The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (5 page)

About ten minutes had passed when she heard a soft knock on her door and the low voice she recognized as the gentleman who’d saved them earlier.

“Don’t open the door, my lady. I wanted you to know I’ll be sleeping out here for the remainder of the night. I didn’t want you to be frightened in case I snore.”

Fascinated, Phoebe wondered who it could be. He called her “my lady.” Was she acquainted with him? She walked silently to the door, meaning to thank him, but instead she asked with a slight giggle, “
Do
you snore?”

There was humor in his voice. “I’ve never been told I do, but I think it a distinct possibility. Many men snore, you know.”

Well, she didn’t. After all, there was no reason she would. “Oh, I really hadn’t considered.”

“No, I suppose not. Well, good night.”

Ear against the door, she heard him move to the floor. He really was going to give up a soft bed to sleep on a cold, hard floor, for her. “Won’t the floor be too uncomfortable?”

His voice was low and deep. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

She cast about for something she could do to stop him from making such a sacrifice. “I’m sure the landlord would send someone up.”

“They’re all asleep by now.” He paused and, when he continued, his tone was gruffer. “I’d consider it an honor to be allowed to protect you.”

Phoebe placed her hand on the door and tried to picture the man on the other side of it. His voice washed over her like a warm wave, making her feel safe. That was curious. Usually she was defending herself from men.

How very kind of him. A small niggling in the back of her mind suggested she’d heard his voice somewhere before, but she couldn’t place it. If only he would have asked to be introduced. “I can hand you a blanket or pillow.”

“No,” he said emphatically. “Do not open the door. I would not want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

Her heart beat faster. Not only was he kind, but he was honorable. “Thank you.”

“No, don’t thank me. It is my pleasure, my lady.”

Phoebe smiled. “But I
will
thank you for saving me, and I am honored to have your protection. Are you sure you won’t be too uncomfortable?”

“I’ll tell you if we meet again, my lady, but now, you should try to sleep.”

If
they meet again. Perhaps he was only being nice. “Very well. I bid you a good night.”

“Good night, my lady.”

Phoebe thought about the gentleman sleeping in the hall and wondered who he was. She expected sleep to elude her, but the next thing she knew she awoke to the sounds of carriages and horses being readied and the inn awakening with calls for breakfast, coffee, and ale.

The unknown gentleman came immediately to mind.

Her maid turned from the door with a pitcher of water in her hands.

“Rose, did you see him? The man who protected us last night?”

“You could say that, my lady.” She grinned. “I tripped over him.”

Phoebe was almost breathless with excitement. “Tell me, what did he look like?”

Rose shrugged. “He looked like he sounded. He’s a large man, tall. He has broad shoulders, well set up. Dark hair. Looked to be about thirty or so. Very fashionable attire, though a bit wrinkled this morning.”

Rose set the jug down and took one of Phoebe’s gowns to shake out. “He was very pleasant as well. He apologized for causing me to trip, and said I should let you sleep as you couldn’t leave until after the fight crowd had departed. I asked him to send a maid with water to us, and he did.”

Phoebe’s heart thudded. “Did he tell you his name?”

“No, my lady.”

“Oh.” She felt as if her whole face fell. So disappointing. She hadn’t realized how interested she was in discovering his identity.

A knock on the door heralded Mrs. Ormsby. Wringing her hands in her apron, she wore a worried look on her normally jovial face. “Oh my lady, we’re so sorry. We ain’t never had nothin’ like that happen afore. We run a respectable house here. If it weren’t for that nice gentleman . . . What with the ruckus, we couldn’t hear anything. In any event, he told the ostler, Harry, not to let that young man back in the house, and you may be sure we didn’t. Please don’t take it amiss, my lady.”

Phoebe set about soothing her. “No, indeed, Mrs. Ormsby. I don’t blame you at all.” Phoebe paused and held her breath. “The gentleman who slept outside my door last night, do you know who he was?”

“No, my lady. I’m sorry. He wasn’t stayin’ here.”

Mrs. Ormsby left and Phoebe tried to reconcile herself to not learning her gallant’s name.

After breakfast, she was reading, waiting for the town to empty, when she heard a knock on a door down the hall and the deep voice of the gentleman who had saved her.

She opened her door a small crack, just enough to see the back of a large man dressed in a coat of dark blue superfine, cut to perfection across his broad back. He also wore buckskin breeches, and glossy Hessian boots.

A small quiver ran through her. She quietly closed her door and wished it was proper for her to ask his name.

Finley knocked on Beaumont’s door again, sore and tired, but feeling elated. Marcus had returned to his room at dawn. Now at nearly eight o’clock he returned to the White Horse. After glancing briefly into the taproom to find Robert, Marcus had made his way up to the second floor taking the steps two at a time. He knocked on his friend’s door, once more.

Henley opened it and bowed. “My lord, Lord Beaumont will be down presently. We are having a little difficulty rising this morning. However, I daresay, if you could be patient for ten or so minutes, his lordship will join you in the taproom.”

Marcus heard the click of a door opening down the hall and a tremor slid down his back.
Phoebe
. She was the only one who affected him like that.

Damn, he did not want her to see him yet. He froze in place and forced himself not to turn. “Henley, you may tell your master that I will wait ten minutes, no longer. If we are any later than that, we’ll be so far back in the crowd we shall not be able to see the fight.”

Marcus felt rather than heard Phoebe’s door shut. Letting out a breath he’d not realized he was holding, he turned and went downstairs to wait.

Robert joined him twelve minutes later.

The morning was clear and sunny, promising another warm late summer day. Marcus maneuvered his curricle skillfully through the crowd until they were close enough to the ring, which had been set up in a fallow field.

Matt Vivers, now the Earl of Worthington, and Lord Rutherford, both long time friends of Marcus’s, were also present.

But Marcus may as well not have been there at all for all the attention he paid to the fight. He spent his time trying to decide whether to return to Town or continue on to his sister’s to see what she knew of Phoebe’s plans.

Phoebe
. He’d received so many letters from his family and other mutual friends, Marcus had trouble thinking of her as Lady Phoebe. She must have left Cranbourne Place to avoid him. What a worthless fellow he’d been eight years ago. His lip curled in self-derision. No wonder she’d run. She had no idea how her words had affected him. How he’d striven to become a man worthy of her hand.

His family and friends had warned him that with his fortune, birth, and the potential of inheriting the title, he would be constantly pursued by all the matchmaking mamas. But there was only one lady he wanted. The only woman to have held his interest.

Even after all his years away, her image was still sharp in his mind. An oval face, a straight little nose that escaped the aquiline, and a determined chin. Her grace and beauty had first captured him, but more than anything during his time away, he remembered her intelligence and kindness.

Phoebe had been caring and understanding to everyone. She would help the one young matron who clearly felt uneasy in the august company that weekend and respond, with an uncommon ease of breeding, to the shrewish girl, newly out. Phoebe was the only person who’d reached out to try to understand him. He’d felt such a connection between them, and then he’d ruined it by getting drunk and treating her like a trollop.

He remembered the exact moment when the compassion in her lovely blue eyes had turned to mistrust, fear, and then anger. His hand had touched her breast. Marcus groaned. She would never set her cap at him, and, based on her escape, he’d have a devil of a time getting close to her.

Still, he would not rest until he had convinced her he’d changed. He couldn’t live his life without her as his wife. He would go to his sister’s and discover what she knew of Phoebe’s flight to London. Perhaps it would give him some clue as to how to approach her without getting a black eye or bloody nose in the process.

Chapter Four

M
arcus arrived at Cranbourne Place late on the day of the fight. As he jumped down from his curricle, Amabel, his sister, appeared at the door, clearly delighted to see him. She was as fair as he was dark.

She wore a gauzy white day gown that seemed to float around her as she gracefully descended the stairs of the portico and held out her hands in greeting. They’d exchanged letters and portraits over the years, but the last time he’d seen her she’d still been in the schoolroom and wore braids down her back.

“Marcus, do please come in. I am so glad you are here. How have you been? You are not too tired, are you? Do you wish to rest? But no, you have too much energy. You must tell me everything.”

He chuckled. “What a goosecap you are, Amabel. I suppose I can’t muss your hair now that you wear it in such a fashionable style. I’ll tell you everything as soon as you give me a cup of tea, and we may be comfortable.”

She tucked her arm in his and led him into the house. A large man stood in the entrance. Geoffrey, Earl of Cranbourne, his brother-in-law, was easily as tall as Marcus, in his mid-thirties, and dressed for the country in buckskin breeches, a loose shirt, waistcoat and hunting jacket.

From under lowered brows, the earl gave Marcus a hard look. “Lord Marcus, welcome. I am pleased to finally meet you. You may come with me, sir. We need to discuss the reason my sister found it necessary to leave her home rather than meet you.”

Marcus regarded his brother-in-law for a few moments, before saying to his sister, “Amabel, please excuse us. Cranbourne is right, I do need to explain. Better to have it done.”

Marcus bent down to give her a peck on the cheek, and followed his brother-in-law to the study.

Cranbourne sat behind his large walnut desk and motioned Marcus to a chair on the other side. They spent a few moments taking each other’s measure, while Cranbourne’s butler served tea.

Once alone, Marcus broke the silence. “What has Lady Phoebe told you?”

“Phoebe has told me nothing other than she does not wish to meet you. If you are granted the opportunity to know her better, you’ll find she keeps her own counsel.”

Cranbourne gave Marcus an unfriendly stare. “I would hear from you, sir, without any roundaboutation, what happened between you.”

They locked eyes. If Phoebe fled because of him, her brother deserved to know the truth.

“I do not attempt to excuse my behavior. It was inexcusable. I was young, just on the Town, immature, thoughtless, and reckless. There were few vices in which I did not indulge. Not quite a Peep o’ Day Boy but very close. Too close for my father, which is the reason I was banished.”

Marcus glanced away. This was harder than he’d imagined it would be. “I thought that anything or anyone was mine for the taking. Lady Phoebe and I were at the same house party eight years ago, not long before I was to set sail to the West Indies. I was in the drawing room when I first saw her enter with your mother and sisters.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “To say I was stunned by her would be a gross understatement. I felt as if I was seeing a vision. Her beauty jolted me as I’d never been jolted before or after.”

Thinking back, reliving the moment, his tone became soft and wistful. “I’d never seen anyone as lovely, as assured, with as much countenance and kindness.” Marcus paused and continued more briskly, “In my arrogance and stupidity, I thought I could lift my finger, and impress her enough that she would, if I desired it, be mine.”

He gazed at Cranbourne, whose countenance had hardened.

Marcus’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “You, I expect, will be amazed to discover that she was not at all impressed with me as a drunken lout.”

His brother-in-law’s expression hadn’t changed and he motioned Marcus to carry on.

Taking a sip of tea, he cleared his suddenly aching throat. He’d relived that weekend, that day, so many times over the years. If only he had behaved differently.

“In the end, I behaved badly. I failed my family, again, but more importantly I failed Lady Phoebe. A woman I respected and adored.”

“What exactly did you do to my sister?”

Firming his jaw, Marcus met Cranbourne’s gaze. “I waited until she was alone in the gallery—by then I knew she wasn’t out, and that it would be infamous to approach her, but I revealed myself as she tried to walk past. I caught her around the waist and tried to kiss her. What I didn’t know was that she’d been trained to defend herself.”

Marcus finished the cup, placing it on a table. “She broke my hold, and delivered one of the most punishing rights I have ever had the privilege to receive. Once I was sprawled on the floor, she used me to sharpen her tongue.”