by Peggy Waide
Climbing from his arms, she ran up the steps and knelt beside Bliss. She whispered something in the young girl's ear. Bliss grinned and nodded. Phoebe skipped back down to Stephen. Hand in hand, they marched out the front door. Once in the carriage, Stephen settled Phoebe on his lap. "What did you say to Bliss?"
"I told her to find her father a wife who will love him to distraction, to not settle for anything less. They both deserve such a woman."
"God help him. With Bliss as his taskmistress, the poor man doesn't stand a chance."
A sense of peace swelled within her. Her questions about her future remained unanswered, but one thing was certain, she belonged at Stephen's side and in his arms. Laughing, she wrapped her body around his. "I know." She nibbled on the soft flesh of his ear, the tender bruise beside his eye.
"Phoebe."
The fire in his eyes revealed the heat within his body. Yet he made no move to kiss her or drown her in sensation. Her need to touch him shocked her. Her lips trailed down his jaw to torment the crease in his mouth as her hands drifted across shoulders. She moaned.
Capturing her wayward hands, he placed them in her lap. "If you're not careful, you'll find yourself on your back with your skirts tossed above your head."
She couldn't tear her gaze from his. Embarrassment turned to yearning. Truth be told, she rather liked his suggestion. He must have sensed her train of thought, for he whispered in her ear with that deep husky voice she adored. "Another time, my dear. First I want a bath, then I want a bed. Champagne, candles and absolute privacy."
During the entire trip, the blood pounded in her temples with the rocking of the carriage. Stephen made innocuous conversation. Had someone asked her, she doubted she'd be able to repeat a word. Her thoughts lay with the night ahead. They reached his home and were greeted by an exuberant staff who quickly rushed to meet Stephen's demands. He deposited her in a room with instructions to make herself comfortable, a feat she considered impossible. Her throat was as dry as a week-old biscuit and her limbs suddenly felt weighted like a stone.
She found a white lace nightgown draped on the bed, the fabric so sheer she briefly wondered why he wanted her to bother. A silver brush lay next to it. The man was certainly full of surprises. Once she had changed, she waited beside the window, gazing into a star-filled sky, anticipation singing through every nerve in her body.
The door opened. Wrapped in a burgundy satin robe, Stephen leaned against the frame, watching her with an intensity that set her skin to tingling. His hair, still damp, curled slightly around his ears. The robe parted at the waist to reveal the tawny muscles of his chest. Like he had so many times before, he extended his hand in invitation. She went willingly.
Lit by moonshine and candlelight, his bedroom appeared the place where dreams were made. He led her to the bed and with a slow, agonizing pace, he unlaced the bindings of the delicate gown until it pooled at her ankles. Her breath hitched as his eyes gleamed with unspoken promises and expectation.
He took her hand and guided it to the belt of his robe, and she ceased to breathe at all. With trembling hands she freed him from his clothing. She had glimpsed his masculinity before, but had never really had the opportunity to see all of him, had been far too embarrassed to stare. Even now, she couldn't believe that they had once joined body to body. Her mouth, already impossibly dry, felt like a wad of cotton had been stuck there for safekeeping and forgotten. She felt her cheeks flush.
"As bad as all that?"
Her cheeks heated more. "No...I...
When he chuckled, she swatted him on the shoulder. "I can't believe we...I mean, it doesn't seem ...I've never really seen a man's body before."
"I should hope not. And I promise we'll do just fine. Come here."
He lifted her to the center of his bed and with every delectable inch of his body, he lowered her to the periwinkle cover. The satin fabric slid sensuously against her naked body. The hair on his chest and legs teased her bare skin. She knew a single kiss would not satisfy either of them. When he pressed his lips to hers, he spoke from his heart.
She answered with her soul, claiming his tongue and drawing it into her mouth. The weeks of separation and indecision, the torturous hours of worry and despair turned to raw desire. Her gasps shifted to moans as his body slid against hers. Her kisses grew bolder while his caresses seared a path across her shoulder, over and down her breasts and beyond. With the greatest of care, as though he held a cherished treasure in his hands, he repeated the caresses over and over until she writhed in agony, her body a mass of quivering need. Using his mouth, he paid homage to every inch of her, finally settling himself between her thighs.
She nearly leapt from the bed when she felt the hot whisper of his breath at the very core of her body; then she ceased to think at all. Sensation controlled her every sigh, every whimper, every tremble as her body vibrated like the strings of a harp. Surely if the house were on fire, she'd never notice.
When neither seemed able to withstand another touch, another caress, he rolled to his back and levered Phoebe above him. She felt his manhood nudge the entrance to her. A bit embarrassed, yet more aroused, she allowed Stephen to guide her into mobility, thrilled with the novelty of making love like this.
His muscles glistened, evidence of his restraint. With every rise and fall of her hips, she climbed higher and higher, burned hotter and hotter until she shattered into a hundred fiery pieces. Stephen continued to rock her body against his until he stiffened and joined her in the magical realm of ecstasy.
In the afterglow of their lovemaking, they lay face-to face, their legs entwined, their breath mingling as one. Trapped in a world of sensation, neither spoke a word.
Stephen traced featherlike circles across Phoebe's brow. Finally he said, "Thank God, I arrived in time."
Phoebe's fingers roamed through the dusting of hair on Stephen's chest. "I have a confession." She cast her eyes downward. "I was weeping all over Lord Tewksbury because I had decided to return to London, to you. I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore."
He crushed her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Not want you? I couldn't live without you." Shifting his body, he rolled to the nearby table and reached for a small blue velvet box. He removed a gold ring, which he gently placed on her finger. Etched in the delicate band were two entwined hearts.
The ring on her finger was a close match to the one she had described when they shared stories at Chantonbury Ring. The day she'd acknowledged the love she felt. A wave of tenderness washed over her. Would she ever understand this man? She would spend a lifetime trying. "You remembered?" she said in awe.
"Silly girl. How could I forget? The day I first made love to you has been one of my fondest memories. You stole my heart that afternoon. Fool that I was, I refused to see the truth. Like that skeleton in your treasure cave, I vow to never love another woman."
"When did you-"
"I ordered the ring two days ago when I decided I had to have you or - go mad. I simply needed time to reconcile my feelings with my decision. I'm truly sorry for the pain I caused you. If you'll allow it, I'll spend my life making you happy. Will you be my wife, Phoebe Rafferty? Will you do me the grave honor of sharing my life?"
One question remained unanswered. "What about the curse?"
"The thought of losing you terrifies me, but I can't exist without you. You're the one who always said love conquers all things. I'm willing to put my hands, my heart, and my future, into love's tender care. I would rather have a day, a week, or a month with you than a lifetime without. Marry me."
She'd dreamed of this moment for so long and had given up all hope of ever hearing those words from his lips. They were joyous, musical, to her ears. Happiness crescended in her like the song of a hundred violins. With all the love in her heart, she smiled. "I would be honored."
"I will go to my grave with your name on my lips, our love etched in my soul." He covered her with his body, his lips hovering an inch above hers. "And if you h
ave any doubts, be assured I shall erase them one by one, each and every day of our lives."
Four years later
Phoebe passed through the picture gallery of Marsden Manor, searching for her wayward family members. The sun shone brightly, so she had a fair notion as to where they might be.
Pushing through the French doors and onto the balcony, she still marveled at the beauty of this place. She thanked the stars, the heavens, for granting her this life.
Hannah, her face so very much like Stephen's, sat on Hampson's lap. Wibolt occupied the chair across the table with Michael, now three months old, nestled in the crook of his arm, sound-asleep. Stephen leaned against the stone wall.
Hannah's face was bright with excitement. Phoebe imagined Hampson was filling her daughter's ear with some nonsensical story or feat of her infamous relative. Phoebe grinned. To this day, she herself loved hearing those tales that Hampson told. She stepped into the sunlight and said as sternly as possible. "Have you forgotten? It seems someone is having a birthday."
Her daughter crawled from Hampson's lap, ran to her mother and jumped up and down. "Me. I'm three."
Stephen crossed to Phoebe's side as well and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her as he often did with no concern as to where they were. And, she didn't mind one bit. He said, "Hampson was telling us a delightful tale of a poor fisherman who found treasure in a sea gull's egg."
"Is it true?" Hannah asked.
Sharing a smile with her husband, Phoebe answered, "Treasure of any kind can be found in the most unexpected places. You simply need to search for it and never give up hope. Now, off to wash. Our guests will arrive shortly."
Stephen rubbed his chin. "I have no concern about Winston and Elizabeth, but Charity and Ellwood manage to lose their way every time."
Laughing, she said, "I think Charity rather likes being lost with her husband."
His brow raised a notch. "Really? Perhaps they have something after all." He guided her back toward the house. "Hampson and Wibolt, watch the children if you will. I have an inclination to lose my wife and myself below the stairs. Perhaps we'll search for our own buried treasure."
She thought of the small, but well-furnished hideaway tucked beneath the music room. "Remember our guests."
He gave her a look, and a shiver traveled down her spine. She could deny him nothing. She doubted she ever would. She'd asked for his name, expected his devotion, and received much more. He'd bestowed upon her the greatest treasure of all: his love.