The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (32 page)

Heat rose in her cheeks. “In three days.”

Madame clapped her hands in delight. “Ah, the Lord Marcus loves you very much and cannot wait.
Moi, je comprends
. It is always the way with young men.” Madame shook her head. “Come, you must have your ball gown fitted, and I shall make a drawing of the wedding gown. Do you make
un voyage de noces?
The mademoiselles of the
ton
shall weep with despair.”

Phoebe blushed again as her sisters collapsed in chairs, struggling not to go into whoops. She didn’t know what was so funny about Marcus being the focus of every young lady’s attention and flashed them a quelling glance. “We shall travel to Paris.”

Madame clapped her hands. “I recommend you a very good modiste in Paris. I shall send a letter of introduction.
Bien, allez, milady
.”

Madame sketched quickly while Phoebe stood for her final fitting. When Madame was finished, she showed the drawing to Phoebe and her sisters while an apprentice made the final alterations. The wedding gown Madame had sketched was simplicity itself. It had a high bodice cut low across Phoebe’s bosom in a diaphanous material folded over several times, short sleeves—gathered rather than puffed—decorated with seed pearls, the skirts in a heavy silk with a train.

“Madame, it’s beautiful,” Phoebe said. “Are you sure it will be done in time?”

“Of course, it will be done.
Je le fais.
”

Hermione sat up, glanced at Phoebe, and turned to Madame. “Madame, Lady Phoebe will also need négligées, chemises, and petticoats.”

Madame nodded. “
Oui, milady
, but she should purchase most of them in Paris. The styles of Paris are
trés chic,
and milord will like them very much. I assure you.” Madame turned to Phoebe. “
Milady
, I shall send your ball gown to you in the morning, with the others you ordered, and anything you will need until you reach Paris.”

As Phoebe and her sisters regained Bruton Street, they made surreptitious scans of the area.

Covey, whom Marcus had declared would be with her until the villain was caught, was looking into a window across the street. Jim, St. Eth’s footman, who’d come to her aid during the kidnap attempt, was half-concealed in a doorway a few stores down. Phoebe was careful not to give away that she’d seen them.

As she walked, a sudden frisson of fear ran up her spine. She was being watched. She’d felt the same foreboding after leaving each store, but her adversary remained out of sight. The hunted feeling didn’t lessen, but, finally, there was nothing to do but return to St. Eth House. The sense of being someone’s prey did not abate.

That evening Marcus, Phoebe, and their families attended Lady Worth’s ball. The families entered the ballroom together. After descending the stairs, the couples parted to find their particular friends. Phoebe and Marcus quickly found themselves besieged by well-wishers.

Marcus was unable to keep a smug smile from his face as he was congratulated for having convinced the elusive Lady Phoebe to finally marry. But he sensed Phoebe’s agitation. He tilted his head closer to hers. “My love, what’s wrong?”

Her lips formed a tight smile. “Nothing.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “No, that’s not true. I’d no idea you were such a big catch when we began all this. The arch looks I’m receiving imply I set my cap at you.”

“No one could truly suspect you of being so vulgar. Come with me, my love.” He whisked her through a door, down a hallway, and into a lit parlor. “You’re still upset, what else did you hear?”

Phoebe’s lips turned down. “That the wedding was set so soon because I was afraid you’d escape.”

Marcus drew her into his arms. He wanted to smile, but she’d take it the wrong way. “No one who knows us would think that. Quite the opposite, in fact. You have my permission to tell them you led me a merry chase, for indeed, my love, you did.”

When she gave him a half-hearted smile, he kissed the top of her head. “Where’s my Valiant Lady, and since when do you care what some rude cats say?”

Phoebe sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m right?” Marcus grinned. “I shall store those words in my heart. I’ve been told I won’t hear them much after we’re married.”

She giggled. “Who told you that faradiddle?”

“You think it nonsense? I’ve been forewarned by every married man I know, including your brothers and uncle.” He smiled down at her, happy that her good mood had returned. His Phoebe was normally very even-tempered, but there’d been an underlying tenseness in her since they’d returned to London. He’d put it down to the attack and hoped it wasn’t more than that.

Marcus kissed her softly. “I hear the violins tuning up for a waltz. Are you ready to go back in there and face the maddening horde?”

“Yes.” She lifted her eyes to his. “Thank you.”

He held her in his arms for a few moments longer. “My pleasure, my love.”

They took their places for the dance. Waltzing with her was like entering his own magical world. She relaxed, her deep blue eyes soft.

“Have you realized we are no longer limited to two dances?”

“I have.” Marcus held her tighter as he maneuvered them through the turn. “And woe to the man who tries to capture you for a set this evening. I plan to enjoy our new-found license to indulge.”

She laughed lightly. “You’ve become very greedy, my lord.”

He searched deep into her eyes. “Only with you. I would keep you in my arms forever. Do you mind?”

Phoebe’s breath hitched. “No, not at all. I’ve no wish to stand up with anyone but you.”

As Marcus and Phoebe were leaving the floor after their second waltz, her arm firmly fixed in his, Lord Travenor approached.

“Lady Phoebe, I would like to ask the pleasure of the next waltz. I see you have already danced with Lord Marcus twice.”

Phoebe’s grip tightened on his arm. He’d told her he suspected Travenor of being behind the attack, and, apparently, that had been enough to put her on her guard.

Marcus assumed a politely jaded expression, though his eyes were hard. He straightened and glanced down at his enemy. “Travenor, you are fast becoming a dead bore. Don’t you read the
Morning Post
?” Marcus didn’t wait for an answer. “Lady Phoebe is my affianced-
wife
. She will dance with none but me. Do not approach her again.”

Marcus kept his cold gaze on Lord Travenor’s reddening complexion. All evening, the other man had leered at Phoebe when he thought no one was looking, but Marcus had seen it and glimpsed the baron’s lustful jealousy.

Now, Lord Travenor’s expression showed his malevolent intentions all too clearly.

“Well, it seems I must wish you happy. Lady Phoebe, Lord Marcus.” Travenor bowed and left them, but the anger emanating from him was palpable.

Phoebe smiled delightedly at Marcus. “I quite like having my own knight-errant.”

He gave a brief laugh, but wanted to take Phoebe away from there. Travenor was a scoundrel of the worst sort and Marcus didn’t trust him at all. They soon joined a group of friends, including Lords Rutherford, Huntley, and Worthington, who called for champagne.

Worthington grinned. “I never would have believed I’d see this day, but it seems as if fate has spoken.”

After more well wishes, Marcus found himself next to Rutherford. “I’d like to talk to you about the wedding.”

His friend raised a brow.

“I’d like you to support me,” Marcus said. “My brother will be there as well, if he is able.”

Rutherford’s lips quirked up. “It would be my pleasure. In fact, I wouldn’t miss it.” He glanced at Phoebe. “But tell me. What was wrong with Phoebe earlier?”

Marcus frowned. “Someone started a rumor she set her cap at me. If you hear anyone mention it, I’d take it as a kindness if you’d set them straight and tell them what a devil of a time I had convincing her to marry me.”

Rutherford narrowed his eyes. “With pleasure. One should not say the unassailable Lady Phoebe fell easily.” His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “It would make the rest of us look inept.”

Rage infused Travenor as he watched Lord Marcus walk around with Lady Phoebe on his arm. Lord Marcus,
that spoiled fop,
had all but threatened him—a baron and true man, not a milksop. Lord Marcus treated him as if he were dirt under the great lord’s feet. Lord Marcus might think Lady Phoebe was his, but he’d learn the truth soon enough.

Travenor kept a mild look on his face, but his hatred grew. Perhaps he’d let Lord Marcus have her
after
he was finished with the woman. Soiled goods for his lordship. The idea grew. If Travenor couldn’t marry her, he’d make damn sure Lord Marcus Finley would have a wife who would cringe from his touch.

Travenor smiled. He’d enjoy himself with her ladyship and have his revenge. If he didn’t get her in London, he’d go to where the wedding was being held and take her there. Later, after he’d laid them both to waste, perhaps, he’d just kill them.

Chapter Twenty-one

A
fter riding with Phoebe that morning and breaking his fast with her, Marcus returned to his house to change, then strode back to St. Eth House hoping to find his betrothed alone.

Ferguson bowed him into the house. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning, Ferguson. I’m here to help prepare for the ball. Can you tell me where I might find Lady Phoebe?”

The butler directed Marcus to a parlor in the back of the house, where she was staring at something on a large table.

Catching her up into his arms, he kissed her soundly. “What can I do?”

“How is your handwriting?” she asked promptly.

He wondered why she wanted to know, but replied, “I am held to have an elegant hand.”

She handed him a stack of cards for her aunt’s dinner that evening. “You can start with these.”

His jaw dropped. Playing scribe was not what he had in mind. “That’ll teach me to ask. I thought you’d say there was nothing to do, and you wanted me to ravish you.”

Phoebe laughed musically. “That sounds lovely, but there is always
something
to do on the day of a ball. Be happy it’s not the regular Season. I’d have you moving potted plants.”

Marcus heaved a dramatic sigh. “I take it that after we are married I’ll have to repair to my club on the day of a ball.”

The narrow-eyed look she gave him made him laugh.

“I expect you, my lord, to attend to your business at home on the day of any ball we will hold,” she said tartly.

“Business? Which business is that? The one where I keep you sated and happy?” He gave her his best wolfish look and caressed her from the wispy curls at her neck to her lush derrière.

Phoebe blushed and raised a haughty brow. “My lord, this is bad enough without
you
making it worse.”

He sighed for real this time. Perhaps if they finished quickly, he could have some time alone with her. Sitting at the table, he applied himself diligently to his task. He sharpened his pen with the knife she’d handed him and worked steadily until all the cards for the table were written.

Though he would rather just make love to her, he decided he should discuss the threat Travenor posed to her first. Waiting until she’d stacked the seating cards, he said, “Phoebe, I need to speak with you.”

She glanced up, alarmed. “Is something wrong, my love?”

“I wish to discuss your protection. You know I suspect Travenor of trying to abduct you . . .”

She nodded.

Marcus placed his hands on her small waist, and drew her to him. “The madness I saw in Travenor’s face at the ball last evening concerns me more than before. Promise me you’ll carry both your small pistol and dagger with you.”

Phoebe bit her lip. “I promise. At this point, I am willing to be bait.”

Oh God
. That was the last thing he wanted. Marcus took her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “No, my love, you cannot take the risk. If anything were to happen to you, if he were to hurt you, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

Her voice was strangely calm when she replied, “I know how you feel, my darling. But
I
don’t want to be a target anymore. If someone were after you, what would you do?”

He searched her face and let out a low growl. He’d do the exact same thing she proposed. Yet his mind and his heart rebelled against the idea that she’d place herself in harm’s way. “We can discuss this to-morrow.”

Marcus pulled her roughly against him and wordlessly commanded her to open her lips to him. He poured all his fear and frustration into his kiss as he claimed her mouth, then showed Phoebe a more pleasurable use for the table than writing cards.

Damn it, it was his duty to protect her. He had to convince her to stay safe.

Phoebe saw Marcus standing at the bottom of the stairs staring up at her as she descended. His gaze roved her body and he sucked in a breath. His reaction was everything she’d hoped it would be.

Her ball gown was in a bronze-green silk over a bronze petticoat that was caught just under her breasts with a twisted cord. The skirts of the gown flattered her curves, and the fabric seemed to change colors when she moved. The bodice had tiny transparent sleeves, making her shoulders seem almost bare.