“There’s no Lady Hudson. Although I keep telling him he should marry.,” the duke said with a chuckle. “His sister, Lady Julia, is acting as his hostess.” Weston glanced around the room, then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t see her, but I believe you three will get along nicely.”
“Perhaps I have more of my mother in me than I thought,” Emma frowned, still plainly distressed by her question about whether Hudson was married.
Both Weston and Phoebe said, “You don’t.”
“Phew, that’s a relief,” Emma said. “Perhaps I could use a drink to help me relax.” As if the footman had heard her, he came by with a tray of wine.
All three of them took glasses from the tray. Just as Phoebe sipped, the bell rang for dinner, and a footman announced, “There will be no formal line into the dining room, although there are seating arrangements.”
“Come with me, ladies,” Weston said as he wrapped one of their arms around each of his and led the way into a large dining room with a long rectangular table for twenty. Hudson was at one end of the table, with Emma seated to his right and her mother beside her. A woman she presumed was Lady Julia, Hudson’s sister, was at the other end. Weston was to her left, with Emma beside him. How fortunate that their aunt couldn’t see them. It made eating and talking with Weston and Lady Julia much more enjoyable. Julia, who had a lighter shade of blonde hair than her brother but shared the same startling sky-blue eyes, was shy yet kind.
Listening to her and the duke converse, she wondered why they never courted or married. They seemed to suit each other and get along very well. The affection they shared was clear in every look they exchanged. Oh dear, Phoebe’s hands went to her lap, and she twisted them around and around in time with her heartbeat. There was a story and a history between them, she was convinced of it. At some point, she planned to ask the duke about it. Otherwise, it would burn a hole in her heart.
When dinner was over, the ladies went to the drawing room, while the gentlemen stayed behind for cigars, cheroots,and port. Lady Julia walked with her and led her to a checkers table. “Do you play?” she asked.
Phoebe shook her head. “No. I never learned.”
“I’m terrible at it. We can sit here and talk. I’m so glad Weston found you. You make a lovely couple.”
“Thank you.” Phoebe inhaled to gather courage. “I have to say, you two seem to know each other quite well. Why didn’t...” The rest of her words failed her when Lady Julia’s eyes widened. “Sorry. That was very rude of me.”
Lady Julia reached across the checkerboard, pushing aside some of the disks, and covered her hand with one of hers. “It’s true. We have known each other for a long time, and we are good friends. While he never actually proposed marriage, we did discuss it after his second wife died. It took only that one conversation to realize that, although we care for each other, we don’t care for each other in that way. We would not be a good match as a married couple.”
Phoebe exhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath. The pain in her chest lessened, and she turned her hand over to gently squeeze Lady Julia’s hand. “Thank you for telling me.” She let go of Lady Julia’s hand, and as she moved her arm across the board, several checkers fell to the floor.
“I’ll get those.” The man they’d been talking about bent down, picked up the fallen pieces, and placed them on the board. “No harm done.” He turned to Phoebe and asked, “Your aunt gave me permission to show you the gardens.” He held out his hand, while his other held her cloak, and raised a brow. “Is that something that interests you?”
“Yes,” she said as she stood up, nearly knocking the chair over in her excitement to be alone with him. Luckily, he caught it before it fell. “Wonderful.” He bowed. “Please excuse us, Lady Julia.”
She smiled. “Oh, go on, you love birds. I have a room full of guests to visit with.”
“Thank you,” Phoebe said as Weston wrapped her cloak around her and she fastened the clasp at her neck. She slid her arm through Weston’s, and they stepped out the double glass doors onto a large veranda that led into the formal gardens. The pathway was lit with torches. It was magical and intimate, and her insides tingled with awareness as Weston’s body brushed against hers while they strolled slowly down the garden path.
“Finally, I have you to myself,” Weston said as he led her to a small, private nook. Shrubs and flowers surrounded a wrought iron bench, offering privacy. “Do you mind if we sit for a spell?”
“Not at all.” Phoebe sat down, making sure her cloak covered her to stay warm. Thank goodness the duke thought to bring her her cloak; otherwise, her behind would be pretty cold from the bench.
Weston sat close enough that they touched from foot to shoulder, and she sighed from the contact. Strange how this man could make her feel safe just by being near him.
“I was shocked when you arrived tonight. I honestly thought Lady Greenwich would change her mind at the last minute and send her regrets.”
“So did I, Your Grace,” she said.
Weston turned toward her on the bench, their knees touching, and he took both her hands into his. His eyes shone a warm golden-brown in the light of the nearby torch. “Please call me Oliver.”
“If you call me Phoebe.”
“Phoebe it is. May I kiss you?”
Ever since he had kissed her yesterday, she had wished to feel his lips on her again. Now, she was getting her wish. “Yes.” Her eyes remained fixed on his. She was afraid to look away andbreak the spell. She swore she could see into his soul through his eyes—a soul scarred by his past, yet hopeful for the future.
He removed his hands from hers, first taking off her gloves and then his, placing them on the bench beside him. Gently, he cupped her face with his large, warm hands, and her lids fluttered closed as she leaned toward him. Warm lips met hers, and her entire being took notice, recognizing him as belonging to her. He licked her lips softly; she sighed, and he swept his tongue inside her mouth. His arms encircled her, pulling her close to his chest. He moaned as he deepened the kiss.
It didn’t take long before instinct took over, and she twirled her tongue with his. The dance felt like joining a ritual as ancient as time. He opened his mouth wider, tilted his head, and deepened the kiss, startling her. Her body, her mind, and her soul yearned to become one with him. She fought the urge to climb onto his lap and press her body against his. Sensations she’d never known before called out to her. When she could no longer handle the intensity, Oliver broke the kiss; it was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling.
He buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply. When had the clasp to her cloak opened? When he exhaled, his whole body trembled. “Phoebe. You unman me. You make me want to fall to my knees and beg for any scrap you’re willing to share.”
He placed barely there kisses down her neck and across the swell of her breast peeking over the top of her round neckline. The sensation traveled up and down her entire body and settled between her thighs.
