The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (31 page)

Phoebe led Marcus to the morning room, where they discussed the plans for their wedding trip until their tea arrived.

She set down her cup. “How much time do you think we have?”

His lips curved up. “A half an hour, maybe a little more.”

She went to him, stretching her arms up around his neck. “That’s what I think too, let’s make it worth our wait.”

He kissed her deeply. “You have become a wanton woman, my lady.”

She smiled seductively. “You should know, my lord, you made me that way.” She slid her hand over his erection. “And for that, I shall be eternally grateful.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “By God, you’re not alone in that sentiment.”

“No more talking, my lord. I want you now.”

Chapter Twenty

A
few minutes after Marcus left for Dunwood House, Phoebe walked around the back garden, reveling in the memory of their lovemaking on the daybed in the morning room. She’d just sat on the bench at the end of a path when she heard the crunch of boots on the gravel path. Hoping it was Marcus returned, she glanced up as a rough-looking man came around the hedge. He grinned and reached out for her.

She dodged his grasp but was trapped between the hedge and the outer wall, with no way to escape. He came closer and Phoebe climbed up onto the bench and screamed for help hoping someone was nearby.

“Won’t do you no good, you ladyship. Ain’t nowhere for you to go, and ain’t no one to hear you.”

His burly arm grabbed her around the waist as he hefted her and started toward the back gate. His bruising grip made it hard to breathe, giving her a desperate idea. Hoping he’d think she had fainted, she went limp in his arms. He lifted her higher.

Phoebe waited until they’d cleared the hedge and there was a direct view toward the terrace. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath and threw her head back, hitting the man’s nose hard. He roared in pain, and his hold on her loosened enough for her to break away. Lifting her skirts, Phoebe bolted toward the house, yelling at the top of her lungs. She heard the man’s harsh breathing coming ever closer behind her. Suddenly he stopped and ran in the other direction. Just ahead, Jim, the footman, came racing across the lawn to help her.

“A man tried to kidnap me in the garden,” she said.

Pointing the way, she turned and ran back toward her attacker.

The villain reached the gate leading into the alley before they could catch him. Sounds of horses trotting reached them. Phoebe and Jim rushed into the small street and searched in both directions. About half-way to the end of the mews, a town coach was traveling faster than was safe in the narrow alley, toward the entrance to the street.

Phoebe halted, gasping for air. “He must be in that carriage. Can we alert anyone in time to stop him?”

“I’ll head to the front, my lady,” Jim said. “I might catch him before he reaches the main street.”

Phoebe nodded. “Try it.”

“Not until you’re safe, my lady.”

Glancing around, Phoebe saw two more footmen running to her. “They can guard me. Go now, I’ll be fine. Be careful.”

Jim dashed off around the side of the house. The other men helped her inspect the gate, which was always kept locked. The key was hanging in its usual place. The attacker must have picked the lock.

When Phoebe got back to the house, Uncle Henry and Aunt Ester had arrived. She told her uncle what had happened.

“Here? In my garden?”
he bellowed. “When I find out who it is, I’ll have them strung up!”

Her uncle sent Marcus an urgent summons to return to St. Eth House. When he arrived, Phoebe told him what happened.

Marcus trembled with rage, his blood pumped faster, even as he gathered Phoebe in his arms to comfort her. The kidnap attempt must be
Travenor’s
doing. Guilt consumed Marcus. If he’d warned her, she would not have been alone or without her dagger and pistol. He’d tell her of the danger and what he’d thought he’d learned of Travenor. Perhaps it would be enough to put her on her guard.

Everyone met in St. Eth’s study and discussed the attack. Jim returned to report that he’d seen the coach as it turned the corner onto the street, but once it left the alley, there was nothing to distinguish it from any other unmarked carriage on the street. He’d been too far away to see the occupants.

Phoebe gave an accurate description of the man who grabbed her, but Marcus doubted it would do them any good. Brutes like that could easily be found in London’s slums.

He drew Phoebe a little aside. “I must tell you what I discovered about Travenor. I should have told you before. I had him investigated. He’s much more dangerous than any of us thought. There have been abusive incidents with women. . . .”

When he’d completed his account, Marcus caught Phoebe’s gaze. “And there is something else. Travenor was part of a smuggling scheme I helped to break up in the West Indies.” Marcus took a breath. “Travenor may be after you to avenge himself against me. I can’t shake the feeling he is behind this. I’m sorry if I’m the one who brought you to his attention.”

Phoebe placed her small hand on Marcus’s cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We are more than a match for him.”

Ester pinched the bridge of her nose. “Be that as it may, knowing it was indeed Lord Travenor behind all this would be helpful. Since we are not certain, we must take a broader view to protect Phoebe.”

Marcus took Phoebe’s hands. “My love, please promise me you’ll not go anywhere alone.”

“Yes,” she said. “I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

Ester invited Marcus to dine with them, and later, whilst Marcus and Phoebe walked on the terrace, she glanced at him. “Was it what you’d discovered about Travenor that had you upset at the manor house?”

Marcus nodded. “To some extent. The rest is about my family. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you out. I am just so used to keeping my own counsel.”

She reached up and kissed him. “Marcus, I understand, but if we are to have a successful marriage, we must share the bad along with the good.”

He raised both her hands and kissed the insides of her wrists. “I’m beginning to apprehend that. Ride with me to-morrow?”

She smiled gently. “Yes. We’ll have breakfast afterward.”

Marcus took her in his arms, holding her safe. “I can’t allow anyone to hurt you.”

“You do realize that I am able to take care of myself, especially now that I’ve been forewarned?”

He stifled a growl. She’d had to protect herself long enough. Now, it was his job, and he damn well meant to keep her safe.

Lord Travenor was in his study, a glass of brandy in his hand, when his groom, Figgins, entered.

“My lord. The attempt to kidnap Lady Phoebe failed.”

Roaring, he threw the brandy glass against the fireplace. “
Bloody hell!
Can’t anyone do a job right? Get rid of him. If he was seen, I can’t have the bugger associated with me.”

Figgins nodded. “I’m meeting him down by the docks tonight. He won’t be talkin’ to anyone after that.”

“See that he doesn’t.” Travenor paced before the fireplace, seething with anger. Figgins would take care of it. He’d been with Travenor since he was a boy and would do anything for him.

Travenor snarled. “I want Lady Phoebe followed by at least two men. If there’s a chance in hell to grab her, I want it done, and tell them I won’t be bobbed. They’d better be rum about it. I can’t afford to get caught.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll make sure they know you don’t take kindly to being disappointed.”

Figgins bowed and left.

Curse Lord Marcus Finley for getting to her. Travenor hadn’t seen the bloody betrothal notice, but he’d heard about it. It was the only thing the blasted Swells were talking about. He’d have to act swiftly if he were to capture Lady Phoebe. They’d already posted guards at her uncle’s house so it wouldn’t be here. Travenor would have to figure out another way.

Lady Phoebe would be his, and he’d set her straight. After which, it would be his pleasure to destroy Lord Marcus Finley.

The next morning dawned fine and crisp. Marcus and Phoebe, accompanied by one of St. Eth’s grooms, rode to Rotten Row for a gallop, then trotted around the park.

Upon returning to St. Eth House, wary of another attempt on Phoebe, Marcus saw a scruffy-looking man in the square watching the house. He had the groom escort her to the house. Once Ferguson opened the door, and Phoebe went inside, Marcus strode across the street toward the blackguard.

The watcher took off at a run, dodging in his way. Marcus gave chase through the square. If there was even a possibility that he knew his employer, Marcus would make the man talk. He was closing in on his quarry, but when they reached Upper Brook Street, the man darted into the traffic and hopped onto a wagon. He slipped, falling off the other side right into the path of a carriage. The pair of horses bore down on the watcher. The man screamed and the horses reared up in panic, hooves flailing and trampling the man. He went down in a bloody pulp. The nondescript, black coach rolled over the body, crushing it, and kept going.
Somehow Marcus knew the death was no accident.

Marcus regained the house and joined Phoebe, still standing in the open door. “Marcus, what happened?”

He took her arm to lead her in the house. “The man watching the house is dead. I gave chase and a coach hit him.”

Phoebe covered her mouth. “Oh, God.”

Marcus held her tighter. “The coach could have stopped, but did not. It was murder.”

They were both quiet as they entered the breakfast room and sat.

Phoebe’s hand trembled slightly as she took a croissant and poured tea. “Do you believe he was observing the house because of me?”

Marcus accepted his cup. “Yes, and to see who comes and goes, determine the patterns of the servants and their masters.” Marcus stared at her steadily. “Phoebe, one question we did not ask yesterday was how the thug knew you were in the garden. I now believe someone—or several people—have been watching this house and you. We need to ascertain their hiding places. How did you go out from the house to the garden yesterday?”

“Through the side door.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, Marcus, if one were looking, the door can be seen through the gate.”

Marcus pressed his lips together. “The villains were in place before we returned.”

Phoebe fixed Marcus with a look. “If it is Travenor’s doing, why is he so relentless?” Not waiting for his answer, she stood and started to pace. “What if he doesn’t cease after we’re married? He may follow us to Charteries, and we don’t know why he wants me.” She halted and turned to Marcus. “We must stop him.”

Marcus took her in his arms. “We will, my love. I promise you, he’ll not take you from me.”

She peered up at Marcus. “I want more practice with the dagger.”

“Very well, I’ll work with you this afternoon.”

“Rose has already fashioned a leg sheath and altered my gowns.” Phoebe gave a small smile. “Perhaps I’ll set a new fashion trend.”

Marcus laughed.

Henry and Ester entered the breakfast room.

When Marcus told them the house was under surveillance, they were infuriated.

“We must,” Phoebe said firmly, “discover, for a certainty, who he is and put an end to this.”

Marcus nodded. “We need a way to draw him out.”

Ester held her cup suspended between the table and her lips. “We can set out our people, in street clothing, footmen and grooms, to discover who is spying on the house.”

Phoebe nodded. “I’m sure they would be willing.”

They all glanced at Henry, who had been silent.

He raised his brows. “That might work.” Henry met each of their eyes. “We have less than four days before we leave. If we’re to do this, we must start immediately.”

Hermione and Hester entered the room, stopped, and frowned.

“What’s happened?” Hermione asked. “Why the long faces?”

Upon being told, the sisters immediately offered to help.

Hermione took a croissant and nibbled. “Since Phoebe has to go shopping, perhaps some of the men can go out now.” Hermione glanced at Marcus. “We’ll take two footmen to guard us.”

Marcus caught Phoebe’s eye. “I’ll send Covey as well. Be careful, my love.”

She bit her lip. “I will. It feels good to be taking action.”

Phoebe grinned at Madame who came bustling forward to the front of the shop with effusive greetings. “
Bonjour,
Lady Phoebe. I believe I must wish you happy. You are to be married,
non?
And to the very fine-looking Lord Marcus Finley.
Bien
, it is as it should be. A beautiful lady marries a handsome man.”

Phoebe laughed. “How do you know he’s good-looking?”

“Ah, milady, I have heard of nothing but Lord Marcus Finley since the Little Season began.
Moi,
I think there are no other gentlemen in London. He is all
les jeune filles
speak of. Now, you are here for a gown for the wedding, no?
Mais dites moi
, when do you require it to be finished?”