Her gaze lowered to his hands, and it was then he realized he was tightly clutching the papers. To his great annoyance, heat crept up his neck. Facing forward, he opened the inkpot, dipped in the quill, and wrote.
Before he could push the paper over for it to be read, she shifted closer and dipped her head. The unexpected closeness sent his pulse skittering. He turned his head slightly. She was staring at him.
The tension that leaped inside him was unusual and unexpected. The fingers that pushed a few artful curls kissing her rosy cheeks behind her ears trembled. Then she lowered her gaze to the paper.
I got your last letter.
Lady Phoebe sent him a swift upward glance, searching his eyes. Then she reached for a paper and quill, her fingers colliding with his. The feel of her hand was an immediate assault on his senses. God, she was soft.
Hugh faltered into stillness and lifted his gaze to her. She was staring at their fingers, and her cheeks pinkened even more.
Slowly, as if he might bite, she withdrew her fingers and lifted her regard to his. “I…I thought to write my response as well. Very silly now, I see, but…but I did not think, I… Oh, I am more nervous than I thought!”
Her voice broke, and she glanced away toward the fire for several moments. Not foolish, but she was nervous. With a small smile, he pushed the paper across the table to her and held up the quill.
He saw the tension lifted from her shoulders, and the soft sigh which escaped her lips did the most unexpected thing. It traveled to somewhere inside of him and stayed. That could be the only reason to explain the decidedly odd weakness assailing him.
She dipped the quill in the inkwell, blotted, and then wrote. I wondered if I arrived before my letter. The reason for my presence is very clear to you, then.
Well, he hoped that was what the awful scribble said. Their gaze collided, and he quickly looked at the paper again and then back at her. Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face, and then one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard reached him. She’d giggled before quickly slapping a hand over her mouth. She lowered that hand to softly say, “I can see that you are horrified with my script. Growing up my tutors and governess were equally appalled. I shall speak, then.”
He pressed a hand over his heart and wilted against the sofa to communicate his relief. Her smile widened, and her eyes…they peered at him as if she didn’t know what to make of him. Hugh understood. He didn’t know what the hell to make of his own actions. Brushing aside the uncharacteristic need to lessen her worry, he reached for the paper and wrote. Why do you wish for us to marry?
Her cheeks turned a darker shade of red, but she still lifted her chin and met his curious stare. “I require a husband most urgently.”
Her quiet, solemn tone settled into the chamber. Another quick scrawl on the paper and her gaze lowered to the table.
You were compromised.
Her chest rose and fell on an unsteady breath. “Yes.”
You are the daughter of the duke of Salop.
“Yes.”
Does he know you are here, Lady Phoebe?
She stared at him for a long moment. “No.”
Your family has considerable influence in Society.
“Yes.”
I am desirous of a wife with your background. I intend to move to England soon, where I will spend several months there out of each year. As it were, this will be a come out of sorts, but for my entire family.
Her lips parted, and her throat worked on a swallow. “I did travel here because I hoped we could be of mutual benefit to each other.”
He canted his head. A marriage of convenience?
“Precisely, my lord.”
I overheard some of your remarks to your maidservant. I gather you doubt such mutual benefit is possible. Why have you changed your thoughts?
She sent him a look of cool caution. “Eavesdropping is not the mark of a gentleman, Viscount Huxley.”
I am admonished.
Her lips twitched imperceptibly.
Why are you here, what do you want, and why did you risk your reputation to flee to me? Those questions had been swirling through his thoughts since he realized his unexpected visitor was her. He reached for another sheaf of paper and wrote, What did you hope from this arrangement when you made your way here?
Her lashes swept down across her cheekbones, hiding her expression from him. It took a few beats before she fixed her eyes on his face again. Her expression was a fierce mix of vulnerability, hope, fear, and pride. A breath shuddered from her as she evidently worked to master the emotions that battered her.
“Safety…security…” Her lips smiled, though it did not reach her eyes, which held a sheen of tears. “And, dare I hope, to live my life happily.”
And in that softly echoed statement, he’d felt a moment of affinity…a connection of sorts.
A deep desire that had been embedded into his heart after his mother left. For months, it had hurt to feel so unwanted by his mother. Seeing her walk away from their country home, mount the steps into her elegant carriage, and drive away without looking back once had been agonizing. He’d spent several months praying that one day she would return…for him and his sister and brother and his father’s sake. With the end of each day, he’d loathed himself when she never returned, though the very next day, he would resume his vigil on the lawns with his binoculars.
His mother had been like the sun, and with her departure, she had left behind darkness and such sorrow. Hugh hadn’t been able to imagine that his father would ever smile again. It had hurt so much, he dropped to his knees and screamed his pains and fear. Still, she hadn’t returned. That excessive display of emotions and regret had only revealed a weakness in him.
“What do you want from life, my boy?” his father had demanded once.
“I would like to live happily, Father.” He’d been eleven years of age when he’d made that vow while staring at the stars.
For so long, everything had been somber, until a deep need to stop being morose and be happy permeated his entire being.
His father had replied, “Happiness lies in your wealth, position, and power within society. Do not forget it.”
I believe a connection between us could be mutually advantageous, Lady Phoebe.
A flare of hope brightened her eyes, yet she hesitated. “I…regrettably, that is no longer possible.”
Why?
“I never expected you to be a future earl.”
How curious. The teachings from his father indicated that every young lady in society desired to marry a man of rank and fortune. Hugh wondered with some amusement if she realized her error upon discovering his muteness. The very notion of this had a strange pain pinching in his heart, visceral enough where he rubbed his chest as if it were a physical ache. The anomaly of feeling such discomfort when he learned years ago to be uncaring of others’ opinions had him carefully choosing his next words.