Chapter Six

“What do you think of this color?”

“Hm?” Distracted by thoughts of James and the gentle kiss he’d bestowed upon her lips when they’d parted that afternoon, Phoebe jerked her attention from the bolt of lavender fabric sitting idly in her hands to Sarah, standing before the mirror with a length of rich rose silk draped over her shoulders. “I love that color.” Phoebe dropped the lavender and rose from the chaise in the dressmaker’s modest salon. She approached the mirror, cocking her head to the side, taking in the way the elegant silk enhanced Sarah’s milky skin and raven hair. “Is there time to have a new dress made up?”

Mrs. Hodge, the seamstress, nodded emphatically. “For Miss Sarah and Captain Collins I will have this dress ready in two days’ time.”

Sarah beamed into the mirror, eyes aglow. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you! I am so very excited.”

Phoebe met her friend’s gaze in the mirror and grinned in return, true happiness rising within her. For the first time in her life the thought of marriage did not feel like drudgery or the sound of her doom. Instead a bit of Sarah’s excitement slipped into her and Phoebe hoped she might find a love match herself.

*          *          *

After several hours helping Sarah and her mother make wedding preparations, Phoebe returned home exhausted, but happy. So much had happened since she’d risen that morning from her hell raising jaunt on Jupiter to sizzling kisses with James Witherspoon. She lifted a hand to her still tingling mouth and suppressed a contented smile. He’d asked her to meet him again tomorrow and she’d agreed.

“Phoebe?” Edward’s voice echoed through the hall.

“Yes,” she called, turning toward his study.

“Come in here for a moment.”

Phoebe complied, ambling into the room. Her brother sat behind his desk, piles of ledgers stacked before him. “Preparations for Sarah’s wedding are coming along nicely. Will you be able to attend on Saturday?”

Edward dropped his quill into the inkwell on his desk and leaned back in the chair, regarding her with a cool gaze. “Reverend Alistair stopped by to visit this afternoon.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “I’m glad Sarah’s wedding plans kept me detained today.”

“He passed along some information I found quite distressing.”

“Does he believe the second coming is imminent?” Phoebe quipped, laughing lightly at her own joke.

Edward’s stern glare did not waver. Phoebe swallowed, her playful spirits fading. “The reverend told me that you’ve been keeping company with James Witherspoon.”

Blast Reverend Alistair! Her palms slicked. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned to the books lining Edward’s shelves, running her fingers casually along the spines. “The colonel was at Sarah’s engagement party, the reverend merely saw me ask him where he came by his horse.” She chanced a glance back to her brother. “You know how eccentric Alistair is.”

Edward’s blue eyes narrowed on her. After a moment he shrugged, seeming appeased by her explanation. He reached over his desk and lifted the quill, wordlessly dismissing her.

Holding her breath, Phoebe forced herself to walk unrushed from the room.

“Phoebe?”

She gulped again. “Yes, Edward?”

“Where did he come by the horse?”

“Lord Banion,” she replied smoothly.

“I see,” the duke replied, still gazing down at his ledgers, systematically tapping the end of his quill on different points of the page. Just as Phoebe turned to the study door, Edward’s cold eyes snapped upward, freezing her in place. “I will not hear tales of you consorting with him further, Phoebe. You know perfectly well why we do not socialize with the Witherspoons.”

Patrick. Guilt and worry ate at her stomach. “Edward—”

“Do I make myself clear?” His tone brooked no room for argument or question

“Perfectly,” she murmured, casting her eyes downward.

“Good.” The stone in Edward’s eyes softened slightly. He set his quill aside, leaning back in his chair. “I must travel to London on business. I leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? How long will you be gone? What of Sarah’s wedding?”

Edward’s face darkened, taking on a worn, tired expression. “I have matters far more pressing than a country wedding to attend.”

“What matters?”

“They are none of your concern, Phoebe, I—”

“Not my concern? Edward, Corsair is very much my concern. I have—”

“Regardless,” he interrupted in a booming tone that brooked no argument. Phoebe snapped her mouth shut. She knew better than to press her brother’s temper. “You are allowed a great deal of freedom, probably too much freedom.” Phoebe ground her teeth, resisting the urge to argue. She carried out the many important traditions and duties her mother had taught her. “I expect you to behave in my absence,” Edward continued. “So help me Phoebe, if I come home to tales of you consorting with the Witherspoons, I will lock you up until we travel to London for the season where I will marry you off to the first rich fop that offers for you.”

 Phoebe gulped. “I understand brother.” She backed slowly from the room, absorbing his threats. Other questions burned in her mind as well. Questions she’d not allowed herself to consider.

Had James murdered her eldest brother?

She didn’t believe it. She could not reconcile him in the role of murderer. The James she was rapidly growing fond of seemed far too fun loving and carefree to have such a secret hindering his conscience. Guilt of such a dark nature blackened the soul.

*          *          *

Concentrating on the tiny portraits before her, Phoebe snatched the straw hat off her head and threw it onto the blanket beside her. To the devil with freckles. The blasted hat was interfering with her light and she only had until Saturday to finish these paintings. As a wedding gift for Sarah and Nicholas, Phoebe was creating miniatures for each of them to carry while Nicholas was away on duty.

Phoebe nibbled her bottom lip, brushed poised over her color palette, trying to recall the exact color of Nicholas’s eyes… Blue? Or green? She’d never paid particular attention in the past.

“Ho, there, Siren!”

Startled, Phoebe nearly dropped her brush and snapped her eyes upward. A grin instantly split her face.

James strode toward her, an irresistible smile gracing his lips, one arm raised in greeting. A young boy—the lad from the festival—scampered alongside him. Both wore casual clothing and clutched a fishing pole.

Phoebe set aside her paintbrush and stood. “Good afternoon, Colonel!”

“What a coincidence finding you out here.” James stopped before her, eyes twinkling.

“Not terribly surprising considering you’re trespassing on my brother’s property.”

James winked. “Don’t tell anyone, but the fattest fish lay in this part of the river. I’ve been fishing here for years.”

“I see,” she said with a wink of her own. “Not to worry, your secret is safe with me so long as you introduce me to this handsome young man." She turned her attention to the adorable boy accompanying him. He looked a great deal like James with Sandy hair and similar bone structure, the most striking difference were the boy’s blue eyes.

“This,” James dropped a hand to the lad’s shoulder, “is my nephew Toby. Toby, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Lady Phoebe.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.” Toby bowed his head, scooting closer to James. After a moment he glanced up, giving her a shy smile. “Would you like to join us, Lady Phoebe.”

“I would like nothing more.”

The afternoon proved lovely. Watching James interact so tenderly with Toby warmed Phoebe’s heart. The three of them laughed and chatted while the men fished and Phoebe continued to work on her miniatures. James proved invaluable in helping her with Nicholas’s likeness, particularly the color of his eyes… gray.

At one point James slipped a bit of old cheese onto Toby’s hook and joined Phoebe on the blanket with her paint supplies. He leaned close, peering over her shoulder. His moist breath whispered through her hair. Tingles prickled Phoebe’s skin in acute awareness to his proximity. Her pulse quickened and her mouth dried. She endeavored to keep her breathing normal and her hands steady as she touched the end of her brush to the canvas.

“You are very talented,” he complimented. “Not many artists can create such accurate likenesses from memory.”

“Thank you. I’ve always had a knack for likenesses. If I close my eyes I can picture faces perfectly in my mind.” She swallowed, fingers trembling, and finally set her brush down. His nearness affected her too much to paint effectively and she could not take the chance of ruining the miniatures. Her gaze drifted to Toby. “You are very good with your nephew.”

James fell silent for a long moment. “The last few days have been hard on him,” he said finally.

“Your uncle’s death you mean?”

“Yes.” James nodded though his eyes never left Toby sitting along the bank, holding his fishing pole. “My brother died when he was two years old, and the general was a steady presence in his life.” He sighed heavily. “It will be difficult for him when I deploy again.”

Phoebe’s heart clinched with the prospect of his imminent departure. She shifted her gaze from Toby to James. Their eyes locked. “He won’t be the only one,” she murmured honestly.

Passion and disbelief consumed his expression. “Phoebe…” he whispered, tone straggled and vulnerable as though he couldn’t believe anyone other than immediate family would miss him. He reached out, grazing a calloused thumb across her cheek. “Phoebe…” For once no silver-tongued words flowed from his mouth. Only her name. The knowledge that she had that effect on such a notorious rake proved heady indeed.

James slid his thumb from her cheek to her bottom lip, gently caressing the tender flesh. All coherent thought escaped her. Instinctively, her lips parted and she swayed closer, inviting him in for more.

“Phoebe…” His hand shifted to cradle her face. His gaze dropped to her lips as he leaned in, his mouth mere inches from her own. His warm breath rolled over her lips, creating a rush of excitement and longing within her.

“Uncle Jamie, are you going to marry her?”

Phoebe and James jerked apart. Phoebe flushed, she’d been so caught up in the moment she’d actually forgotten Toby’s presence!

Panic flipped across James’s face. “Why would you ask such a thing?” He stood quickly, rejoining his nephew beside the creek.

“Grandmama says you need a wife.”

“Oh, does she?”

“Yes. And Lady Phoebe is very nice.”

James ruffled Toby’s hair. “Don’t you worry over your Uncle Jamie. I get along just fine without a wife.”

Disappointment cut swiftly through Phoebe’s merriment. She blinked and quickly shifted her attention back to the paintings, trying to shove back the insidious regret pooling within her. She shouldn’t be upset by James’s statement, and yet… the words hurt. His proclamation was an acute prick straight through the heart. Phoebe gulped around a lump in her throat, she hated to admit the fact, but a piece of her couldn’t deny that she was falling for James. Falling hard, and fast, and unequivocally… in love.