The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount (35 page)

It wasn’t until they had reached the meadow where the horses usually grazed that Will finally allowed himself to relax a little. Up here, they were away from everyone. Up here, they were merely a man and a woman. There were no titles, no families, no social mores, no families to interfere.

He reined Fergus to a halt and swung off, then helped Phoebe down and instantly wrapped her in a strong embrace, his crop dangling from his fingers. He kissed her face, her lips. He caressed the crown of her head and smiled into her eyes. “You cannot imagine how I have longed to see you.”

Her smile widened. “I beg to differ, sir—I can very well imagine.”

With a laugh, he kissed her again, then reared back, frowning playfully. “A masquerade ball?”

“Ah yes…that,” she said with a wince. “I scarcely knew what to do,” she admitted. “Mrs. Ramsey would have had me on the first coach to London had I not thought of something.”

“Then I will thank the good Lord for masquerade balls,” he said, wrapping her in his arms once more. “I could not bear it if you left so soon.”

He felt her go still, then pull away. Will dropped his arms as she backed away from him and turned around to look out over the meadow. “Where are the horses?” she asked, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked to the east.

“I imagine they have gone to higher ground for better grazing. We shall look for them if you’d like.”

She shrugged a little, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “You seem distressed.”

He smiled wryly. “I suppose I am. I have wanted very much for things to go well for my brothers and sisters.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile and folded her arms as she cast her gaze to the ground.

“I don’t know what more I might have done to prevent it. I cannot seem to impress on Alice the need for circumspection and careful thought. Nor can I seem to contain my anger with her,” he said, slapping his crop against his open palm. “She has put so much at risk, has brought such shame to our family when we have worked so hard to rebuild our good name. To think how I forbade her, threatened her—and still she would deceive me.”

“Love has a rather strange way of making one do things one would never even contemplate doing,” Phoebe suggested softly.

He scoffed at that. “Do you mean to imply that love would give one license to deceive?” he asked harshly, and shook his head. “No. I would have better understood and better respected her had she told me she could not honor my wishes. But Alice knows that if there is one thing I cannot and will not tolerate, it is deceit.”

“Indeed?” Phoebe asked, frowning a little.

He understood what she was thinking and adamantly shook his head. “Ours is not the same situation at all, Phoebe. Alice is a young, unmarried woman with a reputation to protect.”

Phoebe cocked her head to one side.

“You know very well what I mean by that,” he said brusquely, and tapped Fergus on the rump with the crop, sending him to trot a few feet away. The little mare followed. “It is quite a different matter for us than it is for Alice. She will be forever marked by her indiscretion.”

“As was Frieda.”

“Frieda!” he said irritably. “Frieda’s indiscretions were far greater than Alice’s.”

“Were they?” Phoebe countered coolly. “I had not realized there were degrees of wantonness.”

“Of course there are! Alice has not, insofar as I know, lifted her skirts to a man who is not her husband.”

Phoebe paled; Will instantly realized what he’d said. “Good God, Phoebe,” he said wearily. “It is different for you. You are a widow. Your chastity is not an issue—the horse is out of the barn, as it were.”

That remark caused her jaw to drop open.

“Damnation,” he said irritably, slapping his crop against his leg. “I did not mean—”

“I know very well what you meant, Will,” she said low. “You speak very plainly.”

He felt frustrated with everything—his family, his life, his love. “I do not mean to argue this with you. Do forgive my bad humor—I am cross, for Alice’s deceit has put a wall between me and my sister that cannot be overcome. I cannot abide such deceit. I think I might bear anything—anything—but that,” he said, slapping the crop against his leg again.

Phoebe dropped her arms and whirled around, in a full circle, and faced him again. Her expression was a mix of hurtful regret and anger. “Are you so callous?” she asked hotly.

His gaze narrowed. “You would defend Alice?” he demanded incredulously. “What do you think will become of Alice if her virtue is lost? What other virtue has she when honesty is so lacking in her?”

“Can you not understand that her love for that man is blinding her to all she knows?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You will not sway me with poetic talk of love again on her behalf, Phoebe.”

“Then what of our situation?”

“What of it?” he asked angrily as his frustration with his position and his desires, and the feeling of being caught in the vise of some notion of duty, overwhelmed him. “Do you honestly believe we’d be standing in a bloody meadow miles from the hall just so that no other soul will see us if I had the slightest choice? And if I did believe for one insane moment that I might have a choice, can you not see that Alice has effectively ruined any chance of it? How can I possibly own up to my feelings for you and bring even more shame to my family than she already has done?”

He didn’t realize what he’d said—what he apparently believed—until it was too late. The color had drained from Phoebe’s lovely face, and she covered her gaping mouth with her hand.

“Phoebe—”

“No!” she said, holding out her hand to stop him as she backed away. “Please do not say more!” She turned partially from him and pressed her hands to her abdomen.

Her reaction alarmed Will. “Phoebe!” he blustered. “You knew as well as I did that this was all we might expect!”

“A meadow? A few hours here and there? And what will it be after you have married Caroline Fitzherbert? What will we share once you have lain with her? I suppose you think all will be right and you may come to my bed, for the horse is out of the barn and that is the way among gentlemen of Quality!”

“Did I ever give you cause to expect more?” he snapped angrily.

A sob caught in her throat and she looked heaven-ward. “No,” she said softly. “Never. It seems Alice is not the only one who has been blinded by love.”

Will sighed wearily. He shoved his hands through his hair. “I want to make love to you, Phoebe. Not argue. I never…I never expected to love you,” he said, feeling the words twist around his heart as he spoke. “I never considered even the possibility when I offered an arrangement for us. I never expected or knew myself capable of falling so hard or deep…but now I have, and I am forced by my position and my responsibilities to face the reality of it.”

She turned her head to look at him. Tears filled her pale blue eyes. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but she swallowed and bowed her head.

“Phoebe,” he uttered, and quietly closed the distance between them, putting his arms around her.

She felt stiff in his arms, her body trembling, but she turned and pressed her face to his shoulder.

Will cupped her head, held her tight. He couldn’t think clearly, not in the wake of Alice’s scandal. He did not want to think of it now. He had only a few hours with Phoebe, and he didn’t want to mar them with unanswerable questions about the future. He slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. Her eyes said everything—he could see the hurt and confusion there, and would have given the earth to remove the sadness from her eyes.

“I have to go back,” she said tearfully. “I have to go now.”

He nodded and let her go. She walked away from him, toward the mare. Will watched her a moment, wondering where this had left them, and reached no conclusion.

He followed after her to help her mount the mare.

Caroline Fitzherbert was up very early Sunday morning. At the advice of her father, she and her mother had accepted Summerfield’s invitation to stay at Wentworth Hall for the fortnight instead of traveling seven miles each way every day.

Caroline had argued with her father, fearing that she would lose her advantage of being separate and apart from the other unmarried girls. “There are too many people and therefore too great an opportunity for talk,” she’d argued.

“But talk is what you want, darling,” her mother had said as she’d stirred her tea. “You want everyone in attendance to whisper in Summerfield’s ear that there is only one possible match for him, and that is Miss Caroline Fitzherbert.”

She was, therefore, ensconced in a lovely suite with her mother, with a view of the lake and gazebo.

Unfortunately, Caroline had not been sitting in the window seat yesterday and had missed the scandalous discovery of Alice and the smithy in the gazebo. The very thought of it caused her to smirk a little to herself. Alice. What a tragedy she was! Entirely lacking in fine looks and social graces, the poor thing would have had a difficult time gaining an offer under the best of circumstances. It would be near to impossible now.

But Caroline had hardly thought of Alice since. She found it difficult to think of anything but her own particular situation, and privately bemoaned that there was nowhere to go to be alone at Wentworth Hall and think things through. So many things had happened that Caroline felt like a sieve with a steady stream of emotions rushing through her. She wanted nothing more than to walk in the gardens, alone, to think.

At last, she had her opportunity Sunday morning. Caroline was blissfully alone in the parterres while the other guests slept late. She moved languidly, soaking up the sun’s morning light before it became too warm. She paused to take a deep breath of air and turn her face up to the sky—until she heard the sound of someone running.

Good Lord. She was not in the mood to converse, so she quickly ducked behind a topiary tree and hoped whoever it was would pass by quickly.

But when Madame Dupree scurried past, Caroline was very intrigued. Madame Dupree was walking fast, her head down, obviously lost in thought. She was wearing a plain morning gown, and her hair was fixed in a braid down her back. She was quite unlike the lovely, perfectly-put-together woman who presented herself every night. This morning she resembled the servant she decidedly was as she hurried up the path.

Now wherever could the seamstress have gone?

A few moments later, she had her answer. The distinct sound of a man’s stride startled her. She knew who it was instantly. She gathered her shawl around her shoulders and boldly stepped onto the path. Summerfield came to something of an abrupt halt when he saw her.

He was obviously surprised; for the briefest of moments, his eyes darted to the terrace before returning to Caroline. “Miss Fitzherbert, how good to see you this morning. I trust you slept well?”

Caroline smiled. She could not yet bring herself to speak.

He seemed a little perplexed by her reticence. “It is a lovely day for walking,” he remarked.

“It is,” she said, and glanced down at his boots. They were covered in dust. “It would seem that you have walked quite a long way already, my lord.”

His hand clenched as he smiled. “As a matter of fact, I took the opportunity to ride up into the hills to see after the wild horses.”

“Did you find them?” Caroline asked, watching him closely.

“No. I think they have moved higher into the hills where the grass is still green.”

Caroline moved closer to him. “That is quite a long ride, my lord. I should think you would have wanted some company.”

Summerfield steadily held her gaze but did not respond.

Caroline smiled again. “You once promised to show me the wild horses.”

His eyes drifted to her lips. “I did indeed. I have been woefully remiss. We must ride out today and see if we can find them.” He looked her in the eye. “If you’d like.”

“It won’t be a great burden to you to go up twice in one day?” she asked sweetly.

“Not in the least. Shall we ride after luncheon?”

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled. “That would be lovely.”

“Would you care for breakfast?” he asked, offering his arm.

Caroline glanced at his proffered arm and with another sweet smile laid her hand firmly on it.

W hy so sullen, Lady Phoebe?” Mrs. Ramsey asked.

Phoebe sucked in a breath and quickly looked over her shoulder—Mrs. Ramsey had insisted Phoebe join her on a walkabout of the magnificent grounds. Apparently, several of the guests thought it was a splendid time to walk, too, and Mrs. Ramsey’s voice had a tendency to carry. “Do have a care, Mrs. Ramsey,” she cautioned her.

“Don’t be so fussy,” Mrs. Ramsey said. “There is no one even near.” She opened the gate that led from the parterres out onto the lawn. “This is glorious, is it not?” Mrs. Ramsey asked, and strolled on.

Phoebe reluctantly followed her. Her deceit was hanging over her head like an ax. She hardly knew who she was any longer—she wasn’t really Madame Dupree, but neither was she Phoebe. There was only one thing that seemed even remotely true: Had she been honest with Will from the beginning, she might very well be on the verge of securing a happy future for herself. But her deceit and her lies had created the need for more lies, which had made that impossible.

As they moved toward the lake with Mrs. Ramsey nattering on about another grand house she had visited, they saw a pair of riders.

“Oh! I do believe it is Summerfield!” Mrs. Ramsey said.

It was indeed Summerfield. He was riding with Miss Fitzherbert, and it left a surprisingly deep gash across Phoebe’s heart to see Miss Fitzherbert laughing so gaily and Will smiling so steadily at the young woman.

Will never saw Phoebe.

But Mrs. Ramsey did. “I’d shut my mouth if I were you,” she said snidely, jerking Phoebe’s attention back to her. The woman watched as the riders disappeared over a hill. “I daresay you’ve ruined any opportunity for that one, eh?”

Phoebe looked at Mrs. Ramsey incredulously.

“You need not be so high and mighty with me.” Mrs. Ramsey sniffed. “You are quite fortunate that you’ve not been made to suffer more for your folly.”