Chapter 9
Lucas watched Phoebe weave her way through the crowds at the Royal Academy, her hand tucked securely through Annabel's arm. She frequently craned her neck to watch the other spectators as they gossiped, flirted, and otherwise acted out the inane comedies and dramas that passed for life in the ton, her innocent, open curiosity heightening all his protective instincts.
Not that any harm would come to her in this setting, but Lucas didn't trust the young bucks and rogues prowling the galleries of Somerset House looking for bored matrons and pretty girls to charm into bed. And Phoebe looked more than pretty in the wine red pelisse that hugged her enticing curves and served as canvas for her creamy complexion, expressive brown eyes, and dusky curls. He stood in one of London's premier temples to the arts, but none of the paintings could hold a candle to Phoebe's luminous, gentle beauty.
Lucas narrowed his eyes as a beau with ridiculously padded shoulders backed into her, pretending he hadn't seen her in his rapt contemplation of one of the paintings. With an extravagant bow, he apologized. Phoebe gave him a sweet smile and chatted with him for a moment before turning back to Annabel. Unfortunately, the beau failed to take the hint, eyeing her shapely backside as he waited for her to turn around again.
Clenching his fist, Lucas moved to intervene. He was brought up short by a firm tug on his sleeve, keeping him in place.
Christ
. He'd been so intent on watching Phoebe he'd forgotten Aunt Georgie was holding his arm.
“You are not in the Peninsula and no one will ravish Phoebe in the middle of an art exhibition,” his aunt admonished. “There's really no need to sound the call to battle or pull me off my feet.”
He gave her a sheepish grin. She was right, but that didn't mean he wouldn't pummel any man who even glanced at Phoebe with a hint of lust in his eye. And since men looked at her like that whenever she went out, Lucas had to spend a great deal of time controlling an annoying combination of protective and violent impulses. Even on the battlefield he'd rarely let his emotions get the best of him, but a little Quaker miss from New Jersey was testing him in ways he hadn't thought possible.
That annoyed the hell out of him, too.
“Forgive me, Aunt. But I'm not sure Phoebe is used to these types of crowds. She's looking out of her depth, if you ask me.”
“Really, Lucas? You're the one who seems out of his depth. And don't bother directing fierce looks my way. They don't work on me, remember? Even the General has never been able to intimidate me, and he's had a great deal more practice.”
Lucas had to laugh. “I surrender. But Phoebe is a babe in the woods, and you know it. She might not even realize a man was flirting with her, or worse.”
It was
the worse
that kept him awake some nights. Who knew what type of trouble she would get into if she wasn't carefully supervised? Phoebe knew nothing of the wolves prowling through the ton, sniffing out their next victim. Decent men would perceive her innocence and treat her with respect, but there were those who would like nothing more than to take advantage of her sweet, unblemished nature. Now that she was making the rounds, she was even more vulnerable. He couldn't keep watch on her twenty-four hours a day, so the sooner they all repaired to the country, the better.
Besides, he'd wasted enough time in London, all while his new estate continued to collapse into decay without him.
He glanced back at Phoebe, only to see the overdressed beau still trying to gain her notice by peering over her shoulder as if he, too, were a great fan of Benjamin West. He stood so close his gloved hand dangled a mere inch from Phoebe's bottom.
Fortunately, before Lucas had to break heads Annabel came to alert. She turned around and gave the idiot a lethal-eyed stare before guiding Phoebe out of harm's way.
Aunt Georgie laughed. “Annabel clearly has the matter in hand. You must stop worrying, and cease slavering over Phoebe like some mad dog when she goes out in public. It makes her nervous.”
He bristled. “I never slaver. I'm simply watching out for her, as I promised her grandfather. Phoebe is my obligation as much as she is yours. More so, since her care was handed directly to me.”
With barely the twitch of an eyebrow, his aunt managed to look both imperious and offended. At one time, it quelled him, that look. Not anymore. Once a man had been to war, not much did.
“Lucas, is that all she is to you? An obligation?”
He grimaced. His intentions toward Phoebe had only recently firmed, but he supposed his aunt deserved an honest answer.
“No, Aunt Georgie. But I don't think she's ready to hear that yet.”
His aunt visibly relaxed. “I'm relieved to hear so, and I agree with your assessment. As much as I think a match between you and Phoebe might be a very good thing, I'm not sure you're ready for her yet, either.”
He cast her a startled glance. “You know I would take care of her every need.”
She nudged his arm, urging him to follow in Phoebe and Annabel's wake. “It's not just a matter of providing for her material needs. Phoebe is a sensitive, tenderhearted creature. Since her father died, she's been very much in need of nurturing and support. She is not like the other young women of the ton, and cannot be treated as such.”
“I'm not a fool,” he said tersely. “I haven't failed to notice that.”
“You may have noticed, but will you be able to respond appropriately ?”
He rolled his eyes. “Hell and damnation, Aunt Georgie. I have no idea what you're talking about.”
His oath earned him a glare from a passing matron, the purple plumes of her high-crowned bonnet quivering with indignation. He winked at her, and her mouth dropped open.
“Language, dear,” Aunt Georgie admonished.
He grinned. She didn't give a hoot about such things and he knew it.
“Dreadful boy,” she said, her lips twitching. Then she grew serious. “Are you sure you don't understand?”
He had to resist the urge to yank at his suddenly too tight cravat. “Aunt Georgie, I will discuss many topics with you, but physical intimacy with Phoebe is not one of them.”
She cast her eyes to the ornate, arched ceiling, obviously praying for patience. “I'm talking about
emotional
intimacy, you foolish man. Phoebe is a spiritual, loving person and, unless I miss my guess, she carries a great deal of hurt from the death of her dear parents and her brother's disapproving nature. You must be gentle and kind. Always.”
“I know that, and I am,” he responded gruffly. He'd sensed that vulnerability in Phoebe from the first, perceiving her need for a sheltering strength to keep her safe from the cruel twists of fate. He understood that better than anyone, and he would provide that shelter.
And not just because of a promise made to a dying man. She was exactly the kind of wife he wantedâsweet, trusting, and honest. During his years in the military, marriage had never crossed his mind. But inheriting the earldom had changed everything, including his desire to remain single. If marry he must, then he must have a woman as loyal and loving as Phoebe.
Esme had taught him that lesson.
They strolled along in silence. The art lovers and gossips milled around them in a cheerful chaos, some actually studying the paintings, others staring at the fashionably dressed crowd. Lucas glanced ahead, eyeing Phoebe's slim figure, searching for signs of tension in her back or shoulders.
As if she sensed his regard, she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze darted from his face to Aunt Georgie's, and a quizzical little crease puckered her brow.
Lucas gave her a reassuring smile. Although her mouth lifted in a shy smile in return, it didn't quite reach her eyes. Then Annabel said something to her and Phoebe turned back to respond.
His aunt let out a quiet sigh. “You do know that you make her anxious, Lucas.”
Stunned, he jerked his head to stare down at her. “Has she told you that?”
“No, dear. Phoebe is very loyal. And it's not that she's afraid of you. It's more your . . . manner. Your way of dealing with the world. It makes her uneasy.”
The tight knot in his stomach eased a fraction. Still, he didn't like the idea that he gave Phoebe any cause for concern.
“I'm a soldier, with a soldier's manner. I won't apologize for that, but I would never hurt her in any way. Never,” he said with quiet emphasis.
His aunt passed in front of an allegorical painting of the battle of the Titans. She took her time studying it while he tried to quell his irritation.
“Phoebe has a very spiritual nature, Lucas. After all, she was raised as a Quaker,” she finally said.
His impatience spiked. “I am well aware of that fact. Surely Phoebe doesn't expect me to ride off to battle, pistols blazing. And when would I have time for warfare, my dear aunt, what with all my present obligations to keep me busy?” This time, bitterness slipped into his voice.
Another slow nod from his aunt. “Yes, you are an earl now, with all the obligations and privileges the position entails. But in your heart you are still a soldier, and Phoebe senses that. A very significant part of you has not left the battlefield.”
He let out a ghost of a laugh. No one who had lived through war could ever completely turn his back on it. And part of him didn't want to. Not the killing, of course, but the purpose and clarity that came with knowing what must be done, and then doing it. No messy relationships or extravagant emotions, no broken promises or betrayals that could turn a man's life into a complicated hell.
Lucas shrugged. “She'll have to accept me as I am, and know that she will never have anything to fear from me.”
Aunt Georgie huffed at him. “I have no doubt she will eventually understand, if you would bother to make the effort.”
He gave her an incredulous look, but she just laughed. “Yes, dear. The General tells me you've been very good. But Phoebe doesn't have any idea how you feel about her.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, neither do I. Other than the fact that you obviously find her attractive as a potential wife.”
Blast it. Did she really expect him to make some dramatic declaration of love? He'd been done with that sort of nonsense for years.
“I am well aware of Phoebe's qualities, and I will always cherish her. I'm convinced she will make me a fine wife,” he said in a cool voice. With any luck, his tone would end this gruesome discussion.
“How romantic. I'm sure you will sweep her right off her feet,” his aunt caustically replied.
If he wasn't in public, he'd gladly utter a string of curses that would turn the air blue. Better than anyone, Aunt Georgie knew he would never put himself in thrall to a woman again. That didn't mean he wouldn't do right by Phoebe, or even care for her. Hell, he already did.
“I thought you wanted this,” he exclaimed. “I promised I would protect Phoebe, and you want her to stay in England. This is the best way to achieve both goals. Besides, I do need a wife. One I can actually respect, and who's nothing likeâ”
He clipped back the words. He didn't even want to utter Esme's name. And unlike Esme, Phoebe was sweet and innocent, and he would see to it she remained that way.
“I do want it,” Aunt Georgie replied, “and it pleases me that you wish to protect her. But remember. Phoebe may be vulnerable and innocent but she is not weak. Once her principles are engaged, she will stand firm. You cannot manipulate her into thinking you care for her when you do not.”
He ground his teeth. “Of course I care for her. A great deal. I have every intention of making Phoebe happy, I promise you.”
“I'm glad to hear it, but Phoebe needs convincing, not I.”
“What would you suggest?” he asked, exasperated.
“You might try actually wooing her instead of merely holing up with her and the General in the library. As much as I love your uncle, he can hardly be called an inducement to romance.”
He gave a reluctant laugh. True, he'd been very careful with Phoebe these last few weeks, but perhaps the time had come to exert pressure. “You make a valid point. I will adapt my strategy accordingly.”
She arched her imperious brows. “She is not a battle to be won, Lucas. It would be wise if you remembered that.”
He was hard put not to roll his eyes again.
His aunt gave him a little grin. “Don't fall into a huff, my boy. I'm simply offering you the voice of experience.” She nudged him in Phoebe's direction. “Well, get to it.”
Â
Â
Phoebe studied the vibrant and thoroughly outrageous painting. While it depicted a classical theme, one could hardly call it proper given the fleshy goddesses whose diaphanous garments revealed more than they concealed. Her brother, George, would have been scandalized, which rather increased her enjoyment than diminished it.