Chapter Thirteen
Phoebe attempted to concentrate on the tasks ahead of her the next morning as her maid pulled her hair back to pin it atop her head. She had chosen a lavender muslin gown, which she would wear with her navy cloak overtop. Very practical for the publisher of a newspaper. Which, she reminded herself, was currently her focus. Her only focus.
She stared at herself in the mirror, studying her face. Her lips, far too large. Her eyes, wide and green, not the beautiful blue, like Julia’s, that enticed gentlemen. There was certainly nothing staring back at her that most men would be drawn to. Which led to only one conclusion. She and the marquess had found themselves in a very … improper embrace last evening not because he had wanted anything about her in particular, but simply because they had a clash of wills that became extremely heated, which led to … their liaison.
She dropped her head into her heads. Thank God the butler had knocked the door when he did, or she wasn’t sure what would have happened on that blasted uncomfortable settee in the middle of the study. Lord Berkley must think her some kind of harlot for the way she had acted—though he was equally as responsible for their actions, so what did that make him?
“My lady?” her maid asked, bending toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, Nancy, just fine,” she said with a smile, attempting to regain a hold of herself. “I’d best be downstairs for a quick breakfast before I must leave.”
If nothing else, at the very least she had determined that while the marquess was attempting to find her—the publisher of The Women’s Weekly—he was getting nowhere if he was asking her—Lady Phoebe Winters—for help. He should have been very aware that she would do nothing to aid him in that regard.
Though it was advantageous to know that, if required, she could provide him with information that would lead him away from her. She would have to think carefully on the best way to redirect him without raising his suspicions.
She contemplated The Women’s Weekly as she went downstairs to her seat at the breakfast table, buttering her toast and pouring her tea. She was actually shocked at just how successful it was after the first two issues. They would be printing more copies of their third installment. It seemed that it had worked to draw in many women with gossip columns—as much as she abhorred them—as well as fashion and advice columns. Whether or not they read her articles on the need for reforms to acts regarding marriage, property, and children, she had no idea, but she hoped they at least read the headlines.
She smiled when she thought of the response they had received so far to Julia’s column. Apparently more women were interested in horse racing than one would think. In fact, they had already received requests for a column on cricket as well. Who would have guessed?
She was still smiling when she opened the front door of her townhouse to leave for the office on Fleet Street and was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the presence at the bottom of her steps until she nearly ran into him.
“Oh, Lord Berkley!” she exclaimed, holding a hand to her chest. “You frightened me. What—what are you doing here?”
“I came to call upon you,” he answered, his face stoic and unmovable.
“It’s rather early,” she said, looking up and down the street, seeing not many had arisen for the day.
“I realize that,” he said, finally showing slight chagrin. “However I—damn it, Phoebe, I wanted to see you.”
She raised her eyebrows, shocked at his forthright admission. Color had heightened in his cheeks, and blast it if her own heart didn’t begin a rapid beating in her chest at the thought that he—the Marquess of Berkley—was disquieted by the very presence of her—Phoebe Winters, daughter of an eccentric viscount. It was all rather confusing, if she was honest. For she didn’t want to feel anything but frustration and annoyance toward Lord Berkley. Her turmoil was because of last night. He was the first man she had every truly kissed—besides the odd peck when she was first coming out—and as for her actions in his study, well, they were truly a first. Oh, what had she been thinking?
Apparently he came to his own conclusions regarding her silence.
“I apologize,” he said straightening, looking into the distance. “I should not have used such language in front of you. And this is all very untoward, I realize. Clearly, you have a prior engagement, which I should not keep you from.”
And in that moment, she could only laugh at the apparent distress she was causing the powerful marquess.
He stared at her in astonishment as the first giggles bubbled out of her throat, and then when it became a full-on chuckle of amusement, finally his lips spread into a smile of abashment.
“While I am unsure what I have done to cause you such mirth, Lady Phoebe, your laugh is contagious.”
Her laughter slowly abated as she realized he must think she was poking fun at him.
“It is not the most ladylike, as I have been told,” she admitted. “But I am not laughing at you, Lord Berkley. You need not worry about such language in front of me. My father was very vocal in his emotions, to be sure. As for acting in an untoward manner … I thought you knew me better than that by now, Lord Berkley?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he grinned at her. Oh, Lord, when he smiled, it did something to her stomach. It was as though there were tiny birds fluttering around within it. Take a hold of yourself, Phoebe. She realized she was frowning, but just then a sharp noise from within his carriage, stationed behind him, captured her attention.
“What was that?” she asked, peering around him. Was there someone else within the carriage? “Did Lady Viola accompany you once more?”
He let out a bark of laughter at her question.
“Ah, no. I did all I could to keep him from coming, truly I did, but the brute hadn’t yet run today, and—”
“My goodness!” Phoebe exclaimed as a very hairy, very shaggy head appeared in the window of the carriage. “You’ve brought Maxwell!”
“I didn’t bring him,” he emphasized. “He climbed in and he wouldn’t get out. Somehow he seemed to understand we were off to Hyde Park. Or maybe he knew my intention was to see you. I do not know exactly.”
Phoebe could only laugh and shake her head. For a man who seemed so interested in maintaining order, everything in his own life seemed to be completely out of his control.
“At any rate,” he said, turning from the carriage back toward her. “Maxwell and I were going to go walking in near the Serpentine, and we were wondering if you would be at all interested in joining us.”
“Oh, I’m not sure…” she said, torn. She should say no. She had work to do at the office. But then she looked at Maxwell’s hopeful face, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, and she just couldn’t resist.
“All right,” she conceded. “A quick walk, and then I really must be going.”
“Very well,” he said with a nod. “Is there a maid, perhaps, who you are waiting for?”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. No, she hadn’t planned on bringing her maid with her to the newspaper offices, but she supposed that walking across Hyde Park alone with the marquess may be crossing the line farther than even she dared. “One moment, I shall see what is keeping her.”
After a hasty conversation with the butler to find Nancy and have her meet them outside, Lord Berkley took her elbow to lead her to his rather magnificent carriage, with its family crest painted in gold on the door of the shiny black vehicle. She noted Nancy scurrying out the door and receiving a hand from the footman as he helped her atop the seat.
“Careful,” Lord Berkley warned as he provided Phoebe with a hand up the stairs. Initially, she thought he was referring to the steps. But as soon as she ducked her head to enter the carriage, she realized that it was not the steps he was warning her of, but rather the ball of fur that came hurtling toward her, shaking in excitement.
Maxwell launched her back against the seat, and she laughed as he bathed her face in his excitement.
“Maxwell, off!” Lord Berkley called as he followed in behind her, and the dog reluctantly removed his paws from her shoulders to sit dutifully beside his master. “He’s a menace,” he said by way of apology, but Phoebe waved away his words.
“He’s friendly, “she supplied instead. “I love it. How long have you had him?”
“Three years,” he said, and a change came over his face as he spoke of his dog. No longer was he serious and stoic, but he seemed …. almost animated, excited. “One of my neighbor’s dogs had pups, and he was one of them. He found his way over to our yard once he was big enough to roam and he’s been with me ever since.”
“What type of dog is he?” she asked him, though her attention was focused on Maxwell.
“The mother was a bloodhound, actually,” he said, and once he told her, she could see it within him. “But whatever the father was, it seems to have overcome any bloodhound attributes or instincts. I’ve tried to take him hunting, but a tomcat would be more useful.”
“Well, he certainly is intriguing looking,” she said diplomatically, and he laughed.
“Intriguing is a very polite word for Maxwell,” he agreed.
She took the opportunity to do a perusal of the man now, instead of his dog. He wore a forest green jacket that was quite becoming on him, expertly fitted to his tall frame. He wasn’t thin or even lean like many men she knew, but had a broad chest and shoulders that filled out his clothing. She had felt that chest beneath her hands when they had kissed in his study. She remembered slipping her fingers under his waistcoat, feeling the hard muscle of him beneath his linen shirt.
Her face warmed as she thought of it, and she hastily looked away when she caught his gaze upon her.
“Are you all right, Lady Phoebe?” he asked.
“Never better, Lord Berkley,” she said airily. “Never better.”
She fanned herself slightly but dropped her hand as she saw the crinkles form in the corner of his eyes and lips.
“I will feel fine once we are out in the fresh air,” she continued. “I have a bit of sickness from the motion of the carriage, that is all.”
Actually, for once she hadn’t noticed it, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“You’re in luck, Lady Phoebe, for here we are,” he said as the carriage came to a halt.
The footman opened the door and Maxwell bounded out, a startled shriek quickly reaching them as he apparently caught someone unaware.
“Maxwell, come!” Lord Berkley called, and the dog returned after a few moments, tail wagging exuberantly. “Stay with me now,” he commanded, pointing a finger at Maxwell, who dropped his tongue out of his mouth in response.
“Do you fancy a walk near the lake?” he asked Phoebe, and she nodded with a smile on her lips. Nancy stepped down from the top of the carriage to follow along behind them.
Most of their attention was consumed by Maxwell, which was fine with Phoebe. He was a joy to watch, and she wished they could all live their lives with such exuberance. When they reached the Serpentine, Lord Berkley picked up a stick, throwing it as far as it could into the lake, and Maxwell jumped in recklessly with a splash, swimming with all his might.
“He’s amazing,” she said with a laugh as she looked up at Lord Berkley. “He made the right choice, Lord Berkley, in choosing a master who would allow him to be the dog he truly is, to not force his incredible spirit out of him.”
Lord Berkley shifted from one foot to the other at that and finally shrugged.
“I didn’t have much choice,” he said. “And, Lady Phoebe, perhaps … you might call me by my given name. It seems only appropriate since we … well, it makes sense.”
She dimly recalled him suggesting it to her the prior evening, but she had been within such a dreamy haze she could scarcely remember it. Besides that, she had thought anything he said at the time were just the words of a man consumed by desire. What did he mean by asking her this?
“I, um, suppose I could. In private,” she said. “And there is no need to call me Lady Phoebe. Phoebe is just fine. It is what most people I know well call me anyway.”
She was rambling a bit now, but she was taken off guard by his request.
“Very well,” he said, a smile spreading over his face. “Phoebe.”
As she watched, his smile slowly dropped, his gaze becoming much more intense as he focused on her face. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his lips stretched into a line as he moved in ever so much closer to her. Was he going to kiss her again? Was she going to let him?
She closed her eyes—apparently they were going to do this once more, here in the open, where anyone could see them—but then a scream rent through the air, and they jumped back in surprise.
“What in the hell—Maxwell!” he called, and he started after his dog, who was busy shaking out his wet fur all over a group of ladies.
Phoebe picked up her skirts and chased after them, curious to see exactly how the marquess was going to handle this situation.
This was turning into an interesting outing, after all.