When the Earl Met His Match (Wedded by Scandal 4)

Hugh stiffened at the inflection he heard when she said music tutor. Were the music teacher and George one and the same? But what did it matter? Biting back the unknown emotions stirring to life inside, Hugh pushed the suppositions and their empty bearing aside.

His father scowled, and she chuckled. Hugh was fascinated that she appeared undaunted by the earl’s ferocity. Peace and such delight settled on his father’s face when she started to play a sonata by Pleyel. Hugh drifted away to his study, leaving them to their pleasures.

It had been a full three months since he had married Phoebe, and in that time, a slender, delicate thread of friendship had formed between them. More than friendship, but he was unable to put a name to the exact nature of their relationship. Hugh was only certain that he enjoyed her company immensely, and when he was away from the manor, his thoughts constantly turned to her.

In the nights… He swallowed. Whenever he slept, she entered his dreams, like a thief, robbing him of rest and calm thoughts. That lack of control was enough to cause him worry. Then he had dismissed it. Though it felt unlike him, he could not perceive the danger in liking his wife. It was to their benefit that it was mutual liking and hinted that their future might not be miserable at all, but a very pleasant one.

Yet there was a warning that lingered deep inside. It cautioned him that it was not prudent to give his trust and regard so easily. And though he tried, he could not dismiss that instinctive need to keep his emotions guarded from his wife.

Why did you push the letters behind you, my Phoebe? If I’d not come upon you…would you have told me of your brother’s plans or that George wants you?

Hugh leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, terribly curious at the dark, almost violent emotion twisting his gut into knots. Is this jealousy? Though Hugh admired the old earl very much, he did not want to be like him when it came to matters of the heart. Hugh preferred a simple, amiable liking and friendship than anything that might be tumultuous, passionate with the ability to break him and leave him a shadow of himself. He still did not understand how a man as powerful and self-assured as his father could have been brought so low by this foolish idea of loving a woman so much. But for the first time ever, Hugh recognized that his father’s warning on how easy it was to slide into that trap held some truth.

His wife provoked his lust, she compelled his interest, and he sensed he was falling deeper into her each day and was quite unable to slow down his momentum.

He picked up a packet of letters on his desk to riffle through his correspondence. It was quite interesting that neither the duke nor the duchess had responded to his letter. No doubt they would investigate him first before reaching out. But he still found it odd that they had not descended on him in search of their daughter. Though he had reassured them that she was safe, nothing could have kept him from going to his child who had been forced to run away from home.

A knock sounded, and he rang the bell. The butler entered.

“My lord, Viscountess Bamforth has called to see Lord Albury. I’ve informed the earl, but he gave no instruction on what I should tell Lady Bamforth. He only shooed me from the music room.”

Every so often, the widowed viscountess would call upon his father, who diligently avoided her company. Hugh himself did not understand her determination given that his father hardly paid her any attention.

“I’ve left her in the Rose parlour, my lord, and called for a pot of tea and cakes. I…the lady travelled with a few of her cats, my lord,” his normally unflappable butler said with an air of disgruntlement before smoothing his features into a professional mask of unconcern.

“I will tend to the lady.”

The butler nodded and shuffled out. Hugh quickly made his way to the music room. Caroline had gone riding, and he would have no interpreter to speak with the viscountess. His wife would have to speak for him. Hugh opened the door and faltered. His wife was positioned by the windows, her hand resting on her large belly, her head tipped back, the most wonderful laughter coming from her.

Had he ever heard her sound so unrestrained and just lovely? Something undefinable tumbled inside his chest, and he would have given anything in this moment to have been the one to inspire such delight.

“This is no laughing matter,” the earl grouched.

“You are trying to climb through the windows! Surely you do not expect me to contain my humor.”

It was then he noted his father had one leg thrown over the windowsill and one firmly in the music room, a black scowl on his face as he glared at his daughter-in-law.

“If you would stop that bleating and help me, I could escape the damnable woman.”

Amusement rushed through

Hugh when she stepped forward and lightly punched his father’s bony arm.

“I am not bleating. It is a laugh. You should try it sometimes.”

She only chuckled when the earl sent her another scowl. Her lively prettiness forcibly struck Hugh in the heart.

“I do not think Lady Bamforth would dare barge in here without an invitation,” his wife continued. “That would be intolerably rude of her. Surely this mad escape is unnecessary?”

“You do not know her and those damn cats she travels with. The last time I was obliged to take tea with her, they got their claws in me, and the damn woman thought it was charming.”

“I’ve heard from Caroline that the viscountess is a gentle beauty and she likes you. Why is that so scary?”

His father’s jaw slackened. “I do not like you, young lady—your manners are too boldly improper.”

“Pffts,” she said with considerable animation, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his weathered cheek. “I can tell you are taken in by my irrepressible charm and hold considerable affection for me. Or why else would you turn to me to help you escape?”

Her words had a softening effect on his father’s visage. In fact, the man seemed pleased. It could have been that kiss to his cheek.