The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (40 page)

“Sailor’s superstition,” Marcus answered. “If the least scrap of the old appellation remains, it’s dangerous to the ship and crew. Most sailors won’t work on a ship that’s been renamed.”

Her eyes widened, finally understanding what he’d done. “So a ship’s name
is
quite a commitment.”

“Yes.”

Phoebe was stunned. During the entire eight years, he really had wanted to marry her, and he never truly knew if she would even speak to him again. Phoebe smiled and blinked back her tears. “Thank you.”

Marcus tilted her chin up and kissed her. “Phoebe, I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. Though you didn’t know it at the time, my first commitment was changing my life, the second was my ship, the third, our marriage. For the past eight years, and for the rest of my life, you are the only woman I will ever love.”

She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. “And you are the only man I will ever love.”

The old sailor cackled. “This calls for rum.”

Epilogue

P
hoebe’s sisters and aunt arrived at Charteries the first week of July. Aunt Ester informed Uncle Henry that unless he joined her at Charteries, he would have to do without her until after the birth of Phoebe’s child.

Aunt Ester arrived with three traveling coaches, bringing with her all the clothing, furniture, and accoutrements she thought she and Phoebe would need, in addition to several servants so as not to be a burden on the Charteries household.

Phoebe woke up with contractions two weeks later. “Marcus, get my aunt.”

He rolled over, his eyes heavy with sleep. “What are you doing awake.”

She put her hand on her stomach as another contraction came. “Get Aunt Ester, now!”

He jumped up. “Now? The baby’s coming now?”

“Yes. Call for the doctor and midwife as well.”

Marcus tried to light a candle, swore, and tugged the bell pull. Not long afterward, her aunt, sisters, and mother-in-law entered the room.

“Marcus,” Isabel said. “Go wait for the doctor and show him up when he arrives.”

He scowled. “Fine, but I’m coming back up here.”

Aunt Ester and Isabel had everything ready by the time the doctor arrived.

He bowed to Phoebe. “Let’s see how far along you are, my lady.”

After his examination, he said, “Not too much longer.”

That was good. Her sisters gave her sips of water and broth. Once, when Rose entered, Phoebe caught a glimpse of Marcus pacing the corridor. All of a sudden she felt like she was breaking in two and screamed.

Marcus burst into the room.

“Here, my lord,” the doctor said. “You need to wait outside. I’ll call if you’re needed.”

“I’m staying right here,” Marcus growled.

The doctor muttered to himself, something about it not being a good idea, but said nothing more.

Phoebe was glad Marcus was there, holding her hand and trying to soothe her.

Finally, the doctor ordered her to push.

Tears of joy and relief showed in Marcus’s eyes when he took the screaming body of their son from the doctor. He handed the baby to Phoebe, and then promptly fainted.

Aunt Ester regarded Marcus’s recumbent form. “That is the reason husbands should not be allowed in the room during the lying in.”

“Indeed,” Hermione and Hester agreed.

“I wonder if this will be another thing Marcus will decide I should not do again,” Phoebe mused, cuddling the baby.

The ladies looked at her questioningly.

“In order to protect me.”

Isabel glanced down at him. “He always was a difficult child.”

Dear Reader,

When the image of a woman in Regency dress furiously pacing the floor first started playing in my mind, I knew I had to write it down. Lady Phoebe Stanhope arrived fully named, gowned, and with a hero she didn’t want. I didn’t realize at the time of her story, THE SEDUCTION OF LADY PHOEBE, that it would be the beginning of my first series, THE MARRIAGE GAME. Yet as Phoebe and Marcus’s love story developed, it turned out that they had friends whose stories also needed to be told.

When the plot for THE SECRET LIFE OF MISS ANNA MARSH, the second book in the series, which will be published in November 2013, first came to me, I honestly thought it would be a nice story about a young woman who has loved her dead brother’s friend all her life, but is miffed with him for not proposing sooner. Boy was I surprised when I discovered Anna was keeping a secret from everyone, even Phoebe. Anna turns out to be anything but the prim and proper lady she seemed to be. Not only that, but the most interesting characters started to show up.

Anna and Rutherford’s story was actually the third book I wrote. For reasons that will become clear when you get to know him, Robert, Viscount Beaumont, insisted his book be next. Robert tends to be a wee bit autocratic. However in THE TEMPTATION OF LADY SERENA, coming in January 2014, he quickly discovers trying to compromise Serena into marriage and getting her to the altar are not as easy as he thought. I particularly love the Dowager Lady Beaumont, Robert’s grandmother, who helps Serena escape to Paris.

There are at least four more books, in THE MARRIAGE GAME and a second series, currently entitled A SEASON FOR LOVE, underway. I hope you have as much fun reading the books as I had writing them.

A list of the books can be found on my website, www.ellaquinnauthor.com, where you can find excerpts, blurbs, and news. You can also be the first to see covers, get release dates, know about contests, etc., and sign up for my newsletter.

I’d love it if you join me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ EllaQuinnAuthor where I discuss all sorts of things including the trials and tribulations of my characters , and enjoy interacting with my friends. I blog twice a week, always posting an excerpt on Mondays and hosting guest authors on Fridays at www.ellaquinnauthor.wordpress.com, and I’m on Twitter daily at www.twitter.com/EllaQuinnAuthor.

Happy Reading!

Ella Quinn

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Ella Quinn’s
THE SECRET LIFE OF MISS ANNA MARSH,
coming in November 2013!

Prologue

October 23, 1814, London

L
ord Florian Iswell, the fifth son of the Marquis of Wigmore, entered his rooms on Jermyn Street after eating dinner at his club in the convivial company of some old school friends. He spied a sealed letter propped up on the fireplace mantel.

His heart thudded painfully. It had been months since he’d seen his name in that bold scrawl. Gingerly, he reached out his trembling hand. Using two fingers, he plucked the missive up as if merely touching it might harm him, and broke the unadorned seal.

As he read the note, his stomach roiled. He should have never eaten the lobster patties.

My Dear Florian,
Meet me at the Cock and Crow at eleven o’clock this evening. Do not, my friend, be late. We have matters of Great Urgency to discuss.
G
“Envill,” Florian bellowed to his valet, “when did this arrive?”

“About an hour ago, my lord.”

Florian shook the letter. “Why did you not send for me? I’ll barely make the meeting as it is.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I told him you were out. He didn’t say it was urgent.”

Forty-five minutes later, dressed in a shabby brown frieze coat and well-used hat, Florian entered the dingy tap of the Whitecastle inn a few minutes before the appointed time. The pungent smell of unwashed bodies, gin, and ale made him wish he could hold his handkerchief to his nose.

He glanced around the room. A man, indistinguishable from the other patrons, sat in the far corner, nursing an ale. From this distance, he was very like Florian, not much above average height, medium brown hair, and a forgettable face, though in the man’s case, it was a ruse. Florian should have seen about killing Georges long ago.

Trying to maintain a casual appearance, Florian walked to the table and assumed a polite smile. “Georges, how are you?”

The man motioned to the chair opposite him. “I’m glad you could meet with me.”

After so many years in England, Georges’s French accent was almost nonexistent.

“I didn’t know I had a choice,” Florian said, dryly, eying the seat with disgust. Who knew what was on it.

The smile on the other man’s lips didn’t reach his dark eyes. “You did not. I merely thought to be pleasant.”

Florian ordered a tankard of ale and sat. “What’s all this about? I thought we were finished.”

“Yes? Many thought the same,” Georges said. “One must not underestimate the Corsican.”

Sweat broke out on Florian’s forehead. Napoleon? He was in exile on Elba. “I take it some small changes are expected?”

“How perceptive you always are,” Georges said and took a pull of his ale. “Then again, it runs in the family, does it not?”

“You would know.” Florian’s stomach clenched. Between the smells and the unwelcome news, he was starting to feel ill. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

Georges leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We need to bring in some rather large packages. Your part is to contact the sort of people who can be helpful to the endeavor.”

Tightening his lips into a thin line, Florian asked, “Do you have any particular area in mind?”

“We,” Georges said, grinning wickedly, “rather like the cliffs of Dover and further east along the coast.”

Florian nodded. “I can’t go anywhere until the week’s end. I’ll contact you when I return.”

“My dear cousin,” Georges said, his cold gaze bore through Florian. “I knew I could count on you.”

Only because of the mistake he’d once made in trusting the wrong people. “I want this to be over. If I get caught . . . the scandal.”

“You should have thought of that before.” Georges stood. “I shall await word from you.”

“Yes, of course.”

Georges left the tavern. Florian waited a few minutes before quitting the place himself. Bile rose in Florian’s throat. He was to have been done with this. Where to find a smuggling gang? There was only one he knew of he might approach. What if they balked? No, they’d help bring the French spies in, or he’d threaten to expose them to the Home Office. He had too much at stake now to be caught. If his father found out, Florian would be cut off without a penny.

Despite what he’d told Georges, Florian decided to leave for Thanport to-morrow, after he made arrangements to rid himself of his demanding cousin.

Chapter One

October 25, 1814, Marsh House, London

M
iss Anna Marsh was in her parlor reading, when her maid, Lizzy, entered and held out a grubby piece of paper.

“Came from my brother, Kev, this morning,” Lizzy said.

Anna nodded, took the note, and opened it. She perused the contents then closed her eyes. “I’m going to have to find a way to convince Mamma to allow me to remove to Marsh Hill before the Little Season has ended. Though I cannot do anything until after Lady Phoebe’s wedding.”

“That bad, miss?” her maid asked, screwing up her face. “You might have a time of it. I heard Lady Marsh was planning to go to some country house next week.”

Anna sighed. Ever since her brother Harry’s death, Mamma had become difficult. “She probably expects me to go with her.” Anna shrugged. “Well I cannot. Someone has been sniffing around Thanport. I don’t like the sound of it.” Anna rose and walked over to her mahogany writing desk. She opened a drawer. Eschewing the neat stack of elegant pressed paper, she pulled out a piece of the distinctly rougher type. “I’ll write Kev and tell him to lay low until I can get there.”

K
No information exchanged or meetings scheduled until I arrive.
A
She sealed the message and handed it to Lizzy. “Make sure this goes out to-day, even if you have to take it yourself.”

“Yes, miss.”

Anna pinched her upper nose. “I do hope this is not going to make our lives even more complicated.”

“What do you think that other man wants?” Lizzy asked.

“I don’t know.” Anna shook her head. “But I have a feeling whatever it is will do us no good. I’m going to Mamma and try to talk her around. I do wish she and Papa could settle their differences.”

Lizzy nodded. “It does make things a bit more difficult.”

“That it does,” Anna said, smiling grimly.

A few minutes later, she knocked briefly on the door to the morning room in the back of the house, and tripped in only to stop. The gentleman sitting on a chair next to her mother’s chaise rose. Anna curtseyed.

Sebastian, Baron Rutherford, bowed. Anna fought the urge to smile. He was tall and rangy. The cut of his coat molded to his broad shoulders, and his pantaloons clung to his muscular legs. He had hair the color of a hazelnut and impossibly gray eyes. When he was angry, they shone like molten silver. Anna frequently made him angry.