When the Earl Met His Match

by Stacy Reid

  “We do not, George. My husband and I have a child.” Not even sparing him another glance, she deliberately used the back of her glove to swipe away the imprint of his mouth on hers and whirled away. Thank goodness he had not tried for more intimacy or she would have bitten his tongue off! She did not believe violence was the first response, but she should have slapped his face again!

  Phoebe took three steps and collided into an unyielding frame with a rousingly familiar scent. Glancing up, she met the bluest, most beautiful eyes. Phoebe’s breath caught as a burst of relief and happiness filled her heart.

  “You came,” she cried happily, flinging herself into his arms.

  It took a few moments before his arms came around her. He enfolded her in a hug and rested his chin on the crown of her head. In this embrace, she felt his concern, but there also lingered a tension to his frame that had been absent from all previous embraces.

  She withdrew and gave him a tremulous smile. “I am so very happy you are here.”

  An inexplicable look of withdrawal came into his eyes. His hands dropped from her and lifted between them. “Are you?”

  “Yes, I am. I have been wracking my brain on how to hatch a daring escape plan, but now I can save my dignity because you are here,” she said softly but with firmness. “The only reason I am even at Lady Hart’s ball is because I know what we want to accomplish for Caroline and our family. I have been slowly letting everyone see and speculate on the new Countess of Albury. Of course, society was instantly compelled by rumors of vast wealth.” She took a deep breath. “I have much to explain, and I hope you will give me that chance without rushing to any judgment.”

  At his lack of reaction, she faltered into stillness and simply stared into the eyes that peered down at her. She saw a stranger. That distance startled Phoebe immensely. She attempted a smile that felt brittle, but he did not respond. It was then she recalled George behind her and that he had kissed her only a minute ago. Ice lodged against her stomach. Had her husband seen their embrace and misinterpreted it? “I…what you witnessed just now was—”

  “It is of no consequence.”

  No consequence? How could he say it so casually? His handsome, impassive countenance betrayed no sign of anger.

  Footsteps sounded behind her as George drew close, but Hugh did not lift his regard from her. George’s approaching presence was as significant to him as an ant crawling in the underbrush by his feet. He held out his hand to her, and Phoebe placed her palm against his, allowing him to tug her to his side. Hugh walked with her into the ballroom, and when they entered together, she felt the ripple of interest from several persons.

  Instead of taking her from the ball, he led her to the dance floor at the announcement of the waltz. With a soft sigh of pleasure, she walked into his arms, basking in the delight of dancing with him. It felt so right…so wonderful to be held in his arms so.

  Her joy was suspended, for his gaze was simply too cool and watchful. But then he tugged her a little closer than what was considered proper, and a breath trembled from her lips. They moved together at first almost tentatively, but within a few beats something changed.

  Phoebe could feel the pulse of the violins in her body, and she felt the subtle tightening of his fingers on her body. She was very much aware of his arms about her waist and his rousing masculine scent. This time when she boldly peered at him, in his gaze she saw a spark of remembered heat. The moment felt remarkably intimate.

  They soared across the expanse of the ballroom, staring into each other’s eyes. It was as she suspected: her husband was the most elegant and accomplished dancer.

  With each glide, and twist, and turn, her enjoyment grew, and Phoebe laughed. And how her heart tumbled inside her chest when his mouth curved and he, too, smiled.

  He spun her away from him, and she twirled in two rotations before she was back in his arms, this time even scandalously closer. Oh God. Her body felt charged, vibrantly alive, her heart exquisitely tormented by the intense feelings burning through her for this man.

  Phoebe could feel the curious stares of several people from society upon them, yet he only had eyes for her. Her heart thrilled even as a soft warming went through her. The dance ended, and he led her from the dance floor and out into the hallway. She felt a stare and glanced back to see Richard observing their departure. A footman rushed to deliver her wrap, and she thanked him and rewarded him a small coin. Hugh led her to a carriage that was still in the queue and helped her inside. The weather had changed since their dance, and it was now raining. The conveyance was large and elegant, one of the most luxurious she had ever seen.

  He sat opposite her. “I am taking you to our townhouse.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Grosvenor Square.”

  “I’ve missed Franny dreadfully.” It had only been a little over a week since she had been taken from her home, and each night since she had been restless and worried without her child.

  The hard line around his flat, unsmiling mouth softened. “Franny is well. I am sure she misses you, too. We must return to her as soon as possible. Tomorrow.”

  Her heart lifted. “Of course.”

  An odd tension lingered in the air. She drew the curtain aside and watched the townhouses they rattled past. She frowned as they drove past a woman with a swaddled bundle pressed against her chest and a young boy of about three years with his hand clasped between her own. They were hurrying away from a townhouse, and to Phoebe’s shock, a footman dashed a pail of water toward them.

  The lady hurried along, almost tripping in her haste.

  “Stop the carriage,” Phoebe cried.

  Hugh arched a brow and rapped the roof of the carriage.

  “There is a lady outside with…with two children, and a servant threw water at them. It is already drizzling outside and so dreadfully cold. How terrible of him!”

  Hugh made no reply, and Phoebe opened the window when it stopped at the woman’s feet, causing her to cast a wary and suspicious glance at the equipage.

  “Hallo,” Phoebe greeted. “It is raining, and I daresay it will only fall harder. Might I offer to take you and the children to your lodgings?”

  Shock blanketed the woman’s face, and she stared at Phoebe for several moments before saying, “I ain’t got no coin to pay.”

  “I am not a public hackney, madam,” Phoebe said with some teasing. “Surely that is evident.”

  The little boy swiped some of the water from his face, tugged at his mother’s hand, and peered up at her pleadingly.

  “Thank you,” the lady said quietly.

  The steps to the carriage were knocked down, and Hugh exited the equipage to assist the lady inside. That seemed to be a greater shock to her, and she wiped her hands in her skirt before accepting his gloved hand.

  Phoebe offered her a reassuring smile. “Where can we take you?”

  “I am letting a room in Covent Garden.”

  Quick instructions were given to the coachman, and the carriage rumbled over the street, taking them away from Mayfair. The lady and the boy huddled closer, though there was ample room for them to sit comfortably. A gurgling sound emitted from the boy, and Phoebe realized it was his stomach.

  “I witnessed that footman tossing the pail of water your way. I am deeply sorry you had to suffer that indignity.”

  The lady did not seem to know what to make of Phoebe, and she nodded shyly. Upon looking closer, Phoebe could not help noting how young the girl was. “How old are you?”

  The boy scooted closer to her, and she wrapped her arms around his thin shoulders. They shared a resemblance with their brown hair, the slant of their cheekbones and light eyes. He was a handsome lad, and the lady herself quite pretty despite her haggard appearance.

  “I am one and twenty, milady.”

  “And these two children are yours?”

&
nbsp; Her throat worked on a swallow before she nodded.

  “And your husband?”

  Something flashed in the lady’s light gray eyes, a curl of shame and fright, before she lifted her chin. “Dead,” she said, though the word trembled.

  Phoebe suspected then she’d had the children out of wedlock. “Were you coming from the home of their father just now?” she said quietly.

  The lady’s chest rose on a harsh breath, and the little girl in her hand stirred awake.

  “Mamma,” she said sleepily, pushing the blanket from her head and looking around the carriage. “Hungry.” This last bit was said with a whimper, and the boy’s stomach rumbled again.

  The girl was maybe two years of age and quite thin. Sorrow clutched at Phoebe’s throat. If not for her circumstances of birth and the kindness of her husband, this might have been her plight. Alone and adrift with a child to take care of, with little option or opportunities to live. How many women found themselves with a child out of wedlock and the gentleman who had helped to create that life indifferent to their sorry state?

  Phoebe reached up and removed her earbobs. The lady watched her the entire time while she shushed the fretful child in her arms. Phoebe held them out to her. “These are worth at least fifty quid. You should pawn them tomorrow. Do not accept less than forty pounds.”

  With trembling hands, the lady reached out then at the last minute snatched back her hand and stared at the earbobs with a desperation that made Phoebe’s throat ache.

  “I am the Countess of Albury,” she said softly.

  Hugh tensed subtly beside her at the use of her title.

  “As unlikely as it might seem, a few months ago I was very desperate and afraid, but God sent me to my destiny, and since then I have not been afraid. I can see the fear in your eyes and the hunger in your children. Please take them.”

  The lady snatched the earbobs from her hands, silent tears rolling down her eyes. “Thank you, your ladyship. I…somehow I will repay you.”

  “It will not be necessary,” she said kindly. “They were simply an ornament, but I dare hope the money will be able to keep you fed and warm for a few months.” How she wished she could do something more.

  Hugh stirred, and his fingers moved. Phoebe almost threw herself at him and hugged him fiercely as she read his words. She turned back to the lady. “What is your name?”

  “Agnes Smith, your ladyship.”

  “Miss Agnes, in the morning, please visit Mr. Humboldt on Brook Street. He will have five hundred pounds waiting for you, and he will help you find a job.”

  Agnes’s lips parted, and she stared helplessly at Phoebe. “Are you funning me?” she whispered hoarsely. “That is a fortune. And no one will hire me once…once they understand my circumstances.”

  Hugh’s fingers moved. “It is a mere pittance.” However, Phoebe did not relay that to the quietly weeping woman.

  “Rubbish, you are a respectable widow, and I hope you may have a skill?”

  “I am an excellent seamstress, your ladyship!” she said eagerly.

  “There. I am certain you will be able to find your way. A little bit of help was simply needed.”

  A profusion of thanks erupted, and even the little boy started to smile despite his rumbling belly. Several minutes later, they deposited her to her abode, and the carriage turned around to take them to Grosvenor Square.

  “Thank you,” she said, with a small smile at her husband. “Not many would have agreed to take her in the carriage.” But then Phoebe was already intimately acquainted with his honor and kind considerations.

  He gave her another one of those long, searching stares but proffered no reply. Phoebe glanced out the window into the sleeting rain, her thoughts churning. “I would like to start a charity…or a program that would help women…women who have children out of wedlock who are left to suffer indignity, shame, and poverty. There must be other options than giving away their child to an orphanage or the poor house.” She looked at him. “Do you think this is possible?”

  His hands lifted. “You have enough wealth to invest in dozens of charitable causes.”

  Something tender swelled in her chest. “My brother and his friends, the Duke of Wolverton and the Earl of Blade, invest in many charitable endeavours to help the poor of society, especially those made orphans either by the war or parents who do not care. I would like to start something similar but directed toward women with few options. If they have no skills, I could have a program that teaches them whatever is necessary for them to find employment and then to help them find a job and housing. I think it sounds like it will be a large undertaking.”

  “I will allocate one hundred thousand pounds to you for this endeavour. I have also been remiss in my duties, and a yearly stipend will also be allocated for your personal use. Whenever you need my input, I am here.”

  Phoebe almost choked. “I…thank you.” It astonished her that he would so readily support her and entrusted her with such a fortune to do as she will. He clearly believed in her and did not think her too young. She wished she could wrap this feeling around her like a blanket and wear it with her always.

  “Your brother sounds like an admirable man.”

  She smiled briefly. “Though he can be an arrogant fool sometimes, especially when he sent that bacon-brained idiot for me, he is also very wonderful.”

  His eyes hooded, and that careful mask slid into place once more. Anxiety beat in her breast, and she gripped the edge of the squabs. “Richard was afraid that somehow you took advantage of my desperate plight and everything inside of him told him that I must be rescued. He is so mistrusting of others, except for his wife, of course, that it never occurred to him that I might be contented. Once he meets you, he will see that he has nothing to worry about.”

  “Did the man who took you hurt you? I suspected he drugged you.”

  “Yes, I was drugged. But he did not hurt me. I was more frustrated by his audacity and worried that you might not know what happened to me,” she whispered.

  To this her husband said nothing, and the lantern in the carriage dimmed, casting him in more shadows.

  “My brother might try and object to me leaving.”

  “He is allowed to try. He will be disabused of the notion that he has the right to interfere in your decisions anymore.”

  It was astonishing that she could detect menace in his signs. Perhaps it was in the still, coiled way he sat.

  “I do not wish for a quarrel between you both,” she murmured.

  He leaned forward so the light from the lantern splashed across his cheeks. “And if there is, where shall you stand?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What a silly question. By your side, of course, quarrelling right along with you.”

  This seemed to surprise him, and her heart jolted.

  “Do you not know that you have my loyalty?” she whispered.

  That you have all my heart, she cried silently.

  He made no reply but disappeared back into the shadows. Phoebe could feel his stare like a living entity. It felt heavy and questioning. And how her heart trembled while her thoughts swirled with a thousand questions. They arrived at Grosvenor Square several minutes later, and they alighted in front of one of the most impressive four-story town homes. The house faced Grosvenor Square Gardens and had a pretty view from the front windows of a beautiful Grecian-style statue of a half-draped lady carrying a large water vase.

  They entered and made their way upstairs to a palatial chamber. She crossed the threshold and strolled over to the low-burning fire in the hearth. Unable to keep the most important question out of the dozens, Phoebe whirled around. “Are you not even a little bit angry or disappointed that you saw another man kissing me?”

  No expression crossed his face, and nothing flickered in his eyes. “No.”

  The depth of his indiffer
ence broke her heart. “I own I do not believe you to be a man with a jealous or possessive nature…but your indifference to George’s action is insupportable. If I had ever come upon you with a lady kissing you, I would be terribly angry and hurt.”

  She fisted a hand on her hip and glared at him. “Why, I might even act as Lady Blade did last season when she challenged her husband’s former mistress to a duel for daring to kiss him! Does it not bother you that…that he stole a kiss from me?”

  He sustained this impassioned cry with no more than a blink.

  His unwavering gaze disconcerted her, and his eyes were no longer indifferent, but they glittered with something incendiary. He came over to her, used his forefinger to lift her chin up, then dipped his head. Phoebe felt the barely perceptible touch of his mouth against hers. There was a beat and another before he framed her face with his hands and plundered. She could barely summon the breath to speak or offer a token of protest. Not that she wanted to, even if she found his intensity alarming.

  He plucked the pins from her hair, scattering them onto the carpet. In between passionate kisses, he undressed her, without care for the fragility or the expense of the gown. He managed to remove her gown, stays, and chemise with frightful efficiency in between long, passionate kisses. When she remained in only her stockings, garters, and dancing slippers, he swept her into his arms and bore her down on the sofa near the hearth.

  Her husband shrugged from his clothes impatiently, while she observed the revelation of his wonderful body with a hammering heart. With a dazed sense of shock, Phoebe watched as he dropped to his knees before her, splayed her legs wide, and lowered his head.

  “Hugh?” she cried, terribly alarmed at this unexpected move.

  All that faded as he lasciviously kissed her sex. Phoebe gasped then screamed when his tongue did something that had her hips arching off the cushion. Soon her stocking-clad legs were hung wantonly over each of her husband’s shoulders, her slippers glinting under the firelight. With each lick and nibble her sex pulsed urgently, and hunger clawed at her. She felt empty and desperately needed to be filled. Phoebe pulled at his head frantically, and he nipped sharply at her inner thighs before kissing her again…carnally devastating her with pleasure.