When the Earl Met His Match

by Stacy Reid

  How utterly silly I’ve been in hoping for more from another gentleman. But I am to be blamed, for I willingly deceived my own heart. Never once had Hugh promised more than a marriage of convenience. Phoebe resolved to lock away the foolish hope she’d had in her heart and never allow it to resurface.

  …

  Hugh’s feet crunched in the snow as he held a very bundled Franny in his arms, strolling back to the main house, a playful Wolf yipping by their side. Once the weather proved pleasant, he would take his daughter for a walk, for she loved the outdoors. She would always perk up, her gaze staring about in wonder as she babbled her pleasure. He peeked down at her, and he could barely see her rosy cheek through her swaddle.

  He felt his wife before he saw her. His reaction to her nearness couldn’t be explained; it simply was. Hugh’s heart would race and the fine hair at his nape would prickle. The soft footfall indicated she was near, but he did not turn around. This morning she hadn’t joined him when he walked with their daughter. And last night. He closed his eyes against the memory, but the words had been interred in his thoughts and had been haunting him since she spoke them.

  Do not expect me to love you forever when you are indifferent to me.

  The pain in her voice had profoundly shocked him, for he had not meant to hurt her. That had never been his intention, yet he had thoughtlessly done so. Every action had been about ensuring she did not matter too much, but she still mattered—surely she saw that. Yet there was an air of melancholy that had been increasing daily, and to witness it gutted him. It mattered to Hugh that Phoebe was happy, that she was contented with her lot as his countess. That mattered to him as breathing was necessary. Yet he thought it ridiculous that three simple little words, “I love you,” could be what she needed to hear.

  Is that what you need from me, my wife? I love you?

  He hadn’t forgotten her sweet, fervent cry when he had been buried inside of her. Hugh often lingered over that declaration, wondering at the way his heart pounded when he recalled the instant those words had left her lips and the dread he had felt that she might expect a return of such sentiment.

  Despite his vow to be alert to the danger she presented, Hugh ensured he treated her with care and respect, yet frustratingly he could see that for his wife and her romantic sensibilities, it was not enough when their union was more than what most ton marriages owned.

  It was idiotic. What the hell did saying, “I love you,” have to do with a good marriage? They were just words. They held no power or benefit, so why did she want them? And why am I unable to admit to them? He wondered if he were to sign it, that would make her feel better. Franny chortled, and he peered down into her dimpled smile. A fierce emotion swelled in his heart, and he found himself bringing her close to nuzzle that small bit of exposed cheek. She yawned, and when he brought her to his chest, she snuggled against him with a sigh of contentment.

  Do I love you, Franny? This feeling that I must protect you against all harm and be there for you in every way, is this love?

  He loved his daughter, Hugh knew, for it was a similar emotion he felt regarding Caroline, William, and his father. So why was it so difficult to think of his wife and love in the same breath?

  A startling awareness wormed through his heart, faltering his steps.

  Because you are the only one whom loving can break me if I should allow it. If I love you…my love for you would turn you into my reason and if I should lose you…what, then?

  Memories he hadn’t allow himself to recall in years surfaced, and he willingly closed his eyes and walked through them. He saw her…his mother, the love she had for him, evident in the tender way she would kiss and sing to him. He felt it, the ravaging pain when he had curled on the floor of his bedroom and cried for her for days. He saw the old earl, in the gardens sobbing when he thought no one was around. The shame in Caroline’s eyes when she sat by the lake, staring at her reflection and wondering aloud at the identity of her real father before sobbing her heart out. All because of love. So much pain because of that bloody word.

  More than a word, something unfathomable whispered through him. Hugh scowled. If it was more than a word, he had no notion what the hell it represented, having never felt this ephemeral love. Hating that he was twisted inside, he turned around. His wife was a vision in a red redingote with a similarly bright red bonnet, a vivid contrast to the pristine white snow she trudged upon. Phoebe’s head was lowered, her brows gently furrowed, her thumb of one hand caught between her teeth as she read, with evident anxiety, her novel. Her eyes grew wider, the thumb slipped from her hand, and she pressed that palm to her chest, and to his amusement, she did a twirl.

  So it was a happy ending, then.

  On her second twirl, she noticed that he watched her. That bright, delightful smile dimmed, shadows growing in her eyes. The steps that came to him no longer hurried as they usually did, as if she couldn’t wait to be with him. Now as she strolled over, those steps were tentative and unsure.

  Holding Franny securely to his chest, he signed with the other hand. “Will you walk with me?”

  There was the barest hesitation before she nodded. They strolled in silence for several minutes, and it did not feel as sublime as their previous strolls, which had hinted at so many mysteries to unlock between them. The air felt tight with tension and uncertainty.

  “Phoebe, ahoy!”

  The shout of Caroline had his wife spinning around and waving.

  “I will see what Caroline wants,” she said with a quick smile that did not brighten her eyes.

  As he watched his wife’s retreating figure, something painful lodged against his stomach, and the heart he thought untouched grew heavy with an indefinable emotion. The loss of how wonderful, carefree, and passionate she had been in the beginning tore through him with agonizing force.

  Once there had been trust in her eyes and a sweet arousing fire of such hunger. A craving for that irrepressible smile and the improper way she would sometimes laugh and run without shoes tore through him. And by God, he longed to hold her close to him, to kiss her again, to play by the meadows…but he had given all that up, but this…this was the first time the loss of it almost brought him to his knees.

  How hadn’t he realized the bitter cost?

  …

  A week later, Hugh rode his horse with speed along the lanes leading to his home. He needed to speak to Phoebe, even though he was not certain what he wanted to say. To distract himself with thoughts of her, he had taken on the menial task of mucking out the stalls of his stables, the workmen looking on with a sense of shock. Normally, he worked until his muscles burned and the sun had lowered in the sky. But today, it was barely noon, and he stopped. Thunder had rumbled in the distance with the threat of rain, and it had felt imperative that he return home.

  The stablemaster’s wife had brought the man luncheon, a simple fare of potatoes and fish, but Henry hadn’t been able to stop smiling. The tender way he had taken her hand in his and led her to the side of the stable had dragged Hugh’s feet closer so he could observe them. Whatever they spoke about had delighted the wife, for she had swatted his hand and laughed before hugging her husband. Hugh had touched his arm, recalling a time when Phoebe would lightly punch him or how she would loop their hands together as they strolled by their meadow. His damn throat had burned, and to his shock, his eyes had smarted.

  Henry had glanced up and seen him. The man had hurried over and said, “Forgive me, milord, the missus isnad feeling too well, and…and she foolishly believes she will be going onto her reward soon, so she visits me here at every opportunity. She dinna realize I ain’t ever letting her go. I’ll send her off right away, milord.”

  “No,” he had signed. “Be with your wife.”

  A light misting rain had begun to fall, and lightning forked against the sky. The stablemaster had walked away, paused for a long time, then turned to
Hugh and said, “It ain’t my place milord, forgive me for overstepping, but I need to say it anyway. I dinna think the one tormenting yer thoughts so that a man of yer stature would muck horse-shite should ever be let go.”

  Hugh had kept his face carefully composed and hadn’t made a reply. But one thought that had eclipsed all else had been, I’ve never planned on letting her go. Ever.

  He slowed, bringing his horse to a stop in the forecourt of the mansion. Dismounting, he lowered the reins and hurried up the graveled pathway. What the hell had he truly accomplished by deciding to hold the old earl’s lessons close to his heart? He had avoided kissing Phoebe, because her lips were honeyed intoxication, and just a brief press of her mouth to his rendered him weak. Hugh could no longer bear to look at her when she played and sang to Franny. Whenever he saw his wife, her vision of loveliness would strike a weakening blow to his heart, and the polite civility he tried to cloak himself in would shake violently. He couldn’t spend the days at his house, for every detail of her, no matter how small, was imprinted on his mind. Hugh would visit his stables and spend the day with his horses, his thoughts tormented with his wife.

  For fucking sakes. He was a damn fool. How long can I exist without your smile? Without feeling your lips on mine? How long can I bear you not looking into my eyes…how long can I bear your tears in the night and your unhappiness?

  The butler held the door open, and Hugh handed over his coat and hat, tugging off his gloves as he walked down the hallway. He couldn’t go to Phoebe like this. He needed to take a bath and render himself presentable. Caroline paced along the hallway, a concentrated frown on her face. When she saw him, a heavy sigh of relief slipped from her, and she rushed toward him. He held up his hands because he was filthy with sweat, the scent of horses, grass, and whatever the hell he mucked from the stalls.

  “Phoebe is not here,” she blurted.

  He stopped. “I gather she is taking a walk with Franny. I will collect the umbrella and go to her. Though I believe she will take shelter at one of the gazebos.”

  Caroline bit her lip, appearing distinctly uncomfortable. “She took the carriage and Franny. Her maidservant, Sarah, and Franny’s nursemaid accompanied her, along with a few valises and hatboxes.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I saw her reading a letter before…before she left.” His sister looked away, a flush on her face.

  “What letter?”

  “I did not mean to read it, but it was just there on the floor.” Then she dipped into her pocket and held it out to him.

  Dear Phoebe,

  I must confess how much I miss you. Your smiles and your laughter. I love you. I wish you to marry me…

  Unable to read any more, Hugh looked at the date. This was a letter from George sent months ago, before that bounder had kidnapped her to London. Hugh crushed it in his fist. “This was a letter received months ago. This has nothing to do with Phoebe leaving now.”

  He made to walk away and froze. What if? Hugh sucked in a harsh breath.

  “What is it?” Caroline demanded.

  “I just had a thought.”

  “And that is?”

  Hugh hesitated then finally signed. “He offers her everything I did not.” The words of George that night in the gardens echoed in his thoughts. Let me love you…give you a happy life. What if she had gone to the person who could offer her the desires in her heart? He shook his head and dismissed the thought immediately. She had honor, and her character was not inconstant. Yet he had disappointed and hurt her so much that she had left.

  The agony that arrowed through Hugh’s heart was numbing. Merciful Christ. She had left without knowing…without knowing that he really did want her with every emotion in his heart. He rubbed the spot on his chest where he swore it physically ached. What if he could not convince Phoebe to come back? Fuck! His father had given up his pride and chased their mother to Edinburgh and begged her to return home. What if…

  Hugh closed his eyes against the raw emotions bubbling inside. Bloody hell. It was happening again. Only this time…this time something dark and powerful quaked in his heart, and it felt like fear and sorrow.

  Hugh could not envision a life without Phoebe.

  His sister held out her arm. “Here, she left a letter for you.”

  He plucked it from her hand and opened it.

  Dear Hugh,

  I must own that I had little hope of obtaining your affections. From the very beginning, you have shown an indifference to the notion of love or anything romantic. I heeded your words, as I have been gravely disappointed before, so it was never my intention to fall in love with you. But I did…I love you, and I am not ashamed to admit it.

  It does hurt that you cannot admit your affection for me, and the notion of only civility existing between us is unbearable. I cannot live in such a marriage. I cannot believe you would, either. I have been enduring the distance between us and the indifference in your eyes and touch. I must warn you. I will endure this no more. You must know I do have a very reckless and impetuous heart, and that should have been fair warning to you.

  I am giving you some time to reflect on what you want. Even though at this point, and with what I have decided, your opinion does not matter. Terribly bold and improper of me, but there you have it. I have taken Franny and I am leaving…

  He turned the letter over. Where was the rest of it? Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face and read that last line again.

  I have taken Franny and I am leaving.

  She was not able to divorce him, but her family had enough power and connections to keep them divided forever. Clearly, she had run to her brother, the powerful Marquess of Westfall, and that man was a dangerous person to make his enemy. But if it came to that, it damn well would because he was never letting go of her.

  To Hugh’s shock, he realized his eyes stung and his throat burned something fiercely.

  Phoebe has left this marriage, and that is all my fault for being a bacon-brained buffoon.

  The pain that cleaved through him then was enough to have him leaning weakly against the wall to the staircase, his forehead dropping with a heavy thud against the paneled oak.

  He pushed from the wall. “How long ago did she leave?”

  “About an hour.”

  He could catch her. “The carriage is pulled by a team of four?”

  “Yes.”

  Swallowing, he turned around and signed, demanding his fastest and most powerful horse.

  “Hugh,” Caroline cried.

  He turned to face her. “What is it?”

  “You…you are going after her?”

  He nodded once.

  Relief lit in her eyes. “Surely not in your state of disarray? And …you smell.”

  Ignoring her, he hurried out to the stables and mounted the large black stallion that was brought to him.

  “Milord, it’s best you take the landau or the smaller carriage. It promises to rain fiercely,” Mr. Gervase said, looking considerably concerned.

  Hugh collected the reins and nudged his horse into a trot along the driveaway and to the lanes leading to the open country road. The snow had been melting, and the roads were mud logged and should have slowed their carriage. Once he had cleared the driveaway, he urged his horse into a flat-out run. It tormented him, the pain he must have caused Phoebe for her to decide to flee their marriage.

  A tight feeling twisted in his chest. I am so damned sorry, Phoebe, so damned sorry.

  It felt pointless to wonder when she had snuck under his guard and pierced his protective barrier that had lingered around his heart for fifteen years. It had happened. With each smile, that lovely tinkling laugh, her large brown eyes, which peered at him with such joy. Every touch and kiss had been slowly hammering at him, and he hadn’t been aware of how much he had grown to need her.

  The r
ain started to sleet from the sky, and he rode without stopping. He had been travelling at a hard pace for over an hour when he spied the slow-moving carriage in the distance. Hugh urged his horse until he had caught up with them. The coachman and the tiger recognized him, and they slowed the horses, pulling the conveyance at his signal. Launching from his horse, he rapped on the carriage window.

  The curtains parted, and that small window opened. His wife’s eyes went wide with shock. “Hugh?”

  He nodded. She stared at him with unsettling intensity. “What…what are you doing here? Good heavens, you are soaked. Come inside before you catch your death!”

  His fingers trembled too badly, so he clenched his hands in tight fists at his side. Finally, he signed. “Do not leave me.”

  She stilled for long moments but made no reply, only stared at him, her eyes wide and lips parted.

  “Do not leave me.” He signed again, uncaring that his hands evidently shook. “I am weak to you, Phoebe…I am weak for you.” He dropped to his knees in the mud-soaked earth. She pushed her head through the windows, uncaring of the rain, and peered down at him. Even his coachman and the tiger stared, but Hugh only cared that Phoebe was looking at him.

  “If you keep going, I will chase you. I will not stop chasing and pleading with you to let me hold you…to let me love you until the end of our days. Nothing will make me give up. I do not care about pride or even the possibility of being shattered. Because I know you…and what I know is that you are a lady of quality, of kindness, of patience, of boldness, of courage, of love…a woman who would walk beside the man she loves with only one thought…and that is to live her happiest life with him and their children.”

  The curtains dropped, and her face disappeared. Something dark tore through his heart, and he rushed forward, but then she was there jumping out of the carriage into the rain without waiting for the steps to be knocked down. Such relief pulsed through him, he swayed.