by Tarah Scott
Kiernan gave a soft snort. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Phoebe frowned. “What?”
“If you expect me to be put off with that nonsense, you’ve miscalculated.”
A dangerous gleam glinted in her eyes. “My uncle filled you in on the details, didn't he? Or perhaps it was your father.”
“My father?" He should have known she would try and slip out of the marriage by telling her father about her elopement. "It was your uncle, as a matter of fact.”
“Including the details concerning the period between the time Brandon and I left the magistrate and the time he and Lord Redgrave arrived?” she asked.
Redgrave? Her uncle hadn't mentioned the earl. “He told me enough," Kiernan replied. "I can surmise the rest.”
“Then you know you're getting no vestal virgin.”
“I could hardly think that, considering the way you were throwing yourself at Lord Beasley that first night I saw you.”
She gasped. “How dare you?”
“I wish you would make up your mind,” he said. “You're insulted by the possibility I might consider you a virgin, yet angry when I point out the fact that you were flirting publicly with a man.”
Phoebe opened her mouth, then her gaze shifted past him.
“Lord Ashlund,” a female voice said.
Kiernan grasped Phoebe's hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and turned to face Lord and Lady Dawney.
He guided Phoebe forward and stopped a few feet from the pair. “Lady Dawney,” he said.
Lady Dawney curtsied, then proffered her hand. Kiernan released Phoebe and bent over the older woman's hand, then straightened and looked at Lord Dawney.
“Horace.”
“Lord Ashlund,” the viscount replied with a stiff bow.
Kiernan stepped back. “You both know my fiancé, Miss Wallington?”
“Indeed.” Lady Dawney’s gaze fastened onto Phoebe. “The instant we spied you in this private spot, we knew you could be speaking with none other than Miss Wallington.” Lady Dawney gave her husband a knowing look. “Remember, Horace, what it was like being so young and in love?”
Lord Dawney cleared his throat. “Indeed.”
“Yes, indeed,” Lady Dawney added unabashedly. She leaned forward and whispered in a confidential voice. “You needn’t concern yourselves that we misunderstand the time you two spent together in Scotland.”
Phoebe gave a tiny gasp and Kiernan repressed a groan.
Lady Dawney giggled. “We understand the magic of love on the young heart.” She gazed up lovingly at her husband. “Lord Dawney and I were involved in just such a scandal before we married.”
“Lydia,” Lord Dawney admonished.
“Quite all right,” Kiernan said. “May I ask what is the commérage?”
“It is said you whisked Miss Wallington off to your father’s castle in Scotland.” Lady Dawney’s eyes turned dreamy. “Quite romantic.”
Kiernan chuckled. “An interesting interpretation.” He grasped Phoebe’s hand.
Lady Dawney’s gaze focused on the action.
“When Miss Wallington came to my father’s home in Scotland, she wasn't alone.” Kiernan lifted her hand to his lips. Phoebe tensed and her expression darkened, but she didn't resist. “That was my misfortune.” Her look turned murderous. He gave her a small wink and placed her hand in the crook of his arm, then looked at Lady Dawney. “You know how these things get started, one grain of truth and a mountain of gossip.”
“Indeed,” Lady Dawney agreed. “Things do get out of hand.”
“The truth,” Kiernan said in a sorrowful voice, “is far less romantic.” He looked down at Phoebe. “Though, I am fortunate that my father facilitated the marriage arrangements for me.” Kiernan gave her a roguish wink. “Had he not done so, I would have been forced to take matters into my own hands.”
“You have taken quite enough into your own hands,” said his father from the doorway.
Phoebe started and Kiernan gave her hand a squeeze.
“Father, you know Lord and Lady Dawney.”
“Horace.” The duke nodded.
“Your Grace.” Lord Dawney gave another of his stiff bows.
“Lady Dawney,” the duke said.
“Your Grace,” she said in a titter, and curtsied.
“Kiernan,” he said, “you have had Phoebe to yourself long enough. Her uncle is anxious to see her.”
“Kiernan looked down at Phoebe. “So I told her.”
*****
Phoebe didn't move when Kiernan grasped her elbow and started toward the ballroom.
He looked down at her. “What's wrong?”
“I…” She glanced at the duke. How was she to face him?
“Father,” Kiernan said, “Phoebe and I need a moment.”
Annoyance flickered in the duke’s eyes and Phoebe feared he would deny the request, then he turned to Lord and Lady Dawney.
“Shall we?” He held out an arm for Lady Dawney.
“Oh, well,” she fluttered, then slipped her plump hand into the crook of his arm. “You're too kind, Your Grace.”
“Don't be long,” he called as he led the pair back into the ballroom.
They disappeared into the ballroom and Phoebe whirled on Kiernan. “Lord Ashlund—”
“Shhh.” With a sideways glance at the ballroom, he grasped her hand and guided her across the balcony and down the stairs to the gardens.
The light from the ballroom receded. She glanced back at the open door. “Lord Ashlund, perhaps we ought to stop here.”
He ignored her and continued across the lawn.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
They passed the bushes and, a moment later, entered the darker shadows of the arboretum.
“By heavens, slow down or I’m liable to—" The toe of her slipper hit a small branch and she stumbled.
Kiernan pulled her upright, then swung her around to face him. “How long are you going to be pigheaded?”
Phoebe felt her eyes widen, and she fell silent for an embarrassingly long moment before saying, “I don’t know.”
He released her. “Well, that’s a start.”
Anger lanced through her. “Don't blame me for balking at the idea of marrying a stranger. Or do you think I should count my blessings that the groom is a marquess?”
“Damnation, Phoebe, I never said that.”
“Have you considered what this is like for me?” she demanded.
He hesitated. “I thought I had.” He stared at her, though she couldn't discern his expression in the shadows. “How is it for you?”
Phoebe stilled, completely unprepared for this response. “Damn you,” she muttered.
“What’s that you say?”
“You would have to ask me straight out,” she said.
“Phoebe,” he began with obvious frustration.
“I have no wish to marry anyone,” she blurted. “Yet I'm being forced to marry a complete stranger.”
“Not a complete stranger,” he said softly. “We know one another better than many who marry.”
“I want freedom, sir, not marriage.” By heavens, if Redgrave could hear her, he would paddle her, then dismiss her from Her Majesty's service.
“You act as if marriage is a prison,” Kiernan said.
“Easy for you to talk. You won't have to change your life one iota.”
“Your opinion of me is gratifying,” he said in a dry tone. “What sort of freedom do you want?”
Another question she was unprepared to answer. Alistair's words came back to her. "If he is an honorable man, you could do worse." If her spying turned up no incriminating evidence against Kiernan, she would still be able to call off the wedding.
“The kind that doesn't put me at the beck and call of a husband,” she muttered.
“I don't plan on making a slave of you,” he said.
The gentleness in his voice startled her. “Yes—well, I didn't mean to imply you meant to
chain me up.”
“Oh?” he murmured. “That idea has some appeal.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. I'm a reasonable man. I promise not to ask too much of you.”
“No heir, then?” she asked.
“I had hoped, of course.”
“Since I didn't plan on marrying, I didn't plan on children.”
“A logical conclusion,” he agreed. “Now that you will marry, however…”
“There we have it,” Phoebe said. “By the time I'm fat with your third child I will have no other choice but to follow your every command while you continue on as you always have.”
“My dear,” she heard the smile in his voice, “only a moment ago you were defending my fidelity.”
“You weren't guilty of Lady Halsey’s accusations.”
“But I will commit future crimes.”
“You aren't marrying me for love, Ashlund. Don't pretend you will be faithful to a wife for whom you feel no tenderness.”
“I feel a great deal of tenderness for you, and to prove it, I will allow you all the freedom you desire.”
“You won't question where I go at night?”
A long silence drew out between them before he replied in a neutral tone, “If you are asking, if I will stop you from going where you please, the answer is no, as long as you have no secret assignation.”
“If I wish to travel?”
“What man would deny his wife the luxury of travel?”
“What of my finances?” she asked.
“Your inheritance is yours to do with as you please.”
“I have no intention of changing how I dress, my friends, the parties I attend. I am often not home until sunrise.”
“It will please me to watch the sunrise with you.” He grasped her shoulders. “Do we have a bargain?” He pulled her close.
“I'll give it thought,” she said, though her mind had gone blank at the pressure of his thighs against hers.
“Do my terms please you?”
“I-I can't say.”
Kiernan chuckled. “I can please you in many ways.”
“I'm sure you will do your best, sir.” Her heart, she realized, was pounding.
“Are you?” he asked. “It's only fair you understand exactly what you're getting. Perhaps, then, the sunrise will hold less attraction.”
Kiernan’s arms slid around her as his mouth brushed hers. His teeth closed gently over her bottom lip. Phoebe froze, startled by the tender nips. He released her lip then ran his tongue along the edge of her mouth. She gripped his shoulders, intending to push him away, but when he prodded her mouth with his tongue, she forgot the impulse in favor of the surprise that parted her lips. He slid his tongue inside and suddenly she was aware of his heat and—heaven help her—the bulge that dug into her abdomen.
A low groan rumbled from his chest and an answering heat pooled between her legs. He angled her head back and deepened the kiss, pressing her closer, though she wouldn’t have thought that possible. An unexpected ache throbbed in her nipples and she tightened her hold on his shoulders before realizing the action. His mouth slid from hers, down along her cheek and to her neck. Her flesh seemed to shiver where he touched her and the shiver traveled down her back and stomach to meet at the juncture between her legs.
Kiernan broke off his kiss and buried his face in her hair. "I've wanted to do that since the last time I kissed you."
Her legs felt like jelly.
“I understand what you want,” he whispered. He ran his tongue along her ear. By heavens, her legs were going to buckle. “I'll court you as I should have in the beginning,” he said.
“I won't marry before a year,” she managed.
“A year?” He sucked gently on her earlobe.
“A year.” Phoebe cursed the unsteadiness in her voice.
“A year's engagement is proper." He nibbled on her jaw. “In that time, I will pursue you, court you, and, lastly, seduce you.” He hugged her tighter, pressed the hard length of himself closer. “Beware," he whispered, "this is but the courting. When the seduction begins, you will be unable to resist.”
By heavens, had she just whimpered? “You're certain I will surrender?”
His hand cupped her neck, and he pressed his lips against the hollow of her neck. “Quite willingly,” he said against her flesh.
“Why?” she breathed.
Kiernan leaned back. “Because our union will be no bondage, rather, I will please you.” He exhaled a slow breath. “Where else will you find a man willing to give you all you want?”
What did she want?
He wrapped a hand around her waist and began a slow walk back toward the ballroom. “It was foolish of you to run off as you did from Brahan Seer,” he said. "And then the inn.” He made a tsking sound. “You can imagine my concern when I learned you were gone.”
“For all the good it did me,” she said under her breath. Were her legs ever going to feel strong again?
He laughed. “Don't expect me to believe you would have it any other way. By the way,” he added, and reached into his breast pocket, “I believe this is yours.”
He took her hand and pressed something into her palm. Phoebe discerned the cool metal of a ring and held it up in the moonlight.
“What—my God, it’s not?”
“Yes, it's your mother’s ring,” he said.
“But how—”
“I can't take credit. It was Donald. He realized the importance of the piece and procured it for me. I am eternally grateful, of course.”
“How did you know it was my mother’s ring?” Phoebe asked.
“Your uncle recognized it. How else?”
How else, indeed? Phoebe groaned. She had all but forgotten about her uncle.
*****
When Kiernan led Phoebe back into the ballroom, his father turned from the group he was talking with as if aware of their entrance. Over the heads of the couples dancing, their eyes met and Kiernan knew exactly what his father was thinking: any more stolen moments alone in the garden with your future wife and I'll horsewhip you.
The twitch of a smile pulled at Kiernan's mouth and his father's expression darkened. Kiernan shifted his gaze to Phoebe and understood his father's irritation. Her left sleeve had slipped too far down her shoulder, exposing the curve of her breast more shockingly than did the low bodice of the olive green gown. That would teach him to half undress a woman—his betrothed—in public.
Kiernan pulled her tight, pressing the lovely breast against his side.
Her head snapped up, eyes dark with indignation. "Sir, I am not some streetwalker to be mauled."
"I quite agree," he said. "Which is why you might want to adjust your sleeve."
She frowned and looked down. "By heavens."
Phoebe grasped the sleeve and jerked it up. His cock jerked in response to the shift of creamy flesh as she pulled the bodice back into place over her full breasts. Damnation, he'd only managed to control his lust so that he didn't draw stares when they entered the ballroom.
He looked up to see his father still staring. Kiernan sighed. "Shall we, my dear?" He guided her through the crowd surrounding the dancers toward his father.
They neared the duke on the far side of the ballroom and her eyes widened when he smiled at her.
Kiernan bent his head and whispered, "You jumped from a moving carriage, but my father terrifies you?"
"Your father is determined that I marry you," she said under her breath.
"Phoebe, I am determined that you marry me."
"You, I can ignore."
"You weren't able to ignore me in the garden."
"My lord," she exclaimed, then blushed at a woman who was staring.
"Good evening, Lady Benette." Kiernan canted his head in the woman's direction. Her gaze flew to his and he lifted a brow. She visibly swallowed, then whirled away from him. "Lovely woman," he commented. "I believe her daughter ran off with Lord Phillips when she was eighteen,"
Kiernan said in a loud whisper. He didn't miss the stiffening of Lady Benette's shoulders as he and Phoebe passed her. They neared his father and Phoebe slowed. "Courage, my dear," he whispered. "He isn't an ogre."
"No," she said under her breath, "that would be you."
Kiernan brought them to a halt before his father, and Phoebe dropped into a low bow. "Your Grace."
He grasped her hand and pulled her upright. "None of that. As I said before, you can call me Father. You're well?" he asked.
"Yes, Your-er, sir."
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Lass, we welcome you into our family."
Surprise flickered in her eyes. "I see where your son gets his straightforward manner."
Kiernan's father shot him a look that said he'd better not be too straight forward, then said to Phoebe, "Honesty is the best, wouldn't you agree?"
"I do," she said.
He released her hand. "Your uncle is here, he and your aunt accompanied us. I understand you haven't seen him since your arrival in London."
"He came with you?" Her eyes narrowed. "So my new father and uncle are ganging up on me."
"I wouldn't say ganging up."
"No?"
"No. We had business to settle."
"Is that what you call me: business?"
"Phoebe," Kiernan began, but her gaze shifted past his father. Kiernan followed her line of sight and saw Regan talking with Lord Mallory. Lord Harrington joined their group.
"When did Lord Stoneleigh return to London?" Phoebe asked.
"I believe he arrived two days ago. If you recall, I was forced to convalesce," Kiernan said.
"You saved my son's life," his father said.
Phoebe smiled sweetly. "One good turn deserves another, wouldn't you agree?"
"Aye," he replied. "But allowing you to become a pariah isn't a good turn."
"Your Grace—" She stopped when Regan, Mallory, and Harrington arrived at Kiernan's father's side.
"I believe congratulations are in order," Regan addressed Kiernan, then faced Phoebe. "Miss Wallington." He gave a slight bow. "May I present Lord Mallory and Lord Harrington.
Lord Mallory bowed. "Miss Wallington."
"Madam." Lord Harrington inclined his head.
"My lords." She offered a graceful bow that was the epitome of gentility, but had her gaze lingered for a bare instant too long on Lord Mallory?