
“Ah…” he said slowly. “Are we to play Pyramus and Thisbe again?”
“Yes,” she gulped. “I have learned that being honest is often easier when one can hide behind a curtain of anonymity.”
Sebastian grabbed her hand and pulled her close to his chest. He lifted her chin using the tip of his finger. When her gaze met her own, she saw truth shining in them.
“I do not want to hide, Phoebe. Not from you.”
“Then tell me,” she urged. “Tell me something honest.”
“I am Lord Spencer,” he said. Quickly, his eyes darted back and forth, and she could tell that he was searching her expression and trying to read her reaction.
“You…?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I host soirees, masquerades, and scandalous parties under that name.”
“But why?” Phoebe begged to know. “Why do you hide?”
“Why do you?” he countered. “I promised you the other day that I would listen to your words. I would always hear what you had to say. Now it is your turn to tell me the truth, Phoebe. Why did you spend most of your life in the country? Why, when you are scared or timid, do you clutch at the necklace your grandfather gave you?”
“My grandfather was the only person who ever showed me an ounce of affection. He raised me when my parents could not stand the sight of me. And every time I fell, he was there to pick me up again.” She sniffled.
“My grandfather died years ago, but his memory lives in me still. Even though I was miserable after he passed on, anytime I returned to the countryside I felt far better than when I was forced to be with my mother and father.”
“Do you long for the country now?” Sebastian asked.
Phoebe shook her head slowly and wriggled slightly in his arms. “I think I am meant to be here… now. But I know this moment with you cannot last.”
“Why?”
“My parents will not let me choose. Even as we speak, it is possible that they are scouring that ballroom for other suitors, begging someone to marry me, to make me their wife, to…”
“What would you choose if you were allowed, Phoebe?” Sebastian interjected.
She tried to come up with an answer, but her exhaustion swept through her, final, and draining. She found that she had nothing left in her but the truth.
“If I was allowed… I do not ever think I will be given that freedom. I do not think I will ever get a choice, so why bother contemplating the matter?”
“All right,” he answered carefully, “so why not get some help?”
“What do you mean?” She stared at him, utterly bewildered.
“Let me help you find a husband before your parents can. Someone you choose. Someone who makes you smile and engages you in lively conversation. Someone who can see you clearly and adore all your quirks.”
There was something tight in his voice. Phoebe recognized that he was graciously offering to help her find a suitable husband, but the thought pained her.
I wish to share my stories with him…to listen to him…I am at my happiest when I listen to Sebastian’s soothing voice.
“Someone worthy,” Sebastian continued. “A good man, somebody who will keep you safe.”
Phoebe let out a bitter huff of a laugh. “Does such a paragon even exist?”
“Of course he does.” And, in the darkness of the garden, she believed him. She did not know why, but she did, for she had not heard such sincerity in anyone’s voice for a long, long time.
“Phoebe,” he said, his voice was gentle and soft, coaxing. “Come back to me. I know you are caught in your mind.”
“I am not,” she insisted.
“Your eyes are vacant. You are drifting away into a world of your own making.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I have been learning you,” he told her. “Through others, through you. I am learning to appreciate everything about you.”
“You will ruin everything,” she whispered. “You will ruin me, if you try to save me.” She said it to save him the grace of his previous idle comment.
He shook his head vigorously. “No. No, I promise I will not. That is not my intention, Phoebe. I only want to see you safe, for I cannot get the image out of my head of that wretched lord that pinned your wrist. The way you hid your hand, your wrist, afterwards. Phoebe, whether you think you have a choice or not, you needed to be saved, and nobody heard you. Nobody, but me. Me, and perhaps your friend.”
“My cousin,” she added quietly. “But she is also a lady, so not many people listen to her, either.”
“But they will listen to a Duke.”
“And what can a Duke do for me, against my father?”
Her words came out bitter, harsh. Angry.
“A great deal.”
“Prove it.”
“I met your grandfather once.”
The words stopped her short.
“What?” she whispered.
“The former Earl of Tripleton. I met him once.” His jaw clenched tightly, but Phoebe stiffened, righting herself.
“What do you mean?” She pulled back slightly so that she could look up into his face without feeling his breath waft over her cheeks. “When you asked me about him earlier…”
“I wanted to hear you talk about him,” he said.
“I needed to know what he meant to you.” He inhaled deeply.
“Since we are dealing honestly with each other tonight, I must admit that I have been investigating your background, Phoebe. I have been trying to find out all I can about you and the people who are in your life.”
“Birchwood…” Phoebe whispered. “And my grandfather?” She shook her head. “Surely, you do not think they were connected somehow.”
“Of course not,” Sebastian replied. “When I first met you, I felt that you looked familiar, but I could not put my finger on where I had seen that ash-blonde hair before. I have traveled a great deal in my lifetime and met more people than I could ever possibly remember with clarity.”
“Okay…” Phoebe said slowly. “You are human. You are bound to forget some faces.”
Sebastian flashed her a brief smile, then tapped a finger to his temples.
“I told you once and I meant it; I rarely forget anything. But in this case, I could not reconcile how I knew you and those related to you. It was not until one of my staff members researched your background that I remembered what I knew of the Earl of Tripleton.”
“My grandfather, you mean?”
“Yes. He showed me great kindness once upon a time, and now I would like to honor his memory by making things right with you.”
“Tell me,” she demanded. Well aware she was perhaps stepping out of line, even if they had dropped titles or gotten comfortable with one another, but she needed to know.
“Tell me how you met him. When? Tell me the circumstances. Please, Sebastian. I have little of my grandfather other than my own memories and this silver pendant.”
She cut herself off, as she reached for the talisman once more. He watched, as he often had, but said nothing.
“That story is for another day. I promise you that when the time is right, I shall tell you all about the time I met the Earl of Tripleton.”
After a moment, Phoebe nodded. She wanted answers, of course, but she knew how difficult it was to share her stories before she was ready to part with them.
“All right. I will grant you some time, but I shall not wait forever.”
Sebastian chuckled lightly. “Very well, my lady. We will continue this conversation further at a later date, but now, I believe the hour is growing late. You must decide what to make of my previous offer.”
Phoebe lifted her gaze to his properly, finding those green eyes blazing a deep jade color in the scant garden lighting. Baubles were lit throughout the greenery, so she could see him plenty, but it was not enough. Still, she gazed at him, as he did her.
Deep within her, Phoebe’s heart fluttered.
It picked up a rhythm she had come to ignore when it came to Sebastian, but now she listened.
Heavens, she listened so heavily, and she fell into it, just as she had the night of his ball in the secret townhouse when he had posed as Lord Spencer and hidden behind the mask of a serpent.
For once, she was offered a choice. A choice she had not been given in years, not since…
Well, Phoebe could not quite remember. Her mother had asked her what she wished for regarding her debut dress, but that was the last choice she could recall making.
When else had she been given autonomy? She had adored her grandfather, but even living with him hadn’t been her choice, and then there had been Nantwich.
“What you offered me…” she murmured. “The help…the assistance. Are you really giving me a choice, or are you making a demand?”
“It is always a choice,” he promised. “Whenever it comes to us, Phoebe, I will forever allow you to make your own choices.”
There was so much genuine solemnity in his voice that tears sprung to Phoebe’s eyes once more.
She sighed, slumping back against the pillar. “Then, yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes,” she all but hissed. “Yes! I accept your offer of kindness.”
Sebastian’s grin twitched up into that beautiful smirk that she had grown to know, and her heart only fluttered faster.
With an exaggerated flourish, he bowed dramatically, even though he had no cause to bow to her. “Then you ought to return to the ballroom. If we are to find you a suitor… a proper one who will make your wildest dreams come true, then we should—”
“Do not speak to me of other suitors,” she blurted. “I do not care to hear that sort of talk.”
“All, right, then.” His forehead scrunched as a confused look crossed his face.
Phoebe took a deep breath, then stepped toward him, closing the distance. She felt a surge of energy rush through her blood and even though her thoughts screamed at her to slow down, to consider what she was doing, her heart pound rhythmically in her chest, propelling her forward.
Sebastian’s hand reached for hers, as if, on a dance floor, he would ask her to stand with him and be his partner.
Their fingers brushed, and a shot of something went through her, something heated and pleasant, something that she wanted to chase.
Something she had only ever poured into her writing in her journal.
Something she always denied herself.
Pleasure.
Wanting.
She wanted Sebastian Halshore, the Duke of Talwyn, with all her heart and soul.
She needed to feel his touch more than she yearned for freedom or security.
She had dreamed of the Prince Samuel, a man who would cross the ocean for the woman he loved and sacrifice all he had to make Penelope his wife.
As Phoebe sucked in a heady breath, inhaling Sebastian’s sweet, baked apple smell, she knew that no other gentleman would ever be enough for her. She had given herself to this man the moment she heard him read those lovely, wicked words.
And she would be incomplete until he took her in his arms and gave her everything she needed.