Page 83 of Make Mine a Marquess

“And what about clothing?” she asked. “Would you insist your wife dress a certain way or in a certain color?”

“I may find a certain color flattering and tell her she looks lovely. But I wouldn’t insist upon it.”

She tried to set her foot down, but he held it firmly on his lap. “Look at me, Phoebe.”

She raised her eyes. His gaze was dark and mesmerizing. “I can only assume Willard is insisting you eat fowl and dress in his favorite color.”

She bit her lip.

“It may not be my place, but I have no qualms about expressing my opinion. You are a special lady, a rare treasure. Why marry a man who does not make you happy?”

Her heart pounded in her chest so hard she wondered if he could hear it.

Her voice was low, troubled. “We’ve agreed to the betrothal. It’s my duty.”

“There are worse things than crying off and ending it.”

She pulled her foot from his lap. This time, he let her. Reaching down he picked up her shoes and handed them to her. “Think about what I said. Spending a lifetime bound to someone you don’t love, someone you don’t even like, is not a fate I would wish upon my enemy.”

For the first time, she feared for her future. More dangerously, she feared herself.

…

Landon waited until he knew the guests’ rooms would be empty. Willard had scheduled the entertainment well before Landon had arrived at the country manor, and he’d hired talented musicians. Tonight, the guests were drinking and thoroughly enjoying the evening. The harmonic strains of violins could be heard upstairs. Even though it wasn’t a ball, he longed to dance with Phoebe tonight. He longed to hold her in his arms and twirl on the dance floor for the simple pleasure of dancing, but it was not to be.

The prior evening, he’d once again planted the seeds of discontent in her mind when he’d found her sitting beneath the moonlight on the outdoor terrace. Willard needed her dowry more than ever after his reckless gambling. Then there was his investment in the fake mine. As long as Willard intended to marry Phoebe for her money, then Landon’s plans to seduce her and take her dowry away from his cousin’s clutches would not change. He had no intention of ruining Phoebe’s reputation, only for her to walk away from Willard on her own. Without her dowry, Willard would not be able to pay his debts or retain a solicitor or barrister to defend him in the House of Lords. It was perfect.

Yes, Phoebe was the final key to Willard’s destruction.

A different part of him, a weak part, wanted her to end the betrothal for other reasons. He wanted her happy and he was convinced marriage to a blackguard like his cousin would be pure misery. A selfish part, a deep-rooted need, wanted her for himself. It was indeed selfish. If he wanted her to be truly happy, then neither Willard nor himself would be adequate. She deserved so much more.

He pushed aside any foolish yearning. He had other plans. More important ones.

He opened Phoebe’s bedroom door and slipped inside. Warm pale-lemon walls and delicate pearwood furniture spoke of a feminine guest room. From the white canopied bed, he picked up a pillow and breathed in her light lavender scent. He imagined her blond hair spread across the sheets and her lovely limbs outstretched in welcome. His heartbeat increased and he clutched the pillow.

He reluctantly set it down. He was here for one purpose and fantasizing about the room’s occupant was not it.

A movement from near the window drew his attention. Mimi sat on the window seat, her yellow eyes watching him.

“Hello, Mimi.”

She leapt down and rubbed against his leg. He reached down to stroke the cat’s soft fur. “I’m sorry to intrude. I promise to be quick.”

The cat purred, then leaped back onto her preferred perch.

He returned his attention to the room, knowing his time was limited. The music would end, and he was at risk of getting caught if Phoebe returned here straightaway.

He immediately went to work. He lifted the mattress and searched beneath it. Nothing. He opened each drawer of the chest of drawers, careful not to disarrange the clothing, as his fingers searched for paper or hidden latches. He kept going, searching the curtains, the window bench seat cushion, the wardrobe, even the pockets of dresses. All nothing.

He stood in the center of the room, scanning the space. Where the devil would Willard hide incriminating letters or documents?

His gaze went to the nightstand by Phoebe’s bed. A green ribbon lay upon its surface, and he’d recalled seeing it strung through her blond locks as she’d strolled the gardens with Beatrice. Truth be told, he’d watched her more and more as the days went by.

So where to look next? He’d already searched the nightstand drawer. He had yet to search behind the furniture.

Making a quick decision, he shifted the nightstand away from the wall. Reaching behind, he felt something other than the wood. Eager now, as he moved the piece of furniture farther, he saw paper attached to the back. He detached a packet of what appeared to be letters. His heart hammered in his chest as he pushed the nightstand back in place.

The packet was bound with string. He untied it and unfolded the foolscap to find two letters.