by Wendy Vella
A burst of laughter made him stop. Lifting his head, he came to his senses. Mother of God, he had lost all control and done so with people who had the power to ruin Phoebe’s reputation just a few feet away.
“Phoebe, please forgive me,” he rasped, stepping away from her. His body was painfully aroused and he knew it would be some time before the fire inside him cooled.
“We were both at fault, my lord.”
Her lips were swollen and wet from his kisses and her eyes still held the lingering heat he had woken within her. He fought the need to reach for her again.
“It is I who should have known better, Phoebe.”
“Because you are a man, or because you are the only one of us who has an understanding of honor? Or perhaps because you have chosen your future wife and fear she will hear of our dalliance?”
“What future wife?” Surely Will had not told her he was nearing the end of his search.
“I overheard a lady discussing her impeding nuptials to a viscount, and as there are only three of you around this season I thought perhaps it was you as the other two are over sixty.”
“I have made no such declaration.” Finn’s tone was harsh. “And don’t put words into my mouth, Phoebe. I never once questioned your honor.” Christ, he could have ruined her and then would have been duty bound to marry her. All his carefully laid plans of a peaceful life with an uncomplicated woman would have come to nothing if they had wed.
“I would not have married you even if we were caught.”
How the hell had she known what he was thinking?
“Yes, you would have.”
“No, Lord Levermarch, I would not. I know exactly what high standards you demand from a wife and I could never be that person.”
“You would have had no choice,” Finn said, wondering why he was debating something that would now not happen, ever. Surely he was relieved about that fact, wasn’t he?
She smoothed her skirts and then her hair and finally patted her bodice, which nearly made Finn’s eyes cross, as her hands were exactly where his had been.
“Tell me, my lord,” she then said, looking up at him once more, only this time instead of sensual heat her eyes were once again filled with that mocking glint he had once thought enticing. “Do I even have one of the traits on the list I’m sure you have prepared for you ideal wife?”
Finn took too long to answer, instead lowering his eyes briefly before once again fixing them upon her. He saw instantly that his actions had confirmed her words.
“Not even one? I am indeed a sorry specimen of woman-hood.”
“It is not wrong to want the mother of my children to be compatible with my needs, Miss Langley.” Christ, he sounded like a bore but couldn’t seem to help himself. “It is not wrong to want a peaceful existence with an undemanding woman at my side.” Finn winced as he realized he had just all but inferred she was complicated and far from peaceful, which while true was hardly what he should have said at that moment.
“No, but it is wrong to lust after a woman who will never fit those needs, Lord Levermarch!”
“It will not happen again.” He did no deny that he lusted after her, especially considering what they had just done together.
Finn thought he saw a flash of pain in her brown eyes but it must have been his imagination as the next minute she was smiling.
“No, it will not. And may I say that if you did wed the woman I overheard, then it is my belief you will be perfectly suited.”
“Phoebe, please, we do not need—”
“No, indeed, we do not. Especially as you have told me in no uncertain terms the woman you believe me to be, Lord Levermarch, which is such a relief considering you could never possibly be the man I would like too end my days with either. To be saddled with a husband who is nothing but an unbending, uptight, humorless creature with the emotions of a tree would I believe be a fate worse than death.”
Before he could speak, she had swept around him and slipped inside, leaving him with a fiercely aroused body and wounded pride.
He had the emotions of a tree.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Phoebe pressed a hand to her chest as she walked inside. Taking a deep breath, she resisted the urge to touch her lips. She had been kissed, her first real kiss, and it had been everything she had believed it should be and then he had ruined it.
Horrid beast. Well, she would waste no more time on a man that found her so lacking. Instead, Phoebe would push him and his kisses from her head and concentrate on her new business venture.
It had been wonderful, though, being held in his arms and pressed against his solid chest while he had stroked her body to life with his kisses and hands. Phoebe had lost every rational thought in seconds when Finn had touched her. He had woven a sensual spell around her in just a matter of minutes, and had he decided to strip her bare she would have allowed him to, and that was a terrifying thought. She had always vowed to never let a man control her, yet she had done just that.
“Phoebe, come and meet my father.”
She smiled as Hannah appeared before her, and hoped it did not appear forced. “I would love to meet him,” she said, taking the hand her friend held out towards her.
“Papa, I would like to introduce you to Miss Langley.”
Phoebe felt a genuine smile on her lips as she looked at Hannah’s father. Big in every way, from his girth to his height, Lord Wooller bowed elegantly over her hand. His hair was white as snow and his black eyes were filled with the same intelligence as his daughter’s. Thick eyebrows rose and fell as he studied Phoebe.
“Well now, this is a pleasure to be sure,” he said in a voice loud enough to reach all four corners of the room. The fingers that engulfed hers were large and warm and Phoebe felt some of the tension inside her begin to ease.
“I have heard so many wonderful things about you, Lord Wooller, that I told Hannah we must meet”
He wore his clothes effortlessly, also like his daughter, and to Phoebe’s eyes he suited the title of Lord Wooller perfectly.
“Did she, now,” he said, releasing her hand to pat his daughter’s cheek. “Tis not often I hear praise coming from her mouth, if truth be told.”
“And you have no one but yourself to blame for that, Papa, as it is you that have taught me to speak as I find.”
He shook his head. “It is a sad day, Miss Langley, when your only child finds you lacking.”
“You old phony,” Hannah said, placing a smacking kiss on his cheek which produced a deep belly laugh from her father and a hug that surely crushed Hannah’s ribs.
Phoebe did not often see such genuine affection or emotion in the hallowed walls of a society gathering, yet there was no doubt that Lord Wooller and Hannah loved each other very much. Phoebe suddenly felt the loss of her own father and the bond they had shared. She wondered if she would have given him such a kiss were he standing beside her now. Yes, she liked to think that she would have and that he would have reciprocated with a hug.
“I would be honored if you would call me Woolly, Miss Langley.”
“Thank you, Woolly, it would be my pleasure,” Phoebe said, the name sounding funny on her lips. “And you must call me Phoebe.
“I was just heading in for another piece of strawberry cake, ladies. Would you like to join me?”
“I love strawberry cake,” Hannah sighed.
“I had hoped to coerce our hostess into the recipe as it is the best I have ever tasted,” Lord Wooller said, “but I fear she is not willing to share it.”
“Lead on then, Papa, strawberry cake beckons!”
Lord Wooller took his daughter’s hand and then Phoebe’s, much to her surprise, and started towards the supper room, rather like a large ship towing two smaller vessels.
“It is not really done, Papa, to hold a woman’s hand as you are doing. We should really be holding your sleeve,” Hannah said, “and we should be walking at a sedate pace.”
“You are not a woman. You are my daughter, th
erefore those silly rules do not apply.”
And as far as Phoebe could tell that was the end of the conversation. Although if she was being truthful it was rather lovely having this elderly gentleman hold her hand in his large one, if only for a short while. It was comforting after her encounter with Lord Levermarch.
“Poor Lord Levermarch is dancing with that horrid Lady Croxley, Phoebe.”
Hannah’s whispered words had Phoebe looking to the dance floor, where she saw Finn and his future wife lining up for a cotillion. She had the foolish urge to stomp over there and yell at him, ask him how he could kiss her one minute and dance with that vile person the next. Yet perhaps they deserved each other, because didn’t she believe him a horrid person, too? Turning away, she entered the supper room where a few other guests sat to eat and gossip. She did not want to think about that man anymore. He was beginning to take up far too many of her thoughts.
Two long tables heaved under a multitude of tempting delights. Footmen stood at the ready, silently awaiting a command or gesture.
“There,” Lord Wooller said, pointing to a delicious looking cake. “Try the strawberry cake, and if you don’t start to hum appreciatively you have no soul,” he added, now placing a hand on their backs and pushing them across the room before him. Once there, he picked up a slice of cake.
“Those éclairs look nice though, don’t you think, Woolly?”
“No comparison, Phoebe, and you’ll be hard pressed to make me believe otherwise.”
Phoebe laughed as he took a bite of the cake and closed his eye while making a loud humming noise. Beside him, Hannah was doing the same. Phoebe wasn’t a person to collect friends; she didn’t let many people get close to her, yet she thought in the case of these two people she would make an exception.
“I thought we discussed your need to slow down on the sweet foods, Woolly?
Phoebe’s smile fled as Lord Levermarch walked into the room. Why was he here and not with his future viscountess? He saw her then, and his steps hesitated briefly before walking to Lord Wooller’s side. Phoebe turned her back on him and walked around the table to pick up an éclair. Taking a bite, she tried to focus on the pastry and cream as it filled her mouth; however, it tasted suddenly like she’d swallowed a handful of mud.
“Damn it, Phoebe, that better not be the last one!”
She took her time chewing and then made herself smile at Will as he and Livvy walked into the room. He dropped his wife’s arm as he looked at the now empty plate.
“Oh sorry, Will. I didn’t see you walk in or I would have left it for you.” Phoebe took another large bite and looked anything but contrite. Her family was now here. She need not have anything further to do with Lord Levermarch.
“Witch!” Will hissed, reaching for a macaroon.
“Woolly, what are you doing with that piece of cake in your mouth?” Will then snarled with his mouth full which was very un-Will like. In fact, Phoebe thought the entire situation was peculiar. Lord Levermarch was now bantering with Lord Wooller, along with Will as if they were firm friends. Were they?
“Ah, Ryder, come and try this strawberry cake, simply superb.”
“I’d wanted an éclair but will settle for strawberry cake,” he said, baring his teeth at Phoebe, she retaliated by poking out her tongue which made him laugh.
“Here, you have something on your lips.”
Phoebe looked at the handkerchief Lord Levermarch handed her, but instead reached into her reticule and pulled out her own.
His eyes held hers as she wiped her mouth, and Phoebe suddenly had great difficulty breathing. It was almost as if some restriction was blocking her airways.
“And how was your dance with Lady Croxley, my lord? Does she fulfill all the requirements on your list? I must say that you look perfectly matched out there on the dance floor.”
He looked uncomfortable, his blue eyes shadowed, and she knew he was trying to think of something to say but could not work out what.
“Let me make this easier on you, Lord Levermarch. We will be polite when in each other’s company but we need never dance or talk alone again. We will be as many others are in society, polite but distant strangers.”
“Strangers,” he said softly. “You want us to be strangers?”
“Yes, that sounds perfect.”
The food suddenly lost its delight for Phoebe and she knew if she ate anything more she would likely choke on it, but she picked up a small patty which contained she knew not what, and, opening her mouth wide, she placed the entire amount inside and then chewed it in front of him. He stood quietly watching her, his eyes holding hers until she finally managed to swallow the last bite.
“That looked hard work.”
“Actually, it was delicious,” she said, reaching for another and doing the same. However, as she swallowed Phoebe wondered if she was going to spit it all over his jacket, which of course he deserved, but she didn’t think she could stand the humiliation. “And now if you will excuse me I am ready to leave, my lord, as the company is no longer to my liking.” Offering him a quick curtsy she hurried around the table to Livvy.
“Could we leave soon, Livvy? I’m weary as I’m sure you are.”
“Yes, dear, we can and I must admit that you are right, I am tired.”
With good reason, Phoebe thought. They had obviously not told anyone about the baby yet, deciding to tell Will’s family first and then everyone else. The Duke and Duchess of Rossetter were due in London within the next few weeks, and with them would come Will’s sister, Thea, who was Bella’s best friend.
“Phoebe and I are ready to leave, Will,” Livvy said to her husband.
She watched her brother-in-law immediately move to his wife’s side, food forgotten, his only concern now Livvy.
“Of course. Good evening, Woolly, Finn, Miss Wooller.”
Phoebe heard the rumble of goodbyes as she bent to kiss Hannah’s cheek.
“I shall see you at eleven o’clock tomorrow. We will visit Will’s warehouse,” Phoebe whispered in her ear.
“I shall hardly sleep with the excitement of it all.”
“Nor I,” Phoebe added.
“Good evening, Woolly.” Phoebe then said, moving towards him after leaving Hannah.
“Good evening, Phoebe,” he said, pulling her into a warm hug which made her smile.
“Papa, it is not done to hug woman you hardly know.” Hannah’s said, exasperated, which made her father harrumph.
“Yes, it is,” Phoebe said, patting his cheek. “It’s lovely,” she added, turning to leave.
“Good evening, Lord Levermarch.” Phoebe added the last because it would be blatantly rude if she did not and she did not want to draw any further attention to her dislike for the man.
“Good evening, Miss Langley.”
She felt his eyes on her as she walked from the room and wondered why it hurt so much that she could never be the woman he wanted, especially as she would never be happy married to a man who had so little respect for her.
CHAPTER NINE
As the carriage traveled slowly through the busy streets towards Hannah’s town house the following morning, Phoebe looked up at the darkening sky. London had woken to an overcast day and rain looked imminent before its end. The streets would soon be a muddy mess, and Phoebe hated both rain and mud so she would just as soon be tucked inside than walking in it when the deluge began.
Yawning, she looked at her reflection in the window. The bruise on her face was darker today. Sally had been unable to cover it completely and it matched the smudges under her eyes, anyway. She’d spent a sleepless night thinking about a horrid beast of a man who had made her feel alive with just a kiss, and then danced with the woman he would likely marry. It was almost as if with the touch of his lips and hands he had turned her into another person, as if her skin had resettled on someone else and now she was very aware of parts of her that she had not been before. She had woken twice with her nightdress twisted around her hips. Her breas
ts felt sensitive and heat pooled in places Phoebe thought it shouldn’t, and her head had filled with vivid sensual images.
She needed to stay away from Finn from now on. Away from his blue-eyed, heated looks and large muscled body. Phoebe would not feel any more flutterings inside her body, nor would she seek him out in the evenings. He was no longer someone she would associate with.
She pushed these disturbing thoughts aside as the carriage pulled to a halt outside a large white house set back from the road behind an impressive pair of black gates that met in the middle to form a gold lion. Stepping down to open them and walk through, Phoebe heard her leather boots crunch on the small stones as she made her way past the gardens. No neat rows of blooms here; the flowers were planted all over the place creating a riot of color with little or no formation. Climbing the steps, she then lifted the large brass knocker, also a lion. The butler opened the door and looked like every butler she had ever known, rigidly upright with no expression on his face.
“I’ve called to see Miss Wooller.”
“Of course. Come this way if you please, Miss Langley.”
Phoebe thanked him and stepped inside. Soft cream walls greeted her, and she looked around the interior of the entranceway as she followed the butler. Pictures were placed in no order, big, small, square, or oval along the walls. Stopping before one, she looked closer and saw some kind of animal with three legs and an extremely long snout.
“That was painted by Miss Bridgette,” the butler said, noticing she had stopped.
Phoebe saw other childish paintings as she continued walking, nestled amongst others painted by artists of some repute. A long, low table held numerous ornaments, some animals, others figurines, all grouped together in no formation. It was a home with a heart and she knew a lot of that was attributed to the people who lived here. It was welcoming and comfortable and not concerned with appearance, only the comfort of those lucky enough to live within its walls. Different varieties of flowers were jammed into vases, offering a burst of color here and there.