Gentleman Never Tells (Regency Historical Romance)

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

  As much as he wanted to go to her, he left Phoebe in the capable hands of Becky. “Get her out of here,” he said, his eyes cold and focused on the colonel, who now struggled to his feet. He knew if he looked even once at that beautiful and pained face, he wouldn’t be able to resist taking her into his arms.

  But first he had a job to do.

  He grabbed Wallace by the collar at his throat and twisted the fabric until he was sure it was near to choking him. “What part of ‘Stay the hell away from them’ was so difficult for you to understand?”

  Of course, Wallace couldn’t answer—not with Ben’s knuckles digging into his throat. He just stared back, red-faced and wide-eyed. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see him there that morning.

  And then Ben unleashed his fury on the loathsome wretch. He delivered a few poignant blows to the man’s face. The sound of cracking bones and teeth gave him a great deal of satisfaction. And once the man succumbed to unconsciousness, Benjamin left the room. He was certain the man would not get up for quite some time.

  He made his way up the stairs and found Phoebe and Becky sitting on the edge of the bed in what Benjamin assumed was Phoebe’s old bedchamber. Tears streaked her face as she lay with her head in Becky’s lap. He knelt down in front of her and stroked her cheek until she opened her eyes to look at him. Her bottom lip quivered, but she made no move to go to him. Rather, she turned her face into Becky’s skirts and began to cry all over again.

  He would not be deterred, though. He wanted to hold her, to be the one to comfort her. And he could do with a bit of comforting himself. So he sat on the bed beside her and dragged her, albeit reluctantly, into his arms, until it was his chest she cried upon.

  “Becky,” he said quietly as he stroked Phoebe’s hair. “I need you to find me a runner, quickly. I don’t know how long we can keep the colonel incapacitated.”

  She needed no further explanation; she was up and out the door within seconds. Ben took a few moments of silence to slow his breathing and to thank God he had arrived when he did. He had already paid the man far more than he should have, sure that the sum would keep him out of their lives for good. Obviously, Wallace had been out for much more than monetary compensation.

  With so many willing women wandering the streets of London, Ben wondered why he’d been so intent on harassing the Blake women. But it didn’t matter now. Wallace was going to get just what he deserved. Benjamin would have no trouble pressing charges against the man in a court of law.

  However, that was not his most pressing concern.

  “Phoebe, my love,” he whispered as he pulled back so he could see in her eyes. When she refused to open them, he said, “Please, my darling, let me see you.”

  It seemed to be a struggle, but she finally lifted her lids to reveal those wide sable eyes he had missed so very much. They were filled with tears and fear and sadness, and all he wanted was to make it all go away. He wanted to see her smile again, to hear her laugh . . . to hear her say I forgive you and, perhaps, even I love you.

  “What are you doing here?” she finally asked, her voice thick as she tried to swallow more tears.

  “I saw Becky at the market this morning and followed her here. She says you came to find me.”

  She nodded. “I m-missed you,” she said, and then scrunched her face up with uncertainty. “Is that . . . all right?”

  For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile spread his lips. “Of course it’s all right, darling. And quite a relief. I was sure you hated me. That’s why I’ve stayed away so long.”

  “I never hated you, Benjamin,” she assured him. “I—” She looked down to where she gathered the fabric of her skirts in her fingers, and then back up. “You lied to me.”

  “I know.” He looked at her, deep into her eyes, and hoped she read the honesty and sincerity that lay in his own. “And I promise I will never make that mistake again.”

  “But you have.”

  “What are you talking about?” The hope he had felt a moment before vanished in an instant. Clearly, they weren’t done sorting out their issues.

  “What do you know of Colonel Wallace and my mother?”

  Dammit! Benjamin breathed out, long and slow, and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. The bastard had said something to her, but what was he to tell her?

  “Phoebe, it is not, nor was it ever, my place to tell you about Wallace and your mother. And as a matter of fact, your mother begged me to protect you from the truth.”

  At this, she was up and off the bed, pacing before him. “Why? Why does everyone think I need to be protected? Have I not been the rock my mother has depended upon for the last year? Have I not kept a household afloat on my own? A girl, who should have been at balls and parties, not force feeding her mother, or searching the ground for a fallen penny. It was I! I did all that.” With a resigned sigh, she added, “The faith you all have in me is astounding.”

  “Phoebe, please, you’re upset. You’ve just had an awful fright, and I don’t blame you one bit for being angry . . . with me, with your mother and Wallace. Lord knows, you are entitled.”

  “Entitled doesn’t begin to describe it, Benjamin. What did everyone think I would do if I knew?”

  “Perhaps we worried you would do what we have done, go into hiding, run away. There were any number of ways you could have reacted, but most importantly we didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already had.”

  “But I . . . I wouldn’t have, Benjamin.” She looked up at him and there were tears in her eyes again. Only this time, he saw the resignation in her body, the understanding and, dare he hope, the forgiveness.

  He went to her, unable to bear another moment without having her in his arms again. “I know that now, my love, and I’m so sorry . . . for everything. You didn’t deserve to be lied to, and you certainly didn’t deserve the horrific things I said to you that night.”

  “I said some pretty awful things too,” she admitted. “And I was very wrong. I-I feel terrible for what I said about your father—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Please, Phoebe, let us not relive it.”

  “But I never should have said that, no matter how angry I was. They were horrible accusations, and—”

  “And partially true.”

  She shook her head, the guilt in her eyes more than he could bear. They had said things in anger, both of them, that they should not have said. He wanted to forgive and forget and move on.

  “I never should have asked you to sell your house.”

  “Perhaps not . . . but I did, anyway.”

  She pulled back a bit and stared up at him, an astonished look in her fathomless brown eyes. “You what?”

  “I sold it. I care too much about you, about this marriage, to have any point of contention between us.” He took a deep breath and prepared to tell her more of the truth. “I sent a letter to Lillian.”

  Her sleek muscles tensed beneath his hold, so he continued in hopes of reassuring her.

  “I couldn’t just ignore her. I had assumed responsibility for her, and, yes, it was wrong of me to keep that from you, but I felt I at least owed her an explanation. So I told her about you, and I informed her that she needed to leave . . . that I was no longer her protector.”

  Phoebe didn’t say anything to this. He wondered if she was hurt by the fact he’d sent Lillian a personal note, or if she even trusted that he was telling the truth about the letter’s contents. He didn’t have to wonder for long, though.

  “Thank you,” she said as she threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tightly. He knew she was thanking him, not for ridding his life of Lillian or for selling the house, but for telling her the truth. And that gave him an incredible sense of satisfaction.

  “Benjamin?” she asked a moment later, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “What is it?”

  “Am I ‘your love’?”

  He wanted to laugh at the uncertainty in her voice, for it was surely unwarran
ted. Instead he tipped her head back and kissed her, tasting the salty tears, reveling in the unique soft smell of her, his wife. “I will never, ever lie to you again. You have my word. However, on the topic of your mother and Wallace, that is something you will have to take up with her. I love you, my darling.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her off the ground in a firm embrace. “I love you, too!” she said, and his heart swelled until it was so full he thought it might burst.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much time to enjoy the moment, for they heard a distinct scraping across the wooden floor below them in the parlor. They pulled away and stared at one another.

  “I completely forgot about our guest,” Phoebe said. “But we don’t want him running off now, do we?”

  “Certainly not.” He kissed her quickly on the forehead and then started for the door. “You stay here until I ensure his immobility.”

  Chapter 19

  Thankfully, Benjamin didn’t have to issue another blow to the old colonel in order to detain him. Becky arrived with the Bow Street Runner just as Benjamin was barreling down the stairs. He explained the charges against the man, and the runner quickly tied him up and carted him off. Much to Benjamin’s relief, Wallace was in too much pain to say anything, and he left without a word.

  “Well, my dear,” Ben said to Phoebe as they stood in the parlor. “Would you like to stay here—” He patted the sofa, and a thick cloud of dust puffed into the air. “Or shall I show you Wetherby Manor?”

  She smiled up at him with the openness and innocence she’d had when they first met, before she knew of all his indiscretions. The fact that she looked at him that way now, after all she’d learned about him, meant so much more. If she could love him in spite of all his mistakes, they would be able to get through anything.

  “Wetherby Manor, please,” she said with a little laugh. “I don’t ever want to set eyes on this place again.”

  “Agreed.”

  They made their way to the manor on foot. He could have hired a hack, but it was a lovely day, and Phoebe claimed she wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh air. Benjamin carried the two small satchels she and Becky had brought with them, knowing they could not have brought more than one other dress each. He made up his mind to detour them to Bond Street. Neither of them knew where Wetherby Manor was, so it wasn’t until he stopped in front of a dress shop that Phoebe raised an eyebrow.

  “Please do not tell me you live in a dress shop, Benjamin, for that would simply be too much.”

  He laughed, elated that her sense of humor had returned, and pushed the door open. “You’re a marchioness now. It is time you started dressing like one.”

  Phoebe didn’t argue with him, and why would she when her husband was holding open the door to a fancy dress shop? She was a woman, after all.

  They spent the afternoon in the shop, trying on various ready-made dresses and modeling them for Benjamin, who sat patiently in the waiting room. He browsed the fashion plates, making suggestions for future gowns to be made, but since she would still be in mourning for a few more weeks, the ones they took home that day would have to be black or gray. He was grateful her mourning period would be shorter than the rest of theirs, as merely an in-law, for he far preferred her in vibrant colors. And Lord knew he could use a ray of sunshine through this dark time.

  Becky chose several dresses of a more simplistic nature, which would serve her station better than elaborate gowns. Despite her uneasiness at Benjamin’s generosity, it was obvious she enjoyed the spree every bit as much as her mistress.

  Several hours and quite a few shillings later, the trio made their way to Wetherby House. Ben enjoyed the look of wonder on his wife’s face as they crossed the threshold into the foyer. It was quite an impressive place, with the shiny gray-and-white marble floors and the wide-winding staircase. But he noticed that it was the naked statue that sat in the curve of the staircase that held her attention.

  A blush rose to her cheeks, and he knew she had missed him just as much as he had missed her . . . in the Biblical sense, of course. But she had been through quite an ordeal, and though he was sure the shopping had helped to take her mind off of it, he wasn’t sure she was ready to be thrown into bed.

  “Would you like a tour of our house?” he asked as she handed her things over to Becky and Deane, the stalwart butler of Wetherby House.

  “I would love one . . . and perhaps a bath?” she suggested with a grimace. Of course she would want to bathe after having that lascivious bastard slavering all over her. Ben thought he might like one himself just thinking about it.

  “Mrs. Norris!” he shouted, and the portly housekeeper came forth from a small door just beyond the staircase. He gave a quick introduction of his new wife and her maid, and insisted that Becky be shown to one of the guest rooms upstairs, then ordered a tub of hot water be set up in the master chamber.

  He took Phoebe’s hand and looped it around his elbow, leaving the boxes from the dress shop to Becky and Mrs. Norris, then led her from the foyer into the front parlor. The house was large, and all the rooms interconnected. The ground floor had a series of reception rooms in addition to a small study that his mother enjoyed for writing her correspondence. Phoebe oohed and aahed at each room, and Ben enjoyed seeing the house through fresh eyes. His family had always resided here when they were in London, so he supposed he took it for granted.

  Phoebe marveled even more at the rooms on the first floor: the grand, crimson-colored ballroom, lined with gilt-edged mirrors; the private parlor with its yellow-and-white-striped décor; the family portrait gallery that spanned the length of the house; and especially the music room with the custom-made Broadwood piano.

  “Would you like to play?” he asked her, but when she turned to him, he saw the weariness in her eyes.

  “Later, perhaps? I’m really quite desperate for that bath.”

  Ben touched his fingers to her temple and gently stroked her cheek. “Of course.”

  They made their way up one more floor to the master suite of chambers. The copper tub sat before the fire, and Phoebe sighed in apparent relief at the sight of it. Ben had to admit it looked inviting. He could see the steam coming off the water, could smell the lavender-scented oil that had been added.

  It was absolute torture watching his wife undress and slip into the tub. Every muscle in his body ached as he held them in check, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. Though she gave off the appearance of a woman of great fortitude, he was sure she must still be shaken from her encounter with Wallace that morning. For tonight, Benjamin would stifle his own desires for her sake.

  ***

  The next morning, as Phoebe stared at her husband over a quiet breakfast, she noted that the horrific events of yesterday morning seemed as if they had happened years ago, rather than a mere twenty-four hours earlier. Benjamin had played quite the gentleman, taking her shopping, touring the house with her. She couldn’t quite believe he had watched her bathe without so much as trying to kiss her. Though, it had been obvious he’d wanted to. She had seen the ardor in his eyes . . . and in his trousers.

  Phoebe had been torn herself over whether or not she was ready to receive him in the marital sense, so she let him hold her and caress her, and she fell asleep in his arms.

  This morning, however, she was feeling the effects of three whole weeks without her husband. It didn’t help that he looked so blasted handsome in his dark gray jacket, his hair slightly askew. She had watched him tie his neckcloth with great care, but all she really wanted to do was tear it off of him now.

  He looked up and caught her staring. Her skin flushed at the promise in his eyes, and she gave him the sultriest smile she could muster. Clearly, he understood her meaning, for he dropped his fork midbite, letting it clatter to the fine china plate, and moved to her side.

  Phoebe thrilled at being dragged through her new home as if she were a cave woman by her primal beast of a husband. It had been too long since they’d shar
ed the intimacy she so loved and desired. She craved it, craved him, so much that she gave little notice to the servants they passed on the way to their chamber.

  When at last they reached the large mahogany doors that led into the bedchamber, her heart began to race with uncertainty. It had been three weeks since she had shared a bed with her husband. What if she’d forgotten all she learned?

  She didn’t have time to think on that much, for Benjamin had her in the room, on the bed and half-undressed within mere seconds. His carnal manner reminded her of their wedding night, and joy bubbled up inside of her.

  Deciding it was best not to think, she let her instincts take over and reached down to the bulge between his legs. He was hard, so hard, and it made her blood run warm in her veins. The warmth spread right down to her core, to the place that ached to feel him.

  He gave a low moan as she rubbed him, but clearly it wasn’t good enough with the thick layer of fabric that separated her hand from his skin. He stood from the bed, keeping his eyes fixed on her as he tugged and yanked and pulled until the trousers finally found their way to the floor.

  Phoebe sat up, deciding she wanted to try something new this time, something she’d read about in a very naughty book Katherine had given to her. She took Ben’s hands and drew him closer until he stood right in front of her, his member, large and throbbing, a mere inch from her face.

  Oh, Lord! It was so big! How would she ever do what the picture depicted without choking herself?

  “Phoebe,” he rasped, “what are you doing?”

  With a new determination, she cast her glance upward and gave him a sly smile as she wrapped her hand around the base of his member. “Just trying something new.”

  And then she wrapped her lips about the tip.

  “Good God!” Ben shouted and jumped, so Phoebe pulled back.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  He seemed to want to laugh at this, but he didn’t. “Where the devil did you learn about this?”