Phoebe watched him undo the knot and pull the silk fabric from around his collar, exposing his bare neck. In that moment, she realized she had made a mistake by committing to the show he was definitely putting on, and looked back at the canopy above her, which was safer.
“I had merely reasoned,” she continued in her defense, in a tone she hoped conveyed that she was entirely unaffected, “That thisway there would be fewer awkward steps. Less fumbling about in the dark trying to manage all the – the various arrangements.”
“The various arrangements,” he repeated, and she could hear the way he was trying not to smile, and profusely refused to find charming.
“Yes. It seemed efficient.”
She heard the soft rustle of fabric and glanced back to find that he had removed his coat and was in the process of unbuttoning his waistcoat, setting each item aside with careful deliberateness that clearly said he was doing this on purpose. The waistcoat was folded and placed over the arm of the chair, then, slowly – like he had done everything else – he reached for the hem of his shirt and drew it over his head.
She had not expected that, for some reason.
She had known, that he would at some point need to be without a shirt. But there was a considerable difference between knowing something as an ideal and having it happen six feet away, illuminated by the warm glow of the fireplace. He draped the shirt over the arm of the chair with the same composure he had owned since he walked in and she almost felt spiteful just how much of a mess she had been in comparison.
But as he stood there, the top half of his body clearly in view without a shred of concern, Phoebe found it rather difficult to be upset with him.
He was, she thought somewhat helplessly,very appealing to the eyes. His chest and abdomen bore muscles so defined, they might as well be carved from stone and as he stood like that, his hands folded at his back, she could not help but think he looked taller.
That man was to take her tonight, in every sense of the word. Phoebe swallowed hard as her eyes dipped below the waist of his breeches for a brief moment that felt like an eternity.
“You were saying something about efficiency,” Edward spoke pleasantly, and her gaze snapped back up to his face.
“I was,” she nodded, noticing that her throat felt strangely parched. “And I stand by it.”
“I am sure you do.”
He moved toward the bed, and the light moved with him, and Phoebe felt the mattress shift as he settled beside her. She kept her eyes forward, willing herself not to react in the slightest.
“Phoebe.”
“Yes?”
“Look at me.”
She turned her head and found him closer than she had expected, his weight braced on one arm, those green eyes dark with intent thing once more. This close, she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes and the place where his jaw was just beginning to shadow. She was suddenly, even more aware of herself – of her hair loosely running down her back and over her shoulders, of her bare skin, of the fact that she had orchestrated this process and now had to deal with the consequences.
“There is no reason to be tense,” he told her quietly, his voice not unkind.
“I am not tense.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly and she was swift to amend.
“I am merely composed.”
That was not entirely true.
Although she intended to be composed, the sight of him reminded her of how he had spoken to her a few days ago in the garden. Try as she might to forget it and grant him the grace of her forgiveness, for the sake of peace at least, she still felt bitter over how he had spoken to her. It was as though she was blatantly trying to stir up trouble, when that had not been the case at all.
Phoebe had expected an attempt at an apology at least, when they had dinner together, but all they’d managed to achieve wasa trip down her saddest memories, and he had not even tried to seem sympathetic in the least.
It was growing increasingly difficult to please him, and she was unsure that this was a task she could successfully handle for much longer.
Whatever she had been thinking must have slipped across her expression, because he took a look at her face and paused.
“You seem as though you are not entirely prepared for this still,” he remarked, staring down at her.
It was getting increasingly difficult to pretend she did not feel vulnerable like this, bare and waiting for him to take her as though that was all she was meant for. Nervously, Phoebe shook her head.
“I’m fine.”