His Mistletoe Bride Page 9

  Yet another example of Lucas’s contradictory behavior, the episode had left her shaken. She knew him to be a kind and gentle man, but the anger that flared all too quickly when he was crossed troubled her. Perhaps it was a legacy of his soldiering days, and she worried that it had become an indelible and disturbing part of his character.

  Meredith studied her. “Perhaps it depends on the person speaking to him. With the General, I can imagine how that conversation played out. But have you spoken to him about it, Phoebe? I suspect he might listen to you.”

  Surprise jolted her. “Why would you ever think that?”

  “It’s obvious Lucas wants you to think well of him. From what I’ve observed, he goes out of his way to please you, which is not something I’ve seen him do with a woman before other than Aunt Georgina.” Meredith’s eyes twinkled. “And I’m quite certain Lucas’s feelings for you are very different from the ones he holds for our aunt.”

  Annabel nodded. “That’s what Grandmamma told me, too. She said he’s very protective of you, and even on short notice I can see he likes you very much.”

  Phoebe’s heart gave a hard thump, and her gaze involuntarily jumped across the room to where Lucas talked with his aunt. As she studied his commanding figure, so handsome in his severely elegant evening attire, a sudden pang of longing tightened her chest. He had become so familiar in such a short period of time that she could barely imagine a world without him. How in heaven’s name had she allowed that to happen?

  As if she had tapped him on the shoulder, he glanced over, raising his eyebrows in a questioning arch. Her breath caught as a lazy smile curled up the corners of his mouth, and her body flushed with a heat that made her squirm.

  Phoebe clenched her jaw. She distrusted that disconcerting heat. Surely no properly modest woman should feel that way, especially toward a man whose intentions were unclear.

  Yanking her gaze away, she found Meredith and Annabel exchanging satisfied glances.

  “Told you,” Meredith said to her sister.

  Phoebe’s heart sank. “Told her what?”

  “We’ll talk about it later, when we have more privacy. But we must return to our present topic of conversation, which is how to resolve the estrangement between Silverton and Lucas.”

  “Is that what we were doing?” Phoebe asked cautiously.

  “Of course,” Annabel piped in. “Grandmamma says the silly situation has gone on long enough. Everyone in the family is heartily sick of it.”

  “I can certainly understand that, but how has the situation changed?” Phoebe asked.

  “Nothing has changed between them, so the rest of us have to change the circumstances,” said Meredith. “That’s why we’re all going to Belfield Abbey for Christmas. The more we throw Lucas and Silverton together, the greater the chance they’ll reconcile.”

  “Or perhaps murder each other,” Annabel said cheerfully. “Either way, at least the problem will be solved.”

  Phoebe grimaced. “Unfortunately, murder would appear to be the likelier outcome.”

  Meredith’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I do believe there’s cause for hope. Silverton has confessed to growing weary of the estrangement, and I think he would be relieved to see it end.”

  Surprised, Phoebe raised her eyebrows. “Did he actually tell you that?”

  “Well, not at first,” Meredith said, “but with a little prompting—”

  Annabel snorted. “I can well imagine the type of prompting you employed. The bedroom type, no doubt.”

  “Whatever works, dear. I’m sure you’ve resorted to similar measures, on occasion.”

  Phoebe blushed. For two such refined women, Meredith and Annabel could be remarkably candid when discussing the private relations between men and women. She did not really mind, though. Despite her embarrassment, she found such honesty refreshing. Not to mention those conversations provided her with information she sorely lacked.

  “In any event,” Meredith continued, “Silverton eventually confided that he was tired of the fighting. He even confessed to regretting some of the things he said to Lucas all those years ago. I was astounded, since he rarely admits fault.”

  “Just like a man,” Annabel murmured.

  Doubtful, Phoebe shook her head. “I still do not understand how the family removing to Belfield Abbey for Christmas will solve the problem. Will not Lucas simply retreat to his estate? You cannot force him to be with us.”

  When Meredith and Annabel exchanged another of their knowing glances, Phoebe had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Whatever it is, please tell me and get it over with.”

  Meredith eyed her before answering. “Well, dear, if Lucas wants to see you, then he’ll have to come to Belfield Abbey.”

  Phoebe wrinkled her brow, then enlightenment struck with blinding force. “Absolutely not,” she said emphatically. “You are quite mistaken, I assure you.”

  Meredith tilted her head to study her. “About what, dear?” she asked in a deceptively mild voice.

  “About whatever it is you believe might be happening between me and Cousin Lucas. He does not have any feelings for me beyond what is entirely appropriate.”

  Whatever that meant. When it came to Lucas, Phoebe could no longer be sure how they were supposed to feel about each other. From the beginning, her grandfather’s letter had influenced every aspect of their relationship, even though neither of them had spoken of it past that first day. But how could she ever be sure of anything Lucas said to her regarding matters of the heart, knowing the burden Grandfather had imposed on him? What the Stantons perceived as affection could, in reality, be nothing more than a debt of honor promised to a dying man.

  Frustrated, she tried to explain. “Even if he did return my—”

  When Annabel beamed an encouraging smile, Phoebe almost choked on her unthinking admission.

  “—which he does not,” she continued grimly, “I still fail to see what that has to do with Cousin Stephen.”

  “Because if Lucas were to be happily married, then he would no longer have any reason to hold on to his anger,” Meredith replied. “My husband is getting close to putting the past behind him. He’s happy now, you see, and that’s made it hard for him to hold on to the grudges of the past, even one that runs as deep as this one.” Her eyes went soft and misty. “The twins had much to do with that, of course. Neither of us ever thought we could be this happy.”

  Phoebe stared at Meredith, and saw a contented joy that made her chest ache. Would she ever experience such happiness in her own life? Could Lucas ever love her the way Cousin Stephen clearly loved Meredith?

  Annabel picked up the conversation. “If Lucas married you, then he would be happy, too, and realize it was a waste of energy to continue feuding with Silverton.” She gave an excited little bounce in her seat. “Really, it makes perfect sense. Grandmamma is brilliant to have come up with such an excellent scheme.”

  Aghast, Phoebe stared at them. Their logic was so incredibly flawed it made her head spin. “Does everyone in the family think that way?” she finally managed in a faint voice.

  Meredith squeezed her hand. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. The men don’t have a clue. Once it became clear how Lucas felt about you—and that happened much sooner than we anticipated—Aunt Georgie and I discussed the situation. Then we told Annabel. That, however, is as far as it goes. You needn’t worry anyone else will ever find out.”

  “But I have no true idea how Lucas feels about me,” Phoebe burst out in a voice louder than she intended. And, truthfully, she was not entirely sure how she felt about him. So much about him mystified her.

  Meredith cast a swift glance around the room. “Hush, dear. It was foolish of me to raise the issue tonight in such company. Forgive me. I let my irritation with those silly men get the best of me.”

  Striving for calm, Phoebe nodded. As upsetting as the discussion was, it stemmed from the best of intentions. The Stantons loved Lucas and they had already come to love h
er, as they had assured her of so often. They only wanted Lucas to be happy and they wanted peace in the family. Laudable goals. If only they knew how unrealistic they were.

  Annabel gave her a sympathetic grimace. “You needn’t worry. Nobody will try to make you do anything you don’t want to do. It’s just that . . .” Her words trailed off.

  “What?” Phoebe asked.

  “Don’t you want to get married some day? Have a family of your own?”

  Frowning, Phoebe stared down at her lap. In the last few days, she had actually allowed herself to imagine what life with Lucas might be like. How she would be safe and secure with him. The appeal of that image pulled at her with an irresistible yearning that grew stronger every time she saw him.

  But then she thought of everything that stood between them—her grandfather’s deathbed pleas, their differing backgrounds and beliefs in life—and doubt rose up in a swamping wave.

  “I . . . I cannot say,” she stammered. Irritated, she firmed her voice. “It matters not. Lucas has given no indication of his true feelings for me, and I have not yet decided whether I will remain in England or return to America in the spring.”

  Annabel opened her mouth, but Meredith gave her sister a warning look. Then she rose to her feet, urging Phoebe up, too. “Come, dear. I know Lady Bellingham would like to speak to you. If she’s awake, that is.”

  Grateful for the retreat, Phoebe took her arm. As Meredith chattered amiable social nonsense, Phoebe wrestled her turmoil into a quiet space in her mind. Later, in the privacy of her bedroom, she would unpack her feelings and examine them. For now she owed it to her family to behave with appropriate consideration for the occasion.

  She had almost succeeded until they passed by Lucas, deep in conversation with Uncle Arthur and a few other male guests. His gaze, alert and suspicious, locked on her, following her across the room. Panic flared in her chest, along with the conviction that he knew exactly what they had been talking about.

  Though she fought to hide it, her composure crumbled to dust.

  Chapter 9

  Lucas watched Phoebe weave her way through the crowds at the Royal Academy, her hand tucked securely through Annabel’s arm. She frequently craned her neck to watch the other spectators as they gossiped, flirted, and otherwise acted out the inane comedies and dramas that passed for life in the ton, her innocent, open curiosity heightening all his protective instincts.

  Not that any harm would come to her in this setting, but Lucas didn’t trust the young bucks and rogues prowling the galleries of Somerset House looking for bored matrons and pretty girls to charm into bed. And Phoebe looked more than pretty in the wine red pelisse that hugged her enticing curves and served as canvas for her creamy complexion, expressive brown eyes, and dusky curls. He stood in one of London’s premier temples to the arts, but none of the paintings could hold a candle to Phoebe’s luminous, gentle beauty.

  Lucas narrowed his eyes as a beau with ridiculously padded shoulders backed into her, pretending he hadn’t seen her in his rapt contemplation of one of the paintings. With an extravagant bow, he apologized. Phoebe gave him a sweet smile and chatted with him for a moment before turning back to Annabel. Unfortunately, the beau failed to take the hint, eyeing her shapely backside as he waited for her to turn around again.

  Clenching his fist, Lucas moved to intervene. He was brought up short by a firm tug on his sleeve, keeping him in place.

  Christ. He’d been so intent on watching Phoebe he’d forgotten Aunt Georgie was holding his arm.

  “You are not in the Peninsula and no one will ravish Phoebe in the middle of an art exhibition,” his aunt admonished. “There’s really no need to sound the call to battle or pull me off my feet.”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. She was right, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t pummel any man who even glanced at Phoebe with a hint of lust in his eye. And since men looked at her like that whenever she went out, Lucas had to spend a great deal of time controlling an annoying combination of protective and violent impulses. Even on the battlefield he’d rarely let his emotions get the best of him, but a little Quaker miss from New Jersey was testing him in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

  That annoyed the hell out of him, too.

  “Forgive me, Aunt. But I’m not sure Phoebe is used to these types of crowds. She’s looking out of her depth, if you ask me.”

  “Really, Lucas? You’re the one who seems out of his depth. And don’t bother directing fierce looks my way. They don’t work on me, remember? Even the General has never been able to intimidate me, and he’s had a great deal more practice.”

  Lucas had to laugh. “I surrender. But Phoebe is a babe in the woods, and you know it. She might not even realize a man was flirting with her, or worse.”

  It was the worse that kept him awake some nights. Who knew what type of trouble she would get into if she wasn’t carefully supervised? Phoebe knew nothing of the wolves prowling through the ton, sniffing out their next victim. Decent men would perceive her innocence and treat her with respect, but there were those who would like nothing more than to take advantage of her sweet, unblemished nature. Now that she was making the rounds, she was even more vulnerable. He couldn’t keep watch on her twenty-four hours a day, so the sooner they all repaired to the country, the better.

  Besides, he’d wasted enough time in London, all while his new estate continued to collapse into decay without him.

  He glanced back at Phoebe, only to see the overdressed beau still trying to gain her notice by peering over her shoulder as if he, too, were a great fan of Benjamin West. He stood so close his gloved hand dangled a mere inch from Phoebe’s bottom.

  Fortunately, before Lucas had to break heads Annabel came to alert. She turned around and gave the idiot a lethal-eyed stare before guiding Phoebe out of harm’s way.

  Aunt Georgie laughed. “Annabel clearly has the matter in hand. You must stop worrying, and cease slavering over Phoebe like some mad dog when she goes out in public. It makes her nervous.”

  He bristled. “I never slaver. I’m simply watching out for her, as I promised her grandfather. Phoebe is my obligation as much as she is yours. More so, since her care was handed directly to me.”

  With barely the twitch of an eyebrow, his aunt managed to look both imperious and offended. At one time, it quelled him, that look. Not anymore. Once a man had been to war, not much did.

  “Lucas, is that all she is to you? An obligation?”

  He grimaced. His intentions toward Phoebe had only recently firmed, but he supposed his aunt deserved an honest answer.

  “No, Aunt Georgie. But I don’t think she’s ready to hear that yet.”

  His aunt visibly relaxed. “I’m relieved to hear so, and I agree with your assessment. As much as I think a match between you and Phoebe might be a very good thing, I’m not sure you’re ready for her yet, either.”

  He cast her a startled glance. “You know I would take care of her every need.”

  She nudged his arm, urging him to follow in Phoebe and Annabel’s wake. “It’s not just a matter of providing for her material needs. Phoebe is a sensitive, tenderhearted creature. Since her father died, she’s been very much in need of nurturing and support. She is not like the other young women of the ton, and cannot be treated as such.”

  “I’m not a fool,” he said tersely. “I haven’t failed to notice that.”

  “You may have noticed, but will you be able to respond appropriately ?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Hell and damnation, Aunt Georgie. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  His oath earned him a glare from a passing matron, the purple plumes of her high-crowned bonnet quivering with indignation. He winked at her, and her mouth dropped open.

  “Language, dear,” Aunt Georgie admonished.

  He grinned. She didn’t give a hoot about such things and he knew it.

  “Dreadful boy,” she said, her lips twitching. Then she grew serious. “Are you sure you don�
�t understand?”

  He had to resist the urge to yank at his suddenly too tight cravat. “Aunt Georgie, I will discuss many topics with you, but physical intimacy with Phoebe is not one of them.”

  She cast her eyes to the ornate, arched ceiling, obviously praying for patience. “I’m talking about emotional intimacy, you foolish man. Phoebe is a spiritual, loving person and, unless I miss my guess, she carries a great deal of hurt from the death of her dear parents and her brother’s disapproving nature. You must be gentle and kind. Always.”

  “I know that, and I am,” he responded gruffly. He’d sensed that vulnerability in Phoebe from the first, perceiving her need for a sheltering strength to keep her safe from the cruel twists of fate. He understood that better than anyone, and he would provide that shelter.

  And not just because of a promise made to a dying man. She was exactly the kind of wife he wanted—sweet, trusting, and honest. During his years in the military, marriage had never crossed his mind. But inheriting the earldom had changed everything, including his desire to remain single. If marry he must, then he must have a woman as loyal and loving as Phoebe.

  Esme had taught him that lesson.

  They strolled along in silence. The art lovers and gossips milled around them in a cheerful chaos, some actually studying the paintings, others staring at the fashionably dressed crowd. Lucas glanced ahead, eyeing Phoebe’s slim figure, searching for signs of tension in her back or shoulders.

  As if she sensed his regard, she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze darted from his face to Aunt Georgie’s, and a quizzical little crease puckered her brow.