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

Her lashes lowered briefly, and when her gaze lifted to his once more, a deep awareness flowered through Hugh. His wife wanted him. A wicked dare peeked from the gaze staring so boldly at him.

“Do you think of doing more…than kissing?” she murmured.

He gripped the edge of the desk, fighting the need to grab her, to toss her onto the surface and have his wicked way with her. He did not know much about childbirth and what time it took to recover. Hugh had been very mindful of her sensibilities and constitution these past few weeks, waiting for her to let him know when she needed more. Though she responded to his seductive kisses with wanton abandonment, she’d never demanded for more. And thus, he had restrained himself, believing that she would know best when her body was ready. “Yes.”

The very air around them seemed to tremble with expectations.

“Who was that man earlier?”

They stared at each other.

“He said that he is Viscount Malfoy and that he was here to take me back to London. I refused, and he left.”

All the warmth he’d been feeling vanished, and cool caution settled along his spine. “That is not a matter of little consequence.”

She lifted a shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “It is, because I belong here…with you and Franny and Caroline and the earl. I daresay when we are ready, we will return to England.”

Hugh straightened, and she glanced down, staring a long time at his desk.

“Is that a letter for me?” she asked, reaching for the paper.

He grabbed it and held it away from her. Hugh wasn’t quite ready for her to read his disjointed thoughts, not when he was bewildered by them himself. She tried to snatch the paper from him, and he stood and lifted his hand in the air. Phoebe scowled up at him then rolled her eyes in an unladylike fashion.

“Hugh?”

His silence was its own answer.

“I shall yield to all persuasion when you next kiss me,” she said softly.

His breath caught at that unexpected provocation and promise. Then she turned and walked away without waiting for his response.

Chapter Fourteen

Phoebe could feel Hugh’s stare like a physical caress along her nape then down to her hip. I’ll yield to your persuasion… Or more like his ravishment. Only a few steps away from the door, she whirled around and ran toward him without checking her speed. His beautiful eyes widened, and before he could react or even guess her intention, Phoebe jumped, grabbing his shoulders to haul herself up so she could wrap her legs around his hips. She did not concentrate on this very scandalous and outrageous position—that her dress had been pushed to her knees and she was wrapped around her husband like a vine, her ankles hooked around his back—but releasing one of his shoulders, she lunged to pluck the note he had been trying to hide.

Yes! She turned her triumphant gaze to him and realized their mouths were mere inches apart and her husband had frozen. Clearly, he had not expected her actions, but Phoebe hadn’t thought it would have so shocked him that he’d turned into this marble effigy.

She could feel his heartbeat against her breasts, which she had pressed so firmly against his chest. A wave of heat overwhelmed Phoebe, and she was unexpectedly mortified and intensely aware that she could feel every imprint of her lord’s body against hers. Her fingers tightened reflexively on his shoulder, and his lashes closed briefly, as if he savoured the sting of her nails that penetrated through the layers of his jacket and shirt.

“I’ve been improper,” she whispered, painfully aware of how close his lips were.

Phoebe placed the note close to her cheek. “Please take it back.”

“Read it.”

“I…no, you did not want me to, and I should not have acted with such wanton disregard for your privacy—”

He pressed a finger to her parted lips. Then he lifted those fingers and signed, “Phoebe?”

“Yes?”

“Read it.”

Pa

infully aware that she was still clasped intimately against him, she turned her head and lowered her gaze to the letter.

Dear Phoebe,