Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A fter finishing their treats from Gunters inside the carriage, Phee and Harrison returned home. Harrison carried in her books, the stack appearing unassuming in his hands, and yet the joy she felt at the sight was large. It had been a near perfect day spent in his company, doing things she very much loved, and she was certain that at any moment she would awaken to realize that it all was just a dream.

Harrison deposited the books on Phee’s nightstand, adjusting the titles so that they could be seen from the bed and easily reached.

Phee looked away at the sight, her gaze falling to Mildred who blinked up at her from the plush chair she had been napping in. “Hello, pet,” she said, scratching the white spot on the kitten’s head. “Did you have a lovely afternoon?”

“It appears she had a long slumber while we were away, didn’t you, my darling?” Harrison said from behind her, his hand reaching around her to scratch under Mildred’s chin. “She looks like she could use a run about, don’t you think?”

Harrison sidestepped around Phee and picked up the kitten, moving them toward a small wicker basket beside the fireplace that held her toys. Grabbing a piece of yarn from the pile, Harrison set Mildred down before sitting on the ground beside her, his back leaning against the couch. It was ludicrous, this large man dressed in his tailored jacket and trousers, Hessians polished to a shine, sitting upon the floor taunting a kitten with a piece of string. And yet, there he was, uncaring of how it appeared. More focused on giving the small dear the attention she no doubt required after a day of being cooped up in her mistress’s room.

Sliding her feet out from her slippers, Phee grabbed one of the books that Harrison had so delicately stacked, then settled into the chair that Mildred had vacated.

Opening the cover to the first page, she tried to allow the words before her to pull her in, but her eyes kept sliding to the pair on the floor. It was a lovely image they painted. Harrison’s gruff laugh as Mildred executed a flip in the air in her attempt to capture the string sent a pin prick near the vicinity of her heart, an ache so joyful she was certain she was imagining it. The scene was so homely, so wholly warm and wonderful that she blinked, waiting for it to disappear before her. But when her eyes opened, it was to see Mildred climbing the arm of Harrison’s black coat, her attention focused on a speck on sunlight that danced upon his face.

“Oh, Mildred. You’ll ruin his coat,” she said, snapping closed the book and leaning forward to retrieve the kitten.

Harrison grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it before interlacing his fingers with hers. “She is no bother, Phoebe,” he said. “She’s merely being an inquisitive kitten.”

“But your coat,” Phee said, her eyes falling to where their hands were linked.

Harrison laughed and gave a gentle tug, moving her to the floor with him. “I have many coats, but not very many moments with our dear girl. Let her play, love.”

Phee looked at him then, his words of affection softly dancing about in her head. He had spent the entire day entertaining her, caring for her every whim and desire without asking for anything in return, and now, as their kitten sunk her sharp nails into the threads of his expensively tailored coat, he welcomed it. He encouraged it, even, dragging the thread up his arm so she climbed him as a child would a tree. How on earth had she found this man to be her husband?

“You’re wonderful,” she said, raising her free hand to cup his jaw, the scruff there itching her palm. Her thumb traced over his lips where a smile played, a small dimple appearing as an indent in his cheek, but as her words registered the smile fell, his faux one taking its place.

Harrison swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before he looked away from her, returning his attention to Mildred. “Such lovely praise from my wife,” he said, lifting the kitten from his shoulder where she had begun to knead her small claws into the fabric to kiss her on the nose.

Phee’s lips pursed as she watched him stand. “I’ll see you both tonight,” he said, heading to the door that connected their rooms, closing it behind him with a snick.

Her mind tumbled over what she had said, examining each word with care, and yet she could not find what it was that had sent him scurrying from the room. Her praise, as he had called it, had been little more than her speaking the truth, and he had responded with near terror at her words.

Frowning, Phee retrieved the string that Harrison had abandoned and began to drag it across the floor, gaining Mildred’s attention. The kitten did not show an ounce of concern at the removal of Harrison, and taking her cue from the cat, Phee decided she would do the same. Whatever had sent him from the room likely had nothing to do with her, and her time would be spent uselessly if she tried to analyze it. If his sour mood persisted into dinner, then she would ask him about it. Instead, for now, she would ring for Flora and have a relaxing bath before readying herself for dinner.

An hour and a half later, Phee left her bedroom with Mildred at her heels, her bath reviving her senses from the day she had spent out. Mildred’s small meow as she followed Phee down the hall sent a smile to her face as she glanced down at the kitten. “I know you’re hungry, pet. Let’s see what magnificent meal Cook has prepared for us, shall we?”

Mildred meowed, in agreement or discontent, Phee would never know, but continued to follow her into the parlor where they found Harrison nursing a glass of scotch before a roaring fire. The kitten seemed unconcerned of his previous disposition, and made her way to him, rubbing herself against his bootleg as if he were the most prized possession in the room.

“Good evening, my ladies,” Harrison said, bending down to pick up Mildred and placing her against his chest. The small dear nudged her head against his jaw, happily reminding him of the attention she required and Harrison laughed at her antics, his fingers scratching her cheek as he settled her into his arms. Looking up, he met her gaze. “Did you have a good rest?”

Phee nodded, moving to one of the sofas that bracketed the fireplace. “I did. You?”

He nodded his head, a corner of his mouth raising in a smile. “It was relaxing to wash the day off of me before dinner.”

She gave a soft sound of agreement but said nothing further. She longed to go to him, to kiss his jaw and tell him she missed him, to pout because they never got to the diverting part of the day, but instead she just watched him, once again unsure of the ground they stood on.

“I heard Cook made a chocolate soufflé for dessert,” he said, moving to sit on the sofa opposite of hers.

Her stomach growled in anticipation and she raised a hand to cover it. “That sounds delicious.”

Harrison smiled at her, his mouth opening as if to say more, but Sterns entered the room.

“Dinner is ready, my lord,” Sterns said.

Harrison’s mouth closed, whatever he had been on the cusp of saying disappearing in the large room. A practiced smile fell on his lips and he stood, holding his arm out to Phee. “Lady Everly?”

Phee took his hand and stood, his skin warm in hers and as she followed beside him to the dining room, his thumb rubbed softly against her hand, its motion soothing, as if all were suddenly right in the world once more.

Once seated, the footmen began to place plates before them, the smell of each dish divine as their scent filled the room. Mildred occupied her usual seat at the table, a small dish of tuna already before her and the kitten wasted little time, her face disappearing into the dish as she consumed her dinner with enthusiasm.

Taking up her own fork, Phee paused as Harrison’s voice filled the room.

“You’re dismissed,” he told the footmen, who each looked puzzled at the pronouncement but left without a word.

When the room was empty, and the doors firmly closed, Harrison looked at Phee and smiled. “I wanted to apologize for my mood earlier.” He picked up his wine glass and took a sip, setting it back down on the table. “I have no excuse, but I promise it will not happen again.”

Phee nodded, her fork still poised over a portion of chicken breast on her plate. Nudging it, she said, “Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No. No, I just—” He sighed. “I’m not used to praise, is all.”

Phee’s mouth dropped. “Surely that cannot be true? You must have had praise from someone in your life.”

He nodded, his focus on his plate where his knife shifted about a couple of peas. “Certainly. Just not—” He cleared his throat. “Not in the manner that I have from you. There was sincerity in it, and if I’m being honest, I haven’t been surrounded by many individuals who did so. You didn’t simply say what you did because I had earned it after treating you to a delightful outing, but because it was truthfully how you felt and it left me feeling… Well, unsteady.”

Phee pushed back her chair and stood, moving to where he sat at the head of the table. She paused for a moment, uncertain whether to listen to her heart’s persistent nudging instead of reason, but the look of sadness on his face made the decision for her. Kneeling beside Harrison’s chair, Phee set her hand on his forearm, the muscles beneath flexing at her touch.

“Harrison,” she said, waiting for his gaze to meet hers. “You are wonderful. I mean it truly and honestly, without expectation of excessive outings or societal dictates. I mean it because you spend every effort ensuring that my day is pleasant, and you do so because you want to. And this afternoon when we returned home, you could have simply dismissed yourself to partake in activities that brought you joy, but instead you played with a kitten and let her destroy a jacket you looked very handsome in. If my proclamations make you feel uncomfortable, I shall endeavor to keep them to myself, but please believe me when I tell you that I mean every word. You are wonderful, Harrison Metcalf. And I’m glad to be your wife.”

The fork and knife fell to his plate in a clatter as he pushed his chair back from the table and bent down, grasping her arms, guiding her to sit on his lap. His arm wrapped around her waist, securing her to him, while the other hand delved into her hair, the few pins there falling to the floor as he guided her lips to his. It was a heartbreaking, soul shattering kiss. The earth shifted as his tongue tangled with hers, dancing with a melody of fire and greed as he devoured her whole. The hand at her waist clutched her closer to him, and she happily gave in to its demands and leaned against him as the heat he concocted grew, want pooling in her belly as she melted into him, close as she could be, but somehow not close enough.

He pulled away gently, his kisses softening even as the arm at her waist held firm. “Finish your meal, darling. It’s nearly time for our game.”

Phee swallowed at the husky growl of his voice, his lips like silk against her own. “What about dessert?” she asked, her mind recalling the soufflé he had mentioned moments before.

Harrison groaned against her mouth, his hand gripping the fabric of her dress tightly in its grasp. “You’ll have dessert, love,” he said, taking her mouth once more in a kiss that lit her aflame. “I guarantee it.”

He lifted her from his lap where the evidence of his desires sat apparent. With a nod to her chair, Harrison placed his napkin on the table, then leaned forward as she resumed her seat, her legs shaking with need.

“Eat, Phoebe. You’re going to need your strength,” he said with a growl as his eyes raked over her body and a smile pulled at his lips.

Heaven help her.