by Peggy Waide
Using the backs of his fingers, he brushed a featherlike caress from her collar bone, over the rise of her breasts. He circled her nipples, running his hand down her stomach through the thatch of curls, over her legs to her feet, only to repeat the torture until they both were panting.
Phoebe lifted her head. "Am I to be the only one without clothes?"
He sat on his heels and shed his shirt, then lowered himself on top of Phoebe, pressing chest to breast, male to female. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth. Her calm, the last shreds of her control, shattered with the hunger of his touches and kisses. The need to feed that passion overwhelmed all else. She could deny him nothing. The feel of his naked body pressed against hers was unlike anything she had ever imagined.
His hands slowly crawled in a slow, torturous path to her very core, where he toyed endlessly until she writhed against his seeking fingers. She stilled for a moment when he placed a finger within her body, the shock of such action foreign to her but enticing all the same. Two fingers, then, and the steady rhythm he set enveloped her body with a marvelous tension, a suspense and need, a wanting of the unknown.
Then and only then did Stephen lean away to discard his trousers. When he lay atop her once again, she felt the proof of his desire pressed at the juncture of her thighs. She spread her legs further to adapt and accept the nourishment he offered, the only sustenance that would end the gnawing hunger of her loins.
Probing gently, he pressed into her allowing her to accept the part of him so different from her. She felt a slight burning, horrifically awkward, for she knew not what to do to ease the tightness. Then he thrust forward, joining them in the manner a man and woman were meant to be joined. Unable to control her reaction, she gave a rather mouselike squeak. Stephen lay perfectly still, his head burrowed in her hair, his gasps of air teasing the strands at her temples.
She waited, the clawing need she'd momentarily lost building once again. Still, Stephen lay perfectly still. "Is that all?" she managed to ask. She felt the rocking of his shoulders as he chuckled.
He raised his head to meet her gaze. "No, my sweet. We're far from finished. I was giving you time to adjust."
Fighting the embarrassment of actually talking while joined as such, she nibbled her lower lip. She really wanted to continue. "I believed I've adjusted enough."
He laughed again, this time deeper and fuller. She felt him deep inside her, his slight movement causing the most intriguing sensations. "Oh, my," she sighed. He pulled away ever so slightly, only to plunge into her depths again and again, his movements gaining power. He kissed her fiercely, his body's rhythm matching the thrusts of his tongue. Her body rose to match his movements. Stephen groaned and, she discovered the benefit of moving, partici pating in this act of love. Tentatively, she matched his rhythm, pumping and heaving toward a destination she knew existed, a plane of completion like none she'd ever experienced. The pounding of her heart matched the throbbing in her loins until a pleasure ignited so great that she could do no more than shudder beneath its fiery release.
A moment later, Stephen gave a final thrust, emitted a lusty groan and bent his head to her shoulder. They collapsed, sated. With a sigh, Stephen slid from her body, rolled to his side and leaned on his elbow, his head tucked in the cradle of his hand.
Reaching her arm high above her head, languishing in the warmth of the afternoon sun, she felt like a cat, too content to do more than stretch. Love was a remarkable thing. Her lips curved slightly as the racing of her heart began to slow. She raised her eyelids to find Stephen staring at her, his gaze no less intense than it was earlier. In fact, if possible, his eyes burned brighter, his expression fiercer, almost triumphant.
Smoothing the wisps of hair from her brow, he said, "Darling, as soon as we return to London, we shall find you a place to live."
She still felt like purring. "A house?"
"You can chose whatever you like, I care not. Cost is not a factor. I simply want you in my bed as soon as possible."
The brusque matter-of-fact tone of Stephen's voice penetrated the sensual fog that had wrapped about her body. She'd declared her love, and truth be told, she hadn't known what to expect from him but certainly not this. He'd obviously misunderstood. She sat up, distancing herself from the man. "What do you think I agreed to?"
For the first time his expression wavered slightly. "To be my mistress, of course."
"Of course." Reaching for her shift, she dragged the garment over her head. She pushed her arms through the sleeves of her blouse, stalling for more time looking for the words to explain. Her skirt came next, the dampness from their lovemaking evident. Which only increased her discomfort as she realized what she had done.
No, she thought. She had willingly given him her virginity and would never regret her actions.
She had surrendered her love, yet she wasn't prepared to surrender her future. Two weeks remained before her inheritance became Hildegard's. Ample time yet to sway the stubborn man's mind, to prove he couldn't live without her. "I admitted my love, but I did not mean, in any way, to give you the impression that I"
"Spit it out, darling. What's the matter?"
"I am not going to become your mistress."
"The devil you say." He jumped to his feet, entirely naked. He seemed not to care. "No other man will touch you. You just gave me your virginity."
"Believe you me, I'm well aware of what just happened."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he yanked his trousers over his hips, fastening the flaps with abrupt movements. He threw his arms into his shirt. He marched about, towering above her like the wall of trees surrounding them. "What game is this? Do you think to force me to marry you?"
"You idiot." She stuffed her feet into her boots without her stockings, which she tucked into the pocket of her jacket. "Why must everything be a game, a ploy, a trap? Can't I give you something without your suspicions taking over? Listen to me, you stubborn man. I chose to make love with you and that's that. I'm not ready to give up hope for a future I've dreamed of all my life."
Stephen continued to prowl the wooded area, his movements, normally graceful and fluid, were agitated and stiff. The muscles she had caressed and felt their sinewy strength now bunched with tension. Stopping to stare at a squirrel that chattered from a nearby tree, his terse response came from beneath a large oak, his face cloaked in shadow. "You just experienced a woman's pleasure. Tended to by me."
"I realize that," she said hesitantly, unsure of the direction of his thoughts.
"Such pleasure is not often shared between a man and a woman."
"Why do you suppose that is, Stephen?"
"I have no bloody idea."
Love, she wanted to shout. Love made the difference. Damn his soul.
"Do you think to find another man who can make you respond so readily?"
"Probably not."
"Then abandon this ridiculous search of yours!"
"I have no choice."
"There are always choices."
She focused on the loosened buttons of her jacket. "So you keep saying and I keep wishing."
He ripped a scrap of bark from the trunk of a tree and tossed it to the ground. "I do not understand your willingness to go to a man you hardly know, one you might dislike, simply due to a piece of property. We shared more than a kiss or two, Phoebe Rafferty, and don't even think to forget it. I guarantee my caresses will haunt you no matter the man you take as husband."
The truth of his statement was paralyzing. No man made her feel as he had. She hated the fact that he knew it. She stood and brushed the crushed leaves from her clothes, which only fueled her discomfort. His blind refusal to acknowledge what they had shared, what she had freely given, hurt and shattered what little patience she had left. Her body throbbed with rekindled passion. Anger. For the first time in weeks, she questioned her ability to change his mind. "Since we seem to be speaking so openly, I venture to say that you, Stephen Lambert, will remember the response I freely g
ave and will spend the rest of your days despising the thought of another man touching me as you did. Think on that."
Like the ancient trees that surrounded them, he stood rooted to the ground. Then without another word, he stomped toward their horses.
Phoebe considered his silence a good sign; her comments had hit their mark. She still had a slight chance of convincing him to marry her. With a conviction born of years of hardship, she resolved to give the man one last chance. Of course, she was a dreamer at heart.
Phoebe tore her gaze from Stephen, who stood on the other side of the ballroom refusing to give her the time of day. She stared at her aunt's pinched expression the knitted brow, her normally pale coloring flushed with anger and sighed. Hildegard was in the mood to lecture.
"Your willful behavior, Phoebe Rafferty, casts doubt on your character, which in turn affects me and my own. I have heard the whispers about your disappearance this morning. The fact that Lord Badrick vanished near the same time stimulates gossip amongst my peers. I shall not have my name linked with his."
Hildegard's words rolled off her tongue with little care as to who might hear while her arms flapped in every direction. A bit of the devil prompted Phoebe to widen her eyes with false innocence and, knowing she would be better off saying nothing, she spoke nonetheless, her voice a whisper laced with shock. "Why, Auntie, do people think you were with Lord Badrick?"
Hildegard sputtered twice, then snapped her mouth shut. She frowned at Phoebe, then cast a glance to her daughter, who had giggled quietly. "Charity, what do you find amusing? And quit your slouch. Your dress hangs like a worn grain sack when you do."
Charity jerked her shoulders backward and thrust her chest forward. However Charity managed to tolerate her mother's constant attacks was beyond Phoebe's imagination. But then again, so was Hildegard's cruelty.
"And what, pray tell, did you say to Lord Renoke and Lord Milsip?" Her aunt continued. "They seemed absolutely horrified when someone mentioned your name. Not that I care overmuch for their opinion. When I consider your mother's sins, I am not surprised at your behavior. She traipsed off to the colonies without a care to what happened to me, leaving me to accept what meager proposals came my way. People talked then as well."
Gritting her teeth, wishing she were anywhere but where she was, Phoebe purposefully smacked her lips. "Auntie, if I may say so, I think that too many people spend far too much time hashing over other people's lives as it is. As to my disappearance this morning, I felt faint and went for a walk. Remember?"
"At the same time as Badrick!" The disdain carried over into Hildegard's words. "Even Sir Lemmer commented on the so-called coincidence."
"Sir Lemmer's opinion means nothing to me."
Hildegard's lips twisted into a sneer. "You say that now, but circumstance often changes quickly and unexpectedly."
Ignoring the warning that clamored in her mind, Phoebe tried to think of a way to escape her aunt's company, though she hated to abandon Charity. She grinned when she saw Sir Ellwood and Lord Kendall heading in their direction. A dance with either man was better than a lecture.
"Here come Sir Ellwood and Lord Kendall," Hildegard muttered. "Remove that wobegone expression from your face, Charity. As I reminded you earlier this eve, do not waste your time with Ellwood."
"But Mother, surely one dance wouldn't hurt."
"Humph. And for heaven's sake, try to think of something to say other than yes sir' and no sir.'"
"I am not a simpleton, Mother."
Clutching Charity's hand in hers, Phoebe squeezed. She could offer no words, only support. Waiting until Charity had secured a dance with Sir Ellwood, Phoebe herself spun away with Lord Kendall.
Her aunt scowled, but Phoebe only laughed.
The unbidden image of Phoebe, her lips parted with surprise and passion, flashed repeatedly across Stephen's mind. Tantalizing, unwelcome memories had taunted Stephen throughout the day, making him more irritable than anyone ought to be. With his thoughts scattered and distracted he'd actually played one of the worst hands of whist he'd ever encountered. He glared across the ballroom to the woman responsible for his foul mood.
Lord Eaton stood beside Stephen and sipped a glass of sherry. "What do you suppose happened to the fox, anyway?"
"'Tis a puzzle, indeed," Winston said, looking purposefully at his friend. "What do you think, Stephen?"
"One can only speculate, my friend."
"Bloody shame if you ask me," muttered Eaton for the third or fourth time not that Stephen was counting, but the bore refused to change the blasted topic. Eaton tugged his red waistcoat lower over his extensive belly. "I rather fancied the business of impressing the women. Oh, bother. I shall have to rely on my wit and skill as a dancer. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I for one intend to make the most of the evening."
With a ridiculous flourish of his wrist, Eaton abandoned the discussion, circling the dance floor, seeking the lady of his choice. Already guessing the prey Eaton sought, Stephen grimaced. His scowl deepened as Phoebe gave Eaton a winsome smile and a giggle. The damned woman had flaunted her charms all evening, dancing with gent after gent, talking and laughing as if she actually enjoyed their company.
It was an abomination. Why just this afternoon, she had bestowed upon him one of the greatest gifts given a man. Now she was allowing every manjack to touch her. At least Lemmer had the good sense to stay away. Stephen doubted he could have remained on this side of the ballroom, as he had all evening, if Lemmer had so much as breathed in Phoebe's direction.
Clearing his throat, Winston grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing servant. He handed one to Stephen. "By the way, my friend, how is that headache of yours?"
"Fine."
"Truly?" Winston pursed his lips and studied Stephen's face. "It appears as though you suffer for need of a physic this very moment lest you expire at my feet. Unless, of course, there is another reason for a scowl worthy of all scowls to be plastered on your face?" Winston waited patiently for a response, any response, from Stephen.
When none was forthcoming, he continued. "Eaton does have an interesting point. I myself wondered what happened to the fox today. Sir Lemmer seemed quite upset over the debacle. Much to my chagrin, Lemmer came to his senses before he insulted my gamekeeper's skill. I rather liked the thought of planting a facer on him. Imagine my surprise when my men investigated and discovered not one, but two of the foxholes uncovered. Very odd."
In the arms of another man, Phoebe circled past Stephen. Her laughter, like the effervescence of a fine champagne, floated above the music and set his teeth to clenching. His fingers curled around the stem of his glass, wishing it were Eaton's miserable neck instead. "Hmmm."
"Sweet mercy, Stephen. What the devil happened?"
Stephen pivoted away from the dancing couples to face Winston. Perhaps if he ignored the girl his mood would improve. Rubbish. "You are more persistent than a harrier with a rabbit between his teeth. I have a fair idea you already know what happened and torment me for your own enjoyment. Phoebe decided on her own I might add to save the fox from his fate and remove any chances that she be saddled with Lemmer for the eve. When I discovered her little plan, I naturally gave assistance as any gentleman would."
Winston lifted a solitary brow, a silent request to elaborate. He waved his hand impatiently. "And?"
"After which, we rode to Chanctonbury Ring where I foolishly subjected myself to her manipulations and an afternoon of frustration and torture."
Clearing his throat, likely hiding a chuckle, Winston said, "My dear friend. Go ask the female to dance. You might be more fit company for her than Eaton"
Not bloody likely, thought Stephen. He'd strangle the woman or drag her from the room, peel her clothes from her body and kiss her into submission or he'd admit that he loved her. Bloody hell. Where had that thought come from?
Guilt, he quickly decided. He'd not asked for her full agreement before they made love; he'd assumed her declara tion meant that sh
e'd accepted his conditions. He hadn't bothered to clarify what she meant, but rather taken her virginity, and now he felt guilty. Thinking to ease his guilt, some twisted piece of logic was convincing him he loved her.
But that was impossible. He'd locked the door to those emotions and buried the key with his two dead wives. He slapped his hands behind his back. "Considering the speculation caused by our absence this morning, that is the last thing I should do."
"As long as no one knows the truth, no harm shall be done. Let everyone wonder. Other than Renoke's and Milsip's misguided opinions, it certainly has not affected her allure. Even Tewksbury asked about her earlier this eve. At this rate, she'll make a match in short order."
"Like hell she will."
Shaking his head, Winston placed a brotherly hand on Stephen's shoulder and squeezed. "The girl is perfect for you. The curse is nonsense. Marry her and be done with it, else I fear you shall be the most inhospitable company for all time."
"I can't."
"You won't."
He viciously cursed. "Am I always to be plagued by those who worry over my matrimonial state as if it were their own?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, Stephen stomped off in the general direction of the card room. He wearied of watching every man and boy ogle the woman he considered his.
He had warned Phoebe about her feelings. Lord, he seemed to be the one unable to control himself. Infernal woman. When would she realize she belonged to him?
Phoebe watched Stephen storm from the room. Stubborn oaf. Let him brood. He had ignored her all evening, which suited her just fine. Unless he had something differ ent to say or was prepared to apologize, she intended to keep her distance. She pasted a false smile on her face and turned back to Charity. The poor girl stared at Sir Ellwood as though the man held the moon in his hands. Phoebe knew the feeling. She sighed and watched the lords who circled them like vultures after a kill. How she wished for a few moments alone.
Hildegard's nagging voice cut through her thoughts. "Phoebe, I see you need something to divert your attention. I seem to have left my fan in the portrait hall. Go fetch it."