by Darcy Burke
“It is possible. I just wish Sainsbury had the same history of violence as Ripley.”
Phoebe put her hand on her hip. “Marcus fought with Drobbit for good reason. If you think that’s a history of violence compared to what Sainsbury has done—” She stopped herself before she revealed too much.
Sheffield narrowed his eyes at her. “What has Sainsbury done?”
Phoebe realized she had to reveal too much. To save Marcus. So she recounted, in less specific terms than she’d shared with Marcus, what Sainsbury had done to her. Instead of making her feel weak and horrid, the revelation steeled her with strength and something she’d once thought she’d lost: power. She concluded by saying, “When you question Sainsbury’s maids, ask them what he’s done. I believe you’ll find he has behaved consistently in terms of violence and reprehensible behavior.”
He nodded grimly. “He certainly sounds capable of killing Drobbit, whereas I don’t think Ripley is. However, after hearing what Sainsbury did, I am surprised the man survived his altercation with Ripley.”
“Why would you say that?” Phoebe asked.
“Because Ripley said the man deserved what he’d gotten and more.” Sheffield’s gaze softened slightly. “Ripley is the kind of man who protects the people he cares about. I’ve known him a very long time. You may think he’s incapable of emotion—sometimes I think he thinks he’s incapable of it—but he is not.”
His words warmed Phoebe, but then it was as if a bucket of frigid water had been tossed upon her. Marcus might care for Phoebe, but not enough to forge a future together. Especially since he’d just confessed to a crime he didn’t commit.
To save my father.
That wasn’t the action of a man who didn’t care, who didn’t feel emotion. Phoebe wasn’t sure what emotion he felt, but she knew her own heart, and she knew she loved him.
She longed to go to him, but she was also worried about her father. What if her theory about Sainsbury wasn’t true? “Are you going to Sainsbury’s now?” she asked.
“First, I’m going to visit your father. I would like to speak with him about his visit to Drobbit.”
“I’m sure he left the man alive,” Phoebe said with conviction.
“Hopefully, he can provide information that will corroborate that.”
“Do you mind if I go with you? I can leave immediately.” When he nodded, she went to the hall and asked Culpepper to send someone for her hat and gloves. Returning to the garden room, she asked, “What will happen to Marcus if we can’t prove Sainsbury—or someone else—is the real culprit?”
“Ripley is due before the magistrate tomorrow, and that’s without a confession, which I convinced him not to provide yet. After that, he’ll go to the Tower of London to await a trial in the House of Lords. If he confesses, there will be no trial, just punishment.” Sheffield didn’t elaborate on what that could be, but Phoebe could well imagine.
The world turned to gray around her. She fought to keep herself together.
Sheffield gave her a look that was surely meant to buoy her spirits. “Have faith. Even if he pleads guilty to manslaughter—which is what I will recommend the charge should be—he can claim privilege of peerage and, with luck, escape the worst of punishments.”
Luck. Phoebe prayed they had enough of that to go around.
Chapter 16
The pencil flew across the paper as Marcus detailed yet another drawing of Phoebe. He’d drawn several of her over the past few days and had no intention of slowing down or even stopping. He saw her in his mind’s eye in a myriad states and positions, and he wanted to commit them all to parchment.
Perhaps he’d cover the walls of his cell at the Tower with them.
Marcus’s hand didn’t slow, even with that maudlin thought. He supposed he should tell his retainers that as of tomorrow, he would no longer be a resident. After this drawing, he’d do so.
Except when he finished the drawing, he couldn’t move. He sat there staring at her image, her familiar dimples winking at him. She looked particularly mischievous in this one, her expression inviting and teasing at once.
An ache, dark and desperate, ate at him as he stared at her. He ran his finger over the paper, as if he could actually touch her face. How he wished that were possible.
“That’s beautiful.”
Marcus’s head shot up. Shock and elation jolted through him, driving him to his feet. “Where did you come from?”
Phoebe gestured to the entry to his private sitting room. “The door. You were rather focused on your work.”
He drank in her form, her sable hair gathered atop her head, a dark green cloak draped around her. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes, actually. As I said, you were rather focused.”
He couldn’t believe he’d missed her arrival, not when he’d been fantasizing about her. He wanted to rush over to her, to take her in his arms. But he’d put an end to his ability to do that. “How did you get up here?”
She lifted a shoulder as she removed her cloak, draping it over a chair. “Dorne was kind enough to tell me where to find you.”
“He didn’t announce you.” Why he was stuck on the hows of her presence was beyond Marcus, but his brain seemed arrested. There was really only one question he wanted answered. “Why?”
“Because I asked him not to.” She opened the front of her gown, and the bodice fell to her waist, exposing her underclothes.
Words tangled in Marcus’s mouth for a moment. “No, not why did Dorne not announce you. Why are you here?”
Her gown loosened, and she stepped out of the garment, laying it over her cloak. Then she sat in the chair and began to remove her boots. “Why is a very good question. Let me ask you. Why did you end things between us?”
What the hell was she doing? Disrobing, obviously. But why? Yes, that was definitely the most important question. “I explained why.”
She exposed her knees and calves as she peeled away her stockings, and his body reacted, quivering with desire. “I know what you said, but I’m here to confirm what you meant.” She set her boots to the side, then stood, her hands going to the tie of her petticoat. “Did you end our affair because you can’t commit to anything at all or because you expect to hang?” She removed the petticoat, and the garment joined the others on the chair.
Marcus swore. Somehow, she knew he was going to be arrested tomorrow. “You’re aware I’m going in front of the magistrate tomorrow?”
“I am.” She sounded so calm, as if his entire life wasn’t about to change drastically. As if he hadn’t already ruined what they’d shared. And all while, she unlaced her corset. “I’m also aware you’re trying to protect my father, which is unnecessary. He didn’t kill Drobbit any more than you did.”
She fucking knew. “How—”
Having removed her corset, she now wore nothing but her chemise. She walked toward him with a feminine confidence that nearly destroyed what was left of his control. His hands shook when she stopped in front of him. She pulled the hem of his shirt from his breeches—he wore only the two garments.
“Harry is taking care of everything. He doesn’t think you’ll need to go to the magistrate tomorrow. I, however, still need an answer to my question. Why did you end things? If it’s because you can’t endure any kind of connection, tell me now, please, and I’ll go.”
“That is why, yes.”
Her gaze, so bold and seductive the entire time she’d been there, wavered with doubt. Something inside him shattered. He grabbed her waist and slammed her against him. “But I’ve changed my mind.”
She arched a dark, slender, ridiculously gorgeous brow and gave him a thoroughly sardonic look that pushed his already heated blood to boiling. “Because I’m here in my chemise?”
“Because when I think about the rest of my life without you in it, even for one more night, I can’t breathe.”
Phoebe put her hands on his face. “Breathe, my love. I’m here, and I’m not leaving.�
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She stood on her toes and kissed him. It was more than he expected and so much more than he deserved. He swept her up against him and gloried in the taste and feel of her. How had he thought he could walk away from her? As if she were no different from the nameless women who’d warmed his bed for years? She was absolutely different. She was exceptional. She was everything.
She was Phoebe.
She was his.
He turned and carried her to the bed and was about to lay her upon it, but she put her feet down and pulled away from him.
“I came here. I’m in charge.” She pushed his shirt up, and he drew the garment over his head. Her hands skimmed over him, blazing a path of need with every stroke of her fingers. She unfastened his fall and pushed his breeches down over his hips, her palms caressing his backside and sending a jolt of lust straight to his cock.
He wriggled his hips, sending the garment to the floor, and kicked it aside. He looked into her eyes. “I’m yours to command.”
Her lips curved up, and her gaze sparked with heat. “On the bed. On your back.”
Eager to comply, he did as she bade and watched as she climbed up next to him. She kissed him again, her tongue driving deep into his mouth and pulling a groan from his throat. After leaving him breathless, she moved down his jaw and neck, using her teeth and tongue to devastating effect.
She took her time, exploring every bit of his chest and abdomen. As her tongue swirled over his hip, her hand curled around his cock, then lower to cup his balls. Marcus thrust, unable to stop himself, and let out a low groan.
Moving her hands around him, she took his tip into her mouth, licking his flesh. Ragged desire tore at him as he clasped her head. He told her in plain, filthy terms what he wanted from her.
She did them all, taking him deep into her mouth while she squeezed his balls with one hand and his hip with the other. He rose up, sliding along her tongue and filling her until he felt her throat.
Then she was gone, pulling back, only to engulf him once more. Over and over, she sucked him. He pulled the pins from her hair and tangled his fingers in the dark, silky mass, holding her while he pumped into her, captive to her.
“Phoebe, I’m going to come. In your mouth.”
She released him and came up over him with a sultry smile. “Next time.”
Straddling him, she pulled the chemise over her head, exposing her delectable body inch by inch. He reached for her, but she shook her head. “Just watch for a moment. And listen.”
She clasped his cock and positioned it at her pussy. He clung desperately to what was left of his control. “Next time, you can come in my mouth. This time, I’m riding you because I rather liked that the other morning, and as I said, I’m in charge. Understand?”
He nodded, unable to speak through his cloud of staggering lust. She pushed down over him, taking his cock into her with ease. She was so wet, so hot, so unbelievably tight around him.
She just sat there for a moment, her eyes narrowing to slits. Then she wiggled her hips, and he moaned again, his eyes closing briefly. But only briefly. He couldn’t bear not to look at her.
She began to move on him, slowly at first, her body undulating with elegant grace. Her breasts, so round and pert, beckoned him.
“May I touch you yet?” He clutched at the bedclothes in desperation.
“Yes.”
He put his hands on her breasts, cupping and kneading them, then tugging on her nipples and drawing a cry from her lips. She cast her head back, and he was certain he’d never seen anything so erotic. He would draw her like this—the line of her throat, the curve of her breast with his hand around her.
He flattened his palm at the top of her breast, his fingers grazing the hollow of her throat, his touch memorizing the planes of her flesh so he could translate them to parchment. If he could.
She put her hand over his and dragged it down between her breasts and straight to her sex. With his thumb, he teased her there, coaxing whimpers from her mouth as she rode him faster. She pitched forward slightly as her movements increased.
Marcus cupped the back of her head and brought her toward him so he could capture her breast in his mouth. He feasted on her flesh, welcoming the distraction of pleasuring her lest he explode before he was ready.
Fuck, once again, they’d neglected to plan. This time, he’d pull out.
He pressed on her clitoris and rubbed her flesh until he felt her muscles clench around him. She cried out, over and over, as her body shuddered. Her movements became stilted under the onslaught of her orgasm.
Marcus held on to her until the storm passed and her eyes opened. She blinked, bracing her hands on his chest.
“May I roll you over?” he asked.
She nodded, and he flipped her to her back. Settling himself between her legs, he thrust into her, then came up on his elbows. He stroked her face with his hands and kissed her.
“I love you,” she said between kisses.
He froze, staring down at her. She looked up at him with her beautiful green eyes and moved her hips. Her dimples flashed, and he was overcome.
“Don’t stop,” she rasped, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Marcus kissed her again, pushing his hands into her hair as he pumped into her. He didn’t want this moment, this perfect bliss, to end. But his balls tightened, and he knew he was going to spend.
“Phoebe, I need—”
She dug her heels into his backside and squeezed his hips with her hands. “Don’t leave me.”
Groaning, Marcus drove hard and deep, giving her everything he had. He held on to her as he poured himself into her, body and soul. She came again with him, her pussy clenching around him and sending him into a void of sheer mindlessness.
When he was spent, he rolled to his back, panting, and still so overcome, he could barely think. Had she said she loved him?
She pressed herself to his side and rose over him. “Did you hear me, Marcus? I love you. I don’t expect you to say the same in return. I just want to make sure you know it. I love you. You might be a scandalous rakehell, but you’re my scandalous rakehell. I don’t know what the future holds, but so long as I have you for now—for a time—I will count myself lucky. Please don’t throw away what we share because of fear.”
Was he scared? Not of her, of losing her, of what she’d just said—not knowing what the future held. He’d always lived for now—for the absolute present. It wasn’t enough.
Marcus sat up and clasped her head in his hands. “I am afraid. Terrified of a life without you in it. Now that I have you, I don’t ever want to let you go.”
She grinned, her dimples cutting deep. “You don’t ever have to. Let’s be terrified and then blissfully happy together.”
Together. He’d been alone, truly alone, for so long. “I don’t know how to be a family.” He stroked his hand down her cheek and along her jaw. “But I love you, Phoebe. Somehow, impossibly, I am in love with you.”
She arched her brow in that damnably provocative way again. “Impossibly?”
He laughed. “I don’t love anything. Hell, I don’t feel anything strongly. At least, I didn’t until you.” He stared at her, baffled. “I don’t know how you did it, but please don’t stop.”
“Never.” She kissed him, twining her arms around his neck and moving onto his lap.
After several moments, she settled into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder.
Marcus smoothed her hair back from her face. “You said Harry—whom you are apparently on a first-name basis with now—is taking care of things. Just what is he doing?”
She moved off his lap, disappointingly, and sat at his side, turning toward him. “Oh! I should tell you about that. Harry—and yes, we have become close friends already due to our shared goal of proving your innocence—has a new suspect.”
It couldn’t be her father, not with the glee she displayed. Marcus couldn’t think of who it might be. “Who, and however did you find this person
?”
“You won’t believe it.” She hesitated the barest moment, during which his anxiety climbed. “Sainsbury.”
Marcus gaped at her. “Of all the—”
“It was a stroke of good fortune of sorts when my father let one of his maids go.” Marcus looked at her in abject confusion, and thankfully, she quickly explained. “Meg was hired by Sainsbury’s household. He was as terrible an employer as you can imagine, but Meg was there to see him return home early Wednesday morning in fine spirits and sporting gunpowder on his clothing.” Phoebe’s brow darkened briefly. “That reminds me, you neglected to tell me that Sainsbury was the cause of your wound on Monday or that you broke his nose.” She smiled widely. “Thank you for that—for breaking his nose, not for keeping it from me.”
Marcus kissed her. “I’d break him in two if I could.” He leaned back. “So he killed Drobbit?”
“Harry is still investigating, but we both agree that he had the motive to do so. He was angry after you humiliated him at White’s and then quite cheerful after Drobbit was murdered.”
“He would have had to have been following me that night,” Marcus said, thinking of the events that had transpired. “No one knew where to find Drobbit until you discovered that note on your father’s desk.” Marcus frowned. “How would Sainsbury even know to kill Drobbit, unless he overheard our conversation?”
“There was a rumor that you threatened him that day in the park,” Phoebe reminded him. “Sainsbury was likely aware of that too.”
It was a bloody diabolical scheme. “If this is true, Sainsbury is a truly horrible human being.” Another thought struck him. “What about the witness who came forward to say he heard me arguing with Drobbit just before the gunshot?”
Phoebe quickly nodded, demonstrating she was well versed in this entire situation. Perhaps more versed than Marcus. “Harry was going to interview him again. He went to see Sainsbury—after he came to tell me what you’d done. Not just that, actually, he also questioned me about your behavior when you came to my house that night. I told him the truth—you didn’t behave like a man who’d committed a murder.”