The Seduction of Lady Phoebe

KISSING LADY PHOEBE

Phoebe had no idea what she was doing. She’d never before been affected like this. His eyes and body willed her closer. She ignored the small voice urging caution. Her pulse thrilled and there was no more space between them.

“I have never been kissed before,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Marcus placed his hands on her small waist, reveling in the feel of her body. Her hands held his face tenderly. They were so small. She was so petite. He moved his lips on hers, teasingly, asking Phoebe’s to respond. She did, innocently, tentatively at first. He waited until she was comfortable returning his kisses before kissing her more firmly ...

Books by Ella Quinn

THE SEDUCTION OF LADY PHOEBE

THE SECRET LIFE OF MISS ANNA MARSH

THE TEMPTATION OF LADY SERENA

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

THE Seduction of Lady Phoebe

ELLA QUINN

eKENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

KISSING LADY PHOEBE
Books by Ella Quinn
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page

This novel is for my husband,
who really didn’t know what he
was getting himself into when I
said, “Honey, I think I’m going
to write a Regency romance.”

And he answered,

“You can do it.”

Acknowledgments

Writing may be a solitary profession, but it takes a team to birth a book. To my mother-in-law, who read, critiqued, and is always ready with help or suggestions.

To my lovely agent, Elizabeth Pomada of Larsen-Pomada Literary Agents, who recognized a diamond in the rough, and loved my books as much as I did, and my editor, John Scognamiglio, who loved them enough to buy them. To Claire Cavanaugh, who taught me how to edit. To the wonderful Delilah Marvelle, who taught me how to write a blurb and synopsis. The Beau Monde Chapter of Romance Writers of America, whose members are always there for advice, research, and support, and the members of the Compuserve Writers Forum who didn’t laugh at me when I posted a message stating, “I just wrote a 100,000-word Regency, now what do I do?”

No acknowledgment would be complete without mentioning my critique groups, Regency Romance Critiquers and Rom-Critters, without whom I never would have figured out what head-hopping was or any number of other things. They have been with me through good times and bad.

Chapter One

Late June 1806, Worthington Hall, England

L
ord Marcus Finley poured his third glass of brandy and strolled back to the library window. The sunlit terrace and lawn provided a stark contrast to the dim, wood paneled room in which he stood contemplating his bleak future and imminent banishment to the West Indies.

His gaze was drawn to the petite figure of Lady Phoebe Stanhope. The sun caught her reddish-blond curls, creating a halo effect as she laughed and played with the Worthingtons’ young girls. Simply seeing her joy eased some of his pain.

Everything about Lady Phoebe was perfect, from her curls and deep sky-blue eyes to her small feet and neatly turned ankle. There was a connection between them. He’d felt it. She was the only one who had tried to understand him. He wanted to marry her, but it seemed impossible now. Why had he met the only woman he’d ever want just days before he left?

He wondered what their children would have looked like. Another rush of anger swept through him, and he forcibly loosened the fingers he’d tightened around his glass.

“Marcus, there you are.”

He turned as his friend, Lord Mattheus Vivers, heir to the Earl of Worthington, strode toward him. Vivers was the only reason Marcus was at the house party.

His friend pointed at the brandy. “That’s not going to help, you know.”

Marcus stared at the glass for a moment, watching the sun catch the amber shades of the liquid before downing the drink. “I’m going to hell in any case. What does it matter how I do it?”

Vivers rubbed a hand over his face. “When was the last time you were completely sober?”

“When my father told me I was being banished—and to where.” Marcus turned back to the window, his anger consuming him. Even his brother, Arthur, hadn’t defended Marcus. That had been the worse betrayal.

Vivers joined him at the window. “What’s so interesting out there?”

Marcus went back to the view of Lady Phoebe. “My last unshattered dream.”

Vivers glanced out. “Lady Phoebe Stanhope? Give it up.”

Scowling, Marcus replied, “Why? I may be a second son, but I’m still eligible. Once I reach my majority, I have the inheritance from my mother’s aunt.”

His friend ran a hand through his hair, disordering its fashionable style. “Very well, I’ll list the reasons. You’re a minor and need your father’s consent to wed, the same father, by the way, who is banishing you to the West Indies before you embroil yourself in a scandal here that can’t be smoothed over. The most important is she is not yet out.”

Marcus’s stomach clenched as if he’d been punched. “What do you mean she’s not out?”

“Not. Out. Not old enough to be on the Marriage Mart,” Vivers enunciated clearly. “At twenty you’re five years too young yourself. Do you really imagine that her father would consent to you marrying her? Ladies marry at twenty, not gentlemen.”

Marcus shook his head, trying to clear it. Why was she at this house party then? Was this some joke fate was playing on him? Or was it more punishment? “How old is she?”

“I don’t really know,” his friend shrugged. “Sixteen or seventeen, maybe. She has a great deal of countenance, so it’s hard to be certain. It’s a shame you won’t be here when she does come out,” Vivers mused. “I don’t expect she’ll last long on the Marriage Mart.”

Marcus felt like he was dying. By the time he was five and twenty, she would be married and have children. “Perhaps Lady Phoebe would go with me to the West Indies. God knows I love her.”

“We’ll have dinner at the tavern and attend the cockfight,” Vivers said. “That will put you in a better frame of mind. She leaves early to-morrow. Better if you don’t see her.”

Marcus poured another glass, tossed it off. “There must be something I can do.”

He went to add more brandy to his glass, but Vivers snatched the tumbler from Marcus’s hand.

“You’ve had more than enough to drink. Good God, man. Get it through your head. You cannot marry her. Now go to your chamber, and sleep it off before you do something stupid.”

Vivers left, and Marcus went to follow. He wobbled a bit as he took a step.

Lady Phoebe was waving as she made her way to the house. He would intercept her and make his case. This was his last chance to win her. In nine days he’d be on a ship to the West Indies, but first he’d take her to Gretna Green.

Phoebe entered the house through a side door. She’d thought Lord Marcus would join them outside and wondered if he was off with Lord Mattheus. Lord Marcus was so nice—no, better than nice—and handsome. Her stomach felt like it had butterflies whenever she thought of him. He’d touched her hand once and it tingled. She couldn’t even breathe when he was near, his presence filled her with such joy and her heart pounded when they spoke. Phoebe was sure she was in love. Nothing else could be so magical.

She hesitated, remembering what Lady Worthington had said. That Lord Marcus wasn’t at all the thing, and that he was being banished before he caused a large scandal. But if that was true, surely Phoebe would not have fallen in love with him. The only thing to do was to ask him about the rumors.

An hour later, dressed in a very pretty gown of sprig muslin, Phoebe made her way toward the drawing room, passing through the picture gallery. The afternoon sun lit one-half of the wide corridor. Long mullioned windows were flanked by red and gold brocade hangings and red velvet-covered benches sat against the outside wall.

Centuries of portraits of somber-faced Vivers hung on the inside paneled walls. As she approached the ancient, carved, double doors leading to the grand staircase, something moved. She stopped.

Lord Marcus staggered slightly as he strolled out from the corner. “I’ve been looking for you, my dear.” His words were slurred as if he was drunk.

“Lord Marcus, have you been drinking?” A chill ran through her as she remembered what Lady W had said.

“Just a mite,” he said. “Liquid courage and all that. I have something important to discuss with you.”

She raised her chin and moved to go around him. “I have nothing to say to you, my lord.”

“But I have a lot to say to you, m’dear.” He held out a hand to block her exit. “Come to me, Phoebe.”

Her initial trepidation turned to rage. She narrowed her eyes and used her coldest tone. “How
dare
you address me in such a manner? Out of my way and let me pass.” How could she have been so wrong, and now what was she to do?

Lord Marcus’s arm snaked out to grab her. “I’ve a better idea.”

Phoebe jumped back and tried to run around him, but he caught her. The strong scent of brandy assailed her nose. Her heart thudded wildly. What a mistake she had made. Lord Marcus was nothing like she’d imagined. She had to get away from him.

His arm tightened around her. He took her jaw in his hand and turned it to face him. “I love you, and I want you to be mine.”

His gaze burned hot. She shook her head back and forth, trying to avoid his lips and his fingers brushed her breast. A jolting thrill went through her followed by overwhelming panic. What had he done to her?

For the first time in Phoebe’s life, she was truly afraid. Desperate, she broke his hold and drove her fist into his nose.

Blood spurted out. Lord Marcus reeled back and fell to the floor with a grunt.

She stood over him, shaking with anger. “You rogue—you have the privilege and wealth of a gentleman, and what do you use it for? Nothing. I didn’t want to believe the stories, but you’ve proven them true. You treat people with contempt and wonder why you’re not respected. Until you learn to put others first and use your power and affluence to help people rather than hurt them, you will remain the poor excuse for a man you are now. Leave this house now. I never want to see you again.”

Phoebe turned on her heel then strode swiftly away. She’d not give him the satisfaction of seeing her run—or realizing how much his behavior had devastated her. She’d thought she loved him. How could she ever trust her judgment again?

Once Phoebe reached her room, she rang the bell for her lady’s maid.

Rose entered from the dressing room and dropped the garments she was carrying. “Oh, my lady, you’re so pale. Why do you have blood on your gown? Are you hurt?”

Phoebe blinked back the tears. She would not cry further over Lord Marcus. He wasn’t worth it. “I’m not injured,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice, “but I cannot go down to dinner.”

“Don’t you worry,” Rose said. “I’ll send a message to her ladyship that you’re not joining them and order you some warm milk and toast brought up.”

Rose helped her mistress undress and into her nightgown, all the while listening as Phoebe poured out the whole tale.

“My lady,” Rose said, “you must tell your mamma what happened. That young man should be punished.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No, I don’t want anyone else to know. I’m so ashamed. Oh, Rose, what did I do to encourage him to treat me so badly?”

The maid combed Phoebe’s hair and made soothing noises. “You didn’t do nothing, my lady, and don’t you think it. Lord Marcus Finley is young, wild, and headstrong as they come. A bad apple. Heard all about him at the table in the servants’ hall. From the tales his groom told, his lordship doesn’t have any business being around decent folks until he mends his ways.”