Page 64 of West End Earl
“Phee? Where are you going?” Bless him, he looked so bewildered that for a moment her anger wavered. The temptation to ask for an explanation clawed at her brittle control.
Yet even if there were perfectly logical reasons, he’d been playing someone false. After hearing him with Eastly, Phee knew it had been her. He’d made her the other woman. And that? That, she couldn’t forgive.
Thank God it was only a handful of steps to the door. She could fake a confident swagger that long. Her long legs, unhindered by skirts and shod in tall black leather boots, allowed her to walk anywhere she chose. Even out of his life.
It wasn’t a hardship to glance over her shoulder and indulge in one last look to admire his perfect beauty. Even a liar could be gorgeous. She sneered. “That was for me. If you want an orgasm, ask your fiancée to take care of you.”
“What? Phee, what are you talking—”
She cut his protestations short with a sweep of her hand. “No. This is where we end.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cal would rather not delve into whatever circumstances had led to the archbishop owing his father a favor. It could have been anything.
Eastly summoned him to the drawing room—which annoyed Cal to no end, because this was his blasted house—and there stood Phee and Emma and an older man he didn’t recognize. Phee’s boots shined with a high gloss, and her hair had been ruthlessly subdued with pomade. Purple smudges under her eyes told him she’d slept as little as he had. Emma clutched a nosegay of flowers to match her pink dress trimmed in Brussels lace.
“Son, this is Vicar Norton. He’s here to officiate. We are witnesses.” Eastly leaned close and whispered, “She’s in the family way. Young Hardwick is stepping up. Smile and give your blessing. Now.”
What the hell? Cal bit his lip to stop his instinctive protest. Emma was pregnant and marrying the woman he loved. The absurd impossibility of it tore through him like a cannonball, destroying the last remnants of certainty he’d clung to, believing he might be able to explain to Phee today.
Last night, when she’d rocked his world off its axis as per usual, he’d barely been able to comprehend the parting volley she’d shot over her shoulder. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Phee had overheard the meeting with Father yesterday.
In this very drawing room, Cal had prevaricated, sidestepped, and danced along the line of outright lying to buy Miss Cuthbert a little more time to pull off their scheme. He should have simply shut down the conversation. Then perhaps Cal wouldn’t be standing in the middle of an unfolding emotional hellscape in which he lost Phee forever.
To his bloody sister, of all people. Cal stared at the couple, looking for a clue that Emma knew the truth about Adam Hardwick. If she did, she played her part beautifully. With dimples out in full force, Emma beamed at her redheaded husband-to-be.
For the first time, Cal’s efforts to fix one of Eastly’s scandals had failed spectacularly. Yet his first inclination wasn’t to salvage Father’s reputation or regroup and change the plan. The only thing concerning him right now was going on right in front of him.
The vicar spoke. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…”
A cold sweat broke out along Cal’s spine, and the points of his collar scraped against the underside of his jaw. For the first time since standing before a mirror at the age of fourteen and admiring the fit of a well-made suit of clothes, all Cal wanted to do was loosen the cravat so he could fucking breathe.
Everything about this was wrong. Somehow Emma had learned she was pregnant yet hadn’t said a word to him. Since her first skinned knee, she’d always come to him when in trouble. But not this time. To add insult to injury, she’d confided in Phee, and Phee hadn’t told him either. Now his lover stood before a man of the church, making vows before God.
And not only was Cal not the groom, but Phee wasn’t even the bride.
During the last twenty-four hours, his life had spiraled out of his control, and Cal didn’t know how to fix it.
Phee knew he’d failed to handle the Violet situation, and Cal didn’t have words that weren’t excuses. He wanted so desperately to explain that Eastly was like an explosive device—he must be handled delicately to avoid a tantrum that would inevitably make the situation far worse. Unfortunately, Cal should have realized Phee was capable of blowing things up too. Now she was clearly not open to further conversation, since she was busy getting married.
“Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” The vicar paused for dramatic effect.
Emma shot him a glare, promising hell to pay if he tried to intervene. Clasping his hands behind his back, Cal couldn’t look away from the picture they made standing before Vicar Norton. If Cal hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed Emma’s wink to Phee.
That was a relief, at least. With that playful, friendly wink, he knew Phee had shared her secret. That look had been one of shared conspirators, not lovers.
Then, there. Only a flicker, but Phee glanced his way. As if worried he would protest the marriage—which would require Cal to reveal her secret in front of Eastly and a vicar. The trust they’d built was truly gone if she thought he would betray her.
Vicar Norton announced them man and wife, and that was that. Before God and everything. With the deed done, the vicar shook everyone’s hand, wished the couple a long and happy life together, then departed.
Impeccably awful timing securely in place, his father elbowed him. “You’re next, Son.”
Cal closed his eyes and wished he could will himself back to bed, where he’d awake with Phee pressed snugly against his side and discover the past twenty-four hours had been a nightmare.
When Cal opened his eyes, the reality remained unchanged, and Eastly still stood there with his never-ending expectations of compliance. But why shouldn’t Father anticipate Cal’s obedience? It wasn’t as if Cal greeted each new disaster with a smile, but there had always been a willingness on his part. Years of this pattern—in both his and Father’s roles—had created one reliable point of stability in their family. Fixing everything proved time and again that Cal was useful. That he held value in a relationship where he otherwise never received affirmation, despite his achievements.
Phee and Emma wore twin looks of censure, as if to remind him of every misstep in this latest effort he’d bungled. Cal sighed, suddenly too old and tired to fake cheer.
