Hugh closed his eyes against the raw emotions bubbling inside. Bloody hell. It was happening again. Only this time…this time something dark and powerful quaked in his heart, and it felt like fear and sorrow.
Hugh could not envision a life without Phoebe.
His sister held out her arm. “Here, she left a letter for you.”
He plucked it from her hand and opened it.
Dear Hugh,
I must own that I had little hope of obtaining your affections. From the very beginning, you have shown an indifference to the notion of love or anything romantic. I heeded your words, as I have been gravely disappointed before, so it was never my intention to fall in love with you. But I did…I love you, and I am not ashamed to admit it.
It does hurt that you cannot admit your affection for me, and the notion of only civility existing between us is unbearable. I cannot live in such a marriage. I cannot believe you would, either. I have been enduring the distance between us and the indifference in your eyes and touch. I must warn you. I will endure this no more. You must know I do have a very reckless and impetuous heart, and that should have been fair warning to you.
I am giving you some time to reflect on what you want. Even though at this point, and with what I have decided, your opinion does not matter. Terribly bold and improper of me, but there you have it. I have taken Franny and I am leaving…
He turned the letter over. Where was the rest of it? Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face and read that last line again.
I have taken Franny and I am leaving.
She was not able to divorce him, but her family had enough power and connections to keep them divided forever. Clearly, she had run to her brother, the powerful Marquess of Westfall, and that man was a dangerous person to make his enemy. But if it came to that, it damn well would because he was never letting go of her.
To Hugh’s shock, he realized his eyes stung and his throat burned something fiercely.
Phoebe has left this marriage, and that is all my fault for being a bacon-brained buffoon.
The pain that cleaved through him then was enough to have him leaning weakly against the wall to the staircase, his forehead dropping with a heavy thud against the paneled oak.
He pushed from the wall. “How long ago did she leave?”
“About an hour.”
He could catch her. “The carriage is pulled by a team of four?”
“Yes.”
Swallowing, he turned around and signed, demanding his fastest and most powerful horse.
“Hugh,” Caroline cried.
He turned to face her. “What is it?”
“You…you are going after her?”
He nodded once.
Relief lit in her eyes. “Surely not in your state of disarray? And …you smell.”
Ignoring her, he hurried out to the stables and mounted the large black stallion that was brought to him.
“Milord, it’s best you take the landau or the smaller carriage. It promises to rain fiercely,” Mr. Gervase said, looking considerably concerned.
Hugh collected the reins and nudged his horse into a trot along the driveaway and to the lanes leading to the open country road. The snow had been melting, and the roads were mud logged and should have slowed their carriage. Once he had cleared the driveaway, he urged his horse into a flat-out run. It tormented him, the pain he must have caused Phoebe for her to decide to flee their marriage.
A tight feeling twisted in his chest. I am so damned sorry, Phoebe, so damned sorry.
It felt pointless to wonder when she had snuck under his guard and pierced his protective barrier that had lingered around his heart for fifteen years. It had happened. With each smile, that lovely tinkling laugh, her large brown eyes, which peered at him with such joy. Every touch and kiss had been slowly hammering at him, and he hadn’t been aware of how much he had grown to need her.
The rain started to sleet from the sky, and he rode without stopping. He had been travelling at a hard pace for over an hour when he spied the slow-moving carriage in the distance. Hugh urged his horse until he had caught up with them. The coachman and the tiger recognized him, and they slowed the horses, pulling the conveyance at his signal. Launching from his horse, he rapped on the carriage window.
The curtains parted, and that small window opened. His wife’s eyes went wide with shock. “Hugh?”
He nodded. She stared at him with unsettling intensity. “What…what are you doing here? Good heavens, you are soaked. Come inside before you catch your death!”
His fingers trembled too badly, so he clenched his hands in tight fists at his side. Finally, he signed. “Do not leave me.”
She stilled for long moments but made no reply, only stared at him, her eyes wide and lips parted.
“Do not leave me.” He signed again, uncaring that his hands evidently shook. “I am weak to you, Phoebe…I am weak for you.” He dropped to his knees in the mud-soaked earth. She pushed her head through the windows, uncaring of the rain, and peered down at him. Even his coachman and the tiger stared, but Hugh only cared that Phoebe was looking at him.
“If you keep going, I will chase you. I will not stop chasing and pleading with you to let me hold you…to let me love you until the end of our days. Nothing will make me give up. I do not care about pride or even the possibility of being shattered. Because I know you…and what I know is that you are a lady of quality, of kindness, of patience, of boldness, of courage, of love…a woman who would walk beside the man she loves with only one thought…and that is to live her happiest life with him and their children.”
The curtains dropped, and her face disappeared. Something dark tore through his heart, and he rushed forward, but then she was there jumping out of the carriage into the rain without waiting for the steps to be knocked down. Such relief pulsed through him, he swayed.
“Hugh?” she questioned softly, her steps hesitant.
He would have given anything for her to rush to his side once more, her face flushed and enlivened. A puckered brow stared back at him with caution, her hovering distance felt like a thousand miles and not just a few steps.
“Please…please do not leave, do not ever leave, for I would not be able to bear not sharing the joys of life with you.”
“Leave you?” She pressed a hand over her chest. “Did you not get my letter?”
“I got it.”
Confusion knitted her brows. “All two pages?”
He lifted the single piece of paper that had been crumpled in his grip.
“Hugh—”
“I love you.”
She stared at him, just stared, her face carefully contained. Did she understood what he said? What if because he had never said the words, she did not know the sign that communicated it? He thumped a fist against his chest and peered at her through the sleeting rain.