“I want to take you somewhere quiet and kiss you,” Leo murmured. “Very much. In fact, I doubt I will resist.”
“But you can’t.”
He turned to her, a broad smile wreathing his face. “Is that a challenge?”
“No!” Or he would find somewhere. “But I know how you feel,” she admitted, color rising under her cheeks.
He groaned low in his throat. “So you torment me. Come and dance. Then I will greet your parents and even dance with your sister, if she wishes it.”
“Lucinda is very pretty. She will have admirers, so you had better ask her now.” Although she didn’t want to see her sister with her betrothed. Sometimes she forgot he was a duke. He was just Leo now, and she had to recall his exalted rank. That was not the first thing she thought when she saw him.
That fantasy sometimes closed in on reality, and tonight it certainly did so. Hastily, she put her mind to something else. “If we could walk instead of dancing, I have a little news for you.”
“Hmm.” As he led her into the large salon where a quartet played, he glanced at the dance floor, and then nodded. “Very well. Although I might ask you to accompany me into the garden later.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, her ladyship’s garden is not as spacious as one would wish, and it has a severe paucity of neglected grottoes.”
Recalling the night they met she smiled, even though that was also the night her reputation was tarnished. They walked, and although they bowed to people who acknowledged them, Leo led her firmly on.
“Tell me. Then we can dance. It’s either dance or disappear,” he said.
“People would n-notice, Leo.”
“I do not care, especially when you say my name in that breathy tone. I want to feel that breath on my face and have your lips under mine.”
He was in a flirtatious mood tonight. Much more difficult to cope with. Glancing at him, she swallowed. She loved to feel the soft, silky strands of his hair between her fingers. If he kissed her, she could indulge.
No. She must speak to him of other things, not allow him to distract her. “The SSL met yesterday. We discussed the necklace, of course.”
“Do your mother or sister attend?” he asked sharply.
She started at his harsh change of tone. “No. They believe we are a literary discussion group. Neither my mother nor my sister read a great deal.”
His short laugh showed her his reaction. “Then discuss away.”
Phoebe frowned and tapped his arm with her fan in mild reproof. “They are my family, whom I love.”
“There is love, and there is blind love,” he said. “I love my grandmother, but I am sensible of her faults.”
Phoebe felt suitably chastised, but she would still have spoken up. She would not have her family discussed with any lack of respect. “Indeed.” She had to admit his point. But that would not stop her loyalty. “We spoke of the jewelry today. Some ladies think there is a conspiracy of footmen.”
He swept two glasses of wine from a tray carried by one of the people she was talking about. He handed her a glass of the ruby liquid, and she accepted it with a smile. “That sounds dramatic.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But they must wish for the opposite, to keep this very quiet. We know that servants spread gossip better than anything else. This seems to be a more organized version, passing stolen goods rather than chatter. So items will be purloined and immediately passed to another person in the chain, and to another. Then someone completely unconnected with the first person will sell the treasures, and the money is divided.”
Twin creases appeared between his dark brows. “I have suspected something such for years. How else could valuables disappear without a trace? However, to call it a conspiracy is surely taking the theory too far. Footmen carouse together, they spend their free time in each other’s company. I have seen them in the coffee houses in the City, and the inns. But that is different to a deliberate plot. Are you sure of this?”
Phoebe had to shake her head. “It is as yet only a rumor. We have nothing to show for it, except a strong suspicion and a vague idea of who was involved. That night, when the n-necklace went missing, it was passed on.”
At the end of the room, they did not stop, but passed through to the next, where people were sitting around card tables, their concentration intent on the pieces of pasteboard in their hands. Candles flickered as they set up a slight breeze when they passed by. A few people glanced up and nodded to Leo and Phoebe, nobody surprised at seeing them together. As if they belonged with each other.
Which, she told herself sternly, they did not. Or only temporarily. If she did not constantly remind herself of that hard fact, she would become carried away. And then she would crash to earth with a bump.
“But if that is true,” he continued, covering her hand with his as if he had always done it, “the necklace is long gone.”
“Not necessarily. They could be holding it until some other scandal sets society alight. Then it would be safer to get rid of it.”
“I fear that any thief would set about breaking up such a treasure as soon as they got it.” He spoke regretfully. “After they have disposed of the jewels, they will melt down the setting.”
Alarm rose. “B-but if that is the c-c-case, we will n-n-never f-find it.”
“I do not believe the necklace is gone.”
“You do not?”
He shook his head. “If it is, why would someone still be searching for it? Why search your room? I saw that mess. Someone was methodically hunting for something, pulling out drawers to search behind, looking for hiding places. And they were careful not to make any undue sound.”
At the end of the card room, she stopped and turned to face him, meeting his eyes directly. “But they cut up my c-clothes.”
He nodded. “Looking for hidden pockets, or perhaps to make us think it was impulsive and mindless.”
Not spite, then. Her spirits rose. “So there’s a chance the n-necklace is still intact.”
“And that we may find it and return it to Lady Latimer.”
Goodness. She had quite given it up.
When he began to walk again, she had to go with him. He led her out of the card room, and they entered a corridor. There would be a place for quiet discussion here, perhaps a ladies’ room.
“We will find it,” he said. “Even if I have to have it remade myself.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Of course I can. I don’t want you to worry, my sweet.”
She loved the endearment, bathed in it. But showed nothing. “I have p-put you to far too m-much trouble already. How can I ask that of you? I can never repay you for replacing that necklace.” She continued talking before he could interrupt her. “I forbid it. That is all. You will not replace the necklace. If it has d-d-d-disap-p-peared, what of that? I w-w-w-will g-g-g-go home soon, and…” She tailed off as she took in her surroundings.
They were alone, in a small room. Candles were lit, but the fire was dead, and nobody sat on the sofa or leaned against the table by the shuttered window. “We sh-sh-should g-g-g-g—”
He cut off her agitation by the simple expedient of kissing her. Swinging her into his arms, he nestled her close as his lips came down on hers. Phoebe couldn’t resist. She sighed into his mouth, and he groaned, the sound reverberating down her throat. When he tasted her, he did it leisurely, sliding his tongue between her lips. She met it with strokes of her own, sucking gently as her body became more attuned to his. She pressed her breasts against a remarkably hard chest, evident even through their layers of clothing. Spreading her hands over his upper arms, she dug her fingers into the soft velvet, meeting pliant masculine muscle.
When he finished the kiss, it was only to change his angle of approach. His eyes were heavy, slumberous with desire, and hers must have been the same. She would not deny her need for him. It would no
t be fulfilled, but that did not stop her recalcitrant body reaching for him.
He lashed one arm around her waist as he explored her, stroking the bare skin of her lower arms, before sliding his hand around the column of her throat and tickling the tender skin behind her ear.
Continuing to kiss her, Leo touched her everywhere she showed skin, down her bosom, making her gasp in delight, as he traced the line of her décolletage, his touch gentle but insistent.
He laid a trail of kisses from her mouth to her temple, and then to the rim of her ear. “I would take you now, and if we were anywhere else, I would have to struggle to remember I’m a gentleman. What you do to me, Phoebe. You rouse me to near madness, sweetheart.” Delicately, he traced his tongue around her ear, then took the lobe between his teeth. “I told you I wanted to kiss you. Now I want more.” His low groan vibrated through her.
His honeyed words dropped into her senses, soothing and arousing her at the same time. She could trust this man. He would guide her into loving. And she wanted him. She would not deny that when the evidence was there, in the way her nipples were so hard and sensitive, by the dampness between her thighs. Innocent she might be, but not ignorant. “I want to feel your hands on me. I want to touch you.”
“One day you will touch me all you wish,” he murmured, continuing his journey of exploration, by dropping kisses down her throat. “I want you, Phoebe.” He groaned. “I was determined to let you go, to follow our original plan, but you drive me insane with desire. I want you so much.”
She was playing with fire. He was so close to sending her far past the place she should be. And yet she was aware of the perilousness of their situation. A betrothed couple might steal a kiss or two, but any more would arouse condemnation, especially when the match was as uneven as the one between a duke and a daughter of the gentry. But a cat may look at a king. A cat could tuck her hand under his coat, curling it around to his back, where his waistcoat was shorter, and she could get at his shirt. She pushed her fingers between the silk and the linen. “You’re so hot.”
“For you, Phoebe. Only for you.”
If he had said that without the accompanying passion, she’d have denied him. Put what he was saying aside as pretty but meaningless words. But they meant everything to her now. “Leo, I wish you were not a d-duke. Or that I were not a c-c-country girl.”
“There are no ranks here.” He drew back, gazing into her eyes. “Only you and me, a man and a woman. Nothing else. This passion between us is honest and true. But I swear to you, Phoebe, I will not dishonor you. However much I want to lay you down on that sofa, push up your skirts and make you mine, I will not.”
“But—”
He laid his finger across her kiss-swollen lips, stopping her telling him that she wanted him to do that. If they could, perhaps they could get past this desire consuming them both.
“No. But there are different ways we can indulge each other. I can touch you without taking you, hold you without making that final step. I would not dishonor you, sweet Phoebe, but you drive me to the edge of control.”
“I know we are to p-part, that we can n-never b-be.”
He gazed at her, not giving her the insult of denying her words. “I thought I’d be relieved to hear you say that. I’d come to that conclusion earlier today. But I don’t want this to end, and that’s the truth.”
Was he feeling the desperation she was experiencing? Their association had an end in sight, a matter of weeks. Could they take some time to themselves beforehand? If she learned nothing else from her duke, it was that she could make a man desire her. His gaze, his heat, the way his hands touched her bare skin as if he couldn’t stop, all told her that she was truly wanted.
“Can it be d-done? Can we snatch a few hours together?”
Lifting her hand, she cupped his cheek, feeling the slight prick of his incipient beard on her palm. He turned his head and kissed her, softly, reverently, holding her hand in place. “Madness,” he murmured, “but so necessary. I brought you here to give you a place to breathe. Instead, I’ve lost mine.”
He gazed at her as if she held all the secrets of the universe, and when he looked at her, she felt that way.
Without warning, the door burst open, hitting the wall behind. Leo spun around with a curse on his lips, stepping in front of her, but not before she saw her mother, flanked by Lucinda and Marcus, standing in the space.
“Phoebe! How could you!”
* * * *
The dramatic exclamation, performed, as usual, at the top of her mother’s lungs, shocked Leo into instinctive reaction. Shoving Phoebe behind him, he spun around to confront the intruders. Fury simmered inside him, but he had long ago learned to control himself. Swords were not welcome at balls, but he would have welcomed one now, if only to get rid of the smirk on Callow’s face.
Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that Phoebe had a hand in this. Men had been forced into marriage for less, and this was not the first time they’d been caught alone together.
Whatever was it about this woman? He had desired women before, but not as powerfully, not with the feeling that if he didn’t have her he would die. Perhaps he’d been playing with fire, wanting the situation where he could not turn back, wanting someone else to force him to make the decision that had been driving him demented over the last few weeks.
Last night he’d decided to say a reluctant farewell, to return to their earlier arrangement, agree that any idea of her taking on the burden of high rank was wrong. But he could not do it. Even if she had arranged with her mother for them to be caught.
As the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. The way she was clutching the back of his coat did not speak of conspiracy. His Phoebe was as shocked as he was. And yes, she was his. Without trying, she roused his protective instincts to the point of fighting for her.
She must have been in a high state of shock, which meant she would not be able to speak properly for a while. “Would you mind lowering your voice, madam?”
Lucinda’s high-pitched squeal echoed around his head. She followed her dramatic exclamation with, “How could you do this to Marcus?”
That made no sense until Leo recalled that Sir Marcus had claimed Phoebe. He could not imagine anyone less suited to her. Callow had no awareness of Phoebe’s needs, or if he did, he did not appear to take any notice. She needed someone who would cherish her.
Leo had never considered himself the cherishing type before. Even that notion did not stop him standing between her and her family, legs spread, anger arcing through him.
“Phoebe, get into the main room,” her mother said. “What were you thinking, to go into a private chamber alone with a man?”
While he understood her mother’s concern, Leo did not appreciate her way of speaking to her daughter, or her reference to him as “a man.” Accordingly, he reached behind him, finding her hand and gripping it.
He drew her out to stand by his side but did not release her hand. “Your intrusion is not welcome,” he said softly. “If you will leave us now, I will bring Phoebe to you directly. However, I will not have you speaking to her in such a fashion.”
Lucinda stamped her foot. “Who are you to say how Mama can speak to her daughter?”
Leo merely met Lucinda’s gaze with a cold one of his own. The girl looked away, wincing as if he’d struck her. Rather a dramatic response, but everything Phoebe’s sister did appeared con brio.
“Yes.” Putting up his square jaw, Callow stepped forward. “Phoebe and I have had an understanding these many years. I will not let her go without a fight.”
“I suggest you moderate your tone,” Leo continued over the sound of a scoff. Not Col’s, although there he was, shoulder propped against the doorjamb, toying with an enamel snuffbox. “While I am fully prepared to meet you at a place of your choosing with any weapons you wish, I will not bring Phoebe’s name into the
argument.” Gentlemen did not do that. A lady could be ruined that way, married or not.
The man had enough sensibility to flush. Red did not become him, especially with the russet shade of his coat. “I beg your pardon.”
“Accepted.” He moved into full duke mode, staring haughtily at the man. “Do you honestly believe I would traduce the good name of my betrothed?”
“She’s not your betrothed. I am.” Now the man sounded sulky, like a boy thwarted of a favorite toy.
“Do you have a signed contract in place?”
Sir Marcus didn’t answer, but Lucinda did. “They don’t need such formalities. Marcus and Phoebe are childhood sweethearts.”
“Phoebe, come here.”
He felt her instinctive movement to her mother as she tugged at his hand. Braving an undignified tussle, he held on. She glanced up at him, and desisted, but he saw a spark in her eyes. She was not pleased. Still, he refused to give in. Her mother should speak to her with more address, and by God, one day she would.
A few people were “accidentally” passing by the door. He had to close this uncomfortable scene down, make it into something less gossip-worthy. “Madam, I believe Miss North is past her temporary weak spell. She was feeling faint. We may return to the ball.” He turned to her, fixing his gaze on her. “You will do me the honor of dancing with me?”
That would at least keep her with him.
“I will speak to my husband,” Lady North said, her tone moderated to close to normal. “He will visit you in the morning.”
“I welcome the opportunity to speak with him.”
He led his betrothed out of the room. They were well and truly betrothed now, and Lady North had just ensured everyone knew it. If he analyzed the situation, he had played into their hands, if they had meant Phoebe to hang out for a wealthy husband. But what else could he have done? If she had gone with her mother, she’d have been convulsed with stammers, and if he guessed correctly, the lady would have demanded that Phoebe explain herself. Callow might have bullied her into going with him, and Leo would not stand for that.
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