Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
S lumber was a wonderfully potent drug, weaving dreams and fantasies into a portrait of perfection. Phoebe smiled in her sleep as she buried her nose into her pillow.
Of late, she had been having the most wonderful dreams—mostly of Charles, of course. After all, there was hardly anything much better to dream of than her husband.
Unfortunately for Phoebe, the servants had interrupted their time together yesterday evening when they brought in the tea service into her bedchamber.
In her dreams, however, there were no such annoyances—except maybe for that chill suddenly sweeping over her heated body.
She grasped at the thick, downy blanket, only to find that it was stuck. She frowned in her sleep. Why was it stuck?
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open with the full intent of castigating whoever was at fault for depriving her of her blanket—and her delicious dream of a Charles who had already dispensed of his shirt and was in the process of dispensing with his breeches as well this time…
Only to find that he was standing over her. Fully clothed.
She furrowed her brow. “Am I still dreaming?”
His lips quirked into a half-smile. “It depends. What are you dreaming about?”
That sounds much too real to be a dream…
Her eyes flew wide open, all traces of sleep suddenly wiped from her consciousness. Indeed, he was standing before her! In the inner sanctum of her very bedchamber!
And where is Amelia anyway?
“Charles!” She sat up. “What are you doing in here?”
Was he here to…?
Snippets of her dream flooded into her mind—of their naked flesh entwined together upon the silken sheets, his mouth and his hands roving all over her body, claiming her as his. Branding her…
“I had the kitchens prepare a suitable breakfast for us,” he told her with a slight smile. It was only then that she realized that he had been holding a large basket all this time. “We are going on a picnic,” he announced.
She blinked at him in confusion. Did she just hear what she just heard?
“I have been told that there is a spot by the brook that is ideal for a picnic,” he mumbled, a faint pink rising up to his cheeks.
“You did?”
He nodded. “The past few days have not been conducive to an outing, but the ground has dried up now. However, if you prefer to stay indoors—”
“I would love to go out on a picnic with you!” she enthused.
Perhaps a little too enthusiastically.
But she did not care—he actually listened to her and prepared a picnic for her!
She threw the covers back joyfully and slid her feet into the slippers waiting at her bedside.
“But I have not done my morning ablutions yet! And whatever should I wear?” she fretted. “Perhaps I should summon Amelia—”
“Phoebe.”
She skidded to a halt at the sound of his deep voice. Did he think her too juvenile for reacting in such a way?
“You will look wonderful no matter what you wear,” he reassured her softly. “Besides, it will only be the both of us—”
He was interrupted by an indignant meow coming from the feline at his feet. Phoebe felt the mirth bubbling up in her chest as she picked Whiteson up.
“He cannot come with us,” Charles warned her. “I will not be dissuaded.”
She smiled happily at him. “I know. Which is why you must stay here,” she told Whiteson. “Stand guard, if you must. Outside my bedchamber this time.”
“I have heard of guard dogs, but I have never heard of guard cats.”
“Oh, I assure you, they can be just as ferocious.”
“I have no doubt those claws of his will shred my face into ribbons if he was disposed to using them in such a manner,” Charles remarked with a cynical look at the cat.
Phoebe merely grinned as she set Whiteson back onto the carpeted floor. “I am certain he likes you just as much as he likes me.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other. In the light of the rising sun, he almost looked like a dark god—brilliant as daylight itself, but just as mysterious as the moon.
He held his hand out to her. “Come. Let us be off.”
She smiled and slipped her hand into his. She would entrust her future, her everything to him.
This was Charles Montgomery—her husband.
“Yes,” she giggled. “But let me get out of my nightclothes first. I cannot go about traipsing in these!”
“I can just order everyone not to look,” he replied with an arrogant tilt of his chin. “Or threaten to put out their eyes if they dare so much as hazard a glance.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You cannot do that, I am afraid. This is no longer the medieval period.”
“How unfortunate,” he muttered dryly. “Very well then…”
He squeezed her hand gently before letting her go.
Phoebe was still smiling widely when she finally managed to call for Amelia to assist her in preparing for the picnic.
She was finally seeing a side of her husband that she never believed he even possessed.
One step at a time , she reminded herself as Amelia helped her into washing her face and her hands.
We will get there—one step at a time.
Charles had experienced a great many things in his life. That, combined with his line of work, had exposed him to a wide variety of environments.
However, he had never before felt the compulsion to go on a picnic. Somehow, the idea just never appealed to him.
As he led Phoebe into the spot that Huxley and O’Malley had prepared for their picnic, he still did not understand its appeal. Yet, Phoebe’s squeal of delight when she saw the shaded little cove that his butler and footman had set up more than made up for his misgivings.
“Oh, I have never before seen such a pretty picnic spot!” she smiled widely.
Charles smiled too when she dropped his hand and ran out into the clearing, laughing as she spun around while holding her bonnet down to keep it from flying. He would have liked to hold her hand for just a little longer—under the auspices of helping her, of course—but seeing her so joyful was doing things to his psyche that he had never experienced before.
“When you said we were going on a picnic, I thought we were just going to the gardens!” she beamed at him.
Charles shrugged as he set the basket down. “If you want to, we can also go there.”
“No, this is so much better! Thank you, Charles.” She leaned into him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
As she happily helped him set out the trays and plates the kitchens had prepared for them, he could not help but reach out to touch the spot her lips had just graced. Just before she could turn around and see it, he quickly dropped his hand.
If anybody saw that…
His heart pounded with the cold chill of dread. In the span of a few weeks, his bride of convenience had quickly become something so much more to him. If anybody caught on to it, realized that she was becoming his weakness, it would only become even harder to protect her.
And Charles had already come to the realization that he could not trap Phoebe into the same dark existence he had managed for the past few years.
He looked at her, smiling happily as she laid out their food in pretty arrangements, and knew that she was like a flower that needed the sun.
But how could he protect her? How could he keep her safe from all the dangers of the world?
“Charles?”
He shook his head to clear the dark thoughts that threatened to swallow him whole. Phoebe was smiling at him and the light shining in her eyes was enough to drive his demons back.
They would return, though. He was certain of it.
“Is something amiss?” she asked him.
He shook his head and feigned a smile. “Nothing. I was just…thinking of something.”
“Business again?” she sniffed. “My Papa used to get that look when he thinks about business. Yours looks a little darker, though.”
That is because my business is much darker than your Papa could ever comprehend…
“Well, I forbid you from thinking about such dismal things whilst we are out on our first picnic!” she declared, planting her hands on her hips, a defiant look on her face. “We are going to enjoy this day, and you cannot do that if you keep thinking of going back to your musty, old study.”
His gaze softened when it landed on her earnest, upturned face. She truly was a stubborn creature, his Phoebe.
“As My Lady commands, so it shall be,” he promised her solemnly. He performed a mocking bow, complete with a flourish, which earned him another burst of joyful laughter.
More , his chest demanded. I want more …
He reached for her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the delicate knuckles, drawing sheer delight from the sudden intake of her breath. He raised his eyes to hers and saw how the black in them had expanded to almost cover the warm honey.
It would have been so easy to pull her to him, to lay his lips on hers before he laid her on the grass and spread her before him like his own personal feast. He would make sure she enjoyed it, too…
“We…should eat,” she murmured. “Are you not the least bit hungry?”
He allowed the corners of his lips to tilt up in a smile. “Famished.”
For her. The sweet taste of Phoebe Montgomery. His wife .
Charles had seen men who had fallen into depravity. Men who had surrendered themselves to the dark embrace of opium, spending their miserable lives in sunless dens, barely even human.
Phoebe had become his opium, holding him in her thrall, ensnaring his senses. He could only hope that she would be a more merciful mistress than the drug.
Her fingers curled around his. “Come, then.”
Willingly, he followed her. Even if she was to lead him to a pit, Charles would follow her.