Oh, no. Or . . . oh, yes? Phoebe was feeling guilt over what they had done together. Perhaps he should encourage this? Convince her sheshouldfeel guilt over coupling with him and she could assuage that guilt by marrying him instead.
But, no. He couldn’t have her feeling shame over what had been the most mind-rippingly ecstatic and intimate experiences of his life. Thatwouldbe a sin.
“I am sure,” he said in his most authoritative voice, which he knew was very authoritative, “what someone does before a marriage is not a breaking of a commandment. Once the marriage vows are made in the church, which are the important and sanctified promises of the heart and soul, there would be no question of infidelity. In all cases.”
He studied Phoebe and her reaction to what he said. She did not lift her head immediately, but when she did, he was pleased to see there were no tears, her face was no longer red, and she was calm.
“Well,” Alice said, “now that’s settled, would you like a sandwich, brother?”
Alice stood up and brought the platter of savories over to George. As he selected a sandwich, Alice leaned over and hissed in his ear, “Be careful, George. Be very careful.”
What was Alice on about? He was always careful. There could be no man more careful than George Danforth. He wolfed the little sandwich in two bites.
Phoebe smiled. “Watercress, George? I thought you didn’t like the taste.”
“Oh. Well. Yes.” He had thought it was a cucumber sandwich. “I am trying to eat more leaves.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Both women stared at him.
“What do you think of the bloodline?” he blurted.
“The bloodline?” Phoebe looked confused.
“The bloodline of Arthur Montague, the Duke of Thornwick. I have heard rumors about some recent ancestors?”
Alice quirked an eyebrow. “Rumors of what?”
George leaned forward and whispered, “Madness.”
Phoebe giggled. Alice guffawed.
Phoebe spoke first. To Alice. “Have you seen the bonnet Lady Winter is wearing? I saw it yesterday on my drive in Hyde Park with Arthur. Those pink-dyed feathers? I think it’s outrageous.”
“Outrageous? Perhaps I should find out where she had it made. My milliner is so dull.” Alice sighed.
“When I see her next, I’ll try to remember to ask her.”
George coughed. “You have nothing to say about the madness in the Montague family?” he asked, exasperated.
Alice and Phoebe exchanged looks.
“Everyone knows his aunt is mad and yet no one speaks of it. I felt I should bring it up.”
“The only madness in the family is his father’s brother’s wife. No blood relation, George.”
“Are you sure about that, Phee?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
George was desperate now. Stymied on every front. Thornwick’s quite ordinary, almost pedestrian, sexual habits with whores. No current mistresses. No signs of banking oddities. No taint to the bloodline.
And Phoebe unmoved and unaffected by George, even after her lesson last night.
Her lesson. The lesson he hadn’t planned. Because he had only wanted to do what they had done before, touching her body and kissing her and her hands on his head and himself on top of her and inside of her. He hadn’t anticipated she would refuse him because she had already learned what she wanted to know, had already performed those acts with him. And he had had no idea she would push him into such a savage frenzy with her presentation of her bottom and her aroused quim.
Was he going to have to plumb decadence and his less-than-vast experience to be with her again? Come up with another variation, another position to satisfy her demand for novelty? Already, they had done things he would rather his sweet Phoebe didn’t know about. At least not until a year or so into their marriage.
