His Lady Midnight (19 page)

“Yes.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he continued to her growing frustration. She did not understand why he was prattling when she longed for his kisses. “May I escort you to Her Grace's soirée tomorrow evening?”

It took a pair of heartbeats before his words reached her befuddled brain. “Yes,” she whispered. At the moment, there was little she would have denied him. “Anything, Galen.”

“Anything?” He chuckled.

She leaned her face against his shoulder again. “Almost anything.”

“Then take back the rubies, Phoebe. I had them repaired, and I would like to see you wear them tomorrow night.” From a pocket in the door, he withdrew the brocade case and placed it in her hands.

“Carr will not like this.”

“They do not belong to Carr. They belong to me.” His hand curved along her shoulder. “I had thought they would belong to you, but you do not seem to want them.”

“Such a gift is too overmastering. It creates a debt that is not comfortable between us.”

As the carriage crossed the bridge, he said, “I do not want a debt—or anything else—between us.”

“Galen!”

He laughed. “I do like that feigned shock in your voice.”

“'Tis not feigned.”

He kissed her deeply, then whispered, “You may try to hoax yourself, Phoebe, but you cannot hoax me. Not when I taste the longing on your lips.”

“But that does not change what I must do.”

“Ah, there is that ladyish tone again, giving me a most polite dressing-down.” He leaned her face back against his chest. “I understand your anxiety now, which is why I am not
giving
them to you. I want you to wear them tomorrow night. Wear them for me.”

She looked from the box to his eyes, which were dark, glistening pools in the light from a lamp they were passing. “Thank you. I will wear them.”

“No, do not thank me. Those gems were dead until you gave them life. It is as if they have been waiting for you. Do not deny them or me your beauty.”

“You need not ply me with compliments when I said I would do as you want.”

His laugh had a rough edge that climbed inside her and fired her soul. “That is what I want … for now.”

“And that is what I shall agree to.”

“For now?”

She smiled. “For now.”

He cradled her against him. Listening to his heartbeat, she let herself float along on its rhythm that matched the clip-clop of the horses' hooves on the cobbles. The carriage slowed to a stop, and she hid her dismay. She had hoped the ride would go on forever. As long as she rode in Galen's arms, she could pretend it could be like this all the time. Once again he was correct. She wanted to be with him.

The door opened, and Galen stepped out. He held up his hands. She put her fingers on one, then gasped when he swept his arms around her and lifted her off the seat.

“Galen, are you mad?”

“Probably.” He cocked a single eyebrow in a clear challenge.

“You will hurt your side further with these antics.”

“Probably.” His voice was tight, and his smile evaporated.

“Then put me down.”

“I think that would be wise.”

Phoebe waited for him to move; then she realized that putting her down might hurt him worse. She shouted to Tate to come and help.

The door of Thistlewood Cottage swung wide, and Vogel rushed out to help. As the butler took Phoebe into his own arms, Galen leaned on Tate who helped him into the cottage. With the tact of a diplomat, the butler greeted them serenely. “Good evening, my lord, my lady. Lady Phoebe, your room is ready whenever you wish to retire.”

Phoebe glanced at Galen who was struggling not to grin, even though his face was tight with pain. Because he knew that the butler was well aware where Galen had retrieved her from or because it was ridiculous to be talking to the butler while Vogel held her? Either way, she intended to put an end to this.

She tapped Vogel's arm. He set her on her feet, but his face remained as calm as if nothing had been out of the ordinary. She brushed her gown over her filthy shoes and realized she had left her parasol and bonnet at Miss Raymond's. Now she understood why Galen's lips were twitching. She must look like a complete hoyden after her misadventures.

“Thank you, Vogel,” she said, deciding to follow the butler's lead and act as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“You are welcome, my lady.” He shifted with obvious disquiet before saying, “Mr. Townsend left a message for you, my lord.”

“About what?” Galen winced again and put his hand to his left side.

“About his plans for this evening. Mr. Townsend asked that you—”

Phoebe interrupted, “Delivering that message will have to wait until Lord Townsend has had a chance to rest. Tate, take him into the parlor while I change. Vogel, Lord Townsend would like some brandy to ease his discomfort.”

“You are a termagant tonight.” Galen chuckled. “I suspect I would be a fool not to acquiesce to your orders.”

“There would be no need for orders if you would not risk yourself with silly heroics.”

He caught her arm as she was about to go to the steps leading to the wing where the bedchambers were. “Silly?” he asked, his voice a deep growl. “Was I an air-dreamer to believe that you might appreciate what I did for you this evening?”

“I meant only trying to sweep me off my feet and carry me into the cottage.” She chose each word carefully, aware of Tate and Vogel, who were reluctant witnesses to this. “I appreciate everything else you did for me tonight.”

“Everything?”

She smiled when the twinkle in his eyes warned that he was thinking more of the kisses they had shared than of how he had saved her reputation. Brushing her lips against his cheek, she whispered, “Everything.” She laughed, then said, “Now go and sit and sip your brandy so you do not hurt yourself worse.”

“Yes, my lady.” He started to bow but paused.

“Vogel,” she said, “please assist Lord Townsend to the parlor before his own skimble-skamble injures him.”

The butler nodded, and she thought she saw his lips twitching. She hurried up the few steps toward her bedchamber. This had been a most extraordinary day, and she was glad it was over. She needed the night to think about what she would do now. She needed to go back to London, but she had promised Galen that he could escort her to a soirée. Her trip to Town must be postponed another day, and then …

For the first time in five years, she had been able to stop thinking about the rescues that had filled her life. Now, as she touched the jewelry box Galen had given her again, she wanted to think only of Galen and how his kisses sent a fiery rush of delight through her. She intended to savor them as long as she could, because she knew how short this delightful interlude would be.

Thirteen

Sipping on his brandy, Galen winced as each breath ached through him again. By Jove, it was so easy to forget this injury when he drew Phoebe into his arms. He wished it was as easy to forget her words.

He had been want-witted to try to play her dashing hero and carry her into the cottage like a knight of old rescuing his fair damsel by taking her over the drawbridge to safety. Her retort, based far more on reasonable behavior than his actions had been, had infuriated him for the moment before her next words made him see his lack of sense.

Phoebe was always so blasted sensible. Even her work to steal convicts from the ships was based on a peculiar logic that made sense when she explained it. At the very least, she should be pleased that, instead of going himself, he had sent Tate and the carriage to retrieve Carr who had sent word that his horse had gone lame on one of the roads beyond Bath. What his brother had been doing far from Bath all day was a question that could not be answered until Carr returned here.

“You are scowling. Are you in pain?” asked Phoebe as she walked into the parlor.

Galen hid his smile as he admired her loveliness, now properly framed by neatly combed hair and a clean, pale green gown. He was tempted to tell her that he preferred her with her golden hair falling free and a spot of dirt on the tip of her upturned nose.

Quietly, he said, “If I tell you that I am indeed in pain, I collect you will chide me again for being less than sensible.”

“Probably,” she replied in the same terse tone he had used out by the carriage.

He laughed, then put his hand to his side. “I deserved that.”

“But you did not deserve this pain.” She knelt by his chair. “I owe you a debt I can never repay for all you have done for me.”

“It has been my pleasure.” He put his hand over hers on the chair. Gazing into eyes that glowed with pleasure at his touch, he wondered if any moment could be as perfect as this one.

The moment ended when Vogel came into the parlor. “Mr. Townsend to see you, my lord.”

Galen pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the pinch along his side. Why was the butler announcing Carr as if his brother were a stranger?

“Get out of my way!” came a bellow from the hall.

“Oh, my,” murmured Phoebe beside him as she rose with a whisper of silk.

Galen was tempted to repeat her words but was silent as his brother stormed into the room. Water splashed from every step Carr took, because he was drenched from head to foot. Glancing at the windows, Galen saw that it was not raining. What had soaked his brother? As Carr came closer, Galen's nose wrinkled. Whatever had washed over his brother, it was not rain.

When Phoebe choked, Galen pulled a handkerchief from beneath his coat. He handed it to her, wanting to apologize for the malodorous stench coming from his brother. She pressed the linen to her face, but not before he saw that the choking sound had not been coming from her attempt not to retch. She was trying not to laugh.

“By Jove, Carr, what happened to you?” he asked, steeling himself for the fury that was sure to spurt at him.

“I was attacked by two bumpkins.” He touched his cheek that was obviously bruised. “They took offense for no reason at all.”

“No reason at all?”

Carr tore off his coat and threw it on the floor. Vogel rushed to pick it up before the odor from it sank into the rug. Tugging off one boot, Carr flung it at the hearth. He pulled on the other boot, but it must have gotten stuck because he hopped about in a circle like a half-mad hare. Finally he got it off and sent it flying as he had the first.

Phoebe gave a soft cry when it hit a vase that wobbled and fell to the floor, shattering. “Have you lost what little sense you ever had?”

“Mayhap it was beat out of me,” Carr fired back.

She started to reply, but Galen put his hand on her arm as he asked, “Why did they give you such a thrashing?”

“You would have known if you had been there.”

“Excuse me?”

Carr strode toward them and jabbed a finger at the top button of his brother's waistcoat. “I sent you a message that my horse had gone lame and I needed a way home.”

“I sent the carriage for you.”

“Too late. I thought I could depend on you, Galen.”

Phoebe could not remain silent any longer. “He did the best he could to keep you from having to walk back to Thistlewood Cottage.”

“I sent that message more than two hours ago,” Carr said, not looking at her. All his fury was focused on his brother.

“I was not here when it arrived.” Galen seated Phoebe on a settee and sat beside her. “As soon as I returned, I sent Tate to bring you home. Did he miss you along the road?”

“He met me on the bridge.”

Galen nodded. “Then why are you complaining?”

“I could have been killed! You should have come to my assistance.”

“I told you that I was not here when your message arrived.”

Finally Carr looked at Phoebe. “And where were you?”

“I was retrieving Phoebe who had been calling on a friend of this family,” Galen replied.

Carr snarled a curse that sent heat flashing up Phoebe's face but added nothing else as Mrs. Boyd came into the parlor.

The housekeeper's smile was strained, so she must have heard the raised voices from the hallway. Her voice had a brittle brightness. “I thought a light supper would be welcome, my lord.”

Phoebe smiled. She had missed both her tea and supper, and cakes were set on one side of the tray. “Those look luscious.”

With a laugh, Galen took one of the delicately frosted cakes as the housekeeper set the tray on a table in front of the settee. He handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You should have known that Sandra Raymond could not provide you with a meal at this time of day,” Carr said as he reached in front of his brother and picked up a cup and the pitcher of cream.

Phoebe froze with the cake halfway to her lips. She quickly lowered it, her appetite gone.

“Miss Raymond?” asked Galen. “I do not recall saying where Phoebe was.”

She wanted to congratulate him on his tone, which suggested he had no idea what his brother was talking about. Taking a small bite of the cake, she chewed it. The cake had a light lemon scent, but she could not taste it through her dismay.

“But you did say,” Carr said. “You said she was at the house of a friend of the family. That Phoebe needed assistance to return here from making that call suggests that it was not a commonplace one. Putting that with the fact that Sandra is a very good friend of this family suggests you had to retrieve her from a most unexpected call.” He gave his brother a superior smile. “The last time I spoke with Sandra, she asked where you were and why you had not called on her as you have before, Galen.”

Phoebe submerged the gasp that threatened to betray her shock. She was not going to give Carr the satisfaction of viewing her dismay at his accurate guess. Or was it just a guess? Had he heard something that had revealed the truth?

“Odd,” Galen said as he selected a cake for himself. As he sat back on the settee, his elbow jabbed Phoebe in the side.