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

“Katherine did the same. Met with…met with her lovers right under my nose. Your viscountess knows that man…to my old eyes, they seemed intimate.”

“And if they are, it does not have the power to affect me or our plans. You forget her role in my life.” He kept his face carefully composed, but Hugh was startled to realize his heart was pounding and an odd sensation he never felt before assailed him.

What in God’s name is this?

Ignoring the thumping in his heart, Hugh made his way to his study. Once there, he spent an hour going over some ledgers and investment reports that had been sent to him from their various estates across England. Try as he might, he could not immerse himself in his work. His thoughts kept returning to his wife, the flush on her cheeks when she had come inside earlier, the hesitation before she had answered his query. But worse, he was stuck deep in the emotions that had assailed him…no, feelings that were still darting through him. What were they? How difficult they were to unravel, given their perplexing and strange nature.

With a grunt of irritation, he leaned back against the high wingback chair and closed his eyes. Visions of his wife crowded his thoughts, and the ache in his heart grew to shocking proportions. It belatedly occurred to him that the notion she might have fibbed affected him. Too much, given the almost physical nature of how his damn chest hurt.

He came out of his relaxed pose and withdrew from his top drawer a sheaf of paper, an inkwell, and a quill. He would write her a letter, without dwelling too much on what he wanted to say, and perhaps then the truth of his emotions would reveal itself.

He wrote for several minutes before he paused to read his words. Bloody hell! He really hadn’t thought about what he wanted to say.

Dear Phoebe,

I like you.

Why hadn’t he demanded a reason for her evasiveness with the man on the horse? Instead…I like you. He placed the paper on the table as if to hold it any longer would burst it into flames. He folded his arms across his chest and peered at it with a scowl.

Do I trust you, is that it, my wife? Have I allowed you inside a part of me that no one else has and not realized it?

A knock sounded, and before he could ring the bell to summon the person, the door was jerked open and his wife framed the doorway. Her loveliness and her smile pierced his heart as she hurried into the room.

She lifted her hand and signed as she spoke. “Father has taken Francesca to the nursery. He is reading to her. Would you like us to take a walk by the seaside? We have at least two hours before dinner is announced.”

At his silence, she faltered and smoothed the front of her gown. Against his will, he found his gaze lingering on her face. Her sweet pouting lips, even at this distance, drew his attention and made his heart beat a little faster.

Was this the face of a woman who had met with a lover earlier? He questioned himself despite feeling the kernel of doubt and wanting to smash his fist into the desk. Immediately, he surprised himself by dismissing the idea as foolish. She had not done anything to deserve his mistrust, and he had been a damned fool to allow the old earl’s ramblings to place it in his heart.

He lifted his hands. “You look…very pretty.”

A faint wash of pink spread across her cheeks, and Hugh realized he had never told her that she was pretty before or that her eyes were the finest he’d ever seen or that her smile had the ability to possess him to be foolish…whimsical.

He stood, and his fingers leaped to life as he spoke. “You have the loveliest smile…whenever I see it, my heart…I feel warm.” He felt clumsy with his compliments, but something urg

ed him to be unrestrained in this moment.

She giggled, and he fancied it was one of the loveliest sounds he’d ever heard.

“You flatter me, my lord. I promise such artful compliments will get you everything.” Then she winked.

He smiled at her cheekiness, stood, and skirted around the oak desk to the front where he sat on the surface.

She arched a brow. “You seemed different, Hugh.”

His lady wife did not say his name enough. And he did feel different. It was as inexplicable as it was unfathomable, and Hugh only knew he would not shy away from its perplexities. In truth, he wanted to understand exactly what he felt toward his wife, so he could know if he should ruthlessly guard against this weakening or if he should cherish it.

Beware, my boy. The old earl’s warning drifted through his thoughts like a pervasive wasting disease. He formed a mental fist around those insidious teachings and crushed them. Any decisions he made would not be because he was manipulated, but by his own calculation.

“Tell me truly, what are your favorite pastimes?”

She tucked a wisp of hair behind her hair, tugging his attention to her cleavage. She wore a fine, pale yellow day gown with ruffled sleeves. Now that she was no longer swollen with child, her figure had revealed itself to be a delicate, graceful beauty. Her cheeks were no longer sweetly rounded; her facial bones were delicately carved and slanted with elegant cheekbones, her mouth full and lush. The set of her chin hinted at her stubborn nature, and he often fought the temptation to dip his head and brush a small kiss right there. Her jutting breasts and narrow waist had featured in many of his dreams as she visited him nightly.

“My favorite pastimes?”

He nodded, and she canted her head as she stared at him, clearly unable to reconcile his unexpected curiosity.

“When we walk along the cliffside or to our meadows. I enjoy those moments immensely. I cannot express the joy I feel in spending time with Franny daily.”