Page 77 of The Moonstone Marquess
“And can you not take me at my word? I have never lied to you, Phoebe. Why would I ever want someone like her, especially now that I have found you?” He turned to leave before she saw the despair in his eyes.
Phoebe was a heavenly light.
Seline was a dark, ominous cloud.
He loved Phoebe so completely, not a doubt in his mind. Yet it suddenly felt like a hopeless love. She would never trust him because of Seline’s schemes, never believe he could be faithful.
Blast.
He thought losing his arm had been painful, but it was nothing compared to the pain ripping through him at this moment.
He could not allow Phoebe to see him like this. “There is nothing more to say. Just tell the girls something urgent came up. I will see them another time.”
The tide was out, so he took the opportunity to walk around the outcropping and take the shortcut along his beach up to his house.
His big, empty, lifeless house.
He had not made it very far past the outcropping before he fell to his knees in the sand, his heart in utter anguish.
Seline could never hurt him.
But Phoebe could.
Losing her…arrogant fool that he was, he had never seriously considered Phoebe might reject him. He had wanted her so desperately from the first that he refused to believe he could not win her heart.
But why should she love him? Or ever trust him?
What was he other than a grotesque cripple with a debauched reputation?
And now Melrose and his staff would see him crawling back home like the despicable creature he had once been. No, this was too much for him to bear. He took off his jacket and tore at his cravat, jerking the choking silk off from around his neck. He removed his waistcoat, not bothering to struggle with the buttons and just ripping them out.
He did the same with his shirt and tossed it onto the sand with his other clothes.
He was struggling to remove his boots when a slight shadow fell across him. He turned to look behind him and saw Phoebe standing there in tears.
He buried his face in his hand. “Damn it, Phoebe. Just go away.”
“What are you doing?” She knelt beside him and put her arms around him.
“I am not trying to kill myself, if that’s what you are worried about. I just needed to cool myself down. That’s all. Assuming I managed to pull off my damn boots. It is almost impossible to manage with only one arm.”
He tried to nudge her away, but she was not letting go of him.
She was torturing him with the soft lavender scent of her skin and the honey sweetness of her lips as she pressed them against his neck.
Her breasts felt pillow-soft against his shoulder as she leaned into him, her arms still wrapped around him.
“You idiot,” she whispered.
“How am I an idiot? For hoping you could ever love me?” Since he had done a good job of tearing his shirt apart while removing it, there was no putting it back on to spare her the sight of his missing arm.
“It is not a question of love. And stop trying to hide your arm from me. It does not repulse me. Nothing about you repulses me.” She kissed him again and again. On the cheek. On his jaw. On his lips.
“Stop kissing me, Phoebe.”
“No.”
He laughed. “Well, if you are going to insist on it, then do it right. No grandmotherly pecks will do.”
