A Matter of Convenience, page 11
He gathered his patience and tried to cast his attention elsewhere. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring.
When at last she’d returned to her mother’s side, and Forsythe took his leave, Anthony crossed toward her.
“Good evening, Lady Phoebe.”
“Lord Bolton.” Phoebe barely smiled as she curtsied, leaving him to wonder what was wrong.
He greeted her mother before returning his attention to Phoebe. “I noticed you weren’t at the Thompson Ball the other evening,” he murmured, deciding against commenting on her lukewarm greeting. “Is all well?”
“Yes, thank you.” Her gaze remained on the dance floor as if she’d never seen anything as fascinating as the couples moving across the parquet floor.
“You’re quite certain?”
“Yes.” Still, she didn’t look at him.
“May I have the honor of the next dance?”
At last, she looked at him, her hesitation obvious and reserve shadowing her hazel eyes. “How kind of you.”
Kind? She used that word to describe him too often. That wasn’t how he wanted her to think of him. They were closer than that, weren’t they?
Yet what else could he expect when he hadn’t given her any reason to hope for more?
Only after they were on the dance floor did he realize he should’ve waited for a waltz. The reel didn’t allow him to hold her in his arms. Instead, he held her hand on occasion before the steps drew them apart, then moved on to the next partner before they were reunited again. It was less than satisfactory though better than watching her from across the room.
Conversing was impossible, but he hoped they’d have a few minutes to do so when the dance ended. However, it became obvious as they continued along the floor that she wasn’t looking at him the way she normally did.
“Are you certain all is well?” he asked, unable to resist questioning her odd behavior when he finally had the chance.
Again, she hesitated. For a moment, he was sure she intended to tell him what the problem was. To his disappointment, she only nodded politely.
It took all his resolve to hold tight to his patience. Surely, she knew that she could count on him to help in any way he could. They were more than mere acquaintances. More than friends. They were—
What?
It wasn’t fair of him to expect more from her when he hadn’t clarified his interest. She understood though. He’d explained it clearly when she’d come to retrieve her list.
When the dance ended, an awkward silence descended between them. One he wasn’t certain how to breach. As they drew closer to Lady Granthorpe, Anthony slowed his steps.
“I’ve missed you.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but he detested her reserve this evening. He much preferred the witty version of her he normally saw.
“Anthony, I appreciate our friendship, but—”
“Phoebe?” Lady Granthorpe gestured for her to come closer.
“I’m sorry. I must go.” Then she released his arm and stepped away, leaving him bereft.
But what? What had she been about to say? Given her cool reserve, he worried that she was going to suggest they not see each other again.
He had to be wrong. He didn’t want her to tell him that. The problem was that he wasn’t sure what he wanted in regard to Phoebe. He only knew he wasn’t prepared to say goodbye.
Chapter Thirteen
Phoebe entered the Garwood residence along with her mother and sister the following evening, never more miserable. Lord Forsythe had advised them that he would be attending the musical and hoped to see them there. Her mother had practically gushed when she’d told him they would attend as well.
“This will be the perfect opportunity to have more time with him,” she advised Phoebe that morning. “A much smaller venue with the chance to sit near him and visit.” She’d clapped her hands with excitement, then insisted on helping Phoebe select a gown to wear.
Her mother’s enthusiasm was only part of the reason for Phoebe’s misery. The other part was caused by her uncertainty as to whether she should try to distance herself from Anthony. She need only think of his confused expression at the Pennyworth Ball to regret the idea. Doing so was supposed to make her feel better and keep her heart whole. But her heartache showed no sign of improving.
When she’d finished the dance with Anthony the previous evening, her mother had called her over and said, “I don’t understand why Lord Bolton has been dancing with you of late. He couldn’t be suddenly interested in you. He’s known you for years. I suppose he does so because you and Amanda are friends with Lady Viola. He’s always been so kind, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, very kind.” Couldn’t be interested in her? The words hurt, making her throat ache. Her mother wasn’t saying anything Phoebe didn’t already know. That had been why she’d thought a bold move was necessary to try to gain his interest.
“His doing so might encourage other gentlemen to take an interest in you,” her mother continued. “Perhaps we have him to thank for Lord Forsythe’s recent interest. Do take care though, dear. We wouldn’t want anyone to read anything into you spending time together.”
Her mother would be completely shocked to learn that she and Anthony had kissed. Thinking of those moments only lowered Phoebe’s spirits further when it seemed unlikely anything would come of the passionate interludes.
The evening was going to be a long one. The two daughters of their host and their cousin were to play—two on the piano and one with the violin. Based on their performances last year, chances were their efforts would be mediocre at best.
The ladies were younger than Phoebe, and they had little in common. However, her mother had been friends with Mrs. Garwood for years and wouldn’t have missed the musical for anything.
A piano and a violin were at the top of the room with benches and chairs lined up in precise rows for the guests. A refreshment table stood to one side with an impressive array of biscuits and cakes as well as lemonade, but no one was partaking.
Phoebe supposed the offerings were a reward of sorts for enduring the performance.
Mr. and Mrs. Garwood had a beautiful home which made sitting through two hours of music slightly more enjoyable. The ballroom was impressive with a swirling pattern in the wood floor and tall columns stretching to an ornately painted ceiling. Their conservatory was said to be gorgeous, though Phoebe hadn’t had the privilege of seeing it.
A glance around the ballroom showed many guests had already arrived. Only a few were seated, but she was relieved Lord Forsythe wasn’t yet among them.
“Remember what we discussed,” her mother whispered. “Be sure to flatter him when he arrives.”
Phoebe lifted her eyes to the ceiling. She thought the idea ridiculous. She couldn’t imagine Anthony wanting her to do that and was certain he’d see through such an attempt.
Then she caught herself. Anthony wasn’t like other men. Not in her limited experience. The reminder only made her more despondent.
Amanda nudged her and offered a sympathetic look. Her sister was nearly as frustrated with the situation as Phoebe. Her protests that Lord Forsythe was unsuitable as a potential match for Phoebe had been ignored.
“Oh, lovely. Viola is here,” Amanda said with a smile as she looked past Phoebe’s shoulder.
Phoebe stiffened. She didn’t have to ask if Anthony had come as well. His presence caused every fiber of her being to tingle. It was all she could do not to turn.
If only he hadn’t come. The evening would’ve been less frustrating. It was too much.
Each time she saw him, she wondered if there was a chance. If she encouraged his kisses and the other more intimate encounters they’d shared, would he eventually decide to accept her proposal?
She gave herself a mental shake. Hadn’t she told herself she was done with wishful thinking? Somehow, she failed to remember that when he was near. Her heart refused to listen.
Phoebe closed her eyes briefly in a silent prayer, asking for grace this evening. For the ability to hold her head high and act as if all was well.
She might as well face him and have their greetings over and done. With a deep breath, she forced herself to turn and smile only to find him standing directly before her.
“Oh. Good evening,” she managed, hoping her breathlessness at his proximity wasn’t apparent.
He looked handsome as always, his dark hair combed neatly to the side, and his sideburns trimmed precisely. His formal black evening attire with knee-length tails and double-breasted matching waistcoat made him look every inch an earl. Distancing herself from him seemed impossible. Especially when he smiled, and those dimples made an appearance.
“How nice to see you.” His gaze lingered on her face before he greeted her mother and sister. After exchanging perfunctory comments about the fine weather and the lovely ballroom, he turned back to her. “I’m pleased you’re here this evening,” he whispered. “I have an invitation for you.”
Her heartbeat sped. She should say no. Immediately. It didn’t matter what it was.
“What might that be?” The question was out before she could halt it. If only she weren’t so weak when it came to him.
He leaned close, blue eyes sparkling. Darn those eyes. Why did he have to be so appealing? “Would you care to tour the conservatory?”
She couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Still, she glanced over her shoulder at her mother, wondering if there was any possibility of slipping away.
No. It was impossible. “I don’t think I can join you.” Unfortunately, she didn’t feel any relief at having said the right thing.
He followed her gaze to her mother and then frowned. “Lady Granthorpe and your sister are welcome to join us. Mr. Garwood offered a tour to whoever was interested a few minutes ago.”
Phoebe’s face flushed with embarrassment. Of course, he wasn’t attempting to have a moment alone with her. A painful ache lodged in her chest. When would she learn to curb her expectations? This was nearly as bad as realizing the flowers weren’t from him.
“In fact,” he continued, “if you’d like Lord Forsythe to come along as well, I’m sure that would be fine.” His gaze held on Forsythe who had only just arrived.
Phoebe stared at Anthony nonplussed. How could he possibly suggest such a thing? Clearly, she didn’t matter at all to him.
Then his lips twisted with dissatisfaction as his eyes narrowed. “Though I would rather he didn’t.”
The comment only made her feel marginally better. “I shall ask my mother.”
“Allow me.” Anthony stepped closer to her mother, mentioning the tour when she turned from her conversation with another.
“Thank you, Lord Bolton, but I have already seen it.”
Phoebe’s mood plummeted at her mother’s response. She truly did want to see it, especially with Anthony.
“But I don’t believe either of my daughters has,” Lady Granthorpe added.
“Then, by all means, they are welcome to join us.” With a nod at Phoebe, he moved away to advise Mr. Garwood.
Phoebe felt a nudge and turned to see Amanda grinning broadly. “What?”
“Perhaps Lord Bolton is the man we’ve been wishing for,” Amanda whispered. “A walk through the conservatory might be the perfect opportunity to further your acquaintance.”
Along with a dozen other guests? Highly doubtful. But Phoebe attempted to return her smile all the same.
If only...
“If you see a chance, take it,” Amanda urged.
She already had but doing so hadn’t gotten her anywhere.
ANTHONY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND what had become of his will. Phoebe had made it fairly clear at the ball last evening that she wasn’t interested in continuing their relationship. He should honor that as it saved him from having to let her down gently. He shouldn’t have sought her out upon his arrival, let alone invited her along on the tour of the conservatory.
Instead, here he was, walking with her through the lush display of plants and flowers after the never-ending musical had finally finished.
For all he knew, she liked Lord Forsythe’s attentions. Her mother certainly seemed to based on how much she’d spoken with the man between the pieces of music. Phoebe had remained quiet though, and that pleased him more than it should. Thank goodness the other lord had refused the offer of a tour, stating he had already seen the conservatory.
Now Anthony and Phoebe followed a half-dozen other guests along the narrow path that wound through the foliage of all shapes and sizes. Mr. Garwood was proud of his conservatory and had every reason to be. The lush plants and colorful flowers growing in pots and elongated bins were numerous and unusual. The scents in the room were heady and exotic, bringing to mind distant locales with blue ocean water and white sand.
But Anthony realized he still preferred the scent of orange blossoms above all else.
The conservatory was extensive. Near the entrance, most of the potted plants sat on tables but the farther they walked into the room, the more like a garden it became. Vines trailed from the tall ceiling and a wide variety of trees lined the walkway. The foliage was so thick in places that it was impossible to see very far ahead. Candlelight didn’t do much to penetrate the darkness.
Anthony stopped to admire a lily of some sort. Its bright orange petals were intriguing and emitted a spicy fragrance. “I like this one,” he murmured, turning to see that Phoebe had halted alongside him while the others continued.
“Very nice.” She leaned close to sniff it. “How lovely it must be to have a place like this to enjoy, especially during the winter.”
“Indeed.” Anthony moved forward at a slow pace, admiring the various flowers but even more, enjoying the time with Phoebe.
He couldn’t help it, he realized. It was beyond his control not to extend these few moments with her. He’d missed her. There was no escaping that fact. The realization made him wonder once again what he wanted.
She took several steps forward, moving ahead of him, only to look back. “Shouldn’t we catch up with the other guests?”
“I’m not in any hurry. Are you?”
She bit her lip as she studied him, then glanced toward the rest of the party, who were moving out of sight around another row of plants, her indecision clear. “Amanda will wonder where I am.”
“Surely she’ll know you aren’t far behind.” If only Phoebe hadn’t bitten her lip, he was certain he could’ve resisted kissing her again. She didn’t seem to realize how incredibly appealing she was.
“I suppose.” Her puckered brow suggested she wasn’t so sure.
“May I ask again what has been bothering you of late?” He moved to stand before her, reaching out to trail a finger along her soft cheek.
Her long lashes fluttered before she met his gaze. “It’s nothing.”
He hated that she didn’t choose to confide in him. He nodded but remained silent, giving her a moment to change her mind if she wished.
She kept her silence and then turned to continue forward.
Everything within him grew taut. He reached to take her arm, not wanting her to go.
She turned back with one brow raised in question.
“Phoebe.” He placed his hands along her waist, loving that she didn’t feel as if she would break. That a strong wind wouldn’t whisk her away.
Her heartbeat was visible at the base of her neck, fluttering wildly. He wanted to kiss that spot, to run his tongue along her skin. Instead, he leaned close to take her mouth with his once, twice, then longer still.
She held back at first, then slowly leaned into him, melting in his arms, finally giving as much as he offered her.
This wasn’t merely a spark between them, but a fire that burned brightly, warming him from the inside out. Phoebe was so much more than he’d realized in every way.
At that moment, he was grateful she’d proposed as it had changed how he saw her as if a veil had been lifted and he could see her true essence.
He’d been convinced he could step away from her whenever he wished. Now that seemed impossible. Desire roared through him each time she was in his arms. But more than passion drew him to her. He sincerely enjoyed her company. The way her smile lit up her face. Her ability to see the good in others. Her thoughtfulness. Her love of not only learning but sharing her newfound knowledge.
Her satin gown hugged her curves, and he lifted a hand to cup one of those full breasts that had teased him all evening with each breath she took. The soft orbs were irresistible as was her moan beneath his mouth. He molded her breast, wishing her corset was gone.
Suddenly, the quiet penetrated the fog in his brain and he eased back. The murmur of voices in the distance had faded.
“Has the tour ended?” Phoebe asked, eyes wide in alarm.
“Perhaps for the others, but I think ours will last one more minute.” He pulled her closer, reveling in the way she felt pressed against the length of his body.
She smiled, and he adored how it made her even more beautiful. Then she wrapped her hands around his neck, and they kissed again, tongues and teeth and need swirling together.
They couldn’t linger long. Yet he was loathe to release her. Just one more minute, he told himself. That was all they dared take. He was determined to make the most of it. To show Phoebe how much he wanted her. To make her feel the same need he did. To make certain she knew he cared.
He lowered one hand to cup her bottom and draw her even closer against his stiffening manhood. Her hips shifted against him, and his body ached with need. He longed to show her how much pleasure they could find together. The idea of never having that opportunity was nearly more than he could bear.
He drew back to press his lips to her forehead, shocked at the feelings that flooded him, sending his heart hammering. He drew a breath, loving the scent of her. “We should go.”
“Yes.” But she didn’t move, making him loathe to do so.
With a shaky breath, he stepped back, releasing his hold on her. She swayed toward him, and that small movement was nearly his undoing. Then she steadied, adjusted her gown, and drew a deep breath as if to gather herself.
