The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (25 page)

“I’ll drink tea.” Ester sat on the other side of Phoebe, eying her carefully.

“I’ll have tea as well, my dear,” Henry said. “How long have you been here?”

Pink tinged her cheeks. “Not long. Mr. and Mrs. Bagwell were happy to see us, and we exchanged pleasantries for a bit. I love this area. I don’t know why I do not come more often.”

While Phoebe poured, Marcus passed the dishes and asked St. Eth, “The house is not much further is it?”

“No,” Henry said, as he finished his sandwich. “Shall we be on our way?”

Now that they were off the major roads and Phoebe could drive once more, Marcus settled back to enjoy watching her handle the ribbons. An hour later, she skillfully feathered the turn through the gates of a tree-lined road to the manor house, which ended in a circular drive around a flower bed of the same shape.

When they stopped at the house, Marcus admired the reflection of the sun on the many-paned, floor-to-ceiling windows butting out along the front, which, in earlier times, would have served as the main part of the building. Most of the red brick and half-timber manor, he’d been told, dated from the Elizabethan times, with additions from later years.

Phoebe introduced him to Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, the caretakers, when the couple came to greet them. Once inside, Mr. Jenkins escorted Marcus to his room. As the other coaches had not yet arrived, Mrs. Jenkins had the parlor maid bring warm water to Ester and Phoebe. They met again in the morning room, where Mrs. Jenkins had laid out tea.

Lady St. Eth groaned. “I never know if Mrs. Jenkins will decide to have tea for us or not. It is completely perverse. If I expect her to have tea ready, it is not. Yet, whenever we stop at the Golden Ball for tea, Mrs. Jenkins invariably serves it. With such old retainers, one does not wish to offend, yet I wish I knew the reason she cannot remember instructions.” Lady St. Eth gave an exasperated smile. “We must do our duty to at least some of this repast, or she will be insulted.”

“Phoebe,” St. Eth said, when they had finished eating, once again. “Take Lord Marcus around the house and grounds. Ester is feeling a little tired and plans to rest.”

“Yes, do, my dear,” her aunt urged. “There is no reason to waste such a lovely day. We’ll not have many more left.”

Phoebe stared at them both, bemused that they were encouraging her to be alone with Marcus. Though since she wanted that as well . . . “That is a wonderful idea.”

She rose and held her hand out to Marcus. The heated glance he flashed her, as he tucked her arm in his, caused a flutter in her stomach. “We shall see you later.”

Chapter Sixteen

P
hoebe’s anticipation built as she led Marcus out through the front and around to the rose garden on the side of the house. Phoebe loved the house and was happy to show it to him. The outer wings had been extended and enclosed to form two inner courtyards. The front doors opened onto a huge room with an immense fireplace and stone floor. Carved beams decorated the high ceilings. Due to wings added during later periods, the house was larger than it looked. Fortunately it did not suffer, as did many houses, from later additions that detracted from the original style of the house and made it a warren of halls and unused rooms.

She took him on a quick survey of the ground floor and then out to the garden, complete with an original Elizabethan knot garden and a maze.

He drew her closer to him. “Do you like to garden?”

She gazed up and into his azure eyes and smiled. “I like the results, but I have more interest in the stables.”

“Ah.” He returned her smile and his arm circled her waist. “A good head gardener will be an essential to your house.”

“Yes, I love the flowers.” She placed her arm around him as they continued to amble through an arch in the tall laurel hedge. His palm stroked over the swell of her hip and heat streaked through her. She caressed his back and turned to him.

His voice was low and warm. “Phoebe, my love.”

Marcus caressed down over her derrière and back up to her breasts. She tilted her head up, and he covered her lips with his. His tongue teased her bottom lip, and she opened to let him in. Reaching up, she twined her fingers around his neck, enjoying the intimacy of his tongue exploring her mouth. She sighed, and returned his caress. Someone sneezed. Was there no place where they could be alone?

Marcus fluttered kisses from her lips to her ear, and whispered, “Shall we go in?”

She stole a glance at him, his eyes had darkened with desire. “If you’d like.”

Re-entering the house through a parlor at the end of one wing, giving on to the terrace, Phoebe barely noticed the room had been recently cleaned and the fire lit.

Marcus came up behind her and placed his arms around her waist. After pulling her back against him, he dipped his head and, with the tip of his tongue, lightly traced the outer whorl of her ear. Phoebe loved how he touched her, and tilted her head to one side, encouraging him to continue. She sighed as his lips moved down to her jaw and on to her throat. She could stay like this forever. Reaching back, she touched his thighs; they flexed, growing hard as rock.

His thumbs stroked over her ribs, shivers of sensation rippled through her as his palms moved up her body and finally reached her breasts. Phoebe moaned, wanting more, wanting him. She arched against him as he found her nipples, already aching for him.

Marcus rolled them gently and intense rapture sliced through her. She sighed as Marcus pressed soft kisses caressingly down the line of her neck, while his hands teased her. Phoebe pushed into his hand, trying to gain relief from the feelings assailing her. She never tired of his touch. Her body throbbed with need. He could give her so much more, if she but dared. Phoebe was lost in the sensation of fire flowing through her body, the strange heat at her core.

He turned her toward him. Her eyes were closed as he bent his head, feathering his lips against hers. When she opened her mouth, he entered, kissing her deeply.

Phoebe breathed through him as the heat of his tongue played against hers. Tasting him, she returned his kisses more ardently than she ever had before. Her body melted into his as she slid her hands over his chest to his shoulders, wrapping them around his neck. His hands seared a path over her spine and down over her bottom then back up her sides to attend once more to her heavy breasts.

How could she think? She was drowning in his kisses, her body aflame under his hands. Her nipples were tight and so sensitive as he played with them.

His erection rode against her stomach, and she tried to move closer to him as she shuddered again. One hand left its breast and swept slowly down her back to caress her, then moved lower. There was no space left between them. Marcus held her more tightly, his hard thighs against her. Their kiss, ever deepening, caused the fire flaring through her body. All her concentration was on their kisses and his hands and his hard body, the heat between them. Marcus eased back. “Phoebe, darling, will you marry me?”

She gazed up at him and searched his face. Love, passion, and fear mingled as he looked down at her. This was it. She had to respond. If she didn’t, he’d leave and that thought was unbearable.

Phoebe prayed she was making the right decision. “Yes, my love, I will marry you.”

Marcus pulled her back into the kiss. His urgency showed as he ravaged her mouth. She opened her lips to welcome his plunder. His hands stroked harder, more possessively.

He swooped her into his arms and carried her to the daybed set between two long windows. He held her on his lap and her bodice and stays sagged.

Marcus touched the tip of his tongue and lips to her neck, moving slowly down to one breast. He licked her nipple, gently drawing it into his mouth. She gasped at the intense feelings and writhed against him.

Phoebe kissed him as if she could find the release she sought. He licked and suckled until she was in a frenzy. Marcus replaced his mouth with his hand and ministered to her other breast.

The strange pooling of warmth between her thighs intensified with a throbbing she’d never felt before. She lifted her hips and his hand moved from her stomach down to the place between her thighs.

Over the fabric of her gown he pressed his fingers between her legs, silently asking. Answering, she opened her thighs a little, and he pressed closer, deeper, until his hand was completely between her legs. His fingers played, making her more frantic than she’d thought possible. Her breath came in short pants as if she’d been running. She was unaware of anything other than the fire, the need, the sensations racing through her.

Thank God she had agreed to wed him. He could not have born it if she’d refused. Marcus moved his hand to the hem of her skirts. His touch teased her inner thighs as it traveled slowly upward until he stopped at the apex between her legs and toyed with the wet curls of her mons. Fondling her, he reveled in her heat and the slick wetness. He may not be able to seek his release, but he’d show her some of the passion and love she would find in their marriage bed.

Marcus increased the pressure until she was sobbing and begging him. Slowly he inserted one long finger into her hot wet sheath.

He moved back from the kiss just enough to encourage her to focus on the feeling of his finger deep within her, to the pleasure he gave her. “Phoebe, feel me touching you, loving you.”

She pressed against his hand and contracted, on the verge of release.

He tried not to think about how she’d feel tightening around his shaft.

Marcus’s body was like a rock. His muscles bunched, his erection raged. He had to fight himself to keep to his path. Slow, he told himself. He needed to show her how much enjoyment he could give her.

He moved his palm over the small pearl of her mons, rubbing harder as his fingers found their rhythm, driving her higher and higher until she cried out in ecstasy.

Marcus held her gently. A smile played around her rosy, swollen lips. He shifted her closer to him. Enjoying her limp warmth, he knew a peace he’d never experienced before. He was glad the instructions St. Eth had given him to this room were so clear. Her uncle told Marcus that he and Phoebe would be left alone so that Marcus could convince Phoebe to marry him.

She was his
. His to love. His to protect, and protect her he must. Travenor might still be a problem. Marcus had wanted to tell her how dangerous the man was,
but Marcus couldn’t take the chance that she’d refuse him because he was the reason she could be in peril.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the room, when she stirred. He met her eyes, searching them.

Phoebe smiled.

He kissed her. “I love you, Phoebe. I’ve always loved you.”

Her lips lingered on his. “I love you too. I did at the house party as well. I think that was the reason I was so angry at you. The way you’d wasted what life had given you. Mamma was right,” Phoebe said. “When I look at you, it’s as if I’ve never truly seen a man before. Others don’t exist for me anymore.”

Tears started to burn Marcus’s eyes, and he kissed her softly. “We’d better go. Someone will be looking for us soon. The other carriages should have already arrived.”

He placed her on the floor and fastened her stays and bodice, wishing he didn’t have to cover her perfect creamy mounds. “When do you want to tell your family about our news?”

Phoebe tried to shake the creases out of her skirts. “When we meet in the drawing room. I’ll ask Ferguson to bring champagne, if we have it.”

Marcus grinned. “I don’t think you need worry. I am very sure St. Eth remembered to bring champagne or sherry, perhaps both.”

Phoebe entered her room to find Rose pacing. “My lady, where have you been? I was about ready to start folks looking for you.”

Phoebe smiled. It hardly seemed real, that she would wed Marcus, and she was glad about it. “Rose, you may wish me happy. I am to marry Lord Marcus.”

Her brow furrowed. “If you’re happy?”

Phoebe took her maid’s hands. “I am, Rose. I detested him for years, and I let myself be tortured by it. I think the reason I was so hurt and so angry was that I cared for him and felt betrayed. That he would treat me so. We are lucky, I think, to have found one another again and were able to heal the wounds of the past.”

“Then I do wish you happy, my lady,” Rose said, adding in a brisk voice, “and about time it is that he asked too.”

Phoebe laughed as Rose set out her clothes.

Phoebe reached the top of the stairs just as Marcus came out of the other wing. She glanced up at him, the man who would be her husband, her lover.

He held out his hand and she took it. His gaze captured hers just like it had the first time. When he looked at her like that, all her doubts faded and she knew she did love him.

Uncle Henry coughed. “Once you two have quite assured yourselves that the other is present and not part of your imaginations, you may join us in the drawing room.”

St. Eth descended the stairs with Aunt Ester on his arm.

Entering the drawing room, Ester, who had kept her lips firmly together on the stairs, lost the battle and went into whoops. “I believe the matter is settled. I have never seen two people so enthralled.”

Henry met her gaze, and grinned. “Were we ever such a sad case?”