“And not a moment too soon,” Phoebe said, trying to hide any sarcasm in the words, out of deference to his sister’s joy.
And either Phoebe was more successful than she thought, or Hannah’s happiness was too big to be pierced by Phoebe’s barbs, because her sister released a happy little sigh.
“I know,” she said blissfully. A thoughtful little frown crossed her face as she continued her tale. “At first, I thought we might have to alert Father to my—” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “—condition, as he wasn’tterriblypleased that Loyd is a viscount, given that he’d almost married me off to a duke. But I pointed out that he’s a viscount himself, and Loyd made themostromantic speech about how much he loves me, and then Aaron reminded father that there’s a duke in the family anyw?—”
Hannah cut herself off, her eyes going wide as Phoebe turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry,” Phoebe said, her voice eerily calm. “But when you sayAaron, do you meanAaron Warson, the Duke of Redcliff?”
Hannah squirmed in her seat. “Um,” she said. “Yes.”
“Myhusband?” Phoebe’s voice didn’t sound calm any longer. Now, it was high-pitched in the way that would set any nearby dogs to whining.
Hannah’s shoulders rose until they were practically kissing her ears.
“I don’t think I was supposed to tell you,” she said sheepishly. “But he has been helping. He was the one who talked to Loyd, who helped him get his mother and Father and me all together. He even brought his solicitor so that the marriage contract could be drawn up right away.”
“Aaron,” Phoebe repeated, her mind whirling with this new information. “My husband, Aaron?”
Hannah nodded. “He said—” She hesitated, clearly unsure if she should speak, and Phoebe wasn’t certain if she should laugh or cry at the revelation that her husband had so successfully won her sister’s loyalty. “He said that family should help one another.”
Phoebe stood—or she must have done because she was standing.
“I—need some air,” she stammered into Hannah’s shocked expression.
She moved through the house without thinking, her feet taking her to the garden on the force of habit alone. She was several yards down the path before she realized that she hadn’t even stopped to grab her cloak. By then, it seemed too great a hurdle to go back.
The snow was nearly all melted anyway, as if the mere atmosphere of London was taunting its residents for daring to hope for a white Christmas. The pebbles of the garden path were damp but not slick as Phoebe wandered on, ignoring the cold in favor of trying to puzzle through what on earth she’d just learned from her sister.
It had to be because of the scandal. It was the only thing that made sense—that Aaron had helped Hannah because he didn’t want her pregnancy to cause a scandal.
Except…
Except that if that was what he had wanted, he would have been better suited by distancing himself from the affair as much as possible. He certainly wouldn’t have come along with Loyd, wouldn’t have lent his ducal authority—not to mention hissolicitor—to cleaning up the mess in which he had no hand in the making.
But if she dared to even consider another reason—if she dared to let herself think, for even a moment, that he’d done it forher—then she would start to hope.
And if she started to hope, her heart would break when those hopes were dashed.
She reached the gazebo, and evidently, she was some sort of glutton for punishment as she entered the structure, no matter that the whole thing was now painted over in the memory of kissing Aaron. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, creating a barrier against the cold and against any dangerous emotions that might try to creep in.
This changed nothing, she told herself. Nothing.
So what if she had increasingly come to feel that her heart was compromised by her marriage? So what if she felt more than she ought to for Aaron—both for the stern exterior that he wore to protect himself and the soft, kind,goodman beneath? It didn’t matter.
What she felt didn’tmatterbecause Aaron had been clear from the beginning, and he’d only made himself clearer with these last few days of silence. He wanted a wife who wouldn’t cause him trouble. And Phoebe was, and always had been, trouble.
She looked out over the garden where the snowmelt had made everything a drab gray, the kind of gray that made you feel like it would always be like this, like spring would never come, like the sun would never shine again.
She should get used to the cold, she reminded herself. She should let it sink into her bones until it no longer affects her.
And then, so sudden that it was startling, a warm weight draped over her shoulders, and she heard her husband’s voice—brimming with heat and irritation, enough to make her want to laugh in delight at hearing it.
“For Christ’s sake, Phoebe,” Aaron complained as he tucked his greatcoat more firmly around her. “Why in the hell is it that you never wear a bloody cloak?”
CHAPTER 26
Phoebe never thought she would be so happy to see someone frowning at her, but Aaron’s frown was accompanied by his gentle hands rubbing up and down her arms, pressing heat into her through the heavy wool of his coat.
