by Darcy Burke
“Any man would be hard-pressed to behave like anything but a besotted fool in your arms.”
She pursed her lips. “You are not a fool. But I will accept besotted.” Her dimples emerged again, and he fell even more in love with her. Would he always feel like this? He wanted to. Every damn minute of every day.
Marcus wrapped her in his arms and kissed her soundly, taking them both down so they lay side by side. They stared at each other, a kind of wonder arcing between them.
“What do we do now?” she whispered.
“Wait to see what happens with Harry’s investigation, I suppose. As far as I know, I’m still going to see the magistrate tomorrow, and then I’ll be thrown in the Tower.” He’d been resigned to that, but now he would move heaven and earth to avoid it—to stay with Phoebe.
Forever.
The permanence frightened him, but the alternative was unacceptable.
“You are not going to be thrown anywhere,” she said fiercely. “It’s all going to work out—you’ll see. What happens after that is up to you.” Her tone turned soft, shy almost.
“Us. It’s up to us. Can I assume we both want to continue our affair?”
“At least.”
“I suppose the potential for a child is even greater now, since you lured me to remain inside you tonight.”
“I lured you.” She rolled her eyes. “I asked, you complied. Do not act as though you played no part in that. I will not accept responsibility for your choices.”
She was right. If he’d really wanted to, he would have left her. But he hadn’t. He’d known then, just as he’d known the other night, that he loved her, that he was committed to her in every way. “I knew,” he said softly, smiling. “I knew you were mine and we were meant to be together, even if I was too foolish to recognize it until tonight.”
“I said you aren’t a fool, so you can’t be foolish. You were…unilluminated.”
He laughed. “Well, you have brought brightness and clarity to my world. Thank you.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Thank you.”
“I love you, Marcus.” She yawned. “I’m staying here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I love you too.” He gathered her in his arms and kissed her temple. “Stay.”
Chapter 17
Despite her assurances to Marcus the night before, Phoebe was filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread as they took breakfast in the morning room of Marcus’s town house. At least she didn’t feel self-conscious about staying the night and arriving downstairs this morning. Marcus’s retainers were kind, considerate, and they behaved as if she belonged there.
How easy it would be to make that mistake.
And it would be a mistake because she no more belonged here today than she had last night or last week. While it was clear her affair with Marcus had been rekindled, he’d made no promises for the future. No firm indication that he wanted their relationship to be permanent.
She looked at him from beneath her lids, sitting across the table perusing the newspaper that sat next to his plate. She sipped her tea, trying to focus on just putting Drobbit’s murder behind them.
“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Marcus noted.
She glanced at his plate. “You haven’t exactly devoured yours.”
He made a sound in his throat and went back to reading.
“Are you nervous?” she asked. “I am.”
“A bit,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “But someone I admire very much told me everything would work out.”
Her heart did a somersault just as the clock chimed the ten o’clock hour. Marcus closed his eyes briefly, then dipped his head.
“Is everything all right?” Phoebe asked.
“My cousin is being buried this morning. I thought to go, but that was before I learned I would be visiting the magistrate today.”
“I need to go home and change my clothing,” Phoebe said, suddenly feeling as though she had to do something beyond sitting here staring at the remnants of a breakfast she had no plans to eat.
Marcus gave her a dark stare. “You’re not coming with me.”
“I am, and you can’t stop me—I’ll wait in your coach. Don’t you know I’m an independent spinster?”
“You’re a bloody spitfire,” he muttered, a smile teasing his lips.
Dorne appeared in the doorway and announced the arrival of Mr. Harry Sheffield.
Marcus sprang from his chair. “We’ll meet him in the drawing room.”
Phoebe was on her feet before Marcus could aid her. Clasping his arm, she walked upstairs with him to the drawing room.
Harry stood inside already, his large frame imposing even in the spacious chamber. His gaze lit with surprise as it landed on Phoebe. “Good morning.”
“Don’t bother with nonsense,” Marcus said. “What news?”
Phoebe took her hand from Marcus’s arm, then promptly wished she hadn’t. She needed his support and wanted to give it in return. She edged closer to his side.
“I’ve been very busy. Do you mind if I sit down?” Harry asked, moving to a wide chair.
Marcus scowled slightly, then escorted Phoebe to a settee near Harry. “If you’re trying to increase our anticipation to a boiling point, I’d say you’re succeeding rather well.”
“Indeed,” Phoebe murmured. She wanted to yell at him to tell them what he’d learned.
Harry grinned. “My apologies. I’m just delighted to see you here together. Particularly after what I’ve discovered.” He looked to Phoebe. “As you know, I went to find the witness who informed us that Marcus had quarreled with Drobbit just before he was shot. I’m pleased to say that I found him, and when he was presented with the dangers of being found guilty of perjury, he completely recanted.”
Phoebe took Marcus’s hand between hers and squeezed, her insides singing with joy. “Did he say why he lied?”
“Sainsbury paid him to.”
Marcus sagged beside her. “Was that to cover up his crime?”
“It seems so, though he hasn’t confessed. We caught him trying to escape to the continent, however, and that won’t recommend him to the magistrate when he appears before him in,” Harry withdrew a timepiece from his pocket and glanced at the face, “two hours.”
“Marcus doesn’t need to go, then?” Phoebe thought she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from Harry.
Harry smiled at them both. “Marcus is no longer a suspect.”
Phoebe gave in to her joy and threw her arms around Marcus’s neck, laughing. He clasped her tightly and kissed her cheek.
Harry’s cough drew them apart. Phoebe let Marcus go and turned to see that Harry had stood. Marcus also rose, holding his hand for Phoebe to join him. She clasped his fingers with hers and didn’t let go.
“I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding,” Harry said. “Or at least the wedding breakfast, unless it’s just for Society types.”
“Whether you like it or not, you’re a Society type,” Marcus said with a chuckle. “Or have you forgotten that your father is an earl?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, nor that my older brother has a courtesy title—he likes to remind me often.”
“Did you know that Harry is a twin?” Marcus stage-whispered to Phoebe. “He’s the younger by what, eleven minutes?”
“Twelve, but I appreciate you giving me the slight benefit.” Harry smiled again. “I’ll expect an invitation, then.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Phoebe said. “We do not have any plans to wed.”
Harry stared at Marcus, his jaw dipping open. “You’re an idiot.”
Marcus inclined his head. “You aren’t the first one to call me that, and you probably won’t be the last.”
“If you let her get away, I will definitely not be the last.” He went to Phoebe and bowed. “It’s been my pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I do hope you’ll invite me to your nuptials, because I have to believe this,” he glared at Marcus, “imbecile will come
to his senses.”
“Thank you for all your help, Harry.” Phoebe let go of Marcus’s hand and dipped a brief curtsey, then Harry left.
“I suppose I should go too,” she announced, taking a step toward the door.
Marcus grabbed her hand, and led her back upstairs to his sitting room. He stood her near the hearth and said, “Don’t move.”
He disappeared into his bedchamber for a moment. She waited patiently, wondering what the devil he was about. When he came back and knelt before her, his plan became evident and, in response, her heart vaulted into her throat. “Don’t go. Not now. Not ever, actually.” He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a ring.
He took her hand again and looked up at her. “Now that the threat of going to jail or worse isn’t hanging over us” —Phoebe noted his use of the word us—“I would be humbly honored if you would be my wife.”
“You truly want to marry me?” Phoebe wanted to be sure—she knew how far he’d come in such a short time. “It wasn’t so long ago that we both turned our noses up at marriage.”
“And I still would with anyone else. This is more than a marriage, however. Certainly more than most marriages we see. This is what we were meant to do, who we are meant to be. You are the only woman who can be my wife.”
Phoebe’s spirit soared. “Just as you’re the only man who could be my husband.”
His eyes glinted with humor. “Is that a yes?”
“The most emphatic one I can give.”
Marcus slipped the ring on her finger. “This was my mother’s. I never thought I’d give it to someone.”
She held her hand up, and the emerald glittered in the light from the windows. “It fits perfectly.”
He stood and pulled her into his arms. “Of course it does. Because we fit perfectly.”
She smiled widely, never more happy than at that moment. “As though we were made for each other.”
Epilogue
The following Friday, Marcus stared at the beautiful woman standing in the middle of his drawing room and couldn’t believe she was his wife. Not because he’d never intended to wed, but because he was astonished that she’d chosen him. Adorned in an aqua gown decorated with crystals that sparkled like the night sky when she moved, Phoebe took his breath away. Thankfully, she also gave it back every time she looked at him.
The wedding by special license had concluded a short while ago, and they would shortly move to the dining room for an elaborate breakfast. Then he would politely kick every single one of their guests out of his house so he could have his bride to himself.
It was notable that Phoebe’s friend Jane Pemberton had arrived alone. She stood speaking animatedly with Phoebe. Curiosity got the better of him, and he moved to join them.
Miss Pemberton smiled at him as he arrived. “You are the luckiest of men, my lord.”
“I am. Please call me Rip, or Marcus, if you prefer.”
“Then you must call me Jane.”
Phoebe brushed her arm against Marcus’s. “Jane is now an official spinster.”
That explained, he supposed, why she’d arrived alone. “Is there a decree that must be signed? A notice published in the paper?”
“Oh, that’s a marvelous idea,” Jane said with a laugh. “Though my parents would likely be even more furious. They forbade me from attending your wedding, and they gave me an ultimatum—I am to marry Mr. Brinkley or leave their household and make my own way.” She shrugged. “The choice was simple, particularly since my sister is now betrothed.” That had happened just two days ago.
“I’ve invited Jane to live at my house in Cavendish Square,” Phoebe said.
Marcus blinked in surprise. They hadn’t yet decided which house they would keep. His was larger, but she loved her garden and her garden room.
Phoebe smiled up at him, her eyes glowing. “Yes, my love, that means I’ve decided we should live here. If you don’t mind? I’m rather looking forward to redoing your garden.”
Marcus slipped his arm around her waist. “Your garden.”
“I think I shall convene an official meeting of the Spitfire Society,” Jane said.
Phoebe looked to Jane, her brows drawing together. “Who will be there? I will be at Brixton Park for the next fortnight.”
Alone together away from the bustle of town—Marcus could hardly wait.
“I plan to invite the ladies I mentioned to you recently—the sisters who are new to town.”
Phoebe nodded. “I recall. I look forward to meeting them. We shall include Arabella when she returns, of course.”
“Of course. Do you mind if I move my things there this afternoon?”
“Not at all.” Phoebe squeezed her friend’s hand. “Are you certain this is what you want? You won’t receive the same invitations.”
“Oh, good.” Jane grinned, her eyes twinkling, then she turned and went to speak with Anthony, who leaned against the mantel, a glass of champagne dangling from his fingers.
Marcus pivoted toward her. “You’re sure you want to live here?”
She put her hands on his chest, smiling up at him adoringly so that his heart threatened to explode from his chest. “I honestly don’t care where we live, so long as we’re together.”
Being this happy would never cease to astound him.
Phoebe’s parents came toward them. Her mother beamed, and her father looked…less uncomfortable than when Marcus had first met him.
“Look at how happy you are,” Mrs. Lennox said.
“Look at how happy you are,” Phoebe murmured with just an edge of humor—not enough for her parents to catch it, probably, but Marcus did. He’d come to know her so well. Despite not wedding until that morning, they’d spent every day and night together over the past week. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of her. Indeed, he was sometimes annoyed that it had taken so long for them to find each other.
“I wanted to thank you again for restoring what Drobbit stole,” Lennox said gruffly.
Marcus nodded in response. “My family’s honor demanded it.” And he was glad Lennox had accepted it. Convincing Graham to do the same when Marcus insisted on returning Brixton Park would prove more difficult. Still, Marcus would see it done—even going so far as to lie to Graham and tell him that Drobbit had returned some of the money before he’d died. Marcus had also made reparations to the Stokes and to a few other people his cousin had fleeced.
Osborne had come to see him and provided a partial list of Drobbit’s victims. It had only been partial because Osborne admitted he hadn’t always kept proper records. Then he’d promised to leave London for good. Marcus had warned him Bow Street would be watching.
Making restitution with those he could was the least Marcus could do. He hoped it went a small way to healing the damage Drobbit’s thievery and deviousness had caused.
They chatted with Phoebe’s parents for a while longer until Marcus saw Anthony take yet another glass of champagne and then stumble on his way back to propping up the mantel.
Marcus excused himself and went to speak with Anthony. “Should you go upstairs and sleep for a while?” he asked with a half smile.
Anthony snorted before he took a sip of the champagne. “It’s your fault for serving such delicious wine.”
“Perhaps. I could always stop serving it, if that would help.”
Anthony scowled at him. “Don’t be a bore now that you’re married.”
“I’m offended you would think so,” Marcus said. He moved closer and lowered his voice. “I think it’s time you pulled yourself together. I can’t imagine I’ll become a bore, but I am married now, and I can’t keep as close an eye on you as I have been.”
“I don’t need to be watched over.” Anthony sniffed. “I am, however, disappointed that you’ll be abandoning me. I befriended you entirely because I thought you could be trusted to keep me eternally amused. And now look at you—absolutely besotted. You’re lost to me completely.”
Marcus heard the sadness beatin
g beneath the sarcasm. “This gives you time to sort yourself out,” he said quietly. “To face what you need to face.”
Anthony glared at him. “And what’s that?”
“The pain of the loss of your parents.”
The glass in Anthony’s hand shattered, splashing champagne on him and all over the floor. A footman rushed toward them as Anthony shook out his hand, swearing.
“Are you all right?” Marcus asked, trying to see if Anthony’s hand was cut.
“Don’t pretend to care,” Anthony said through his teeth. “Go back to your wife. I’ll be fine.” He strode from the drawing room.
Before he could follow, Phoebe arrived at his side. She placed her hand on his arm. “Do you want to go after him?”
He did, but also didn’t think it would do any good. In fact, it could worsen matters. Anthony was going to do what he wanted, and the more Marcus tried to pull him back from the abyss, the more he would barrel straight into the darkness.
“I do, but he won’t like it.” He exhaled before giving Phoebe his heartfelt attention. “Besides, I’m not leaving you on our wedding day.”
“I wouldn’t mind, not if you think he needs you. He’s…troubled.”
“I thought so too, but I’m beginning to realize that’s an understatement. I’ll see what I can do to help him. I wish that Felix and Sarah were here.” Anthony’s sister was due to give birth to her first child in the next few weeks.
“We’ll help him.” Phoebe gave him a reassuring smile. “Together. Who knows, maybe he’ll be as happy as we are sooner than he expects. That happened to you.”
“That happened to both of us, and I daresay the odds are one in a million. “
“Oh, come now,” she scoffed. “Think of all the happy couples we know—Felix and Sarah, Beck and Lavinia, Arabella and Graham. And that’s just a start.”
“Are you saying it’s an epidemic and Anthony could be the next to fall victim?” he asked wryly.
“I can think of worse things to happen,” she said, taking his hand.
He lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of her wrist. “It may surprise you to hear that I can think of nothing better. You’ve given me a joy I never imagined.”