Chapter Fourteen
After innumerable apologies to a trio of very angry, now somewhat wet, women, Jeffrey snapped his fingers at Maxwell and pointed at the ground by his side. Hanging his head, Maxwell followed his instructions faithfully, and Jeffrey sighed as he couldn’t help but give the dog a pat on the head.
“Poor Maxwell,” said Phoebe with a look of pity toward the dog. “So misunderstood.”
“And misbehaved,” he added, looking over in her direction.
She was something else. She now held her bonnet in her hand, as it had gone flying when she chased after him and Maxwell. Her hair was half down around her shoulders, the rest still restrained within pins on the top of her head. Her forest green eyes seemed to practically sparkle in the sun, and there was a quite becoming flush covering her cheeks from their exertions.
Most women would have left him and his errant dog. Most women would have told him to wrest control of the animal or they would have nothing further to do with him. But Phoebe Winters was not most women. She was forthright in her opinions, that much was for certain. She was outspoken. Self-assured. But more than anything—she was honest. She said what she thought, not holding anything back. She didn’t hide any of her past. She had freely told him that her father had been eccentric, that she herself enjoyed pursuits that most would frown upon. Her parents had instilled in her a love of reading and writing of course, and an appreciation of continual learning, particularly of other cultures, other people, the world beyond London and its surrounding counties. When she hadn’t wanted to help him in his investigation, as it were, she had simply told him so. And that, he admired.
Jeffrey sighed as she bent over his dog, patting his head as though to soothe him from the harsh words of the ladies he had so disturbed.
Heaven help him. He was falling for her.
“We should go,” he said gruffly and placed a hand at her back, though she suddenly turned around, surprising him. “Nancy!” she called, seeing her maid in the distance, scrambling to keep up with them. “We must wait,” she told him, tugging his hand off the path, just as another trio was entering.
“Phoebe!” one of the women called, and Phoebe turned, gasping in surprise. “Sarah, Elizabeth, Julia! How wonderful to see you.”
She embraced them warmly, and Jeffrey inclined his head toward them. Maxwell, of course, rushed to make their acquaintance as well. Jeffrey attempted to call him back, but it was of no use. These ladies, however, did not seem to take issue with his over-exuberance.
“How charming you are,” said the woman with light-brown hair, crouching down to take Maxwell’s head in her hands.
“Lord Berkley,” Phoebe said, remembering him, “May I please introduce my very closest friends, Lady Julia, Lady Elizabeth, and Miss Jones.”
“A pleasure,” he remarked.
“What are you doing here?” Phoebe asked them, and the same woman who spoke before—Miss Jones, he believed she was called—widened her eyes in surprise.
“It’s Wednesday,” she said as though that explained everything.
“Oh dear,” Phoebe murmured, worrying her lip. “It is, isn’t it? I’m ever so sorry.” Apparently, Wednesday held some significance.
“It’s all right,” Miss Jones continued. “We understand. You’ve been so busy ever since … ever since….”
It was now Miss Jones who looked flustered, and Jeffrey was impatiently waiting to hear the rest of that sentence.
“Ever since you began to redesign part of your house, you have been incredibly busy,” Lady Elizabeth said in a rush, and Jeffrey turned to look sharply at Phoebe.
“You told me you enjoyed the way your parents had left the home.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “Of course. I am making no changes to any of the main areas of the house, but rather my … private chambers.” She flushed even deeper, were it possible, and a small smile played around his lips at her shyness in that regard.
Unless … he nearly missed it, but he could have sworn he saw Phoebe send a glare of warning toward her friend. He shook his head. He was reading too much into this conversation.
“What significance does Wednesday hold?” he asked instead.
“Oh, we typically meet for a walk every Wednesday morning,” she responded before turning back to her friends. “Please forgive me. I completely—”
“I believe I am the one to blame here,” he cut in, holding a finger in the air. “Lady Phoebe clearly had prior arrangements when I called upon her, but I’m afraid I convinced her to accompany me by utilizing my dog as bribery. Accept my apologies, ladies.”
They nodded agreeably.
“’Tis understandable,” Miss Jones said. “It would be impossible to resist that face.”
“It was lovely to see the both of you,” Lady Elizabeth said politely. He recognized her from many events, her family being one of the most respected of the nobility, her grandfather the owner of Moreland’s Bank, where many of the ton housed their riches—or their pennies, as the case may be. “We should continue on. Have a wonderful day, and Phoebe, I hope to see you soon.”
“Very soon,” Phoebe promised before following Maxwell out of the park, with Jeffrey at her side.
“You should have told me I was interrupting a visit with your friends this morning,” he said as he helped her into the carriage.
“I see them quite often,” she said with a wave of her hand. “They understand.”
They took their places on opposite sides of the carriage, Maxwell on the floor between them.
“What is it?” Phoebe asked, feeling his gaze upon her, looking down at her clothing before reaching up to pat at her hair. Finding most of it now down upon her shoulders, she let out a muffled curse, just loud enough that he could hear. She began to shove pins back into it as she tried to wrest some control of the silky black strands. “I must look a fright,” she added, not able to meet his eyes.
“I apologize if you feel I was staring because of anything amiss,” he said, leaning in slightly toward her. “You are mistaken if that is what you assume. For I was only looking at you because I am, Phoebe, inexplicably attracted to you.”
Her hands drifted down to her lap, her eyes rising to finally meet his. “Oh?” was all she said.
“Oh yes,” he added, leaning even closer. “You captivate me. You know how to find the fun in life, you are forthright, you are striking, and you are honest. I had never thought of settling down anytime soon. Lord knows I have enough to take care of as it is. But when I think of letting you go, that upsets me even more.”
She stared back at him, her face blank and unreadable, unsettling him. With most women, he would have no fear of expressing his emotions, but Phoebe was not a woman who would be easily swayed by title and prestige.
“I—”
Before he could say anything further, however, she closed the remaining space between them and kissed him.
*
She had to make him stop talking. The moment he had told her how much he appreciated her honesty, she knew she could no longer hear any more of his praises. What would he say if he knew the true reason she was here with him? That this entire courtship was based on a charade, due to her desire to know of his motives regarding her newspaper? That she was the publisher of the newspaper of which he so despaired?
So she had taken the only action possible—the one that, was she actually being honest, had been on her mind since the moment he had appeared at her doorstep. She silenced him with her own mouth.
Initially, she had planned for this kiss to be something sweet and chaste, a kiss that could never lead to the same result as last night. But what she continually underestimated was her own attraction to him and the power he so unfortunately held over her.
For when her lips met his, he took that sweet, chaste kiss, and turned it into something that spoke to much more than a kiss of a courtship. No, his kiss was one that solidified the words he spoke to her, that told her that he admired the woman she was and would meet her strength with his own. Oh, why was it so easy to communicate through their actions and yet not through their words?
She groaned as he picked her up and placed her on his lap as though she weighed nothing, which was far from the truth. Unlike her own dismay at her somewhat full figure, however, he was apparently interested in the feel of her body, as his hands ran down over her sides to stroke her hips before cupping her bottom.
As for her breasts, well, he had been quite clear the night before of what he thought of them. Would he do the same today, she wondered, in the middle of his carriage in broad daylight?
Her imaginings, however, would remain that just that. For when his hand came up to fist in her hair—which she had rearranged but moments before—she let out a moan of desire, and Maxwell, apparently, did not like the sound of her in what he must have considered was immediate distress. For soon his huge, shaking body was in front of them, his head inserted into the smallest of spaces between them, breaking them apart. Apparently he wasn’t going to be pleased until they were back in their own seats, far from each other.
Jeffrey let out a curse—certainly not muffled this time—before setting her back down across from him, and she began to rearrange herself once more.
Maxwell sat back down on the floor, thumping his tail enthusiastically against the wood.
“You are supposed to be my dog,” Jeffrey muttered, shaking his head, and Phoebe could only laugh.
“You are a fine protector, Maxwell,” she said, giving him a quick rub under the chin. “I shall never forget your bravery.”
Jeffrey rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but give a bark of laughter himself at her words.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Phoebe’s townhouse. She looked up at it through the window, considering what it must look like through the eyes of the marquess. It was certainly nothing of which to be ashamed. It was well built, facing a beautiful square, and was a decently sized home, especially considering it was only Phoebe and Aunt Aurelia who lived within it, though at one point in time, of course, her parents had called it home within London.
Yet in comparison to Jeffrey’s own fine, majestic manor, it was fairly nondescript, the white facade so similar to many of the others that lined it on either side. It was the only home she now knew, for the country estate had been entailed, of course. The fact she owned a home, however, was more than most women could say.
“Thank you for the lovely walk,” she said, petting Maxwell’s ears, and Jeffrey raised an eyebrow at her.
“I am beginning to think that you had more fun with Maxwell.”
Phoebe laughed. “That is up to you to ascertain,” she said. “Farewell, Lord Berkley.”
“Jeffrey.”
“Jeffrey,” she repeated. “Farewell, Jeffrey.”
And at his slight bow, she trotted down the stairs, to resume her other life—the one he knew absolutely nothing about.