smile and the improper way she would sometimes laugh and run without shoes tore through him. And by God, he longed to hold her close to him, to kiss her again, to play by the meadows…but he had given all that up, but this…this was the first time the loss of it almost brought him to his knees.
How hadn’t he realized the bitter cost?
…
A week later, Hugh rode his horse with speed along the lanes leading to his home. He needed to speak to Phoebe, even though he was not certain what he wanted to say. To distract himself with thoughts of her, he had taken on the menial task of mucking out the stalls of his stables, the workmen looking on with a sense of shock. Normally, he worked until his muscles burned and the sun had lowered in the sky. But today, it was barely noon, and he stopped. Thunder had rumbled in the distance with the threat of rain, and it had felt imperative that he return home.
The stablemaster’s wife had brought the man luncheon, a simple fare of potatoes and fish, but Henry hadn’t been able to stop smiling. The tender way he had taken her hand in his and led her to the side of the stable had dragged Hugh’s feet closer so he could observe them. Whatever they spoke about had delighted the wife, for she had swatted his hand and laughed before hugging her husband. Hugh had touched his arm, recalling a time when Phoebe would lightly punch him or how she would loop their hands together as they strolled by their meadow. His damn throat had burned, and to his shock, his eyes had smarted.
Henry had glanced up and seen him. The man had hurried over and said, “Forgive me, milord, the missus isnad feeling too well, and…and she foolishly believes she will be going onto her reward soon, so she visits me here at every opportunity. She dinna realize I ain’t ever letting her go. I’ll send her off right away, milord.”
“No,” he had signed. “Be with your wife.”
A light misting rain had begun to fall, and lightning forked against the sky. The stablemaster had walked away, paused for a long time, then turned to Hugh and said, “It ain’t my place milord, forgive me for overstepping, but I need to say it anyway. I dinna think the one tormenting yer thoughts so that a man of yer stature would muck horse-shite should ever be let go.”
Hugh had kept his face carefully composed and hadn’t made a reply. But one thought that had eclipsed all else had been, I’ve never planned on letting her go. Ever.
He slowed, bringing his horse to a stop in the forecourt of the mansion. Dismounting, he lowered the reins and hurried up the graveled pathway. What the hell had he truly accomplished by deciding to hold the old earl’s lessons close to his heart? He had avoided kissing Phoebe, because her lips were honeyed intoxication, and just a brief press of her mouth to his rendered him weak. Hugh could no longer bear to look at her when she played and sang to Franny. Whenever he saw his wife, her vision of loveliness would strike a weakening blow to his heart, and the polite civility he tried to cloak himself in would shake violently. He couldn’t spend the days at his house, for every detail of her, no matter how small, was imprinted on his mind. Hugh would visit his stables and spend the day with his horses, his thoughts tormented with his wife.
For fucking sakes. He was a damn fool. How long can I exist without your smile? Without feeling your lips on mine? How long can I bear you not looking into my eyes…how long can I bear your tears in the night and your unhappiness?
The butler held the door open, and Hugh handed over his coat and hat, tugging off his gloves as he walked down the hallway. He couldn’t go to Phoebe like this. He needed to take a bath and render himself presentable. Caroline paced along the hallway, a concentrated frown on her face. When she saw him, a heavy sigh of relief slipped from her, and she rushed toward him. He held up his hands because he was filthy with sweat, the scent of horses, grass, and whatever the hell he mucked from the stalls.
“Phoebe is not here,” she blurted.
He stopped. “I gather she is taking a walk with Franny.