The sound she made was somewhere between a coo and a gasp at the sight of the familiar label. The small bottle of sandalwood scent was an expense she’d agonized over until finally justifying it as a onetime indulgence. Phee turned her chin to the side so he could dab a little behind her ears. “Thank you. It’s a rather masculine scent, but I love it.”
Cal nuzzled her neck. “Masculine, feminine—doesn’t matter. It’s your scent. And that’s the important thing.” He sighed against her skin. “Now you smell right.”
“Come to my bed at Lakeview,” she breathed as he nibbled a line along her jaw.
“The second I arrive. I promise. But first we need to get you out of here and safe.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lakeview was a full day’s travel from London, but the day was nearly over. Phee and his servants would overnight at an inn along the way, then arrive the next day. Cal watched the traveling coach rumble down the street from his library window.
She’d asked the question that lingered in his mind as well. What kind of future did they have? Sure, they might continue as they’d began, once they’d dealt with the threat of her uncle. They could be “bachelor friends” who lived together as companions. They certainly wouldn’t be alone in that designation.
Kingston, thus far, had kept mute on the subject, but eventually another servant would find them embracing. Or they’d come across proof that Adam Hardwick was not what he seemed. No matter how much he paid his staff or how loyal they were, keeping Phee’s secret would be like holding water in their hands—eventually, something would leak out and make a mess.
All that assumed there would be a future. That Milton would be in custody or otherwise neutralized and she’d be safe. Everything else remained uncertain. Any version of a future between them came with questions. Big questions.
But he wanted her. Amidst all that unknown, that was something Cal knew down to his bones. Their turn toward romance deviated from every norm and broke every rule of proper discourse.
And he didn’t give a damn.
He, the one who spent so much of his time handling the scandals of others, minimizing the damage, was barreling forward with Phee, heedless of how things might look to outsiders.
This could easily explode in his face.
Higgins cleared his throat from the doorway. “Milord, the Marquess of Eastly is asking to see you.”
Cal didn’t turn from the window, although her carriage was long gone. He’d been staring into the distance, mooning like a green lad, and hadn’t noticed his father’s coach arrive.
“I’m not at home to my father at the moment. Thank you, Higgins.”
“Very good, milord.”
The door closed, leaving Cal alone once more. Hell and blast. The weight of his father’s expectations squeezed another bit of happiness from him.
With a deliberate exhale, he released the worry and his shoulders relaxed. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Miss Cuthbert wasn’t going to marry him, and they’d already devised a plan to work around their fathers.
This ridiculous situation with Miss Cuthbert nagged at him, and he knew it bothered Phee. He’d asked her to trust him. Things were well in hand. He would juggle this, like a dozen scandals and irresponsible bets made by his father before. Phee had bigger things to worry about than Eastly’s poor judgment. Like staying alive.
There were still unwanted visitors to deal with later that night, and he’d need help. With Father’s carriage at the front of the house, evasive maneuvers were called for. Cal darted across the hall, used a servants’ passage to get to the rear of the house, then took the narrow staircase down to the kitchen. A friendly wave to Cook, then he slipped out the kitchen to the garden. Cal’s staff had installed a thick iron lock, glistening shiny and solid against the newly scarred wood door. A gate led to the lane between his house and Ethan’s, where another similar gate opened to his friend’s property.
Sure, they could involve Bow Street. But that would mean an official inquiry, interviews with Phee—which he didn’t think she’d want to give—and more time than he had available. Besides, authorities were a bit of an overkill when you had a best friend conveniently built like a bull.
This wouldn’t be the first time he and Amesbury had taken care of things their way.
Slipping into the Amesbury home was essentially the same process as getting out of his, but in reverse. A cheeky wave and blown kiss toward their cook—which earned him an apricot tart straight from the oven—and then a maid told him the couple were in their library. Out in the hall, Cal stomped his boots to echo off the marble tile, pasted on a smile, and called out, “Incoming visitor! Cover your bits!”
Thankfully, the lovebirds appeared to be enjoying a rare moment of leaving their clothes in place. At least, he thought so until he saw the book in Lottie’s hand.
“Your book is upside down, Lottie. Hate to interrupt your wedded bliss, but I have a situation.”
“We’ve missed you at breakfast these last few days,” she said, casually turning the novel in her hands over.
“Sorry, I’ve been eating with Adam.” The name felt wrong on his tongue, but there was no helping it. “There’s been another threat, so he’s gone to Lakeview early. My spy made himself useful today. He says they’ll attack at midnight. Ethan, I need your help.”
Over the next hour they concocted a plan. Direct, to the point. Nelson would let the men in, thus securing the footman’s position in the crew as an inside man. The rest of the staff would have strict orders to stay in their rooms, no matter what they heard. The last thing Cal needed was injured innocent bystanders if things went sideways. Milton’s hired crew would have a clear path to Phee’s room, where Ethan and Cal would be waiting.
From there, it would take weapons, brute strength, surprise, and a prayer that luck would be on their side. Whatever happened, Cal would do anything necessary to secure Phee’s safety.
That night, as Ethan and Cal lay in wait, a tap on the door made them tense. Nelson slipped into the unlit room. “Stand down, milords. They sent a boy with a message. One of the lads watching the house saw Mr. Hardwick’s travel carriage. The crew knows he ain’t here, but they lost his route once he passed Hyde Park.”
Beside Cal, Ethan sagged against the wall. “Damn. No fight tonight, then, aye?”
“No, milord,” Nelson said.
Which meant the threat remained. Cal relaxed his fists and sighed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d looked forward to sending a message to Milton tonight. They could contact the man directly—if they could find him—but that would mean surrendering the element of surprise. Surprise might be their only true advantage, Ethan’s brute size notwithstanding.
“Thank you, Nelson. You’ve done well,” Cal said.
Ethan clapped a hand on his shoulder, then left the room, moving on silent feet through the dark.
Returning to his own room held little appeal, so Cal settled into Phee’s bed. The linens smelled like her. Wrapping himself in her scent was the next best thing to having her there. Sleep would be elusive, but he had to believe the outriders would protect her.
* * *
The carriage rolled to a stop at the front entrance of Lakeview, a relatively new Georgian house surrounded by rolling lawns ending along the shore of the requisite lake. Lush woodlands encircled the entire estate. The house party would be lovely.
“Hobby, please drive around to the servants’ entrance. Thank you!” she called to the coachman. The stones of the driveway crunched under the wheels as they bypassed the impressive arched front doors and made their way around the side of the house to a less ornate portal.
Cal would have a fit if he knew she made a habit of using the servants’ entrance. But unlike Cal, Phee couldn’t ignore her status as a nobody. Besides, she wasn’t here as a guest. Officially, she’d arrived early to oversee the house-party plans, but the staff wouldn’t take well to her meddling in a situation they had well in hand.
Phee grabbe
d her small traveling trunk, donned her new hat, and rang the side bell.
A handsome footman opened the door, holding an apple and chewing a giant bite. Wordlessly, he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter with a jerk of his head. Quite the different greeting on this side of the house.
Mrs. Hodges, a cheerfully efficient woman Cal claimed managed the house with the force of a velvet-covered hammer, met Phee in the kitchen. “Well, you’re just a scrap of a thing, aren’t you?” she said. “Let’s get you something to eat before you settle into your room. I can’t imagine you ate anything decent on the road.”
Actually, the breakfast at the inn that morning had been fantastic. Nevertheless, at the offer of food, her stomach growled, letting loose a gurgle at least three other people in the room heard, judging by their smirks. “That would be welcome, thank you.”
A short time later, Mrs. Hodges led her down the hall, the keys of her chatelaine clinking with each step.
“His lordship sent instructions. This will be your room.” She opened a door.
Phee’s eyes went wide, taking in everything. “This is beautiful,” she said. An understatement. Light-green toile wallpaper acted as a backdrop to the finely carved furniture. A mint-green velvet canopy covered the bed and contrasted with the crisp white linen counterpane. The idea of keeping anything larger than a cravat white made her shudder. A vase of fresh flowers sat beside the bed, and another graced the small table next to a delicate chair near the fireplace. It was by far the loveliest room she’d ever seen, and she was terrified to touch anything for fear of smudging, breaking, or otherwise marring the perfection of it all.
Mrs. Hodges rocked on her heels with a satisfied smile. “Isn’t it, though? You’re the first to stay in it since Lord Carlyle has owned the property. You must be a close friend to warrant a room in the family wing.” She shot Phee a speculative look.
“I will thank his lordship for the great honor.” What else should she say? Cal, being Cal, wanted to be kind but hadn’t considered how it would look belowstairs. It was the footmen-in-full-livery-in-Shoreditch situation all over again.
“Well,” Mrs. Hodges said. “Get yourself settled. When you’re ready, ask someone to bring you to the yellow drawing room. I’ll meet you there to go over details about this house party.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hodges.”
The door closed behind the housekeeper, and Phee let the trunk fall with a thud. A door on the wall stood open to a separate dressing room complete with delicate furniture painted white with gilded details. This was a lady’s room. A pair of armoires stood ready to hold luxurious gowns, silky petticoats, and satin slippers. With a slightly manic giggle, Phee dragged her tiny traveling trunk into the dressing room and plopped it unceremoniously on the floor.
“Utterly ridiculous,” she muttered.
Unpacking would take all of three minutes, so she’d do it later. Instead, she washed with clean water from the ceramic pitcher on the washstand and dabbed on the sandalwood scent Cal had given her. Every time she held the tiny bottle, it made her smile.
As expected, the staff helped her find the yellow drawing room. Mrs. Hodges had the situation under control and only needed Phee to add insight as to the specific people invited and pass along snippets of gossip that might be helpful in accommodating their distinct personalities and needs. Mrs. Hodges made notes in a small diary in her lap.
“I know it’s a lot of extra people underfoot, but his lordship tried to keep the guest list small,” Phee said.
“We’ve handled worse under shorter notice. Thank you, Mr. Hardwick. I notice one couple missing from the list. Viscount and Viscountess Amesbury. Are we expecting them?”
“Alas, no. Duties at Woodrest keep them from joining us. They asked me to send their regards to you and the staff.”
“They’re kind to think of us. Now, would you prefer to dine at country hours or London hours this evening?”
The housekeeper meant well, but she’d shoved food at Phee not an hour before. “I’ll dine in my room, if you don’t mind. Something simple like bread and cheese. I don’t want to be a bother to the staff, so country hours are fine.”
Mrs. Hodges rose, tucking the small notebook into an apron pocket. “Very good. I’ll notify the kitchen.”
And just like that, Phee had nothing to do.
Idleness would never be her friend. Sitting and letting her mind wander made her twitchy. Maybe learning to relax was exactly what she needed.
Lakeview, if nothing else, should be safe. No one knew she’d come here. There weren’t letters to answer or projects to keep her busy. An enormous yawn overtook her face, stealing a breath or two. Sleeping at the inn hadn’t been restful. Every noise and creak from the giant timber beams of the ceiling had put her on alert. Perhaps a nap might be in order. Goodness, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d napped. How decadent.
Back in her room, she eyed the giant bed like a child examining a sweet treat. She could practically feel the soft bedding surrounding her already. Stripping down to only her shirt, Phee folded her clothes neatly on a chair and set aside her smalls to launder.
Removing the binding from her breasts made her sigh in relief. Although she didn’t have large enough breasts to warrant a tight wrap, the skin around her ribs and under her arms would still show red streaks.
Phee drew the curtains closed, blocking out the sun.
If she were a proper lady, like the ones this bedchamber had been designed for, she’d eat when hungry, sleep when tired, and never worry for her life again. Two out of three luxuries wasn’t a bad ratio. The blanket settled around her like a hug, and the pillow cradled her head perfectly. Sleep claimed her within moments, and she didn’t stir until Cal’s mouth attempted to wake her. Then everything went to hell.
Chapter Fifteen
The carriage containing Cal’s trunks and Kingston was far behind him, but Cal had been too eager to keep pace with it. Last night he’d dozed long enough to greet the dawn, then set out for Lakeview. Murphy, his gray gelding, lived for long distances and had been more than happy to travel beyond the well-manicured parks near Mayfair.
He and Phee would have two weeks to themselves before Emma arrived—weeks in which his sister would be living in their father’s household, much to her dismay. Asking the marquess to be responsible for anyone other than himself might be begging for trouble, but the man was their father. Expecting him to parent his own child shouldn’t be out of the question. Eastly now knew about the need to keep Emma from Roxbury, but only with broad strokes of information. No father wanted to hear about his daughter bumping fun bits with inappropriate men.
Eastly had tried to steer the conversation to Rosehurst and his daughter, but Cal held firm with the initial delay tactic of waiting on the Wilhelmina.
If he could have outridden his worries, he’d have spurred Murphy until his hooves left the ground altogether and they flew over the packed dirt. As it was, Cal rode ahead with one thought in mind—Phee.
Now he stood in the doorway to her chambers, unable to tear his gaze from the sight of her. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to find her waiting in bed for him. At rest, her face relaxed, making her sharp features appear softer. Bedding piled around her, framing the creamy pale expanse of skin with its enticing freckles peeking through the wide, open neck of the thin lawn shirt that had slipped off a shoulder and clung to the tip of one breast. She looked like a pixie resting amidst clouds.
Cal wiped a palm over his face and blew out a breath. Dear Lord, she had freckles all over her chest. Like little sweet spices scattered across a feast, and he was ravenous.
He possessed enough presence of mind to turn the key in the lock on her door before shrugging out of his coat and unwinding the cravat from his throat. The carpet swallowed the sound of his steps.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he pulled his boots off. The shifting of the bed under his weight didn’t stir her at all, but she let out a tiny snore that made
him smile.
When she asked him to come to her bed as soon as he arrived, he hadn’t expected that promise to be quite so literal.
In her place, he’d love for her to wake him with kisses. Crawling on all fours across the covers, he stretched out beside her. He trailed his mouth over her shoulder, inhaling her familiar warm sandalwood scent. With sweeping fingers, he tugged the hem of the shirt up until an adorable freckle at her waist shaped like Scotland caught his attention. It needed a kiss.
Any second now she’d come awake, sleepy and smiling. His cock hung heavy in his breeches, and he could hardly wait for her to come apart in his arms. Logically, it hadn’t been long enough since he’d held Phee to feel this desperately starved for her, but it took a massive effort to restrain himself from falling upon her like some kind of slavering beast.
Dragging his lips up her belly, he pushed the shirt over the ridges of her ribs. God, she was perfect. Small breasts with dusky nipples and cinnamon freckle sprinkles. Desire coiled like a spring, prepared to release as soon as she was ready. Sucking one nipple, he closed his eyes.
Utter bliss. If her skin was this soft on her breasts, he could only imagine the velvet perfection she hid between her thighs. Damn, he’d missed her.
The punch didn’t register right away. First, his eyeball rolled back in its socket. Then the pain and pressure battled for dominance in response to the single hit Phee landed to his face.
Howling in pain, he rolled off her, clutching his face. “Shit, Ophelia!”
Phee jerked to sitting, instantly awake. Horror dawned on her face. “Oh God, did I hit you?”
Cal paused midwhimper to stare out of the eye that didn’t feel like a throbbing mass of ouch. “You didn’t mean to?”
“No, of course not. It must have been a reflex. Let me see.” She peeled one of his hands off his face and winced. “On second thought, cover that.” She gently replaced his hand and patted it for good measure. “We need to get a steak on your eye.”
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