Unbefitting a Lady (12 page)

‘For starters, are you sure he’s just a groom?’ Webster shifted
his position in the chair and sipped from his glass. ‘Something doesn’t strike
me right about that. What do you know about him?’

Sir Nathan shrugged. ‘He was in Buxton at the horse auction
along with everyone else. But he’s not from around here. That’s not a Derbyshire
accent he’s carrying.’

Webster shook his head. ‘How many grooms do you know with such
high-class tones?’

Sir Nathan warmed to the idea. Not only would it be revenge
against the Montagues but it would satisfy his personal need to bring
Basingstoke down a peg. ‘Do you think we have an impostor in our midst?’ Webster
could always ferret out a fraud. It was one of the traits Sir Nathan admired
about him.

‘Couldn’t hurt to make an enquiry or two,’ Webster mused.
‘We’ll rough him up regardless. But it would be nice if we knew who we were
beating up.’

Sir Nathan gave a harsh laugh. ‘Damn, but you’re a cold fellow,
Hugh.’

Webster raised his glass in response.

Sir Nathan took a hearty swallow of brandy, one of the few
pleasures he could still afford. If he didn’t resolve his finances quickly, his
French brandy drinking days would soon be over. He broached the second item he
wanted to discuss with Webster.

‘I’ve been thinking I have picked the wrong Montague in the
past.’ Sir Nathan clasped his hands over his beefy stomach where it was starting
to strain against his waistcoat. Too much ale, his housekeeper told him, but the
welcoming ladies at Mrs Taylor’s Gentlemen’s Parlour in Buxton assured him they
preferred a heartily built man.

They both knew Sir Nathan had tried unsuccessfully to interest
Lady Claire, Rothermere’s young half-sister, in a proposal last autumn. She’d
gone as far as inviting him to dinner and he’d invited her to the assembly at
Buxton, but ultimately, she’d preferred the company of Rothermere’s French chef.
Then there’d been the debacle with the duke’s shrewish daughter Katherine. That
chit had had no excuse to refuse him. She was ruined and everyone knew it. She’d
been lucky to receive his attentions. But she, too, had snubbed him, opting to
marry a black man. An ex-slave at that! Her rejection still stung
particularly.

‘You can’t mean to marry Giles.’ Webster laughed at his crude
joke, his eyes gleaming with evil excitement. ‘And you know Alicia is mine.’

‘Yes, you’ve made that clear.’ Nathan dismissed the notion
hastily. ‘I’m not interested in her anyway, a widow with a brat clinging to her.
She’s not my taste, too delicate by far. She’d probably break after a good
ploughing. I don’t know what you see in her.’ Webster had visited her twice in
as many days this week.

Webster smiled faintly. ‘The keys to the kingdom, my
friend.’

‘Unrelinquished keys, don’t forget. Giles won’t go easily. He
means to be the duke, not spend his life working for that little tyke of hers,’
Nathan scolded. Webster was playing a deep game there, gambling on marrying into
the ducal family through Alicia’s claim, a claim Giles Montague had not
officially acknowledged. Nathan preferred a more direct game himself.

‘That leaves Phaedra, you old devil,’ Webster said with a
grin.

‘Phaedra. She’s my kind of game,’ Sir Nathan confirmed, rubbing
his hands together with glee. ‘Giles would hate it.’

‘He wouldn’t be the only one. So would Basingstoke.’ Webster
hung his bit of news out there like a carrot. So this was what he’d come to
share. Well, it was about time. They’d talked around the juicy titbit now for
the better part of a half-hour.

‘All right, I’ll bite. Tell me why Basingstoke would care who
she marries? He’ll be gone by summer.’ Sir Nathan stretched out his legs on the
fender of the fireplace ready for a naughty story.

‘Basingstoke’s hot for her.’

‘Well, that’s a given. A saucier derriere in breeches I have
yet to see. Makes the rest of her tolerable.’ Phaedra was all spit and fire. Sir
Nathan shifted in his chair to dislodge the growing bulge in his trousers. He
was already imagining the games he could play with her, ropes and whip at the
ready.

‘Listen.’ Webster set aside his glass and leaned forward, hands
on his thighs. ‘She and Basingstoke went swimming today, out to that little
island, you know the one. I caught sight of their horses on my way home from
Alicia’s.’ Hugh Webster winked. ‘They left their clothes on the shore.’

Hot images of Phaedra Montague rose in Sir Nathan’s mind, along
with jealousy. How dare that scrapper of a groom take such liberties...how dare
she
? But he knew how she dared. She was as
hot-blooded as they came, she probably couldn’t help herself.

‘Better yet,’ Webster was saying, ‘there was smoke coming from
the island. They stayed long enough to build a fire.’

He didn’t need to explain the implications. If they’d stayed
long enough to build a fire, they’d stayed long enough to engage in other
activities too. Nathan’s mind was running rife with what those activities might
be. Marrying Phaedra would provide a perfect way to strike back at Basingstoke
for the public humiliation he’d meted out in Buxton and to get back at the
Montagues and their high-handed rejections of his very decent offers of
marriage. At the least, maybe he could use this to steal her colt from her,
perfect retribution for the humiliation of outbidding him in Buxton.

There was still the issue of acceptance. He had to ensure
Phaedra took his offer. The invitation for the ball at Castonbury that had
arrived in the afternoon would be an ideal opportunity to make his intentions
known.

‘It looks like we have the perfect
ménage-à-trois
: revenge, blackmail and a wife in the bargain.’ Sir
Nathan rose. ‘Let’s go down to the village and celebrate. Must celebrate while
we can, you and I won’t be bachelors for ever.’

Chapter Twelve

S
he was going to have illicit sex with Bram
Basingstoke. Phaedra climbed the steps to Bram’s rooms over the stable, humming
a little tune under her breath. If today’s events had proven anything to her it
was that she could not wait for ever. The threat of discovery had not deterred
her. In fact, it had heightened her need to act. Exposure meant Bram would
leave, either under his own free will or be forced to it by Giles’s sense of
honour and Aunt Wilhelmina’s attempts to hush up the incident.

She might have come anyway, Phaedra reasoned. The lake had been
too much temptation and she’d wanted to even before then. The moment he’d made
his proposition, she’d thought of nothing else. Phaedra smiled to herself. Bram
had probably known she’d accept. He just didn’t know when. That part would be
her surprise.

Light peeped out from under Bram’s door at the top of the
stairs. She’d thought of this moment all through dinner, letting talk of Aunt
Wilhelmina’s party roll over her without effect. Let them talk about marrying
her off. Tonight she didn’t care. Tonight she’d have her fun.

Phaedra smoothed her skirts one last time. She’d dressed
carefully too, selecting a simple evening gown of blue sarcenet that would
easily come off. She raised her hand to knock.

‘Come.’

She pushed open the door and stepped inside, shutting it firmly
behind her. Bram sat at a small table acting as a makeshift desk, dressed in
breeches and a shirt open at the neck. He was writing, his tanned forearms
exposed beneath his rolled sleeves. It was a sexy scene and it held Phaedra’s
attention. Bram Basingstoke was literate.

She should have guessed sooner. He’d made that joke about
windmills at the lake but she’d been too caught up in the issue of discovery to
take note of what it might signify.

He looked up, his surprise genuine. ‘Phaedra, what are you
doing here?’

She smiled, pleased she’d caught him off guard for once. All
too often it was the other way around. Phaedra put a hand to the loosely
arranged curls atop her head in the French style, pulled a pin and let her hair
fall. ‘I have come to accept your invitation to sin.’ Seconds later she was
treated to the rare sight of Bram Basingstoke rendered speechless.

* * *

His mouth went dry, his body went hard at the sight of
those wild honey tresses cascading over Phaedra’s shoulders like a waterfall in
motion. Was there anything so lovely as Phaedra Montague offering to be his? God
knew he wanted her, consequences be damned. After the lake today, he’d not
thought she’d come. He should have known better. He could see now he’d misjudged
her. Nothing would deter Phaedra if she wanted something.

He rose and went to her, letting a slow smile spread across his
face. ‘I’m glad.’ He took her mouth in a lingering kiss, tasting the sweet
remnants of wine, savouring what it meant: she’d come to him straight away. She
had not dithered and worried over her decision. She’d known what she wanted
without hesitation. He liked a lover who seized what she wanted.

‘Why tonight, Phaedra?’ he whispered, moving his attentions to
the curved shell of her ear. She might not have hesitated but he didn’t want her
coming as a reaction to something else. He didn’t want her driven here because
of a quarrel with Giles, or pressure from Aunt Willy, as he liked to think of
the aunt he had yet to meet and probably never would. ‘It’s not because of
today, is it?’ Bram feathered a breath past her ear.

‘Of course it is.’ Phaedra’s own breath hitched in response.
‘How could you tease me with such pleasure and think I wouldn’t want to claim
all of it?’

Bram laughed. Good. That was the only reason he wanted her in
his arms, the pursuit of pleasure. Her arms were around his neck, her body
pressed to his as if to demonstrate her point. He kissed her again, his hands
buried in her hair, his nose taking in the apple-cinnamon scent of her, his
arousal growing.

He pushed at the delicate puffed sleeves of her gown, moving
them down over her shoulders. ‘You chose well,’ he murmured against her neck,
feeling the excited race of her pulse beneath his lips. The bodice gave easily
and it was the matter of two well-placed gyrations from Phaedra’s hips and the
gown fell to her feet.

The thin cambric of the petticoat with its white-on-white
embroidery was an aphrodisiac in itself. ‘You’re a veritable angel.’ Bram could
hear the huskiness in his own voice. The lamplight teased, bathing the fabric in
transparency. He could see the tantalising outline of pink nipples beneath the
square-cut bodice of the undergarment, the dark shadow of wild honey curls
between her thighs beneath the thin skirt.

He spun her around in his arms, dancing with her like they had
danced on the beach until they reached the cot. He laid her back on the narrow
bed. ‘Maybe not an angel, maybe Sleeping Beauty.’ He smiled down at her with her
hair spilling across his pillow.

She laughed up at him and scolded, ‘There will be no sleeping
tonight.’

Bram stepped back from the bed, his eyes never leaving hers.
‘Watch me, Phaedra.’ He stripped for her then, pulling his shirt over his head
and tossing it to the room’s one chair. He pulled off his boots, noticing her
gaze travel the length of his thighs. He revelled in her perusal. His Phaedra
was bold.

He rested his hands at the waistband of his breeches. ‘Are you
sure?’ He had to ask one last time, prodded to it by his rusty conscience. He
hoped she was.

She grinned. ‘I’ve seen it before.’

‘But you’ll be meeting him in truth tonight,’ Bram said gently.
He wanted her to understand tonight would be different than the encounter at the
lake. That had been spontaneous and unplanned. This would be deliberate and the
results would be for ever. They’d been playing at the lake.

She reached for him, pulling him down to her. Her eyes danced
with mischief but she was serious. She knew exactly what she was doing. ‘I know,
Bram. I want you.’ She let him go.

The words were a heady ambrosia. Bram felt his need ratchet up
another level. He slipped off his breeches and knew a moment’s pleasure as
Phaedra’s eyes roamed his body as they had at the lake.

‘I didn’t know a man could be so...so...beautiful,’ Phaedra
said appreciatively, looking her fill before he slid onto the cot beside her.
She ran a hand down the expanse of his chest, coming to rest on his soft tip.
She rubbed her thumb across it. She reached lower and squeezed lightly. Bram
sucked in his breath. Untutored or not, Phaedra instinctively knew how to touch
a man. ‘You like that,’ Phaedra said.

Bram decided to reassert his authority. If she kept this up,
they wouldn’t get much further and he’d be spent. ‘It’s the equivalent of what I
can do to you.’ To demonstrate, he took her breast in one hand and stroked the
rosy tip beneath the fabric until it pebbled beneath his thumb. Phaedra’s breath
came on a sharp intake, signaling her pleasure.

‘Bram?’ Her voice was shaky.

‘Hmm?’

‘It’s time for this petticoat to go.’

He couldn’t agree more.

At last they were naked, together, skin against skin, and Bram
revelled in it. He took her breasts in his mouth by turn, sucking and nipping,
Phaedra arching against him with a moan, her own pleasure mounting. He moved his
worship lower, blowing softly into her navel, holding her firmly by the hips as
she pressed against him. Then he was at the apex of her thighs, the scent of her
indicating her readiness.

Bram kissed her damp curls, foreshadowing what was to come.
Phaedra was not shy, she opened for him, and he took her gently with his mouth,
his tongue bringing her to the brink. Her hands fisted in his hair, her body a
riot of sensations as she shattered beneath him, her breath coming hard and fast
in the aftermath. She was ready for him, ready for more. His body was not
inclined to wait any longer. The exquisite agony of foreplay had heightened his
senses beyond all logic.

Bram moved over her, covering her with his length, his dark
hair falling forward in his face, giving him the look of a Celtic warrior of
old, wild and primal and possessive. Oh, how she wanted to be possessed! Her
body was primed for it, driven to matchless lengths of pleasure by all that had
gone before. He probed for her entrance as he settled between her thighs. Her
legs bent, her hips lifted towards him invitingly, her body intuitively knowing
how they would fit together in this most intimate of joinings.

He entered her with a swift thrust, meeting with little
resistance. He stilled within her, letting her body adjust. She felt herself
stretch, felt him push forward, felt herself take the whole of him. Was there
anything more divine than this feeling right now?

There was. Bram moved back and then forward, establishing a
rocking motion. She found the rhythm and joined him, creating a heady friction
that mounted with each thrust. They were climbing, careening towards an unseen
peak. Bram’s breathing came hard and fast, her own came in unmitigated gasps. If
they could go a little harder, a little faster, they would reach the great
unknown. And they did. Just when she thought they could do no more, something
deep at her core fractured, shattered into a brilliant release. Bram collapsed
against her, his own release achieved in a final, powerful thrust.

She was spent, absolutely spent. She wanted to sleep, Phaedra
thought drowsily. Beside her, Bram rose. Where he found the energy for movement
was beyond her. Everything that had happened tonight was beyond her. She hadn’t
known, she’d leave it at that. The simple phrase said it all.

The lamp had burned out long ago. In the dark of the room she
could see the outline of Bram’s form as he splashed water into a basin. She
heard the clank of an ewer being set down and the wringing of a cloth.

Bram returned to the bed and pressed the cloth between her
legs. She jumped a little, slightly self-conscious now that the heat of their
intimacy had passed.

‘I’m sorry it’s not warmer, still, it will do.’ A skilled lover
and a considerate one, Phaedra thought, looking up into Bram’s face.

‘What was that? At the end?’ Phaedra ventured.

In the dark she could see him smile. ‘
Le
petit mort
, the little death.’

Bram set aside the cloth and lay down beside her, wrapping his
arms about her for warmth. ‘Every culture has its own name for it. It refers to
the release that comes with completion.’ Bram played with her hair. ‘The
Egyptians felt that part of a woman’s life force was expended in
intercourse.’

‘I feel boneless enough right now to believe it.’ Phaedra
laughed softly. ‘All I want to do is sleep.’

‘That’s natural,’ Bram murmured softly. ‘Some scientists,
physicians and so forth hypothesise that the orgasm is necessary for pregnancy,
it keeps a woman lying down long enough to let the sperm penetrate her womb.’
His hand stilled in Phaedra’s hair and she knew a moment’s concern.

‘You needn’t worry on that account,’ Bram assured her. ‘I
withdrew in time. There will be no consequences to our pleasure. I know it’s not
romantic to speak of such things, but it must be done.’

Phaedra lay in silence after that, savouring the warmth of
Bram’s arms, piecing together the remnants of what they’d done. She had to go
back. She couldn’t spend the night in Bram’s room but the thought of making the
journey up to the house was singularly unpalatable at this point.

‘You can sleep awhile,’ Bram said, drawing a blanket up over
both of them. ‘I’ll wake you in time to get you back, and who knows, maybe we’ll
have time for an encore.’

Phaedra hoped so. Her last thought before drifting off to sleep
was that Bram was a man of his word. He’d most definitely kept his promise.