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

Phoebe had read his letter several times and cried privately in her room, not wanting to intrude on Caroline and the servants who openly grieved for their beloved master. Shockingly, he had left an unentailed estate to Franny with an inheritance of fifty thousand pounds and a few beloved jewels that had belonged to his mother. Franny had also received her own letter, which he had left instruction not to be opened until she was eighteen years of age. Phoebe’s thoughts turned to the very man the earl warned her to not expect tender sentiments.

Hugh…

The last few days had seen him ensconced in his study with several lawyers and solicitors from Edinburgh and even a couple from London as they drafted petitions to the Lord Chancellor for a writ of summons

to the House of Lords for Hugh to be recognized as the legal heir to the earldom. There would come a time when Hugh would be introduced to his house of Peers in the house of Lords, and he would be required to read the Oath of Allegiance at the end of the ceremony. She wondered how he would traverse those waters when the time came. Would they allow him to sign his oath?

The very thought of her husband conjured him, and her breath quickened. Phoebe pressed her hands against the glass of her windows and stared at the figure striding across the lawns toward the beckoning cliffs in the distance. She had a suspicion since the evening he wrote her the letter and played the flute to her that he held her in considerable affections and that he might be falling in love with her.

However, the warm, attentive husband she was too hopelessly falling in love with had been notably absent since the earl had gone. Hugh still treated her with polite kindness, but his eyes once again expressed civil indifference. When he lay beside her in the night, she fretted if she should turn into his arms to comfort him. Would he rebuff her advances, or would he welcome her support?

His coldness had been too much, and she hadn’t found the courage to cross the distance that seemed like insurmountable miles. Staring at his purposeful stride, she lurched to her feet, collected her coat, and slipped her feet into slippers. Her hair rippled down her shoulders and back freely, but she did not care to summon Sarah to help her tame her tresses and put on a bonnet. The overwhelming urge to simply hug her husband and to let him know that he was not alone dominated her thoughts.

Phoebe hurried outside and along the paved pathway, almost running to keep her husband in sight. She did not call his name or stop once, running to him until she was panting and breathless. Several minutes passed before she slowed her pace, gripping her pelisse tightly around her body to ward off the chill in the air. The October wind was harsh, signalling this winter would be fierce.

“Hugh,” she called.

The wind snatched her words, but somehow, he had heard her. His shoulders had stiffened, and he seemed to take a deep breath before he faced her. His eyes skimmed over her as she hurried to him, the wind whipping her hair about her face and shoulders.

The slash of his hand as he motioned her to leave was almost violent. Phoebe hesitated then lifted her chin and walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away from him, not certain how to offer comfort to someone who had not asked for it.

“I…” Phoebe impatiently pushed away strands of hair from her forehead and eyes. “I cannot imagine the pain you must feel that he is gone. But I am here should you need me, even if it is to rest your shoulders against mine as we sit in silence.”

He regarded her with a slight crease between his brows. “I do not fear death, or loss, or even pain. Your words are not needed.”

“Because you chose to deny their existence…or the emotions that come with their existence does not mean they are not there, buried deep, fighting to break free.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes before all expression shuttered. “Your naive reasoning is astounding.”

The words were cutting even though he had signed them. She lifted her hands and slowly signed as she said, “And I can tell right now you are a wounded wolf and you are pushing me away in your need to not feel. I know your heart is breaking…because he’s your father, you loved him, and now he is forever lost to you.”

His throat worked on a swallow, the veil cracked, grief and such pain brewed in his eyes that it was awful to witness. His lashes lowered when he glanced back up, all emotions contained. Without speaking, he dismissed her by turning his back to her, facing the cliffs and the raging seas below. She went up to him and hugged him tightly from behind, her face pressing close to his back. He stiffened, and then a deep shudder worked through him until his entire body trembled. She held him tightly, comforting him silently. He gripped both of her wrists, which she anchored around his waist, and she braced for him to push her away. Instead, he held on to her hands as if they were lifelines.

Her throat burned with unshed tears, and her heart ached relentlessly for him. She had only been a part of their family for a little over five months, but Phoebe had been charmed by the old earl’s eccentric view on life. She had liked him a lot. It was unfathomable to think what his children might be feeling at his departure.

They stayed like that for a long time. Phoebe couldn’t tell how long had passed, but even as the wind sliced at her back and she quaked from the chill, she did not let him go. The soles of her feet ached from standing for surely what was over an hour on the rocky incline of the cliffside, but she did not move. They just stood there, waiting as the surf crashed against the coast in frothy, violent waves and the air grew even more chilled. At times Hugh shuddered, and at times he was so still, he was an effigy of a marble statue.

Phoebe only knew she must never let him go, so she did not.

After another several moments, he lifted her wrists from around his waist and kissed each of her clenched fists. Then he pushed them to his side. She released him but did not step back. He turned around, and his beautiful eyes were carefully contained.

“Thank you,” he signed, his lips quirking in a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “I am obliged to you for your company. You may leave now.”

“No.”

“Phoebe, you will leave—”

“No.”

They stared at each other for long moments. He cupped her cheeks, dipped slightly, and kissed her with violent tenderness. This Phoebe had not expected, and in his embrace, she felt the force of his grief, the pain, and the desperation of his loss. She tasted something dark and dangerous, something sweet and hot, something never felt before in all the kisses they had exchanged.

With a gasp, her lips parted, allowing him inside, and he plundered, ravishing her lips over and over. Odd and terrifying sensations crashed against her senses when his mouth slanted over hers with greed and something fierce that she was unable to identify. When he released Phoebe, her lips felt bruised, her heart felt alive, and her body…she trembled to be closer to him.

He gently pushed her away from him, but she took a step forward, and he moved back, shaking his head slowly, the indifferent veil cracking and raw and powerful hunger leaping in his eyes. His finger jerked as he said, “No, not like this.”

“What is not like this?” she asked softly, though she knew. Dear God, she knew for something hot and a bit scary trembled low in her belly. The air was chilled, but her palms were dampened with sweat.

“This first time we make love…will not be when I am feeling so much.”