Chapter 6
Phoebe was so intensely passionate, so intensely fascinating, and so intensely, well, odd that, just as he had realized, he would’ve followed her to the ends of the earth.
The end of a hallway would suffice for now.
It was a shocking thing to think, but he was finding that here, at the Westleigh estate, shocking thoughts were quite common.
They marched in step, elbows linked, down the dark hallway, which was quite cold.
Winter in such vast houses was always cold unless one was near the fire or in a crowded room.
He was tempted to hold her hand. And much to his own amazement, he followed his temptation and unhooked their elbows, letting his hand drift down to twine with hers.
For a moment, their fingertips kissed as they traced their way through the dark shadows, and then he folded her hand in his.
She led him into a small room, smiled, slipped her hand from his, then twirled around, gesturing to the room. Her skirts spun around her deliciously long legs as she declared, “This will do perfectly for you.”
“Perfectly for what?” he said.
“To hide in. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and started to depart.
“You can’t possibly be going,” he said.
“Oh, why ever not?” she exclaimed.
He cocked his head to the side, amazed she’d even contemplate such a thing. “You can’t leave me here.”
“Why?” she queried, bemused, smoothing the folds of her pale gown. A gown that skimmed her body like a lover’s caress. “I certainly can’t stay. I won’t have you thinking that I’m trying to trap you into matrimony, and it would be most inappropriate for me to stay here alone with you.”
She straightened. “Besides, I like to dance, and I have every intention of dancing every dance this evening. I can’t do that if I stay here.”
“Well, I—”
“Don’t like to dance,” she cut in. “You’ve made that fairly clear. Though I do appreciate the fact that you danced with me, proving that you are not a stodgy old fellow. Perhaps you are just a young stodgy fellow.”
He let out a groan of distress. “Is this because I said I don’t like Christmas?”
She stared at him for a long moment, cocked her head to the side, and said, “Possibly. And the fact that you are pretending to like it. Badly done, Your Grace. Why would you pretend to do anything when you’re as powerful as you are?”
A strange thought twisted through him.
Hadn’t he been pretending almost his entire life?
No one had ever dared to call him out on such a thing before, yet here was Lady Phoebe doing exactly that.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but who told you that you could speak like this to someone like me?”
“Who told you that I couldn’t?” she returned, her eyes dancing as if she was enjoying this whole thing far too much.
“You see, the good fortune of being raised in a family like mine, with an uncle who’s a duke, a father who’s an earl, and more cousins by marriage that are dukes than I can shake a stick at?
” She shrugged those gorgeous shoulders again, causing the pearls at her bosom to shimmer in the firelight from the hearth in the small sitting room.
“Well,” she continued easily, “I’m really not that impressed by a coronet, power, or titles.
I have been surrounded by those things my whole life.
And if you do not like my sort of conversation, you are in for a very difficult visit.
I suppose you could hide in your rooms, but that would likely be violating the wager that you made with my brother. ”
He frowned, thinking back to Laertes. “Why did he look so distressed? It can’t be what you jested.”
She blew out a sigh. “He told me that I am definitely not meant for you and that you are not meant for me.”
He balked. “Why would he say that?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “You seem like a perfectly reasonable individual, aside from the whole pretense and lack of liking Christmas.”
“Why is everyone so obsessed with Christmas?” he demanded.
“Why shouldn’t they be?” she returned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She started to depart again, her skirts swaying, urging him to chase her, for he couldn’t bear for her to go. He reached out, took her hand, and pulled her back towards him. “Stay for a moment.”
She gazed down at their linked hands but did not pull away. “Remember, I plan to dance every dance, and I’m not letting you get in the way of that.”
“But you rescued me,” he pointed out. “You can’t possibly abandon me now.”
“Isn’t that what knights are always doing?” she said. “Rescuing ladies fair and then abandoning them to go rescue new damsels?”
“Are you suggesting that you’re about to go off and find new fellows to recuse? Have you already cast me aside?” he asked with a touch of drama, for he could tell she enjoyed it. And he wanted her to enjoy him.
“Well,” she said, “I can’t dance with you many more times, now can I? I can only dance with you once more, and then I shall need a new partner again and again and again.”
“What if I asked you to dance every time?”
“You would cause a terrible scandal,” she said. “We would be the talk of England before the week was out.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Fair. But you are very, well…”
“What?” she asked, her voice a breathy whisper.
“You,” he returned, for there was no adequate word to describe Phoebe.
She let out a long laugh at that, positively fascinated and amused by him. He could not ever remember amusing anyone so thoroughly with a one-word reply.
“Who else should I be,” Phoebe exclaimed, “but myself?”
“Oh, Lady Phoebe, you could be a million different people. I certainly have been.”
“Than yourself?” she queried, clearly appalled.
“Yes,” he said.
Her distaste turned sympathetic, and she squeezed his hand. “How very sad. Why ever would you do such a thing?”
“Necessity,” he replied without hesitation.
She stepped closer to him, her gaze searching his for answers he did not likely have.
“But you’re a duke,” she protested swiftly. “What could necessitate you to be anyone but yourself?”
“Society,” he said mercilessly.
“Hang society,” she blurted.
Her ferocious reply touched him. He rather felt she was standing up for him and that did more to endear her to him than a thousand compliments.
Even so, it was a very romantic notion she had. Perhaps even a naive one. She was more proof that the Briarwood family lived in a very deluded world. A world that was tempting, but a world that would likely stay out of his grasp. By choice.
He teased his thumb over the back of her hand. “This from a young lady who’s had her first Season and is no doubt seeking a husband. Wouldn’t you like to have a duke?”
“What a terribly arrogant thing to say,” she rushed, though she was also clearly amused by him still. “I wouldn’t like to have a duke if he didn’t want to have me. And, of course, if he was a stodgy fellow.”
“I promise you,” he said softly, “I’m not at all a stodgy fellow. You can ask your brother about that.”
“My brother has already made himself plain that I’m to avoid you, but I couldn’t. I…”
Her brow furrowed as her gaze darted over his face, then trailed down to their entwined hands.
“What?” he asked, really longing to know.
Her breath came in fast takes, pressing her breasts to the cut of her bodice. “You felt it, didn’t you?”
He tensed.
She lifted her gaze back to his and the raw truth there stole his breath.
“Or was that pretense too?” she asked in the merest of whispers.
“No,” he said softly, shaking his head, struck to his core by her simple power. She wasn’t cunning or seductive, but by God, she could hold him in her palm if he wasn’t careful.
Lady Phoebe licked her lips, leaving her lower lip glistening, begging for his kiss. “When our eyes met above the crowd, and we thought of no one but each other, you felt it.”
“I did,” he growled.
She looked confused, frustrated even. “Then why didn’t you come over in that moment?”
He blinked. “That’s not what you’re supposed to do, is it? To abandon yourself to feeling. You’re supposed to resist, have a bit of distance from it.”
She groaned. “Oh, how very terrible for you.”
“What do you mean?” he said.
“One shouldn’t have to distance oneself or resist.” She held his hand tightly and took another step towards him, which caused the hem of her skirts to trace over his polished dancing shoes.
She tilted her head back so that she might hold his gaze.
“One should jump in, plunge in, swim happily in the deep waters of affection, life, and feeling.”
He huffed out a breath, a sound that did indeed make him sound…stodgy. “That sounds like a path to the madhouse.”
“Well, here you are; you’re in the madhouse then,” she teased, taking his other hand in hers. “Some people seem to think we’re all mad people in this family and in this house, but I personally think we are the happiest and the freest of the lot. If you don’t like it, you really should leave.”
What could he say to that? Because even though he should, he didn’t want to go.
He swallowed, uncertain what to say. Unsure how best to reason with her.
But before he could try, something caught her gaze, and she gasped with wonder.
“What is it?” he asked, following her gaze to the dark windows.
A look of pure joy washed over her face. “It’s snowing,” she said. “It’s a sign!”
“A sign?” he echoed, arching a skeptical brow as she slipped her hands from his. “What kind of sign?”
“That this will be a magical Christmas where the heart’s wishes come true,” she breathed.
And she raced to the window, pushed the thick damask curtains back even farther, and peered out at the night.
Her strange elation was infectious, and though he didn’t wish to give way to any such feelings, he felt the boy in him that had once thrilled at the first sight of snow awaken.
He quickly shoved said boy back where he belonged and focused on her.
Her joy at the sight of the snowflakes flitting down from the window astonished him. She was so happy. How could anyone be that happy? It almost hurt.