Mr. Winwood shifted until his forehead rested against hers. “You are not a creature made for drudgery, doomed to fade quietly into the background of another’s life. You deserve passion and pleasure. To be adored and worshipped.”
Hands tightening around her waist, it felt as though Mr. Winwood were attempting to etch those words into her skin, and Phoebe’s breath hitched. To be wanted without her prospects weighed and tallied, her usefulness assessed. The thought sent a tremor through her that had naught to do with his touch and everything to do with the weariness Phoebe had been carrying in silence for far too long.
To be something other than a burden.
“This is simply two broken hearts finding solace with one another,” he whispered. “No promises. No consequences. Simply a moment for ourselves. Surely we deserve that when the world has stolen so much.” His lips brushed her temple, and hereyes closed despite herself. “Let the rest of the world make its demands tomorrow, but let us enjoy this moment.”
Tomorrow. The word loomed, heavy and inevitable, even as the present threatened to sweep her deeper into his embrace. Phoebe’s fingers tightened around his lapels, clinging as much to the here and now as to the man himself. Heaven help her, his words wove their way into every bit of her fractured heart, finding those little sparks of hope and fanning them into proper flames.
“Why must it be all or nothing? One or the other?” murmured Mr. Winwood. “Why must we marry for money and subject ourselves to loneliness when life is meant to be cherished? We may have our cake and eat it, too.”
Phoebe’s breath caught, her resolve wavering as his nearness crowded out everything else.
“We are not doing anything wrong,” he whispered into her ear as his thumb traced a slow line along her ribs, the touch deliberate, persuasive. “No one will know, and what does it matter if they do? Your family is struggling, and all they offer is gossip and judgment. Come with me to my rooms—”
Stiffening, Phoebe tried to step away, but his arms held her in place. “I think I may have misunderstood what you are proposing, Mr. Winwood.”
“Luther, please,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Mr. Winwood,” she insisted. “I cannot be enticed into your bed, sir.”
Heaving a heavy sigh, the gentleman’s brows rose at that. “Do not tell me you are some silly prude who believes love has boundaries. You are more intelligent than that. Besides, we are commanded to love our neighbor. It says so in the Bible.”
“You are speaking of pleasure, not love.”
Mr. Winwood leaned close, the heavenly scent of his cologne filling her nose as his breath tickled her ear. “I am speaking of us,my dear Phoebe. Can we not seize this little happiness here and now?”
His lips feathered her neck, and Phoebe’s eyes closed of their own accord as her heart thumped hard against her chest. The traitor. Temptation shimmered before her, bright and intoxicating, and for one long moment, Phoebe considered the possibility before her.
Would it truly be so terrible? What harm would it do?
But beneath the warmth, something pressed back. Quiet. Relentless. A feeling she could not name, though it grew insistent, pestering her as she turned her attention to it.
This was not love.Not even the hopeful imitation she allowed herself to imagine. This was an escape without shelter. Fleeting gratification that would only add to her regrets and sorrows when the fervor faded into memory.
Was she her father’s daughter? Eager to seize what she desired in the present, ignoring the costs that would eventually come due? Costs that others might have to pay? Consequences were indiscriminate things, often reaching far beyond the offender or ignoring them in favor of punishing the innocent. Even assuming she wished to cast aside her values and beliefs, was she willing to risk that as well?
Phoebe drew a breath, steadying herself, and placed her hands against his chest.
“No,” she said at last, the word soft but unyielding as she pushed him away. “Do not make this more difficult by pretending what you ask means less than it does. This is a line I cannot cross. I will not.”
Mr. Winwood stilled. For a moment, disappointment flickered across his face, naked and unguarded, before charm smoothed it away.
“I hadn’t thought you so priggish,” he said quietly, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he released her.
The word lodged in her heart, catching and scraping the most tender bits as it settled, bringing with it the sharp recollection of her own voice wielding that same judgment mere moments ago.
“Oh, do not be offended,” said Mr. Winwood with a faltering chuckle. “I simply hadn’t thought you so devout to deny yourself a little harmless pleasure.”
It felt like a challenge, but Phoebe’s brow furrowed as she stared at the man. It wasn’t as though she wore her beliefs on her sleeve or expounded upon virtue at every turn (as a certain priggish parson did), but that did not mean she was without feeling. How could he not see it?
“I admire your strength,” he added. “Though I am cursing it as well.”
Throat tightening, Phoebe nodded whilst desperately clinging to the hope that this was the proper course. The better choice. The right path was usually the more difficult one, and she clung to that assurance as her heart twisted this way and that.
Mr. Winwood lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “I shall miss you terribly, Phoebe. More than is wise.”
And with that, he stepped back, leaving a cold space between them. “Should you change your mind, you can find me at The Fiddler’s Green. The innkeeper is an understanding fellow and quite discreet, so you needn’t fear. There is nothing wrong with embracing love—even temporarily.”
