The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount (27 page)

Perhaps he was giving Miss Fitzherbert short shrift—he hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t attempted to find the same pleasure in her as he had found in Phoebe. So as they walked under the arbor, Will impulsively put his hand to her arm, stopping her.

“My lord?” she asked sweetly.

He said nothing, just slipped his fingers under her chin, lifted her face, and kissed her.

She froze, her body unyielding, her lips unmoving.

It was pointless. Will felt nothing but a faint stirring—nothing like the passion that had roared up in him when he’d kissed Phoebe the first time. He lifted his head and smiled.

Caroline blushed. “I…I…”

“Forgive me for being so bold,” he said politely as his mind’s eye envisioned Phoebe.

“Not at all,” she said, and glanced at the ground as she timidly touched her hand to his.

Will caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “I should be going,” he said quietly, and released her hand. “I have quite a lot of business that requires my attention.”

“Yes, of course.” They continued walking, both of them with their hands clasped behind their backs. When they reached the drive, and a boy had been sent for his horse, Will smiled again and said, “It has been my pleasure, Miss Fitzherbert.”

“Oh, you are too kind,” she responded, and glanced at the door of the house. “I believe I was not very good company today,” she added shyly. “I confess to having a bit of a headache.”

“You should be resting,” he said instantly. “I have kept you from it—”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Were it not for your call, I should have been miserable, I assure you.”

He bowed again and stepped back. “I wish you well, then, Miss Fitzherbert. Good afternoon.”

She curtsied, then folded her arms tightly about her as Will swung up on Fergus. He lifted his hand to her as he rode out, but the moment he turned from Caroline she was forgotten. His mind was on Phoebe and the memory of her in his arms, the taste of her lips and skin. He wondered how he might ever balance his desire to be with someone like Phoebe and his duty to marry someone like Miss Fitzherbert.

It seemed impossible.

The day was so warm that all the windows were open, and as a result, Phoebe and Frieda could hear the notes rising from the pianoforte as Jane and Alice practiced their dancing.

Phoebe also heard the sound of a horse riding into the drive and could not help but peek out the window. It was Will, dressed in fine clothing, his hair combed back. He certainly was handsome, wasn’t he? It was little wonder that so many people were coming to spend the fortnight—Mrs. Turner said they all had unmarried daughters and would give their right leg and a milk cow to make a match.

Phoebe understood why. Were she not in such a peculiar predicament…

“Three days late,” Frieda said behind her. “It’s not uncommon, is it?”

Phoebe reluctantly turned away from the window. “No,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “My sister can scarcely guess when she will be indisposed, while I could set a clock by it.”

Frieda’s face fell. “I can generally set a clock by it, too.” Her eyes were rimmed with worry.

Before Phoebe could respond, the door flew open and Jane burst in, pirouetting and stumbling into a shallow curtsy before bouncing back up with a laugh. Behind her, Alice slipped in, watching her sister.

“You should never curtsy before you are formally introduced, Jane—should she, Phoebe?”

“Ah…no,” Phoebe said, and smiled at the two of them. “Shall I show you a proper court curtsy?”

“You know it?” Jane asked elatedly.

“I do.”

“Yes, yes! Show us!” Jane exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“All right.” Phoebe laughed, and stepped into the middle of the room, moving a chair and a dress form. She extended her arms wide and said, “You must extend one leg very deeply, like this,” Phoebe said. “Carriage erect, you descend as if you were suspended from the ceiling by a string to the top of your head,” she said, gracefully moving down. “How do you do, my lord,” she said, inclining her head just so.

She quickly came up. “Do you see?”

“Now me!” Jane cried, and stepped into the middle of the room to practice. They laughed at her awkward maneuvering, but after several attempts—and Phoebe’s corrections—Jane did it well.

Alice needed far less help—she curtsied perfectly on the first attempt, earning applause from Frieda and Phoebe.

“There, you see?” Jane said as she twirled around and planted both hands on the table. “Alice believes she is better suited to country dances with blacksmiths and farmers than she is to society balls, but she is really quite good at curtsying.”

Phoebe and Frieda exchanged a look as Jane smiled and twirled away again.

“Alas,” she continued, “I rather imagine she will not be dancing with the smithy, either, for when I was walking with Miss Abernathy on the village green this morning, I saw him in the company of the girl who tends Mr. Reynolds’s shop.”

Alice colored. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jane,” she said as she idly smoothed her hair. “I have done what Will asked. I am no longer in communication with Mr. Hughes.”

“No?” Jane asked, clearly titillated by the news.

Alice turned and looked her directly in the eye. “No,” she said.

“It’s just as well,” Jane said as she moved to the dress form that held her ball gown and spread the skirt. “Is it finished?”

“Almost,” Phoebe said, calmly removing Jane’s hands from it. “We will finish the beading today, I should think.”

A knock at the door caught their attention.

“I’ll see who it is!” Jane said with some delight, and hurried forward to fling the door open and sink into a deep curtsy.

“My, my, Lady Jane!” Will praised her from the open door. “Allow me to help you up,” he added, and extended his hand, palm up.

Jane slipped her hand in his, and with her head bowed, she rose up gracefully, then lifted her head and beamed at her brother. “What do you think?”

“I think it was the most majestic curtsy I have ever seen,” he said indulgingly.

Delighted, Jane twirled around again.

Will looked across the room at Phoebe, his eyes quickly raking over her. “Please forgive the intrusion, Madame Dupree, but I should like to spirit Jane away for a time.” He looked at Jane. “There seems to be a matter of a book that belongs to Roger.”

“Goodness, is that all,” Jane said with a sigh of impatience. “It wasn’t as if he intended to actually read it.”

“Come along, Jane. Alice, if you please. I am certain Madame Dupree and Frieda have quite a lot of work to do.” He looked at Phoebe as Jane pirouetted and Alice walked out the door. “If you will excuse us,” Will said. But he did not move. He paused to look at a gown that hung from one of the many hooks Phoebe had asked Billy to put around the room.

Phoebe and Frieda waited. He glanced at Phoebe. “Who shall wear this?” he asked.

“Lady Jane, my lord.”

He studied it again, then shook his head. “It will not do.”

Frieda turned a look of pure shock to Phoebe. “I beg your pardon?” Phoebe asked as she looked at the rose-colored day gown. It was beautiful, cut to perfection and adorned with slender ribbons. She thought it one of her better day gowns.

“No,” he said again, and glanced over his shoulder at Phoebe. “The décolletage, madam, is too low. I spoke to you about it once. Did you not heed my instruction?”

His instruction? “But it is not too low,” Phoebe said adamantly. “It suits Lady Jane very well, my lord. It is styled in the latest fashion and—”

“It is cut too low,” he said again, and turned to face her. “Do you argue with me?”

Phoebe blinked. She looked at Frieda. Then at Will. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” she began. He nodded, and turned to examine the dress again. “But indeed, I do take issue.”

Her response did not seem to surprise him. There was a strange look in his eyes, almost as if he invited her argument. He spared a glance for Frieda. “Frieda, would you be so good as to allow me a word with Madame Dupree?”

Frieda’s eyes went wide—she looked fearfully at Phoebe, but quickly stood and curtsied as she hurried out.

Will waited until he heard her on the stairs, then looked at Phoebe.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I cannot—I will not—alter that gown to suit some puritanical view of fashion, sir! You hired me to provide your sisters the latest styles and I will not be persuaded that the latest styles include some provincial notion of decency.” She folded her arms defiantly. “I am quite resolved in this,” she added, less confidently.

“The gown,” he said low, “is beautiful. I merely wanted an excuse to speak to you privately, but it is near to impossible.”

“Oh,” she said, dropping her arms. “Oh.”

He moved closer. “I must see you,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow is Sunday, the other servants will be away with their families.”

“Will!”

It was Jane, coming up the stairs.

“Damnation,” he muttered softly. “Tomorrow, one o’clock, behind the orangery. Can you meet me there?”

“Will! How long must I wait?” Jane called up.

“A moment, Jane!” he called back, and looked at Phoebe.

She nodded. He pivoted sharply about, striding across the crowded little workroom before Jane could come up.

Phoebe didn’t even realize until he had gone how wildly her heart was beating.

It was still beating wildly when Frieda returned. “What came over you?” she cried. “Did you want to lose your position here?”

“No!” Phoebe insisted. “But I…I really admire the gown.”

Frieda shook her head. “You might admire the roof over your head before you think to speak in such a manner again, Phoebe. I’ve seen dismissals for less than that. Indeed, I expected it.”

“Yes,” Phoebe uttered, looking at the gown. “That was foolish of me.”

“Aye, it was foolish,” Frieda said adamantly, and resumed her beadwork.

Phoebe glanced surreptitiously at Frieda. “Where did we put the gold thread?” she asked idly, and wandered into the adjoining bedroom under the guise of looking for thread, needing a moment to calm her wild heart.

On the morrow, behind the orangery, one o’clock. A slow smile spread her lips. She felt a lightness inside her that she had felt that night on the island, an indescribable freedom of spirit.

H e’d had a devil of a time getting away from his siblings. Alice and Jane had had a row over a pair of kidskin gloves, Roger refused to rise and greet the day, and Joshua had left at dawn for God only knew where. Will had been late to the stables and saddled Fergus himself, lest anyone inquire where he meant to ride.

And now, seated on Fergus’s back, Will waited behind the orangery.

He withdrew the watch from his pocket and glanced at it again—a quarter past one.

She wasn’t coming.

He couldn’t deny his great disappointment—he had thought of little else yesterday and today, the anticipation of seeing her again filling his dreams in the night.

Perhaps Mrs. Turner had captured her. Will knew that the housekeeper was working through the weekend to make the house ready for the arrival of the first guests on Tuesday. But Mrs. Turner would never impose on Phoebe without first asking Will.

Where was she? Had she changed her mind about their arrangement? The thought sent a shudder of dread through him. He could not imagine seeing her in his house and not being able to be near her.

Will glanced at his pocket watch again. It was now seventeen past one o’clock.

She wasn’t coming.

With a sigh, Will urged Fergus around and gently spurred him forward. The horse had only taken a step or two when he pricked his ears and lifted his head. Will looked up just in time to see Phoebe hurry around the corner of the orangery, coming to an abrupt halt directly before him.

She was panting, as if she had run. Her cheeks were flushed, the hem of her pale yellow and green gown rimmed with the faint trails of dirt and grass. But her eyes—her eyes were luminous, shining with anticipation. Neither of them spoke for a moment, just stared at one another as their tacit understanding, and mutual desire flowed between them.

Will remembered himself; he extended his hand, palm up. “Put your foot on mine.”

She did not hesitate; she understood him completely and stepped around a restless Fergus, slipped her hand into his, and fit her foot on top of his for leverage. Will easily pulled her up, putting her directly before him on the saddle. With his arms wrapped securely around her, he spurred Fergus into the trees.

Once they were deep behind the veil of trees, he released the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, and bent his head next to hers. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I thought I’d miss you,” she said, still breathless. “Frieda came this morning instead of going to her mother’s, as is her habit, and by the time I was able to shoo her away, I discovered I had no idea where the orangery stood! I was afraid to inquire of anyone lest I invite questions.”

He hated the subterfuge that they had to engage in, but there was nothing that could be done for it. Anything less than the utmost discretion would be too scandalous for them both.

“Where are we going?”

“I have another surprise for you.”

She twisted about so that she could smile up at him, her eyes glowing with pleasure. “Another surprise? You shall ruin me completely for ordinary days—I shall be cross if I don’t have a surprise every time we meet.”

If he could, he would surprise her every single day.

They turned onto a deer trail and moved deeper into the forest.

Phoebe leaned forward, peering at the shadowed trail ahead of them. “This path hardly appears to be used at all.”

“Trust me,” he said.

She did not respond, but she slowly leaned back, nestling her body against his. Trusting him. After a few moments, she said, “One might think we are leaving civilization, for it seems as if the forest goes on forever. But really, I should hardly mind if we did, for one always finds something new and exciting when one leaves the comfort of one’s sitting room.”

“Oh?” he asked idly as he slipped his arm around her waist, anchoring her to him. “And what new and exciting things have you found in leaving your sitting room?”