The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (26 page)

“I don’t think so, my love, but like them, we wouldn’t have known. On the other hand, our love was simple and straightforward. Theirs has been hard won.”

Henry, who didn’t think winning Ester had been at all simple, had to, in fairness, acknowledge that Phoebe and Marcus had had a much harder and longer road. “Are we to act surprised when they announce their betrothal?”

“I think we can simply express our joy.
That
will not be feigned.” Ester wiped her eyes.

“No, it won’t.” Henry drew her to him. “Was it right what I did—allowing Lord Marcus so much time alone with Phoebe to persuade her?”

St. Eth’s sense of propriety and his conscience had pricked him during the afternoon as he tried not to imagine what was going on. He’d insured Marcus knew where the room was and the staff was told to stay away.

“I think we’ll know in a minute.”

Phoebe and Marcus’s voices were at the door. Releasing Ester, Henry said in an under voice, “I had no idea it took so long to descend our stairs. It is marvelous indeed.”

Ester poked him in the ribs. “Hush.”

Phoebe entered, looking radiant.

“I have asked Ferguson to bring champagne,” Henry said. Meeting his gaze she said simply, “Thank you, Uncle Henry. That would be especially appropriate.”

Marcus added, “Did you, perchance, bring any of your special sherry?”

Henry turned to Marcus and shook his hand. “I take it this is your way of announcing your betrothal?”

Marcus took Phoebe’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Lord and Lady St. Eth, Lady Phoebe and I have decided we should suit.”

Ferguson brought in the champagne, sherry, and glasses. Before leaving, he turned to Phoebe. “Lady Phoebe, the staff would like to wish you happy. You as well, Lord Marcus.”

“Thank you, Ferguson,” she said, “and thank the staff for their good wishes.”

François, stating he knew he would have a celebration that evening, had prepared a meal they would not soon forget. Since he’d brought delicacies from London, they were served a first course of turtle soup, roasted turbot and pheasant in mushroom sauce. The second course consisted of cauliflower,
haricot verts
, Brussels sprouts, buttered lobster, a haunch of venison, thin slices of ham, and a roasted goose stuffed with chestnuts. They enjoyed pastries, nuts, and fruit for the third course.

The gentlemen declined port in the dining room to join the ladies.

Henry poured the sherry, which reminded Phoebe of Henry’s promise. “Dear Uncle Henry, let’s discuss the sherry.”

Henry assured her that he would indeed settle the sherry upon her.

Phoebe went to him and hugged him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, my dear, for finally deciding to marry.”

Phoebe tried but failed to look offended. “Has it been so bad?”

“My dear, we all love you very much, but you are the most active, brilliant, exhausting person we know.” Uncle Henry grimaced. “The idea of setting up your own household—which I have no doubt you would have done—acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world,
and
carrying it off in your high-handed manner, doesn’t bear thinking of.”

Marcus turned Phoebe to him. “My love, you wouldn’t have, would you?”

Ester laughed. “Marcus, had you not come along when you did . . . well, I will only say that our Phoebe is equal to anything. I am very pleased she is marrying you.” Ester turned to Phoebe. “After the way you looked at each other with such love, it is what we all wanted for you, my dear.”

Phoebe fought tears. Was it true? Would she finally have the kind of love her sisters and aunt knew?

The family’s bedchambers were located in the east wing of the house, the guest chambers in the west wing. The wings were connected by the original hall and the grand staircase, which led up to the first and second floors. Smaller stairs at the ends of each wing were used, for the most part, by the servants.

Phoebe lay in her large bed, the hangings drawn closed, thinking of that afternoon in the parlor. A tremor of excitement ran through her, and the throbbing between her legs returned.

When she could stand it no longer, she rose and donned a day gown that fastened in the front, enabling her to dress herself. Moving silently, she stole across the hall to the main staircase then headed to the west wing.

Finding Marcus’s room was easier than she thought it would be. A sliver of light shone through the bottom of the door. She stopped at the door, hesitating, when it opened.

He stood naked before her. “I knew it was you.”

She stared at him. He took her breath away. Her betrothed was a magnificent combination of taut skin and muscle. Dark hair covered his chest.

He glanced down at himself and flushed. “I’m sorry, I can’t get used to sleeping in a nightshirt again.”

“You are perfect.” She came into his arms. Rubbing her hands over the hard warmth of his back, feeling his strength, her mouth suddenly dried. She raised her face as he bent his head and kissed her.

Phoebe wasn’t sure he would agree with her desire. She broke the kiss then whispered in his ear, much as he’d whispered in hers earlier, her voice low and sultry. “Marcus, make me your wife, tonight. Make me yours. I don’t want to wait. I want you now. I want you to show me your love.”

“Phoebe, I want you, God knows how much I want you,” Marcus said, meeting her gaze. “Once this is done, you can’t take it back, my love.”

She had to make him understand. “Do you plan to back out on our betrothal, because I do not. When I told you I’d marry you, I gave myself to you then. Have you thought about how much trust I’m putting in you agreeing to wed? Under the law, you will have more control over me than my parents did, and I’ve been my own mistress for several years now. Don’t you think it is up to me to decide when I give you my body, my maidenhead?”

Lines of concern etched his forehead. “What if I got you with child and something would happen to me?”

Pregnancy was a possibility, but they’d marry soon and she did not want to wait. “Then procure a special license when we return to London.” She searched his eyes. “Marry me out of hand, but don’t deny me the ability to make my decision about my virginity. I would rather gift it to you now, while it is still my choice.”

He gazed back at her, uncertain. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to stop—”

“I won’t, but thank you.” She smiled at him. “You taught me kissing. Teach me this.”

Marcus groaned, covering her lips with his into a deep kiss. He crushed her against his hard body. One hand moving down over her derrière, holding her into him, his other hand moved over her breast, finding the nipple under the thin muslin of her gown.

“Where does this gown fasten?” he asked urgently, breathing against her.

“In the front.” Sensual flames shot through Phoebe’s body, heating her, making her breasts throb and ache for his touch. She rubbed her hands over his muscular chest, reveling in the feel of the soft hair covering it. She desperately wanted to feel her body naked against his. “Take me now, Marcus, I need you.”

Chapter Seventeen

M
arcus stepped back a little to look at her. He’d not known her hair was so long, curling almost to her waist. He lifted it and twined his hands in it, then held her face as he kissed her again. She was so beautiful.

He worshiped her and devoured her with his eyes. He unfastened her gown and stays before untying the ribbons of her chemise. Caressing her silken skin, he pushed the garment over the swell of her hips until it fell softly to the floor. He lifted her into his arms and walked the few feet to the bed. Holding her close, he crawled onto the bed and stretched her out beside him.

Marcus needed to touch her, all of her. “Oh, God, Phoebe, you are beautiful.”

She searched his face. “Am I? Even like this?”

“Especially like this.” No woman could ever be more perfect.

He kissed the corner of her mouth and rubbed his thumbs over the light pink buds topping her breasts. She gasped, and arched, pushing the perfect peaks up toward him. He grazed her bottom lip with his teeth, before nibbling her chin and throat, then took one furled bud into his mouth and suckled, while rolling her other nipple between his fingers. She tasted of honey and woman. He switched to her other breast, and she moaned, low, anguished, and needy. He returned his lips to hers, drawing her into a kiss, while moving his palm over her stomach, down between her legs. He stroked, building her flames higher, urging her on until she opened her legs, and he eased one finger into her, then a second. His fingers’ thrust matched his tongue’s, as he played with the pearl nestled in her curls. He wanted to roar with pride when she cried out, convulsing around him.

He sat up onto his knees, holding her before him.

She glanced down at his erection and her eyes widened.

“Tell me if you want this.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I want all of you.”

“Then don’t think.” He nudged her head up and kissed her again. “Straddle me.”

Lying on his back, Marcus arranged her legs so that she was on her knees over his hips. He brought her closer, and lifted her. His fingers found her again, sliding easily into her wetness, as he kissed her.

Phoebe slid her arms around his neck, holding on to him as he replaced his fingers with the head of his erection. She jerked slightly, startled by how large he felt.

He stroked her hair. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“No. Don’t stop.”

“Try to relax.”

He pushed in, stretching her. Phoebe tensed at his invasion. Her emotions ran rampant. Sudden uncertainty at what she was doing overcame her desperate passion and need for him.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he halted.

He caressed her back. “We’ll take this slowly.”

She willed herself to open to him as he gradually filled her part way. Then he moved deeper again, letting her feel more of him, more of his heat. A burgeoning need began to well within her. She tried to take control, make him go faster, but he held her to the languid, deliberate pace.

Phoebe’s need grew as she became wetter, slicker with each slow, shallow thrust. Shivering, she kissed him ravenously, as if that would assuage her.

He whispered, “My love, this will hurt the first time. Do you want me to go on?”

The sensations were so overwhelming all she could do was nod, and move on him, telling him with her body what she had no breath to say aloud.

He drew her into a searing kiss and thrust up, burying himself deep within her.

The sharp pain made her tense and cry out, but he stopped and held her until the sting receded, and she began to relax.

Marcus murmured in her ear, “Shhh, my love. There is no hurry. You’ll be all right now, it won’t hurt again, I promise.”

He caressed her until her tension ebbed. Finally she moved on her own, just a bit, body hardened, filling her more, but causing no pain. “Love me,” she whispered.

“Always.”

His muscles clenched as Marcus moved so excruciatingly slowly as if to avoid harming her again. Each time waiting until she was ready to take him in further. Soon he was so deep within her they could have been one.

Despite the dull throbbing inside her, at her core, their lovemaking felt so right, as if it was meant to be.

She opened her eyes, dazed. Marcus’s countenance was hard, determined. His jaw clenched in control. Once Marcus was fully inside her, he rolled her beneath him. When he withdrew a little, she held on to him. “No.”

Marcus pressed kisses on her hair and eyes. “Are you all right?”

This couldn’t be all of it. Why was he stopping? “I don’t want you to leave me. It finally feels good again.”

He laughed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He captured her lips, running his tongue, exploring her mouth, as his body began a new rhythm within her.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

This time, each stroke pushed her higher, made her need greater, until she tossed beneath him, gasping for breath. She knew now that the throbbing she’d felt earlier had been the primitive drive to feel him deep inside her, making her his.

She gave up thinking as he quickened his pace, thrusting deeper. Wave upon wave of sensation drove her, making her more and more frenzied until she felt as if the sun was exploding, and she cried out. He moved inside her, faster, deeper until he groaned, spilling his seed.

He rolled, drawing her to him, softly kissing her hair and her face. His fingers touched her swollen lips. “Phoebe?”

Her skin and the curls around her face were damp. “Yes, I’m all right.”

“I love you,” he whispered.

Tears of joy pricked her lids. She’d never known such deep happiness could exist. Snuggling into him, wanting to feel his strong, naked body against hers, she said, “I love you too.”

Phoebe’s dream became erotic, she was wet with desire. She spread her legs and dreamed Marcus was stroking her. Groaning with delicious delight, she shuddered as his fingers once again slipped inside her.

Waking fully, she realized that Marcus was behind her, touching her. He removed his fingers and thrust his shaft deep inside her. She gasped and pushed back against him, reveling in the fullness and trying to urge him deeper still. With one hand, he caressed her mons, while the other palm kneaded her breast.