The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (34 page)

Phoebe’s throat hurt a bit and she blinked back tears of happiness. “Thank you, Isabel.”

Lord Dunwood greeted Phoebe, as Isabel welcomed Marcus, Amabel, and Geoffrey.

Isabel led Phoebe up to the door, where Arthur’s daughters waited to be introduced. “Lady Phoebe, may I make you known to Anne and Emily? Children, Lady Phoebe is to marry your uncle Marcus. Come and make your curtseys.”

They were pretty girls of ten and eight, a little taller than usual, with dark brown curls and frank blue eyes the same shade as Marcus’s.

Phoebe held her arms out to them. “Please call me Aunt Phoebe, for I shall be just that in no time at all.”

She was pleased to find that—as with her other nieces and nephews—the girls were drawn to her. Phoebe held them both gently for several moments, whispering encouragement, before taking their hands in hers and entering the large, old marble-and-linen-paneled hall. Anne and Emily chattered excitedly, telling Phoebe all about themselves as they led her into a drawing room.

Marcus watched his betrothed, and his heart ached with love for her.

His mother glanced at him wide-eyed. “How does she do that? I was sure the girls would be shy of her. They don’t meet many new people.”

Marcus shrugged and cast a look at Amabel. “You would know better.”

Amabel shrugged as well. “Marcus, there is no point asking me. I have no idea what magic Phoebe possesses over children.” Amabel pursed her lips. “I can only tell you that Hester’s and Hermione’s broods are besotted with her. Caldecott and Fairport complain Phoebe turns them into heathens. I imagine, when Miles is older, he will be just as bad.”

His sister paused for a moment and gazed into the doorway. “It is a good thing Phoebe does have that effect. Anne and Emily will need it.”

Marcus gave a bark of laughter. “Not if Phoebe turns them into heathens.”

Amabel punched him playfully. “No, it is just that all the children love her so much, they can’t wait to have her attention. They really do behave well for her.”

Marcus reached Phoebe and took her hand. “Come meet my brother.”

Arthur, the Earl of Evesham, lay on a chaise covered by a blanket and propped up by pillows. Marcus cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the knot that had formed upon seeing Arthur’s condition. He had the look of one who had hung on to the very end.

Marcus started to introduce them.

Phoebe interrupted, “Lord Evesham, we’ve met before. I am quite sure my brother-in-law, Fairport, introduced us some years ago. You were at Amabel and Geoffrey’s wedding, though we only spoke a few words there.”

Arthur struggled to sit. “Yes, how could I have forgotten? How have you been, Lady Phoebe?”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move on my account and, please, call me Phoebe. You are to be my brother, after all.”

Arthur, a gentle smile on his face, held out his hand to her.

Phoebe took it and drew him into an embrace. “I am very happy to meet you again. Marcus has told me so much about you. He said you were a very good influence on him.”

Arthur gave a weak laugh, which turned into a coughing fit. Finally, he was able to say, “Not such a good influence that he wasn’t shipped off.”

Phoebe glanced at Marcus. “Yes, but, after all, it was for the best.”

Marcus gripped his brother’s hand. “Arthur, how are you?”

“I am well, stripling. I am well, and I will be as long as I am on earth.”

Arthur motioned Phoebe to a nearby chair. After she’d settled and smoothed her skirts, Phoebe smiled brightly. “Arthur, Marcus told me you are educating the girls beyond what their governess is teaching them.”

“Yes, I am,” Arthur responded. “I’ve had a lot of time to read, and a couple of books written by Bentham came my way. The girls are studying the classics, as well as Latin, Greek, politics, and estate management.”

“I’m impressed. My mother was a great proponent of Bentham, Wollstonecraft, and the Marquis de Condorcet. My sisters and I were all educated in the same fashion.”

Arthur’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “That’s wonderful and very unusual.”

Marcus glanced at Phoebe and then said to his brother, “Phoebe and her sisters were also taught self-defense and the use of arms.”

Arthur’s eyes grew wide. “Is this true?”

“Oh, yes.” She laughed. “Much to my brother’s dismay since we mostly sparred against him. My sisters did so more than I, as they are older, and I had them to practice with as well. Geoffrey taught me some very important boxing moves.”

“Which weapons did you use?”

“We were taught to fight with the short sword. We also learned some boxing, wrestling, and to shoot.” She took Marcus’s hand. “Your brother recently taught me to use a dagger.”

Geoffrey had joined them a few moments earlier. Arthur asked, “How good are your sisters at self-defense?”

Grinning proudly, Geoffrey responded, “Very.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment before saying to Phoebe, “What an interesting idea. I should like the girls to be able to protect themselves, if the need arose. Would you be willing to teach Anne and Emily?”

“Yes, of course. If you allow it, that was my intent. My sisters arrive to-day. We can arrange to have a lesson to-morrow. It will be fun to have all of us here to begin your daughters’ instruction.”

Marcus accompanied Phoebe to the main staircase, amazed at her effortless gift of making others feel at ease in her company. Arthur had been drawn to her, much as his daughters had been, and, for that, Marcus was thankful. His brother would know now that she was the perfect woman to be a mother to Anne and Emily.

Isabel showed Phoebe to the room she would have until the wedding and loaned her the use of Tibbs, Isabel’s dresser, until Phoebe’s maid arrived.

“Before it is dark,” Isabel said, “you must have Marcus show you the gardens. If you’d like, Tibbs will escort you to the small morning room where Marcus can meet you.”

After Phoebe assured Lady Dunwood that above all things she would like to see the gardens, Phoebe was left with the dresser, who brought her wash water and helped her change gowns before leading her to Marcus.

He placed her warm woolen shawl around her shoulders to guard against the cooler air before leading her outside. These gardens, Mr. Brown, the famous landscaper, hadn’t touched, as they appeared very old. A path led from the terrace to a fountain, from which more garden paths guided visitors to different areas and a woodland beyond. The wood’s leaves were already turning to bright yellows and oranges.

She nudged closer to Marcus. “It’s beautiful. I understand now why Amabel loves it so much.”

He smiled contentedly at Phoebe. “Having you here feels right.”

“Yes, for me as well, as if this was always meant to be.”

They walked toward the lake and a Grecian-style structure on the other side of a small bridge came into view. “A folly. May we go in?”

Marcus took her hand in his. “Yes.”

When they reached the octagonal building, she realized it was larger than it first appeared, with views over the lake on one side, and the meadow on the other.

Marcus opened the door and stood aside as she entered.

Two fireplaces flanked the room at opposite ends. It was well furnished with couches, chairs, and a daybed. It was that last piece of furniture upon which her attention focused.

They gazed into each other’s eyes until Phoebe’s eyes dropped to Marcus’s lips. “Dare we?”

“Yes.” He bent his head, touching his lips gently to hers. She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his.

At first, there was no urgency, just peace in being with him. Marcus drew her tongue into his mouth and stroked it with his own. A flair of delight shot through her, and he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the daybed. After laying her on it, he stretched out beside her.

She wanted to make love with him, feel his bare skin against hers, but the room was too cold for them to remove their clothing.

Phoebe broke the kiss and looked to him for direction. He flipped up her skirts, being careful not to crush them, and unfastened the buttons of his pantaloons, releasing his fully engorged shaft. Spreading her legs, he covered her and entered.

Phoebe arched up, urging him on as he burrowed deeply within, then almost left her. The tension in her body rose higher with each stroke. Soon she was sobbing and trying to grab his hips to move him faster and deeper as she wrapped her legs around him. “Marcus, Marcus, please . . .” she cried out as she exploded into ecstasy.

“Phoebe, my love.” After his release, he slumped beside her.

Holding her close, he pulled her shawl around them. That, and the heat from his body, kept her warm.

“Phoebe,” he asked, “where is your chamber?”

“In the west wing.”

“Where in the west wing?”

When she’d told him, he was so silent, she became concerned. “What is it?”

“You are housed as far away from me as is possible,” he said ruefully, “and surrounded by everyone else.”

Phoebe came up on one arm and gazed down at him. “They did it on purpose, didn’t they?”

He pulled her to him. “They must have. I wonder how closely we’ll be watched.”

She sunk against him and groaned. “Two more days before the wedding. Perhaps we can slip out here again.”

“We can certainly try. We’d best return before someone comes looking.”

By the time they’d returned to the house, the rest of her family had arrived. Greeting them, they discovered her sisters’ rooms were between her room and the upper hall to Marcus’s apartments. They’d be watching Phoebe like Gorgons at the gate.

Phoebe exchanged a disgusted glance with him. The chance that she’d succeed in making it to his chamber and back again without notice had just decreased significantly.

The sun was sinking low in the sky when everyone retired to change for dinner.

Marcus escorted Phoebe to the hall. Her sisters lingered, talking outside of one of their rooms.

Marcus whispered, “Meet me in the drawing room early?”

Phoebe sighed. “It will be our only time alone together. Our friends will arrive in the morning, and the rest of the guests who are staying overnight are expected later in the afternoon.”

Marcus grimaced. “We may well have to resign ourselves to abstinence until we are married.”

Not if she had anything to say about it.

Covey was in Marcus’s room as he entered his chamber to change for dinner.

“Well?” Marcus asked.

“There’s been some strangers in the village askin’ about work hereabouts.”

Marcus frowned. “Men or women?”

“A couple o’men and female.” Covey scratched the side of his face. “Talk like Londoners.”

“I don’t like it,” Marcus said. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Chapter Twenty-three

P
hoebe spent a comfortable, if lonely, night in the pretty room she had been given and arose early the next morning. Rose hummed as she laid out her mistress’s clothes.

Phoebe threw open the bed hangings and grabbed her wrapper. “How do you like it here?”

Rose grinned. “Tibbs, her ladyship’s dresser, gave me a tour of the house and grounds, and I met the other senior staff. They seemed well trained. I think we’ll be very happy here, my lady.”

Phoebe padded to the washstand and made her ablutions. “Since you were shown around the house, can you give me directions to the breakfast room?”

“I was told the family will still eat in the small breakfast room.” Rose shook out Phoebe’s gown. “You go down the stairs and then take the corridor on the right until you reach another one. . . .”

Phoebe found Marcus outside the door.

Taking her arm, he said, “I couldn’t let you become lost.”

She smiled. “I think I was in danger of doing so. I understand there are many twists and turns.”

After going down two corridors toward the back of the house, they entered a bright yellow breakfast room, which overlooked the rose garden. Marcus led her to the polished cherry table. A corresponding sideboard was crammed with silver serving dishes. When the footman placed a pot of coffee on the table, she glanced around, but there was no corresponding tea-pot.

Phoebe wrinkled her nose, and Marcus grimaced. He
had
told her of his father’s penchant for coffee over tea. The lack of tea in the morning was one of the chief things Marcus disliked about Dunwood House. At St. Eth House, Marcus could enjoy breakfast tea with her, but now? Humph. If they were to be happy at Charteries, this must change.

Phoebe decided to go on as she meant to do. After all, Lady Dunwood had said she would hand over the household to Phoebe.

Summoning the footman, Phoebe said, “Please have a pot of tea brought immediately.”

She’d made her selections from the sideboard and turned back to the table only to find the footman rooted in the same spot, mouth agape.

Phoebe glanced at Marcus, who sat back in his chair, eyes sparkling as if he was prepared to be entertained.

She smiled politely at the footman. Coffee had been the only beverage his father allowed served in the family breakfast room for as long as Marcus could remember. “What is your name?”