Could they be correct? Phoebe had insisted that he cared for her. She knew he treated her with tenderness during the storms. He had stood beside her during the weeks following their scandal. They had talked and laughed together, and when he touched her…
She pushed the thought away. “It hardly matters.” Phoebe shook her head. “Not when he insists I break the engagement.”
“You are wrong again, dear sister.” Rebecca nodded. “It matters a great deal, for no one can escape from love.”
“Indeed, not. Once you are married, he will come around. He cannot fight his feelings forever,” Daphne said. “You will see.”
“I want to believe that.” Phoebe took a sip of her tea. Lowering it, she forced a grin. “All the same, my wedding day shall not be a day of joy.”
“I am so sorry.” Rebecca patted her hand. “I wish things could be different.”
“As do I,” Phoebe said in a whisper. “As do I.”
Graham drummed his fingers against the table as he stared into his brandy. More than once over the past few days, he fought the urge to go to Phoebe. He had treated her beastly, and the knowledge that he had hurt her crushed him. For the first time in his life, he did not know what to do.
He took a long, slow drink and relished the trail of liquor that burned through him. He wanted her with a fierceness that demanded he claim her. At the same time, he loved her too much to ruin her happiness. He thought he’d go mad from the heartache.
Perhaps he should go, leave Almerry and Phoebe. His honor be damned. Only he could not, because Camden and Alex would hunt him down and drag him back. Under those circumstances, Phoebe would surely hate him. Any chance they had of happiness would be destroyed.
No, he had to go to the church. Had to do his duty by her and their families. If she walked down the aisle, he would marry her. God help them both. If she failed to show, his heart would break. Either way, Graham would suffer.
He retrieved the decanter and poured four fingers of the dark liquor into his glass, then turned to face the fireplace. Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, he threw the decanter at the flames.
The shattering of glass did nothing to improve his mood.
“What the deuce is going on?” Camden strolled across the room, Alex at his side.
Alex rested his elbow on the mantle and peered into the fire. “Did the hearth offend you?”
Graham ignored his cousin’s jest in favor of downing his brandy. He slid his tumbler across the table, then turned back to Alex. “I will make a terrible husband.”
“It’s a bit late to worry about that. Your wedding is at sunrise.” Camden scowled.
Alex retrieved a fresh decanter and came to the table. “Besides, you ruined her. You have to go through with the wedding.”
“I thought you both cared for her,” Graham said.
“Indeed, we do. Phoebe is a lovely girl.” Alex poured brandy into three tumblers.
“Then why the devil would you want to see her shackled to me?”
Camden accepted the drink, then said, “I would not have chosen you, but I believe the two of you can be happy.”
“You must be mad.” Graham massaged the back of his neck. “She will hate me the moment someone treats her with cool regard, if not before.”
“You underestimate our Phoebe.” Camden grinned. “She is tough and self-assured, just like Rebecca and Daphne. The three of them are cut from the same cloth. Phoebe will hold her own.”
Graham focused on his glass rather than looking at his cousins. “She should not have to.”
“And you think that is your decision to make?” Alex asked. “What of her wishes? Have you considered that she may want to spend her life with you?”
“I am a rogue with a bastard. What woman would willingly choose me?”
“How she chose you does not signify. It only matters that she has.” Camden refilled Graham’s glass, then continued. “Or has she given you reason to believe otherwise?”
“On the contrary. She declared her love.”
Alex grinned as Camden raised his drink. “Then we have cause to celebrate.”
