The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (23 page)

Phoebe glanced at him shyly. “No one has ever called me ‘their delight’ before.”

Marcus wanted to crow, but tamped down his happiness and kissed her palm before closing her fingers.

He would ask her this evening. “Until tonight.”

Phoebe dressed with care, wearing a new gown of rich brown with tiny translucent sleeves. The bodice, of pleated chiffon, formed a low neckline that framed the swell of her breasts. The heavier silk of the gown skimmed her figure. Her hair was dressed high in a tumble of curls, some of which were allowed to caress her shoulders. Pearl and amethyst drops adorned her ears, and a matching necklace encircled her throat. Rose draped a Norwich shawl over Phoebe’s shoulders. An ornately carved fan and reticule completed her ensemble.

Marcus was in the parlor drawing room with Uncle Henry when Phoebe entered the room. She knew she looked well and was gratified to see the desire in Marcus’s face as he watched her.

Phoebe walked toward him, smiling. For a moment their eyes caught. She almost forgot to greet her uncle first.

“Phoebe, my dear niece. I have never seen you in better looks.”

“Thank you, Uncle Henry.”

She raised her eyes to Marcus’s, and her breath stopped at the look on his face. It was the same look he’d had when he kissed her.

Marcus took her hands and lifted one to his lips. “You are a
Vision,
” he said, reminding her of the image he’d kept of her.

Henry cleared his throat.

Phoebe glanced around. “Oh dear . . .”

Both her aunt and uncle were staring at Marcus and her. “Good evening, Aunt Ester.”

“Lady St. Eth, good evening.” Marcus bowed.

Uncle Henry offered them sherry as the couples sat on the two love seats flanking the fireplace.

“Marcus, you must try this sherry,” St. Eth said. “It is the best I’ve ever had.”

Marcus took a sip and promptly agreed. “Sir, where did you find this? It is remarkable.”

Henry smiled provocatively. “I’ve told Phoebe I will give some to her when she sets up her own house. However, Lady St. Eth tells me I’d do better to give it to her as a wedding present.”

Phoebe gasped. How could he say that, when Marcus hadn’t even offered for her?

Marcus regarded Henry, a grin dawning. “I daresay, sir, it would make a perfect wedding present. Do you think Lady Phoebe would insist on it being settled on her?”

Henry chuckled. “I wouldn’t doubt it at all.”

She glanced at her aunt, who had a perfectly benign look on her face, as if nothing untoward had been said. Was Phoebe the only one to think this conversation was strange?

Uncle Henry assisted Aunt Ester into the carriage and said, “Lord Marcus, I believe Lady Phoebe would rather walk. Wouldn’t you, my dear? We will meet you at the Billingleys’.”

She didn’t know what to make of her uncle’s deliberate action to allow Marcus and her time alone. In fact, both her aunt and uncle were behaving very strangely.

But Marcus started talking to her. As they strolled, they conversed in soft voices; Phoebe came to realize that she and Marcus were never at loss for conversation. They had so many common areas of interest and were both curious about so many different subjects, the time passed all too quickly.

As they drew even with the St. Eth’s carriage, which was very slowly moving up the queue to the door, Uncle Henry called to his coachman to stop. He climbed down and assisted Aunt Ester to descend.

Once their party entered the receiving line together, Marcus silently thanked St. Eth. Nothing could have made it clearer to those present, that Marcus’s courtship had St. Eth’s blessing.

“I see Miss Marsh and Rutherford,” Phoebe said.

Marcus firmly entwined his arm with hers, and headed toward their friends.

Phoebe engaged Miss Marsh, and they were soon deep in conversation.

As Rutherford stood with Miss Marsh, her hand on his arm, Rutherford’s hand over hers, Marcus looked his question.

“As you see,” Rutherford said.

Marcus grinned. “I wish you good luck. Have you seen Travenor?”

“No, and I don’t wish to see him,” his friend replied. “There is something very smoky about his manner. The other evening, I had the feeling Travenor wasn’t who he presents himself to be.”

Marcus responded, keeping his voice low, “He’s not. I’ve received some information concerning his background, and I’m convinced he poses a danger to Phoebe.”

“I agree.” Rutherford nodded. “The man bears watching. Other than that, I don’t know what else you can do. Speaking of Phoebe, I saw you arrived with the St. Eths. When may I expect to see an announcement?”

Marcus lowered his voice, again, so that it was barely above a whisper. “As soon as I convince her.”

Rutherford’s eyes lit with laughter. “More than willing to help you become a tenant for life. The conservatory here is considered to be quite a remarkable specimen.”

Marcus acknowledged the hint, glad for the help. “Indeed? I’ll have to visit it.”

The strains of the violins began and he turned to Phoebe and asked if she would care to dance.

Marcus held her closer and more firmly than ever before, and she did not pull away, only stared at him intently. Their connection seemed to deepen and flare just that much more than the last time. He led them easily through the turns, holding her even nearer. His thigh touched hers and she trembled. Desire blazed in him, his muscles hardened and his blood heated.

Dragging her off the dance floor was out of the question. Talking might distract him. “It looks as though Rutherford means to offer for Miss Marsh.”

Phoebe looked away, and it took her a moment to respond. “Yes, I had the same impression. Did he say anything to you?”

“Not in so many words. His actions made his intention clear.”

“It would be a good match.” Her tone was noncommittal, and she still wasn’t looking at him.

Something was wrong. “At first, I thought he was dangling after you. That wasn’t the case, was it? Do you think he had Miss Marsh in mind all along?”

Phoebe finally glanced at him. “How very perceptive you are. Other than during my first Season, when it seemed to be the fashion to fall in love with me,” she said with self-deprecating asperity, “I believe you’re right. Their families are very close, and they have known each other forever. Their lands march along one another’s. I don’t understand why he has waited so long.”

Marcus shrugged. He could guess but would say nothing to Phoebe. Rutherford needed to marry for the same reasons he did, but had been able to put it off as long as his mother thought he was interested in Phoebe. Since Marcus had shown his attentions so clearly, and Phoebe seemed to assent, Rutherford’s mother, in addition to blaming him for not fixing his attentions sooner, began to tax him again to find a wife.

However, Marcus would not tell Phoebe. She, for some reason, had not realized how much as a couple she behaved with him. He would ask for her hand soon. He just wished he knew what Phoebe’s answer would be.

Phoebe’s sisters arrived about an hour after the St. Eths. Hester kept an eye out for Phoebe as she and Hermione ambled around the room, greeting their friends and acquaintances. Caldecott and Fairport joined Uncle Henry in conversation with some other gentlemen.

Ester smiled fondly at the twins as they joined her. Hester sat next to their aunt and Hermione took a chair next to the sofa.

“Aunt Ester, I have never heard such impertinence,” Hester complained. “I don’t know how many people have asked me if Phoebe and Lord Marcus will make a match of it. Of course, I said they would know if, and when, they saw an announcement in the
Morning Post
. I just wish
I
knew the answer.”

“Indeed.” Hermione pursed her lips. “They cannot go around smelling like April and May and not have people notice.”

“Phoebe says she’s still not made up her mind,” said Ester grimly. “I think it more likely she won’t admit it to herself.”

Ester told them about the breakfast that morning and how taken they were with each other this evening. “Something must happen soon. At this rate, they will set the
ton
on their ears.”

Whilst they’d been conversing, a series of country dances had played. When the beginning strands of a waltz were heard, the ladies’ heads turned toward their husbands who immediately came to claim their dances. Coming together, the couples made their way to the set forming.

Marcus and Phoebe twirled down the floor as if in their own world.

“Look at them,” Hester said to John. “They’re hopeless. We need a betrothal, sooner rather than later, or there will be a scandal. Any ideas would be helpful.”

After the supper dance, the couples made their way down the stairs. Determined not to say anything to Phoebe, Hester joined the lovers in the supper room. The ladies made gay conversation whilst the gentlemen fetched their refreshments.

The men were not so reticent. Marcus, sensing the mood, decided to steal the march on them. “I wish one of you will tell me if Phoebe has made up her mind. I don’t know how much longer this can continue.”

“Not much longer, I can tell you that.” Fairport frowned. “We had every gossip in the room asking when they would see an announcement.”

“Or trying to discover if there would be one,” John added.

St. Eth shook his head. “If it were anyone but Phoebe, we would know her answer.”

“I am open to any ideas to help her make her decision,” Marcus said in exasperation.

“Let us think about it,” St. Eth said thoughtfully. “We should be able to come up with at least one idea.”

John grinned. “The conservatory.”

Marcus turned to him. “That shall be my next endeavor.”

As they finished eating, Marcus gently touched her shoulder. “Phoebe, have you seen the conservatory here? I am told it’s remarkable.”

Phoebe smiled. “Yes, it is. Very lovely. Come, I’ll show you.”

The conservatory was large for Town. It had winding paths, a fountain in the middle, and several benches tucked into arbors covered with tropical vines and other flowering plants.

“I have always been fascinated by the conservatory. I’ve never seen it in the evening before. Doesn’t it look like a fairyland now, with the moon shining through?”

Marcus glanced at her. “It definitely looks like a fairyland. Do you know what these plants are?” he asked as they came upon some of the exotic flora he recognized from his travels.

“No, there should be a sign somewhere.” She stooped down.

“No need.” He helped her rise. “I’ll tell you about them.”

Meandering, Marcus led her down a path, pointing out plants and flowers as they walked.

She smiled brightly. “How wonderful. This is almost like an exploration.”

At the end of one path, they came to a deep arbor covered in a sweet-smelling vine. Marcus led her into the arbor. Their eyes met once again. Her gaze dropped to his lips. He placed one long finger under her chin, tilted her head up, touching his mouth gently to hers.

He drew Phoebe closer, deepening the kiss. She opened to him with a soft breathy sigh, and he touched his tongue to hers. She melted into him, reaching her arms up around his neck and bringing her body against his. He groaned, and stroked her back, moving one hand down over her bottom, pulling her flush to him. Phoebe had to love him, to allow him to touch her like this. If she’d just admit it. He cursed himself for hurting her so long ago. If she married him, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Marcus found her nipples already hard and tight and settled in to play. The fabric of her gown tightened across her swelling breasts. He applied more pressure, circling each nipple, encouraging her to arch against him. Her soft gasps and moans were music to his ears. Wanting her to pay attention to the sensations she was feeling, he lightened the kiss.

Phoebe gasped at his heat and the odd throbbing his touch caused between her legs. His hand caressed her as he had that morning. She struggled to keep up as he plundered her mouth. Her breasts ached, waiting for his touch again. Slowly his fingers slid up her sides until they reached her breasts. His thumbs caressed, skirting lightly over her furled nipples.

Phoebe shuddered as fissions of pleasure and desire shot through her.

“No,” Phoebe protested when he removed his hands from her breasts back to her waist. “Leave them there.”
What are you doing,
a part of her screamed
. Now you are encouraging him!

“If I leave them there, I can’t do this.” Marcus cupped her derrière and drew her close.

Phoebe sighed when he pulled her back into the kiss, ignoring her conscience, she asked, “Can’t you do both?”

Marcus gave a low chuckle. “I’ll see what I can do to accommodate you.” Holding her bottom in one hand he palmed one breast with the other. “Better?”

“Umm,” she moaned.

Marcus whispered in her ear, “Phoebe, I want to ask you something.”

Her breath came shorter. She was barely able to pay attention.

“Phoebe . . .”

She heard a light female voice and a deeper male one. “Marcus, someone is coming.”

Quickly moving back, he twined his arm with hers.

Phoebe schooled her face into polite interest. Her body still shimmered with heat and desire. Guilt surged through her. Not only had she become a wanton, she had become abandoned as well, pretending nothing had occurred.

Just before the people came into view, Marcus pointed to a nearby trailing plant. “So you see, Lady Phoebe, that’s the reason they call this the love vine.”

Phoebe choked. Biting her lip, she glanced from the vine back to Marcus and met his eyes. The warm merriment in them almost undid her. She tried to control her voice. “That is very interesting, Lord Marcus. I had no idea you’d become such a botanist during your travels.”

They inclined their heads to the couples who’d appeared on the path as Marcus steered them out of the arbor in the opposite direction as it circled back around to the door.

“Marcus, what we did . . . how I allowed you to touch me . . . Do you think I—I’m becoming a loose—”

He stopped her. “No, never. Nothing you decide to do would lessen my respect for you. Phoebe, haven’t I shown you that?”

Later, she sat next to him in the carriage. Even though no part of him touched her, his heat penetrated her. Her body still thrummed with the feelings he evoked. She needed to think about Marcus and the way he made her feel, but could not concentrate when he was so near her. Who was she fooling? She looked forward to seeing him and enjoyed his company. With what he’d said tonight and before, she should be able to trust him. What was it that held her back?

Chapter Fifteen

T
he next morning turned to rain. Phoebe sat on her window seat, cursing the perversity of the weather, and hoped Marcus would make some excuse to call.

She went down to breakfast and toyed idly with her toast, while her tea grew cold. She wondered when it was that seeing Marcus in the morning had become so important to her existence.

She’d just resolved not to succumb to a fit of the blue devils when she heard the knock on the door and a low male voice. A few minutes later, Ferguson showed Marcus into the breakfast room.

Phoebe rose. Quickly walking toward him, her hands held out, she said, “I wondered if you’d come. I’ve been cursing the weather and oh, feeling so . . .”

“In the dismals?” He met her eyes and returned her smile with a charming one of his own. Marcus took her hands, holding them as Ferguson sent word to the kitchen and stationed a footman just inside the door.

“Yes, just that. Was it the same for you?” She searched his face.

“Exactly the same. I hoped you’d be up. I couldn’t stay away. Not seeing you was making me maggoty-headed.” Marcus’s smile was slow and sensuous. “Besides, who else will serve me tea in the breakfast room?”

“Oh, you odious, odious man. Come get your tea.” She laughed and poured him a cup. What would it be like to do this every morning? Without the footman standing guard, of course. Phoebe peeped over at Marcus, savoring the tea.

“Phoebe,” he said, “this is very good. Is it your own blend?”

It surprised but pleased her that he’d noticed. But then again, she was beginning to realize he was different in so many ways. “Yes, it is. I’m glad you like it.”

They ate their breakfast chatting about nothing and everything.

Uncle Henry entered the room, took his seat, greeting Marcus as if his presence at the table was normal, and asked for coffee. “What a change in the weather. It’s been so fair, I’d forgotten that it is almost November.”

Phoebe glanced at the window, watching rain-drops make paths down the pane. “It can’t be almost November. My birthday comes before then, and it’s not here yet.”

Uncle Henry’s voice was teasing. “Of course, how could I have forgotten? When is it?”

That was a good question. She turned to her uncle and stared. “What is the date?”

Uncle Henry rubbed his chin. “The thirteenth.”

Already? “My birthday is this weekend. How could I have forgotten?”

“Phoebe, my dear,” her uncle said, “you’ve become most scatterbrained lately. Would you like to take a small party and go to the manor house in Berkshire?”

“That would be perfect.” She turned to Marcus as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Marcus replied, “Indeed I would, if your uncle will allow it.”

Sitting back, St. Eth grinned. “Delighted to have you join us, my boy.”

Phoebe started to plan. A small party, her family and . . . “Marcus, we could also ask your parents if they’d like to join us, and Hester, Hermione, John, Edwin, and, of course all the children. Uncle Henry, is there anyone else you’d like to invite?”

“No, my dear,” he said. “I think that’ll be enough on such short notice. Ester will want to know our arrangements.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Phoebe held out her hands to Marcus. “It’s so unfair for the weather to have upset our ride. When do we meet again? Do you attend the Moreland ball this evening?”

Marcus smiled at her. “Yes, my delight, I’ll be there.”

“Will you join us?” she asked a little shyly.

“I’d like nothing better.”

“I’ll see you at nine o’clock.” Phoebe took her leave and went in search of her aunt.

St. Eth shook his head. “Come with me.” When they reached his study, he turned to Marcus. “When do you plan to ask her?”

“I tried last night, but we were interrupted.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “We are never alone long enough.”

St. Eth was quiet for a few moments. “I’ll arrange for you to have the time you need this weekend.
Do not
disappoint me.”

Marcus nodded, but his most frequent fear prompted him to ask, “What if she won’t accept me?”

St. Eth raised a brow. “You will just have to be persuasive.”

Ester glanced up as Phoebe entered her parlor.

“Aunt Ester, Uncle Henry suggested we go to the manor house for my birthday. I think it’s a wonderful idea. What do you think?”

Ester had already sent a note to the manor house staff and approved François’s menus for the weekend. “Yes, my dear. I agree. Whom do you wish to invite?”