Phoebe’s legs no longer held her, so she dropped onto the sofa. Despite her desire not to do so, she looked up at Morgan. Shock. Surprise. And something else she couldn’t identify. No matter. Despite being caught together, she could not marry him. For goodness sake, she’d been about to tell him their friendship was over, even though she would never have revealed her reason. That she loved him and since he could never return her feelings, it would break her heart to be near him any longer.

She would not be married to someone who could never love her.

Morgan sat alongside her. He reached out for her hand, and when she drew it back, he rested his palm on his knee. “Why?”

She swiped her nose with the soggy handkerchief. “For the same reason I’ve been giving you for weeks. I will not be married to someone who does not, and could not, love me.”

Morgan jumped up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I do love you.”

Phoebe gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “Don’t do this. I want love, not lies.”

He placed his hands on his hips and dropped his chin. “I am not lying.”

She stood and swiped her nose once again. “If that is all you have come here for, Your Grace, I must beg you excuse me. I have numerous things to do before I leave.”

His head snapped up. “Leave? Where are you going?”

“Back to the country. I am finished with London, and they are finished with me, no doubt. I shall be happy living the life of a spinster at Papa’s estate. There is much to keep me content there.”

“Ah, content. But not happy.”

“There is much to be said for contentment, Your Grace. I have sisters whose children I adore. I will keep myself busy visiting them, helping the needy in the village, and seeing to my parents in their old age.”

Morgan leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling as if invoking the help of the deity. “I cannot allow that.”

“I beg your pardon? You have no say in what I do.”

He walked in circles, then stopped in front of her. “Will you at least allow me five more minutes?”

She shrugged, and he took her hand and they both sat on the sofa again. He looked directly at her. “The reason I wanted to meet you in the orangery was to tell you that I finally realized I love you. Although you might not believe that, it is the truth.”

Oh, how she wished this was the truth. But everything he’d said before now was the opposite. He’d been asking her to marry him for weeks. She’d given him the same answer. Not unless you love me.

Now that they’d been caught in a compromising position, with all of the ton demanding they marry, he expected her to believe that all of a sudden he decided he loved her after all? If she didn’t love him so much, it wouldn’t matter. Life as a duchess would be quite pleasant. He was definitely not hard to look at, there was passion between them, and he certainly cared for her.

As one would care for a pet or a favorite horse.

She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. “You wished to marry me for weeks to make things easier for you. To take you off the marriage mart so the young ladies would leave you be. I was a convenience, someone to act as a shield. Now, due to circumstances that were thrust at us, you’ve been handed what you’ve wanted all along, with Society dictating we must marry or I will be ruined.

“I don’t care if I’m ruined. I would rather be ruined than married to someone who does not love me while I feel….”

His eyes snapped and a slight smirk touched his lips. “Feel what?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Nothing. It does not matter.” She stood again and smoothed her skirts. “I really must leave you now. There is a great deal to be done before I depart.” With a slight dip, she turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

She made it as far as her room before she collapsed into tears again. If only she could believe him. But it was much too coincidental that he decided he loved her right as they were being pushed to marry.

* * *

Morgan stared at the closed door with a heavy heart. She didn’t believe him. Not that he blamed her. As she had pointed out, his announcement was unexpected and coincidental. If only he’d gotten the words out before the women came barreling into the library, hoping to catch him and Lady Brenda.

He made his way wearily to the drawing room door ,but before he reached it, the door opened and Lord Pomeroy stood there, a smile on his face. Only the very odd Pomeroy would be smiling in the face of his daughter being ruined.

“Good day, my lord.”

“Your Grace.” He dipped his head. “Will you join me in the library?”

Morgan followed the man to the library where he waved him to a seat and proceeded to pour two brandies. He handed one to Morgan and took a sip of his own, settling in a chair across from him. “A bit of a conundrum, eh?”

Morgan almost choked on his drink. A conundrum? Most fathers would be demanding marriage or asking for the scoundrel who’d compromised his daughter to name his second.

“I see you are surprised.” Pomeroy leaned back. “I have raised five daughters. Well, actually, my lovely Prudence and Phoebe came to me when they were twelve years, but I’ve always thought of them as my own. Three daughters married off.” He pointed his finger at Morgan. “None of them easy.”

Morgan nodded when Pomeroy paused since there didn’t seem to be a response to his statement.

“Elise—Lady St. George, never wanted to marry at all. Juliet—Lady Hertford, didn’t want to marry Hertford. Marigold—Lady Marigold Stanley didn’t want to marry at all, either. Spent her time running around London trying to solve a murder. Nasty business.”

He shook his head. “I even had some trouble marrying my wonderful wife.” He took another sip of brandy. “So, if things had gone smoothly for my Phoebe, I would have been concerned that she would not be happy in her marriage.” He studied his empty glass.

Hoping that there would be some words of wisdom in speaking with Phoebe’s father, Morgan began to believe this man would be of no help.

He leaned forward to study Morgan. “Phoebe tells me she wants to return to the country. Be a spinster—Lord almighty, what is it with my girls that spinsterhood is so appealing?” He raised his brows and stared at him as if he expected Morgan to answer that perplexing question.

Pomeroy waved his hand. “No matter.” He shifted forward. “I understand Phoebe has been what they call ‘compromised.’ My precious Prudence tells me her sister was merely caught in a room with you with the door closed.”

Morgan straightened in his seat. “Yes, sir.”

Pomeroy frowned “Nothing improper going on?”

“No, sir.”

The man sat back. “I was never one to concern myself with the ton or their rules. However, my daughters must not eschew them, or it would make my wife unhappy.” Again, he waved his finger. “Never make your wife unhappy, Your Grace. ’Twill make you ten times more unhappy.” He paused. “Or is it unhappier? I was never very good at all that grammar nonsense. Not a favorite of mine in school, don’t you know?”

Morgan was having a time trying to stay focused with the man. He seemed to jump from one subject to another, but he had to admit Pomeroy was not the sort of man one would label boring.

“I believe the correct word is unhappier.”

“Yes, well, in any event, we must deal with this current situation. Since dear Phoebe wishes to return to the country and you are here in front of me looking downcast, I assume she has refused your offer of marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Of course she has.” He considered his brandy glass for a minute. “Why has she refused you? You’ve been hanging about lately so I assume there is some interest on your part?”

“Yes, sir. I love Phoebe, and I want to marry her.”

“Ah, but for some reason she is refusing.” He tapped his lips with this finger. “Why?”

Morgan stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Lady Phoebe has been adamant that she would not marry for any reason other than love.”

“Of course.”

“Yes. Well, I’ve been foolish enough to tell her that love would never factor into my decision about who I shall marry.”

“Not a smart move, Your Grace.”

“I didn’t see anything wrong when I first mentioned it because I was raised to believe marriage was no more than a business arrangement to solidify connections and improve financial holdings.”

Pomeroy waved Morgan back to his seat. “As a duke, what connections do you need that you don’t already have?”

“None.”

Pomeroy nodded. “And are you in need of funds?”

Morgan stiffened. “Certainly not. I am an excellent steward of my inheritance.”

“Then you don’t need connections or money.”

“After knowing your daughter all these weeks, I have come to the same conclusion. Plus, I finally realized right before we were caught in the library that I do love her. I want to marry her, not because I need an heir or I need family connections or money, but because I can’t imagine living the rest of my living without her.”

“Now you’re making sense, young man.”

“Yes. Except she doesn’t believe me because I insisted so many times that I could not love anyone.”

Pomeroy stood. “Let’s take a ride to White’s and have some decent food, and I shall give you the perfect way to win my daughter over to your proposal.”

Morgan didn’t understand why decent food could not be had in Pomeroy’s own house, but if the man was willing to help his cause, he would follow Phoebe’s father anywhere.

* * *

Phoebe gave a deep sigh and stared out her bedchamber’s window. A dreary day to match her mood. Sitting in her room sulking for hours was just not her. She hated being still and more than anything, feeling sorry for herself. Blast St. Albans. He’d turned her life upside down.

And how dare he pretend he loved her just so he could get his own way! A convenience was all she was to him. He would marry her, then go along his merry way, being The Cold Duke with no heart, withdrawing from her more and more each day until she was as lonely as he’d been.

Suppose he’s not lying?

She pushed that thought away. The only thing leading in that direction was a broken heart. A slight knock on her door drew her attention. “Yes?”

Prudence popped her head in. “How is the great queen of dramatics doing?” She strolled in, a smirk on her face.

Phoebe picked up a pillow from her bed and threw it at her sister. “I am no such thing.”

Prudence sat alongside her on the bed and took her hand. “Seriously, Sister, I do not like seeing you like this. Since you ran so fast from the drawing room after seeing St. Albans, I didn’t get the chance to ask you what happened. In fact, I am still not certain why you have refused to marry the man.”

Phoebe flopped back on the bed, hugging a pillow to her middle. “I love him.”

“Oh. That makes perfect sense then. Of course you would turn down his offer of marriage if you loved him.” She joined her sister on the bed, the both of them staring at the powder blue canopy over her bed. “Care to explain that further?”

Phoebe shifted to her side so she faced her sister. “Morgan—er, St. Albans—has said since the day I met him that he has no heart, that he could never love anyone.”

“You’ve said that before, and I told you then I don’t believe that and I will say it again.” Prudence turned to face Phoebe. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. If he thinks he’s not in love with you, he is gravely mistaken.”

“That’s the thing. When he was here earlier he said he did love me.”

“All right. So what is the problem now?”

Phoebe sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Don’t you think it a bit coincidental that he decided he loved me right as we are expected to marry due to being caught alone in the Bentworth library? I have refused his offer of marriage numerous times and always for the same reason.

“I refuse to marry someone who could not, or would not, ever love me.” She sighed and drew her knees up and rested her chin there. “Especially since I love him. It would break my heart to not have my love returned.”

Prudence sat up and turned to stand. She smoothed the wrinkles from her gown. “It comes down to either you believe him or you don’t. If you truly loved him, you would trust him as well, since trust is a big part of love.”

“What make you think you have the ability to counsel me?”

Prudence reached out and smoothed the fallen curls from Phoebe’s forehead. “Because I’m not emotionally attached to St. Albans. I can see what you cannot. Or what you refuse to see. It appears to me you are afraid.”

“I am not afraid!”

“Yes. You are. I never thought I would see the day my adventurous twin sister hid in her room rather than face a problem head on.” With those words, she strolled from the room. “By the way, I was sent to tell you it’s time for dinner. We are gathering in the drawing room first.”

“We?”

“Yes. Mother invited our sisters and their families for dinner tonight.”

Phoebe climbed off the bed and walked to the mirror to examine herself. “That is good news. I’d love to see the little ones.” She viewed Prudence through the mirror. “They did bring the children with them, didn’t they?”

Prudence smirked. “Of course.” Then she gave Phoebe a sneaky smile and left the room.

Seeing her nieces and nephews would certainly cheer her up. At least she could begin to play the doting aunt, which is what her role in life would be.

The drawing room was quite crowded. Elise and her husband, Lord St. George, and their three girls took up the entire sofa.

Juliet wiped one of her daughter’s hands while her husband, Lord Hertford, attempted to wrestle the other girl onto his lap.

Marigold’s two little girls sat on their parents’ laps, happily eating biscuits crumbled all over them, their parents, the chair, and the floor.

The children’s nurses were nowhere in sight, which was common for her family. The parents spent as much time as they could with the little ones, but eventually they would all be turned over to the nurses when it was time for their dinner, baths, and bed.

Phoebe’s two-year-old brother, Michael, toddled over to her and climbed on her lap with a paper he said was a drawing of her. She assured him it was lovely.

The clamor in the room was deafening, but welcoming. She loved her family and was delighted to see the children. She took a glass of sherry from Papa, moving it away from Michael when he tried to grab it from her hand.

“My Lord, your guest has arrived.”

Phoebe turned to the door to see Morgan step into the room. He stared directly at her and moved in her direction. Suddenly, she looked around the gathering with suspicion as she realized they were all smiling in her direction. Mama crossed the room and took Michael from her lap.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Oh, God. No. She couldn’t do this.

Blast this family and its tradition!