The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (33 page)

He held out his hand to her as she reached the last step. “My love, you are a
Vision
.”

Phoebe had never been happier.

After the dinner, where their betrothal was announced, and the reception line, where they received more congratulations, Uncle Henry gave the signal for the orchestra to begin. The violins sounded the chords for a waltz.

Marcus led her onto the dance floor. Once in his arms, she gazed into his wonderful turquoise eyes and became lost in a world where just the two of them existed. She once again felt the heat of his hand on her waist as they twirled down the room, then the touch of his hard leg as he led them through the turn. Soon Phoebe’s breath shortened, and she grew warmer. Tingles of desire shot through her and her nipples hardened and ached.

“Phoebe?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

“No. There must be a way to be with you.”

Though she’d lived in St. Eth House during the Seasons for many years, it was the first time she required a discreet door to exit the room. “There is a door behind that palm. Once we’ve strolled a little and talked with all the guests, we’ll be able to slip out.”

Marcus gave his head a small shake. “Too dangerous. The servants are using it. We’d probably run into one of them. The terrace might be a safer choice. Which rooms lead out to it?”

“The back parlor would work. No one will look in there.”

Phoebe relaxed once more into the dance, satisfied they’d be able to be alone together.

At the end of the set, she left the dance floor on Marcus’s arm. They strolled the room, greeting their friends and families. Slowly—and she hoped, subtly—making their way to the terrace doors.

When she tried to quicken the pace, he held her back. “Patience, if we walk leisurely we’re less likely to be noticed.”

Soon, Marcus swept her out onto the terrace. Phoebe turned to the right. As they reached the doors to the back parlor, he opened it and pulled her in. He captured her lips.

She returned his kisses with hungry urgency.

Just as he reached back to close the door, footsteps sounded on the stone pavers.

Phoebe sighed and leaned against him. “Who is it?”

“Hermione and Edwin.” Marcus released Phoebe and stepped back a little.

She groaned. This was so unfair. Their families wouldn’t allow them to marry when they’d wanted to and now Phoebe couldn’t even be alone with Marcus.

Hermione smiled, but said nothing, as she took Phoebe’s arm and led her back toward the ballroom.

Edwin took Marcus’s and chuckled. “There’s no point in giving me a black look. The problem you have is that Phoebe has two older sisters who have gone before her. They know all the tricks.”

Marcus glowered.

Edwin merely laughed. “Only a few days more. You’ll make it, we did.”

Once back at the entrance to the ballroom, Marcus was allowed to escort Phoebe in, but they were given no opportunity to slip away again.

Five more days; Phoebe wondered if Marcus’s frustration matched her own.

As had become Marcus’s habit, he met Phoebe to ride the next morning. When they returned to St. Eth House, he spotted a ragged boy lurking behind a tree in the square. Another watcher.

“Marcus!” Phoebe cried. “There is a plain black carriage at the corner. It looks to be creeping toward us. Could it be him?”

“I want you in the house. Now.” After quickly dismounting, he lifted Phoebe from Lilly and threw the groom the reins. Two ruffians rushed out from the side of the house.

“My lord, watch out!” The groom shouted and started toward the thugs, but the horses shied and sidled in fear.

“Stay with the horses,” Marcus ordered.

He reached for Phoebe to push her behind him when one of the thugs reached them and threw his first punch. Marcus’s jaw exploded in pain.

Driving his fist into the man’s face, Marcus yelled, “Phoebe, run. Get help from the house!”

His attacker came at him again and Marcus smashed his fist into the villain’s nose. Bleeding, the blackguard fell to the ground.

He whirled to see Phoebe with her dagger out, warding off the second brute as he made another grab for her. Damn the woman. Why hadn’t she done as he’d asked? Marcus hauled the man around, knocking him down with an uppercut to his chin.

Shaking with anger and a fear he’d never known before, he grasped her shoulders. “Why aren’t you in the house?”

“It was two to one, and he’d blocked the path to the door.”

He crushed her to him and heedless of propriety, kissed her ruthlessly.

A footman, who’d run from the house to give chase to the villains, came back panting. “My lord. They’re gone,” the servant gasped. “Picked up by a black coach. The driver had a muffler over part of his face.”

Damn it to hell. They lost the thugs. Holding Phoebe again by the shoulders, he fought himself not to shake her. “I told you to run.”

“I started to.” She firmed her jaw. “But I saw you needed help.”

“It’s my duty to protect you, not yours to protect me.”

She scowled. “I had my dagger and was doing fine. You should have trusted me. If you’d secured the first man, we’d have someone to question.”

“And if
you’d
done as I said, we might have them both,” Marcus growled.

Drat him. In their own way, they were both right. Phoebe’s anger ebbed. They loved each other, why was this so difficult? She glanced back to him. A bruise was forming on his jaw and he had a cut on his cheek. She took his hand. It had been wounded as well. “We’ll have to talk about this later. Right now, I need to attend to you.”

Uncle Henry was in the hall when they entered. He called for water, soap, salve, and a raw beefsteak to be taken to the breakfast room. Phoebe attended to Marcus while he explained what happened to her uncle.

Her uncle slammed his fist on the table. “
Again?
This is intolerable.”

“I
cannot
allow this to continue,” Phoebe said. “We have no assurances it will ever stop, even when I am married.” She paused and took a breath. “I propose we allow him to take me.”

Henry stared at her. “
Take
you? Have you gone mad? Finley, talk some sense into her.”

Marcus rubbed his hands over his face and winced. “I already tried. She won’t listen to me. I don’t like the idea at all. If you’ve a better one, I’d be happy to hear it.”

Males,
Phoebe thought bitterly. “I’ve been trained to defend myself. I have a
right
to help in my protection. I cannot believe that you and Marcus don’t think me capable of helping end this.”

Marcus frowned and his voice was more like a growling animal’s. “It’s not that. I know you’re capable. But it’s my responsibility,
my right
to protect you. I don’t understand why you would foolishly put yourself in danger.”

“Foolish?” She had not been so close to losing her temper in a long time. “If you think that, I wonder why you want to marry me.”

Her uncle, who had been silent, lowered his brows. “Phoebe, Finley is right. It’s his duty to protect and care for you.”

Phoebe passed a hand over her brow. This didn’t make any sense at all. “Uncle Henry, how can you take his side?”

The conversation was not going her way.

Fortunately, Aunt Ester entered the room. “Stop shouting. You can be heard all over the house. What is going on?”

Marcus and Uncle Henry opened their mouths. She silenced the two men with a look. “Phoebe, tell me what happened.”

She told her aunt about the latest attempt, and what she proposed to do about it.

Henry and Marcus both began to speak but were once again silenced.

“If I understand you, my dear,” Aunt Ester said, “you propose to allow yourself to be abducted, but have our people around to retrieve you before you are harmed. Do I have that right?”

Maybe Marcus and her uncle would finally listen to reason. “Yes, Aunt Ester.”

Her aunt turned to the men. “Henry, Marcus, I understand you have objections. I would be astonished if you did not. However, my dear, before you state your reasons, do you have an alternative plan that would free Phoebe from this menace?”

Henry shook his head.

“Marcus?”

He glowered from beneath his brows. “As I’ve said, I cannot like it.”

Ester regarded each of them. “Can we—all of us, Hermione’s and Hester’s households included—provide the protection Phoebe will need? Because”—Aunt Ester glanced at her niece and met her gaze—“if we cannot, then your plan would only place you in greater danger.”

Silence reigned for several minutes as they thought over the details.

Marcus was the first to speak. “May I call my man, Covey, here?”

Aunt Ester inclined her head. “Of course.”

Marcus’s groom entered the breakfast room as Phoebe’s sisters and their husbands arrived.

Aunt Ester told them all about the attempt that morning. They listened in grim silence until her aunt turned to Marcus and nodded.

He motioned for Covey, who was leaning against the wall, to step up. “Did you see what occurred this morning?”

Covey narrowed his eyes. “I did at that, m’lord. Got a good look at them toughs and at that black carriage that picked them up. It were the one I seen afore. Iffen’ I see it again, I’ll know it. Looked like the same man in it, but he’s sitn’ too far back for me to get a good gander at him.”

Marcus surveyed the group. “Ever since the first attempt, except when Phoebe’s been with me, Covey has been following her. He’s made note of the persons who have been keeping her under observation. He’s seen the carriage but the driver and occupant take great care not to be recognized.”

Marcus fixed his gaze on Phoebe. “The plan I had is that if she were taken, Covey would stay on the back of the carriage and intervene if there was any sign of danger.”

Aunt Ester’s glance swept the room. “Well, what say you all?”

Hester spoke first. “I think Phoebe is right. If this is to end, she will need to allow herself to be abducted.”

Edwin and John started to argue heatedly but were silenced by Aunt Ester. “I shall tell you both what I told St. Eth and Marcus. You may not like this plan, but, unless you have an alternative, nothing will be accomplished by merely expressing your disapproval. No one likes these circumstances.”

They lapsed into silence.

Aunt Ester continued briskly, “Well then, we are—if not all happy about this arrangement—in agreement there is no better alternative. Let us discuss the details.”

Geoffrey rubbed his chin. “I think when Phoebe and Marcus are married, the attempts will stop. I cannot see how taking her after the marriage would benefit the scoundrel.”

“No,” Marcus said firmly. “If it’s Travenor, he won’t stop. The man’s obsessed.”

Travenor seethed with impotent rage. “They missed taking her again? How did it happen?”

Figgins recounted the story. “Seems like that Lord Marcus is pretty handy with his fives.”

Travenor had misjudged Lord Marcus. Who knew a
fop
could fight? One more thing to add to Travenor’s account against the bastard who had made Travenor’s life a living hell, stolen his treasure, and nearly ruined him. Lord Marcus would not get Lady Phoebe.

Travenor tossed off his tumbler of Blood and Thunder and slammed the glass down. He’d use Lady Phoebe to settle his score with Lord Marcus. If she didn’t come around to his way of thinking and marry him, he’d make sure she’d never lie with another man. All gentlemen wanted a virgin to wife. He’d deliver a well-used one to Lord Marcus.

From now on, no more intermediaries; Travenor would take care of the problem himself.

Chapter Twenty-two

P
hoebe and Aunt Ester had taken a coach to Bond Street. Phoebe took a deep breath and smiled, making her voice as calm as possible. “Aunt Ester, I am going to the glove maker. I’ll be back in less than a half an hour.”

Phoebe glanced at Rose, who dutifully followed behind Phoebe.

Covey had seen the black town coach in Bond Street and sent Jim, the footman, with the news that all was in place to begin the plan.

“We can do this,” Phoebe insisted as she made her way down the street. Forcing herself not to look around as she walked, she kept her steps even. Rose would try to identify the villain and get away to inform the others.

Phoebe glanced down to fiddle with her gloves. She hoped that this dangerous ruse would make her unknown abductor show his hand. Finally, she’d know who was after her and why.

All was proceeding as planned. Marcus, her brother, uncle, and brothers-in-law, along with footmen and under grooms from their houses, and Covey, were watching from the street, inside shops, and from various conveyances. Phoebe touched the sheathed dagger for reassurance.

Last evening, the ladies finally convinced Phoebe’s recalcitrant male relatives she would need to go shopping, without a footman, if they hoped to enable her to be snatched. Thankfully, in the end, even Marcus agreed, though he was not at all happy about it.

This morning, he’d hovered over her, making sure she had her dagger and pistol, blaming himself. “If I’d not been such a scamp . . . If I’d returned years ago, you would never have had to protect yourself. I would have been there to do it.”

She put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t torture yourself. Let us just deal with what we have.”

They were leaving in two days for Charteries. She would not be inured in the country, from which she could still be abducted, or be constantly on her guard in London—or anywhere else.

Phoebe took a breath. This would end to-day.

The coach slowed to a crawl. Phoebe braced herself to be taken. Suddenly, it picked up speed again and continued on.

Phoebe stared after the vehicle in disbelief and motioned to Rose to continue walking, praying the scoundrel would do something. After several minutes, Phoebe and her maid turned back. She’d been so sure the blackguard would try to abduct her. Phoebe clenched her fist in frustration. She wanted, needed, this to be over, so she could start her life with Marcus.

Travenor had watched as Lady Phoebe and a female dressed as a lady’s maid left the lending library. Before this, he’d never seen her without a footman. Wary, Travenor glanced around the street. More than the usual number of people lingered in doorways and looked in store windows. One of the men took several surreptitious glances at Lady Phoebe.

Suspicious, Travenor approached her in his coach, slowing as he neared her. Her movement changed, her body tensing as if she was waiting for something to happen.

A damn trap! Furious, Travenor tapped twice on the roof of his carriage with his cane and it resumed its normal speed. He seethed all the way home, his anger escalating. Followed by his groom, Travenor entered the hall of his townhouse, tossed his hat and cane to a footman, before stalking to his study. He slammed the door open. Once he’d poured a glass of brandy and downed it, he scowled. “They must think I’m a bloody fool to fall for a trap like that. I’d be surprised if there was a servant left in St. Eth’s House.”

“What will you do now, my lord?” Figgins asked quietly.

Travenor splashed more brandy in the glass and tossed it off. It was clear whoever put the plan in motion thought Travenor would be easy to catch, but he’d waited a long time for Lady Phoebe and an even longer time to pay back Lord Marcus. Travenor sat in a large dark brown leather chair near the fireplace. He didn’t get this far by being stupid. “Find where they’re getting shackled, and send in a few people to the estate to question the servants. I want to know all the comings and goings.”

Figgins screwed up his face in confusion as he refilled his master’s glass. “When will you try again?”

“When they least expect it.” Travenor drank his third brandy in one long pull. “Get me a woman, and make sure she’s stronger than the last one.”

“Where do you want me to go? That French madam said she’d not give you any more girls. Said you beat the last one too badly.”

Travenor’s groin twitched at the memory of the light-skirt from Madam Désirée’s house, reddish-blond hair and fair skin. Her cries for mercy still made his groin twitch. The only problem was the whore bruised too easily and was slow to recover. He’d had to pay for the days she missed work, and the French bitch wouldn’t let him use the girl again. “Go to Betsy’s. Tell her I want someone who likes it rough—very rough.”

That evening, Phoebe tried to put their failure to catch her assailant out of her mind. Dressed in a simple aubergine silk evening gown, she descended the stairs. Marcus waited in the hall. When she reached the bottom tread, he took her hand, placed a kiss in her palm and closed it. Phoebe smiled. “It won’t be long now. Three more days, and no one will part us, ever again.”

In his gaze was his love for her, the same look she’d seen that day in Bond Street, but hadn’t known what it meant. She vowed no one—not Lord Travenor, or anyone else it might be—would separate her from Marcus.

He wrapped his strong arm around her waist, and she placed one hand on his face, and whispered, “You are everything to me.”

When Phoebe turned around, Hermione and Hester stood stock still, staring at Phoebe and Marcus from the drawing-room doorway.

Aunt Ester, who’d come down the stairs, chuckled. “That, my dears, was how they gazed at each other in Bond Street.”

The twins turned quickly to their aunt, eyes wide.

Hester started to laugh. “I would have had them to church the very day.”

Ester gave a wry grin and narrowed her eyes at Marcus. “Yes, well, that would have been a bit difficult. He would not give me his name.”

Marcus flushed. “If I’d introduced myself, Phoebe might never have had anything to do with me.”

Phoebe drew her brows together. It had only been a matter of weeks since they met in Bond Street. “It seems such a long time ago.”

He twisted his lips as if in pain. “Too long for me, my lady.”

The twins exclaimed that they’d never acted with such abandon and were instantly contradicted by Geoffrey, who’d wandered into the hall with Amabel. “Both of you were just as besotted. We put it down to youth.”

Their brother’s eyes held a mischievous twinkle. “Now
I,
on the other hand, behaved with remarkable propriety.”

Everyone smiled as Amabel’s blush grew, and he was made to retract his remarks.

“At least I didn’t do it in Bond Street,” he grumbled.

At dinner there seemed to be an unspoken decision not to discuss Travenor, which suited Phoebe. She never wanted to think of him again and prayed he’d decided to forget her, as well.

The talk turned to the wedding. Phoebe would have been happier to have been married in a small ceremony, shortly after her return from the manor house. She was impatient to begin life as Marcus’s wife. Finally she’d have a house of her own, an estate to work on with her husband, and eventually children. Everything she’d always wanted. A warm glow of contentment settled over her.

Nothing would mar her happiness. “Marcus, could we make an early start to Charteries in the morning? We’ve so much to do before the wedding, and I’d like to meet with the senior staff.”

He smiled. “As you wish, my love. Shall we take my curricle?”

Phoebe shook her head. “If you don’t object, I would rather we take my traveling coach. We will need it after the wedding for the journey to Newhaven. Your curricle can be brought down later. I usually leave my phaeton in Town.”

After tea, Marcus and Phoebe lingered in the hall, unwilling to part.

“Until morning.” He kissed her hand.

She reached up and lightly brushed her lips against his. “Yes, until morning. When you will take me home.”

The next day, Phoebe and Marcus set out, followed closely by Geoffrey and Amabel in their coach.

When Amabel had first come to live at Cranbourne Place, she’d described her former home in detail to Phoebe. After all this time, she would finally view it for herself. The estate was located midway between London and the coastal village of Newhaven.

Marcus tapped on the ceiling, addressing the driver. “Stop at the next rise.” Turning to Phoebe, he said, “You’ll have a better view of the house and some of the landscaping from there.”

Phoebe stood on the top stair of the carriage and gazed over a lawn, with a lake, to the large rambling fortified house of light gray stone. The wings were canted out, somewhat like a bird’s span, from the main house.

“The original parts of the house date back to the fourteenth century,” Marcus said. “In the last century, the famous landscape designer Capability Brown was responsible for the expansive lawn leading to the large natural lake.”

Phoebe couldn’t wait to see the original wall, moat, and gate. She already loved Charteries, and it would be hers, her home. “Oh, Marcus, it looks like a castle. Like something from a fairy story. What a vastly pretty house.”

“I’ve never thought of Charteries in quite those terms.” He smiled. “I like seeing it through your eyes.”

He put an arm around her. “My grandfather added the Georgian portico. My father made other improvements. We have bathing chambers in the main apartments and many of the older rooms have been enlarged,” he said proudly. “I defy you to find a drafty window or smoking fireplace.” Marcus gave Phoebe a loving look. “I hope you will like it.”

“I already do.”

When they drew up in front of the door, Geoffrey’s coach was not far behind them. Lord and Lady Dunwood were on the steps, as were Marcus’s nieces.

Lady Dunwood came forward as Phoebe alighted from the carriage and hugged her. “Welcome to your new home, my dear. We are all so happy to have you at Charteries.”

“As am I to be here, my lady,” Phoebe said, returning the warm embrace.

Lady Dunwood held Phoebe’s shoulders. “Please, call me Isabel.” She hesitated, flushing. “Perhaps someday you will call me Mamma.”