Cato and Giles appeared to have forgotten her presence on Cato’s saddle. “I’m not sure what I think, Giles,” Cato said with a sigh. “But I’m not going to rush to judgment. There’s too much at stake.”
“There’s those that would send ‘im into exile,” Giles observed.
“Aye. And it may come to that. But I’ll reserve judgment for the time being.”
“So you don’t think anyone’ll remark on our lettin‘ ’im slip, then?” Giles repeated.
“They might, I suppose.” Cato shrugged. “It’s of little matter to me. I answer to my own conscience.”
Giles made no comment but began to whistle tunelessly through his teeth, and Phoebe had the sense that he questioned his lord’s wisdom but was not about to say so.
“I’ll write that dispatch, Giles. Give me half an hour and then come and fetch it,” Cato said as they rode up the drive.
“Right y’are, sir.” Giles turned his horse towards the stable block.
Cato dismounted at the front door and lifted Phoebe down. He didn’t release her immediately, his hold moving instead to her upper arms. But Phoebe thought that he didn’t seem to know she was there. He stared over her head into the dark line of trees along the driveway. She stood still under his hands, hardly breathing. He didn’t seem to acknowledge her and yet she had the feeling he was about to say something. Then abruptly he looked down at her and his eyes were puzzled, as if she didn’t look at all as he’d expected.
“My lord?” she prompted hesitantly.
“I wish… I wish…” Then he shook his head, released her, and strode into the house.
Phoebe followed slowly. What did he wish?
Chapter 16
Cato finished his dispatch and then sat staring into the darkness beyond his window, his fingernails tapping a rhythm on the smooth polished surface of his desk.
What did he wish?
Peace? Quiet? The orderly existence of an ordinary marriage? A wife who would not follow her conscience regardless of danger and regardless of who she dragged in her wake?
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He just didn’t know.
Abruptly he rose from his desk and went in search of Phoebe.
The parlor was empty but his eye fell on the sheets of vellum scattered over the table. Idly he glanced down at the untidy, ink-splattered scrawl. It must be this pageant she was always talking about, he realized, picking up several of the pages.
The notes in the margin were elaborate and impressive, detailing costumes, positioning, gestures of the actors. His vague curiosity became genuine interest as he read, turning the pages, picking up others as he finished.
He was deep in a scene between the young Elizabeth and Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. It was a love scene. And somehow he found himself reading the rich flow of language aloud in the deserted parlor. So absorbed was he, he didn’t hear the door open behind him.
“Oh, gentle lady, sweet queen, be kind. Stay awhile and let my hungry eyes feast upon thy beauty. To be absent from thy heart is torment. Take all my love, my heart, my soul, and make them thine.”
“Indeed, fair friend, a queen will take such gifts and will not love the less. A sovereign no longer in your sight, but a woman bound in love, a love more powerful than the gilded thrones of princes.”
Cato spun around as Phoebe’s soft voice recited Gloriana’s reply to her lover. He stared at her for a moment as if seeing her for the first time as she stood in the doorway, her hand still on the latch. Her eyes were aglow, her cheeks softly flushed, her expression almost dreamy. It was as if she’d been living the words she’d spoken, lost in the fantasy world of her play.
Then suddenly the dreamy look vanished, the glow faded. “I wrote Dudley’s part for you, my lord,” she said, not moving from the door. “I had hoped to persuade you to take the part, but I realize it was foolish of me. I know you have no time for my scribbling.”
The words he’d spoken still sounded vividly in his brain. He remembered suppertime conversations about who was to play Gloriana. He remembered how Olivia had pressed Phoebe to play the role herself. How she’d appeared to shrug off the suggestion. He continued to look at her as if at an impossible revelation.
Phoebe came into the room and took the pages from his hand. “Did you wish to speak to me, sir?”
With an effort Cato returned to the hard clarify of reality. “We have some business best discussed in private, I believe.” He went to the door and held it for her. “We will go above-stairs; we’re less likely to be disturbed.”
He led the way to the bedchamber and once again held the door for her.
What couldn’t be avoided must be faced. Phoebe abandoned Brian’s advice. She wasn’t going to brazen this out but she would strike first.
She said in a low but firm voice, “I do not think I can live with someone who holds me in such dislike. I can never be like my sister, and so I can never be the kind of wife who will satisfy you. I think I should go away from here. Go back to my father, if he will have me. Or to Portia. She would let me stay with her and…” Her voice faded as she saw his expression.
Cato stared at her in disbelief. “What are you saying? You’re telling me you would flee my roof, take shelter… Oh, don’t be absurd, Phoebe!”
“I cannot stay with you,” Phoebe repeated steadily. “You think I’m untidy and unappealing. Everything I do offends or exasperates you. You want me to be something that I’m not. I can’t change for you. You don’t like who I am, but I don’t know how to be different.”
“It’s not that I want you to be different… not exactly…” Cato found himself feeling for words, but Phoebe swept his hesitant beginning aside.
“I don’t even know if I want to be different,” she declared. “I can’t try to please you when it means doing things I don’t think are right!” She turned from him with a tiny shrug that spoke volumes.
“Phoebe, you’re my wife,” Cato said. “You’re not leaving.”
“I don’t think that’s sufficient reason to stay where I’m not wanted,” Phoebe flashed.
Cato inhaled slowly. “When did I say I didn’t want you, Phoebe?”
“You didn’t have to. You made it clear as day.”
Cato ran both hands back through his hair, then linked them behind his neck. He stared up at the ceiling and the silence stretched between them. Then he lowered his eyes; his hands dropped to his sides. He moved towards her.
“I do want you,” he said.
Phoebe felt his hands on her shoulders.
“Be very still,” Cato said softly into her hair. “Just trust me now. I have to show you something.”
His hands slid over her shoulders, his fingers moving up her neck, circling her ears, gently tugging on the lobes.
“Don’t,” Phoebe protested. “It only makes it worse. Can’t you see that?”
“Trust me,” he said, and there was a hint of sternness in his voice, an edge of determination that brought her to stillness again.
“I’m going to undress you,” Cato said quietly. “And I don’t wish you to do anything to stop me or to help me.”
His fingers were on the hooks at the back of her disheveled gown. His hands brushed her shoulders as he drew the garment away from her. For an instant they lingered, cupping the sloping curve of her shoulder where it blended with her upper arm. She felt his lips warm on the back of her neck, his tongue painting upward into the untidy tangle of her hair.
A little quiver ran through her. Her brain felt thick and stupid, unable to grasp what was happening. It made no sense with what had gone before.
His hands reached over her shoulders again to unlace the bodice of her chemise. He scooped her breasts into his palms, stroking the soft underside, lightly brushing her nipples with a fingertip. And despite everything, Phoebe felt the rosy crowns harden.