“And yet he is interested,” Genevieve insisted. “You should not wave aside your storied past, Phoebe. Men like a mysterious woman. And you, Phoebe, well, you are an enigma.”
Phoebe stared at her cousin in disbelief.
“In the best possible way.” Genevieve dropped her fork once more and reached out to grasp Phoebe’s hand.
The bracelet Genevieve had received from her father upon her debut glimmered in the light, reminding Phoebe that, for once, she had been able to wear her pendant.
Her free hand clasped it, running her thumb over the chain links, feeling every ridge and line.
“Listen to me,” Genevieve continued. “You are more than worthy of the Duke of Talwyn’s attention. It makes no difference whether he sees you as a puzzle to solve or as beautiful as you should believe; either way, it does not matter.
“It matters tome,” Phoebe insisted. “We both love romance, Genevieve. I do not want someone like the Duke to be interested in me for…clinical reasons. I am not some…”
She could not come up with a proper description immediately until she looked at the barely nibbled plate of macarons.
“…garden that needs tending. I want a gentleman to be intrigued by me for all the right reasons. I want someone to love me simply… purely… not because of obligation of benefit but because they cannot live without me.” She squeezed Genevieve’s hand. “You of all people know how much I want love, attraction, andpassion.”
Her face warmed at that last admittance, but this was her cousin, her best friend, and they each knew the others’ scandalous preferences even if it were only Genevieve who could usually admit such things boldly.
“Yes,” Genevieve encouraged. “That’s the spirit, dearest. You deserve to be loved and adored. If you have garnered the interest of the Duke of Talwyn, who is to say that he does not feel…”
“And besides,” Phoebe interrupted as a stream of terrible thoughts flooded her consciousness, “whether the Duke isinterested in me or not, I am betrothed to Lord Birchwood, and I must do the dutiful thing by honoring my parents’ wishes.”
“They have neveroncehonored yours.”
“And you know I cannot take that into consideration. I have no choice.”
“What if one could be created?” Genevieve mused. “The Duke of Talwyn outranks both your parents and Lord Birchwood. If his interest is true, and he has good intentions, he can ask for your hand instead.”
Phoebe could not help the way her lips trembled at the thought. Had she not been clinging tightly to Genevieve’s hand, her fingers might have trembled as well.
“Oh, and I would simply become a duchess? I would live with the Duke… love the Duke… find all my happiness in his touch?”
She had meant to speak those words lightly, as a way to cast off the tempting notion of being the Duke’s love interest. However the very thought of standing close to him and inhaling his intoxicating scent made her feel entirely unsettled.
She swallowed hard and let go of Genevive’s hand. Hastily, Phoebe shoved a macaron into her mouth in the most unladylike way that was sure to draw attention and whispers, but she cared not. She chewed the confection thoroughly, working her jaw madly, but did not taste the flavor.
She could not think of anything but the way the Duke had trailed his finger down her arm and sent shivers dancing up her spine.
“The fate you describe does not sound so atrocious to me. A life with the Duke of Talwyn is certainly preferable to the future hat awaits you with Lord Birchwood.” Genevieve paused and seemed to consider the situation for a moment before adding, “It is rumored that the Duke of Talwyn is a rake, and he likely is just that, but what of it? His past…your past…both would mean nothing if you truly cared for each other.”
“Mmm…umm…hmm…” Phoebe munched noisily on jasmine flavored macaron.
She nearly gagged because the taste was so overpowering but forced herself to continue chomping so that she did not have to participate in this suddenly highly complex conversation.
“Do you fancy him?” Genevieve asked. “The Duke, that is,” she clarified. “I know that no one, present company included, could nurture atendrefor your betrothed, but the Duke of Talwyn… There are possibilities there.”
The strong taste of jasmine made Phoebe stop stuffing her mouth. She simply could not eat another bite and so she had to lift her eyes and look at her cousin who continued to stare at her imploringly.
“Phoebe,” Genevieve said softly. “There is no shame in being attracted to the Duke. He is a remarkably handsome gentleman—everyone says so.”
“But that is the problem,” she finally whispered. “There is shame. I am betrothed. I should be devoted to Lord Birchwood. I know this. But the attraction I feel toward the Duke of Talwyn grows each time I see him. I was delighted just now in hearing that he asked Verity about me. I cannot stop thinking of him or wondering if he will be at an event I attend.”
Genevieve’s smile broadened. “You have never felt attraction for a man before His Grace. Why not just let yourself enjoy it?”
“Oh,” Phoebe groaned. “I am so ashamed.”
“You should not feel anything other than joy.”
