The Princess & the Pea (30 page)

She forced a casual lilt to her words. "That's ridiculous, Robin. You've been extremely successful."

He laughed, a mirthless sound. "Success can be measured in many ways." He paused, as if garnering his thoughts. A long moment passed.

"Why didn't you return to me?" The quiet timbre of his voice belied the depth of emotion in his words. She'd dreaded his question but dreaded more her answer.

"It was too late," she whispered.

"That's not good enough." Barely controlled anger rang in his voice.

She whirled to face him, and the question that had hovered in the back of her mind for years sprang to her lips. "Why didn't you come after me?"

His gaze burned into hers with an intensity that stole her breath and perhaps her heart. "It was ... too late."

Anger abruptly surged through her and she pushed him out of her path and stormed across the room, slamming her glass on a table along the way. "Not good enough, Robin. It's simply not good enough. I waited for you. I waited days and days in that dreary little inn. By the time I realized you were not coming I had very nearly destroyed myself with fear and worry and guilt."

"It was a simple misunderstanding." Her own anger reflected in his eyes. "I explained it all in my letter."

"Yes. I read your explanation over and over until I could recite it by heart, and then I burned it." She glared with the stored fury of more than two decades, emotion she didn't know she harbored. "I no longer remember it word for word, but its meaning is still clear in my mind."

"There was nothing I could do. I was sent out of the country on urgent business for the Crown the very day I was to meet you."

"So your letter said."

"How could I know the messenger with whom I had entrusted my dispatch to you would fail to deliver it?" His tone held a pleading note.

"You couldn't possibly know, Robin. Nor could you know I stayed in that wretched inn for four days. Four long, horrid days I waited for the man I was running off to marry. I died in that inn, Robin. And when finally I gave up all pretense and admitted to myself you had abandoned me—"

"I never abandoned you," he said sharply.

She shot him a withering glare. "When I was able to face that undeniable fact I managed to make my way back to London and to my parents. My parents ..."

She shuddered at the memory. "I shall never forget it. The shock and anger and the sheer disappointment in their eyes that I would have done such a thing. And then there was their compassion and sympathy. They were wonderful, and I did not deserve such kindness. It broke whatever small part of my heart that remained whole."

"You certainly recovered quickly enough." he said sarcastically.

"What are you implying?" Fury underlaid her words.

"I am implying nothing." His eyes flamed with a rage that matched her own. "I am saying it directly. By the time I learned what had transpired, by the time I finally wrote to tell you what had happened, you were engaged and about to be married."

"It was six months, Robin. Six months without hearing anything from you." She threw the words at him like a weapon.

In two strides he was beside her. He grasped her arms roughly, her papers flying out of her hand, and he glared into her face. "You met White on the bloody boat?

"Indeed I did," she said defiantly. "He was kind and good and strong, and he loves me and I love him."

"Do you?" His eyes burned with a fierce hunger that abruptly turned her anger into a need just as violent, just as aching. She stared in shock and silence and ... surrender. "Do you?"

"Yes," she whispered, and for a single heartbeat he stared. Then he crushed her lips with his.

Her head swam and she clung to him with an urgency she hadn't known existed. The years vanished and it was as if they were both once again young and impetuous and in love. His tongue plumbed the depths of her mouth and she met his onslaught with one of her own. Passion spiraled between them, stealing her will, her mind. How would she survive this meeting of long-denied desires, this meshing of once-matched souls?

He pulled his lips from hers and ran his mourn along the edge of her ear and down her neck. She trembled beneath his touch and a moan slipped from her lips.

"Phoebe. Dearest Phoebe." His words whispered against her skin. "I have dreamed of you for years. Forever."

"Forever." She sighed. Once before she'd offered him forever. Later, she'd promised—

"Henry!" she gasped, and struggled to free herself from Robin's arms.

"What of him?" Robin pulled back and met her gaze with his.

"He's my husband." She labored without success against the solid strength of his arms. "We mustn't, Robin. This isn't right."

"Isn't it?" He pulled her tight against him. His heart thudded beneath her cheek. "We belong together, Phoebe; we always have."

"Please, Robin," she said quietly. "Please unhand me. Now."

With obvious reluctance, he released her. and she quickly stepped back. Her mind was a jumble of conflict and confusion.

"Leave him, Phoebe." Robin's voice was rough and intent.

"Divorce?" She gasped. "I could never—"

"It's not the scandal it once was. We would survive. Together." His eyes burned with a fervor both frightening and exciting. "I shall not lose you again."

For a long moment she could only stare in shocked silence. A myriad of emotions crashed through her head and she struggled to sort one from the next.

She shook her head slowly. "I don't—"

A swift stride brought him to her side and he silenced her words with a gentle finger to her lips. "Not now, Phoebe. I do not want a rash, hasty answer one way or the other. There is far too much at stake here. You have much to lose should you choose my offer. I, on the other hand," he stared into her eyes with a passion that stilled her heart, "have everything to gain."

He nodded sharply, turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Words failed her, and Phoebe could only stare helplessly at his retreating figure. Leave Henry? She couldn't. She wouldn't. He was her life, the very air she breathed.

She sank into the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands. How could she have forgotten about Henry even for a moment? Oh, certainly his caresses through the years were not as urgent as they once were. And her heart no longer throbbed at his mere presence. But there was a warmth and a comfort and a deep, abiding love that surely meant their souls were destined for each other. How could she have risked all that? How could she have let herself be swept away by a foolish moment of passion? Perhaps Robin was right. Perhaps there still lingered between them emotions as yet unresolved.

She drew a deep breath and rose slowly to her feet. Without thinking, she moved to the papers scattered across the floor and picked them up from the intricately patterned carpet. She had a great deal of thinking to do.

About Robin.

About Henry.

And, most of all, about herself.

"It is a lovely party, Millicent." Olivia nodded approvingly. "I think you have done a splendid job."

"It is going well, isn't it?" Millicent beamed with pride. "I can't recall the last time I entertained on such a grand scale."

"You certainly have attracted an impressive gathering." Olivia said.

"It's nothing." Millicent modestly waved away the compliment, but satisfaction shone in her eyes.

Olivia cast her gaze over the crush of people crammed into Millicent's ballroom. There was no question that the younger Miss White's introduction to society was a complete success. Olivia caught sight of the child and couldn't help but suppress a sigh. It was so long ago that she too glowed with the excitement of her first adult assembly, yet it seemed like yesterday. Where had the years gone?

"... add to that the fact that I do believe Quentin is quite fond of the girl." Millicent said, bringing Olivia firmly back to the present. "Phoebe agrees with me that a match between the two of them would be splendid. I have always wanted to cement our friendship with a marriage between our families. It simply was not meant to be before now."

"How are Robert and Phoebe getting along?" Olivia's level tone belied the curiosity churning within her. "I should think seeing one another after all these years..."

"I have noticed a distinct tension in the air whenever the two of them are in the same room." Millicent said confidentially. "Nothing overt, mind you, but Robin has seemed extremely intense. Phoebe is quite distracted and even poor Henry looks as if there are storm clouds hovering just above his head."

Olivia nodded sagely. "It doesn't sound at all pleasant."

"It really isn't. I don't believe the girls or Quentin have noticed anything, but I am quite uncomfortable." Millicent sighed. "The thing that is most upsetting is that Phoebe and Henry have always been so happy together; at least that's the impression I've always had from her letters. As for Robin, he is a dear man but, Lord knows, I can certainly see his faults. He is nearly as arrogant today as he was twenty-odd years ago."

Millicent cast a furtive glance around, as if to ensure their privacy, then leaned toward Olivia. "You know, he simply assumed Phoebe would remain here in England waiting for him back then. He never knew she didn't get the message that he was sent out of the country. Even so, to presume that she would put her life aside with the briefest of explanations ..." Millicent shook her head. "I have always suspected that everything turned out for the best after all. Upon reflection, I rather think Phoebe would not have been happy with Robin. It is rather disloyal to admit it, family ties and all that, but there you have it."

Millicent's eyes narrowed, and she stared at the couples whirling across the dance floor. "Now, he's seen her again and I do not like the look in his eye. He's a man who has always pursued what he wants."

"Henry White does not strike me as a man who easily gives up what is his," Olivia observed mildly.

Millicent brightened. "No, he doesn't, does he? And he is such a fine figure of a man—"

"Millicent!"

A rosy bhish crept up Millicent's cheeks, but she stared at her friend unflinchingly. "Don't 'Millicent' me. I am nowhere near my dotage yet. And I am thinking of remarrying."

Olivia gasped, shocked by the candid admission. "Who?"

"There actually isn't a 'who' right now, but it doesn't matter." Millicent said airily. "It was Robin who gave me the idea. With his new position in London—"

"What new position is that?" Olivia asked, feigning ignorance.

"Whatever." Millicent's Ught tone dismissed the comment. Olivia wondered if she really didn't know Robert's new position or if she cared less. "At any rate, Robin now really needs a wife—not for an heir of course: there is Quentin and one wouldn't—"

"Millicent," Olivia said sharply, "get to the point."

Millicent tossed her a haughty glance. "The point is. I am still relatively in my prime: or at least that's the way I feel. There is no reason why I should not seek romance or, at the very minimum, male companionship.

"Or you either, my dear," she said pointedly.

Olivia's gaze drifted to Robert, on the other side of the hall. She'd been vaguely aware of exactly where he was all evening. Perhaps she was taking this idea of providing a distraction for him a bit too seriously. Still, from what Millicent said, scandal was very possibly brewing between Robert and the Whites.

"Do you really think so?" Olivia murmured.

"I do."

"Much as I hate to admit it." Olivia shrugged. "I quite agree."

Millicent stared in stunned silence.

Olivia laughed. "I do agree with you now and again, if you'll recall."

"Yes, but..." Millicent pulled her brows together with a considering expression. Olivia stood a shade taller under her perusal, confident in the new ivory lace-trimmed, wine silk evening gown designed to conceal her flaws and emphasize her attributes. "I thought I'd noticed something different tonight. You're not wearing mourning of any kind." She nodded. "You really do look quite charming."

"I can still pull myself together when the occasion warrants it," Olivia said dryly.

"Yes, dear friend, but—" Millicent raised a brow. "I can't remember the last time you decided an occasion—any occasion—deserved the effort."

"As you so subtly pointed out, it is indeed past time to immerse ourselves once again in all the foibles and follies of society. I for one do not relish the thought of turning into a bitter old crone." Olivia shrugged and smiled. "I can see no other way to prevent that than with a touch of flirtation here, a bit of teasing banter there, perhaps even a mild indiscretion or two."

"Olivia!" Millicent's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "I hadn't expected you to take to the idea quite this enthusiastically." She grinned abruptly. "I wonder if beneath that proper exterior beats the soul of a ... well, a ..."

"A tart?" Olivia suggested.

Millicent shook her head, her tone wry. "I was

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searching for a less condemning word."

Olivia lifted her shoulders in resignation.
"Tart
seems to fit so nicely. Perhaps it's maturity or simple boredom, but I quite like the idea of being termed a tart at my age."

Millicent's eyes twinkled. "It does feel very much like we are beginning something of a new life."

"Indeed." Olivia nodded firmly. "Now, where shall we start?"

"Let me think." Millicent surveyed the crowd, then nodded to a far corner. "Lord Collingsworth is an interesting prospect. A shade older than we are, but still quite functional. He is an excellent possibility. And over there I see Harold Sedgewick. He is ..."

Olivia listened to Millicent's assessment of the various suitable gentlemen in the room with only partial attention. She had to admit, the idea of flinging herself headlong back into society had grown in recent weeks. Robert's reappearance and her decision to distract him from Phoebe had only solidified what had, up till then, been nothing more than a vague dissatisfaction with her life.

But before she could do anything about her own future, she had to resolve her son's. Cecily had mastered every task thus far with grace and intelligence. And while a countess did need to know how to handle any awkward situation that might arise, from indiscreet houseguests to clumsy servants to last-minute social disasters, the requirements for being a wife went well beyond those needed for a title holder.