Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A s the carriage moved toward the Waverly townhome all Harrison could think about was the honey scented woman across from him. Were he another man, he would have convinced her that she belonged in his arms and in his bed, then sequester them away for the foreseeable future where he would do some rather sinful things to her person. Instead, gentleman that he was, his first thought as he saw Phoebe’s hooded gaze and rosy cheeks when she pulled back from his kiss was to ensure that she knew exactly what door they had opened. And that it was something she wanted.

The look of befuddlement that overcame her face only certified that she had little inkling of the sensual thoughts that filled his head the moment his lips touched hers. The way his body begged him to touch her, to cup her cheek, and then her breast. To follow the slope of her hips to her delectable backside which he would clasp to bring her closer to him. Heat flooded to his own cheeks as he reviewed the sinful narrative his mind replayed for him, recalled the soft sighs that had escaped her delicious lips as she met his kiss thrust for deadly thrust. The temperature in the carriage was no doubt spiking at his wayward thoughts, and his breeches would be in an unfortunate state were he required to exit any time soon.

Meanwhile, his goddess of a wife sat across from him, quiet as they moved through the darkened streets of Mayfair, unaware of the rather risky thoughts that overtook her husband. Squeezing his eyes closed, Harrison thought of the potter’s wheel, the circular motion of the stone moving at a hypnotizing pace. He imagined a lump of clay slapping against the cold stone, his hands moving against the pliable surface, molding it to his whim. A round shape began to form, one much like the delectable figure of his wife, the curves spinning against his hands, giving way to the light but firm pressure he was applying… No.

Eyes flying open, Harrison took in a deep breath, certain there was nowhere safe for him to find salvation. Even the caverns of his mind were intent upon delving into the heaven that no doubt his wife was. It was treason of the brain. Certainly that was an illness that could overtake someone. A brain with, well, with a mind of its own. One corner of his mouth rose in a smile and he must have made a sound because Phoebe’s head turned to peer at him through the dim interior.

“Something amusing?” she asked.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “Merely thinking about an idea for the wheel tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said, the words soft.

“How was the rest of your afternoon?” he asked. “Were you with your bees?”

“No,” she said. “No, I spent it writing.”

“Oh.”

Quiet filled the carriage, and Harrison wished he could call back the silly words that had led them to this conversation. But here they were, and, if he were being honest, he wanted to know what she had thought about, whether it be their afternoon kiss or the odd bit of weather they were having. “You sounded troubled when you said that.”

“I don’t think we should make an addendum to our contract,” she said, the words pushed out in a quick rush of breath.

“Oh,” Harrison said.

“I enjoyed this afternoon very much. No,” she said, a soft laugh accompanying the words, “I enjoyed it immensely. So much so that I would have lost my head in it if not for you. But you were correct. The physical part is not a part of our agreement. And as much as I liked what we did, I can’t see it doing anything but ruining what we have found. You’re my friend, Harrison, and you’ve become very dear to me. I can’t imagine losing that because of some silly physical nonsense.”

Disappointment resounded through his being at her words. While entirely true, her pronouncement was depressing. He would never push her into a situation she did not wish to be in, and he would respect her request that they merely remain friends, but it did not deplete the longing for her that had grown only deeper as their days together progressed, nor did it stop the grief of knowing that once again, he was not worth the price it would take to be with him. But he could have a part of her if they were friends, and maybe, after a time, it would be enough.

Leaning forward, Harrison took her gloved hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I enjoyed it too, Phoebe, and as much as I’d love to ask you to reconsider, I also couldn’t agree more. I would hate to lose your friendship, especially since I’ve only just found it.”

Phoebe released a loud sigh. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you would hate me.”

With another squeeze to her hand, Harrison released her and leaned back against the carriage seat. “I could never hate you, Phoebe, especially not over something as important as this.”

The carriage slowed to a roll and Harrison looked at his wife, her face alight in the exterior lights of the home. Her lush lips were pressed together in a sour disposition while her eyes shifted back and forth, examining the crush that waited before them. Taking her hand in his, Harrison waited for her to meet his gaze. “We can return home right now,” he said. “You don’t have to do this.”

Phoebe shook her head. “We agreed to it. Plus, it is our first outing as husband and wife. I want to make sure the ton still thinks highly of you given your rushed nuptials.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about you doing so to the detriment of yourself.” Looking at her, Harrison noted the slight pallor of her face and the way she pinched at the tip of the white gloves that graced her hand. “Run through your checklist with me,” he said waiting for her eyes to return to his. “You have your cotton?” She nodded. “And I can already smell your perfume. You have your fan?” She snorted, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Perfect. We’ll stay for as long as you want. Whenever you’re ready to depart, we will.”

She nodded, a smile pushed to her lips, but her hands never loosened from the tight grasp they held on the tip of her gloves. Reaching across the carriage, Harrison cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing gently at the pair of lines that were forming between her brow. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“That’s a comfort.” Phoebe swallowed. “All right then. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Opening the carriage door, Harrison motioned aside the footman before stepping out and turning to hold his hand out to her. Phoebe’s fingers gripped his tightly as if she might fall, but Harrison knew that it had nothing to do with the trip out of the carriage and everything to do with the trip inside. He could already hear the loud voices as they swept out onto the drive, knew that inside the ballroom there would be a crush of bodies, each heavily drenched in perfume water and sweat, their sticky skin pressing up against each other. And while the notion did not in any way unnerve him, the thought of what it might cost Phoebe made his throat tighten and his senses heighten.

He was leading her into the lion’s den all because of an item he had added. With a scowl, he looked down at her. Perhaps they needed a contract renegotiation after all.

After giving their greetings to Lord and Lady Waverly, Harrison guided Phoebe down the stairs and into the sweltering ballroom. All of London seemed to be in attendance that night and as they made their way down the final steps and into the fray, he could feel their eyes upon them. Phoebe’s hand, which had rested easily on his forearm, now squeezed, clutching at the fabric of his dark blue coat. Leaning down, he said in her ear, “I’m right here.”

“Phee, dear,” said a voice from crowd, and Harrison spied his mother-in-law making her way toward them. The woman’s smile was gentle, her eyes bright as she made her way to her daughter, and the pressure on his sleeve loosened slightly.

“Hello, Mother,” Phoebe said, leaning forward and kissing her mother on the cheek.

“Lady Youngly,” he said, bowing.

“Nonsense, Everly,” Lady Youngly said. “We’re family.” With a smile, she reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze, her eyes investigating with the same curiosity as Phoebe had observing her beehives. Harrison smiled at her in return and bestowed a kiss to her cheek.

With a nod, Lady Youngly turned to her daughter. “Your brother and his wife are already here. Come, I’ll escort you to them,” she said, taking Phee’s arm. “My lord, please feel free to get yourself refreshment and mingle about if you’d like.”

Harrison smiled, but stepped closer to Phoebe, his hand resting on top of the one on his forearm. “Thank you, my lady, but I’ll stay beside my wife. I’m afraid it is rather hard to be away from her for too long.”

Lady Youngly raised a brow at him but said nothing as she released Phoebe’s arm. Turning toward the crowded edges of the ballroom, Lady Youngly began to wind her way through the group of attendees. Aware of the swarm of individuals before them, Harrison placed his hand on Phoebe’s waist and began to guide her through the crowd.

It was as if they were in the midst of a game of chess, the pieces moving left and right with Harrison ensuring that not a single one captured his queen. A large gentleman made to move from one clutch of people to another and Harrison tightened his grip on Phoebe, shifting her to the side so that it was his body that brushed against the man and not hers. If not for Phoebe bringing his attention to the array of smells at these events, Harrison might never have noticed how the lord’s sweat mixed with a cedar smell was slightly nauseating, as was the heat that emanated from his body as it brushed against Harrisons. With a quick glance down at Phoebe, who seemed slightly wide eyed at the sudden block, Harrison took a step forward to keep them moving.

On the other side of the scattering of people, Phoebe’s mother stood in her own clutch that included Phoebe’s brother, Viscount Hunt, and his wife, Lady Patricia. Phoebe’s body relaxed against his hand as they exited the smattering and came to stand within the circle of familiar faces.

“All right, Phee?” Lord Hunt asked.

Phoebe nodded at her brother before looking up at Harrison. A soft smile decorated her lips and she mouthed a quiet, “thank you,” before turning back to the group.

“I’m so happy to see you tonight,” Lady Hunt said, reaching for Phoebe’s hand and squeezing it. “I’ve missed your presence at these things.”

Phoebe smiled at her sister-in-law and with a quick glance to Harrison, moved to the other woman’s side where they began chatting quietly between themselves. Harrison watched the pair for a moment, ensuring that Phoebe was all right, before turning to speak with her mother and brother.

“Marriage seems to suit you well,” Lord Hunt said, his eyes seeming to have taken note of Harrison’s protective regard for Phoebe. “I hope my sister is being kind to you.”

“It does and she is,” Harrison said. “It isn’t a hard thing considering I married the most wonderful woman in England.”

Lord Hunt raised a brow at his statement, but Harrison did not care what her brother thought of their situation. Nor did he need to know that his sister truly was the most wonderful woman in England. Were it fate or sheer luck, Harrison was ever grateful that Phoebe Metcalf was his wife.

A waltz began to play and one corner of Harrison’s mouth tugged up into a smile. “Excuse me,” he said to his in-laws. Stepping toward Phoebe, he watched as she paused in her conversation with Lady Hunt to look at him. “I apologize for my interruption,” he said, “but I was hoping to dance with my beautiful wife.”

Lady Hunt smiled and looked at Phoebe. Meanwhile, his wife stood still and unmoving.

“Lady Everly, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” he asked, holding his hand out to her.

Phoebe took it, her eyes moving to the mingle of bodies on the dance floor.

“Eyes on me,” Harrison said in her ear as he directed her to the floor. Wrapping one hand on her waist, Harrison took her other hand, gloved in long white satin, and kissed her knuckles before holding it out to the side. “You’ve practiced this.”

Meeting her gray gaze, Harrison counted to three, then began to propel them around the dance floor. Phoebe’s body remained stiff, the ease and comfort that she had shown in their own ballroom nowhere to be seen, and Harrison wondered if he had made a mistake. “Phoebe?”

Phoebe’s eyes slid closed, her body relaxing into his, the tension in her hand loosening against his fingers.

Manners be damned, he rested his cheek against the top of her head. “That’s my girl,” he said, pulling her closer. “Are you imagining we’re in our ballroom dancing? Is Mildred on the couch grooming herself, uncaring that her mama and papa are dancing alone in any empty room like a pair of dolts?”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, the delicate sound meant only for his ears, and he smiled against her hair, humming along to the string quartet that played.

The ton looked on as Lord and Lady Everly swirled about the ballroom, indecently close and yet seemingly uncaring. Many a young girl watched the pair, jealousy and longing battling for a spot in their hearts as they yearned for what the couple no doubt had, while the young bucks wondered at what they could have possibly missed in Lady Phoebe Kent that Lord Everly had no doubt seen.

The pair danced until the music stopped playing, Phoebe’s family in a state of stunned bewilderment as Lord Everly kissed his wife’s forehead before escorting her from the dance floor. If the ton had any reason to question why the pair married so quickly, the answer was unequivocally found that very night.

Lord and Lady Everly were in love.