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“By her own will. The confines of marriage and children were gathered to be dull. We are uncertain since no explanation has ever been given.”
How abominable of her. Phoebe leaned forward and grasped one of his hands. She laced their fingers together, wishing to comfort him in any manner she could. He allowed this, a curious expression in his eyes. “I am so terribly sorry for the pain you must have endured and must still suffer knowing she is here in Scotland and quite uncaring!”
A brow arched, his gaze grew even more remote, and when he tugged his hands from hers for a moment, she felt bereft.
“You mistake the matter. It is of no consequences that she is gone. Good riddance to her disloyalty and inconstancy.”
She winced at his flat dismissal. “But surely should she return—” It was that remarkable indifference in his mien that caused her to stop speaking.
An uncomfortable silence lingered, and she couldn’t say what madness prompted her to ask, “And if one day I should leave?” Phoebe discerned that the reserve she had always sensed within him was rooted deeply in this very moment. It felt silly that she asked, and she took a breath to beg him to ignore her words when his fingers leaped to life.
“If it is after you have done your part of the bargain, if you are to leave, it would be of little consequence.”
“Oh!” she gasped, almost overcome by mortification. Phoebe believed she interpreted it correctly to mean that she was of little to no consequence to him. She realized in that moment he had no expectations of her, beyond whatever had prompted him to marry her. The awareness left her feeling wretched.
His eyes caressed over her face, searching every nuance of her expression. How stricken she must appear, and she schooled her features into a pleasant mask. The ache that filled her heart was bewildering because it was all for the man before her. How he must have hurt when his mother left, enough so that he seemed to exile his emotions from all states of feeling.
She recalled with perfect clarity then, his letters and how indignant she had initially been at his dismissal of love.
I do not plan to leave you, she promised him silently, a soft smile curving her mouth.
The shift in her countenance had him canting his head and staring at her.
“Your smile, it is very beautiful.”
Her cheeks coloured under the heated intensity of his gaze. How foolish! To blush so easily at a compliment as if she were a silly girl fresh from the school room. “You flatter me, thank you.” Before he could respond, she continued, “I would like to dip my feet in the brook.” The cool water had a wonderful way of easing the ache she oftentimes endured in her ankles, and this ritual had become a part of their morning routine.
With spry grace, he pushed to his feet before coming over to her. It was always so difficult to get up, and Phoebe suspected that soon they would have to stop coming here, because surely her belly would only get larger. The doctor had informed her she had at least two months to go before the birthing, and to Phoebe’s mind, each day her belly grew an inch. He came down to almost her level, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and braced as he eased her to her feet.
Once standing, she did not release his shoulders as she normally did but peered up at his face, which had remained carefully inscrutable. She lifted her fingers to his forehead and brushed aside that stubborn curl of hair once more. He gripped her hand, as if he could not bear that tender ministration.
But instead of pushing her away as she’d anticipated, he kissed her fingers. Phoebe made no further attempt to speak, nor did she dare question him any more about his past. They spent the rest of the day together, and she couldn’t recall ever having a grander time playing chess, cribbage, and even reading.
That evening, after taking a tray in her room, having been too exhausted to dress up for dinner, Phoebe lay in bed on her side. They hadn’t talked again about what her moving to his chamber meant and when exactly she would do so. Tomorrow she would inform Sarah, and then they could start discussing the colour to do over the walls and the type of fabric she would require to swath the windows and to hang over the crib.
An odd sort of anxiety beat in her breast, and with a great struggle, she shifted and turned onto her back. It felt as if the roasted duck in cream sauce and asparagus she had eaten an hour ago would rush back up and she would cast her account. With a frustrated groan, she turned on her other side. At that moment, the connecting door opened, and her breath audibly caught.
Her husband framed the doorway, dressed in a dark blue silk banyan. Phoebe pushed to her elbows and tried to sit up, hating that it was getting so difficult. Her heart pounded when Hugh padded over to her, and Phoebe couldn’t help gasping when he dipped, placed one of his hands beneath her shoulder and the other under her hips, and effortlessly lifted her into his arms and made his way to his chamber.
Oh God! Her heart raced so fast, she feared fainting.
“Are you…are we to sleep together?” she asked, flushing at the squeak in her voice.
He paused on the threshold to enter his room. It took immense courage for her to lift her head to peer up into his face. He returned her stare, and her throat dried at the tenderness in his eyes. They also hinted an unfathomable message she could not decipher.
Her lips parted on a soundless sigh when he lowered his head. But he did not kiss her lips as she had anticipated, just pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her heart pounded, and though she was in his arms, Phoebe swore her knees trembled.
The warmth of his lips vanished from her skin, and he moved with her, entering his chamber. Inside his room was dark, except for the low-burn
ing fire at the far-left corner. He walked with her over to the large canopied bed in the center of the room. She pressed her face into the crook of his throat and inhaled deeply of his warm, masculine scent. Her heart surged, and a shiver of longing chased wickedly along her spine. He carefully deposited her on the bed and lowered the canopy before going around to the next side of the bed and climbing on.
They lay facing each other, and she could barely discern his features with that small flicker of light from the hearth. Yet she could feel his eyes on her. I’ve never slept beside another, she wanted to say, but her tongue would not obey. Phoebe wasn’t certain how long she lay there unable to sleep. She shifted several times, trying to find comfort, to no avail. It had been like this almost every night for the past week, and she dreaded the idea that it would go on for another two months.
With a soft groan, she turned to her side. There was a dip on the bed behind her, and her entire body came alive as Hugh’s presence drifted nearer. A warm hand rested on her hip, and she felt his curiosity as if it were a tangible entity.
“My lower back aches dreadfully,” she confessed, wincing at the pitiful sob in her tone. “And my feet ache. From my knees down to my ankles. Dr. Edward swears these are all symptoms of pregnancy, but I have been intolerably miserable these past few days!”
A kiss was pressed to her shoulder, a touch meant to soothe, and it did, for the tension leaked from her body. His warmth left her, the bed dipped, and though she strained to hear, he did not leave the room. He came back on the bed, and when she looked about, his shadow was below hers.
