Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, though he was finding it difficult to focus on anything besides the red of her lips as they moved. Then she reached out and undid the ties of his cloak, holding out her hand for him to remove it and pass it to her along with his hat. He was unsure of exactly how to navigate this, having never previously given a woman his outerwear.

  “Where is your butler?” he asked instead.

  “He has retired,” she said. “He is rather elderly, and becomes exhausted past nine.”

  “And you still keep him on?’

  “Of course!” she replied, somewhat indignant. “Glover has been with us for ages, and he will remain with us until he determines it is time to depart from his duties. He has been loyal to my family for years, and I certainly will not turn on him.”

  “I never meant to suggest—”

  “My apologies,” she said, her face losing its edge as she took his cloak from his hand before he could protest. “I am slightly on edge this evening and I am afraid it is getting the better of me.”

  “What exactly is it that you have to be nervous about?” he asked, hoping it was that she had an answer for him, but not wanting to become too expectant.

  She said nothing, but, having stowed his garments, turned to the stairs and began climbing.

  “Come,” she said, beckoning with her hand, and of course he was powerless to resist. “We’ll avoid my father’s parlor for this evening, I think. The other is far more comfortable.”

  He actually rather liked her father’s parlor, though it was as eccentric as the man himself. It was interesting—unlike any he had ever seen before in all of England. But he did as she said, following her down the corridor. Wherever she chose to take him, he seemed inclined to follow, was he being honest.

  The room they entered was dimly lit, the roaring fire in the hearth casting a glow throughout the room, illuminating the fine furniture, the gold walls, and the face of the woman who sat on the settee before him. As much as he longed to sit next to her, to run his fingers down her face as he watched her changing expressions, he had a feeling that this was more of an occasion for serious conversation, and so instead he took a seat across from her, where he could hopefully better concentrate on whatever it was she had to say.

  “Will Lady Aurelia be joining us?” he asked, though he knew the answer before she began to shake her head.

  “No, Aunt Aurelia is out at an engagement this evening,” she responded.

  “And you chose not to attend with her?”

  “No,” she said with another shake. “It is a gathering amongst friends she has been well acquainted with for years. I am afraid if I accompanied her, I would be the youngest by a couple of decades. They have no wish for me to attend!”

  “I believe you would always make for a welcome guest at parties,” he murmured, and he squinted in the dim light to better ascertain whether her cheeks had turned pink. Was Phoebe blushing at a simple compliment from him? She really was out of sorts tonight.

  “I would not say that is always the case, Lord Berkley.”

  “Jeffrey.”

  “Yes, Jeffrey, my apologies,” she said, coloring all the more. “But you see, sometimes I can be found arguing with and slapping very polite, well-respected marquesses in the drawing rooms of balls, which does not make me the ideal guest.”

  He laughed at that, and the tension in the room eased somewhat. He loved that she could bring this out of him—the carefree side that was so often hidden under the weight of his responsibilities.

  She took a breath, stood, and then came to sit beside him on the settee. Oh, he wished she hadn’t done that. Now she was far too close, and her scent of oranges and cinnamon filled his senses, emanating from her unbound hair. His well-ordered, calculated thoughts began to flee, replaced by only thoughts of her, with him, under him—he took a sharp inhale of breath.

  “Phoebe,” he murmured, taking her hands in his and pulling them into his lap. “Before you say anything, I feel there are some aspects of our … relationship that I should clarify. When I whispered those words to you at the theatre, I knew they seemed impulsive, and perhaps presumptuous. So I would like to better explain to you my thoughts.”

  He looked deep into her eyes, which were as murky as the waters of a country pond. Hidden within them were her thoughts regarding him and his words, but he could no more make them out than he could determine a pattern of the stars in the cloudy sky.

  “When we met, it was … passionate, I suppose you could say, though not in the way one might expect. Everything I heard you say went against all of my morals, all of the long-held beliefs with which my father raised me. And yet there was something about you that took hold over me and wouldn’t let go. You refused to leave my mind, and every time I saw you, I actually found more that I liked about you, that attracted me to you all the more. You get along very well with my family, who can be rather difficult. You love my dog, who most find rather trying, and you are kind. You are generous, honest, and good. You stand up for what you believe in. And even if I do not share those same beliefs, well, a husband and wife are bound to disagree time and again, are they not? As long as they care for one another and their families, that is what truly matters. So please, be my wife, Phoebe Winters.”

  Her eyes became watery as he spoke, and he smiled gently at her, for he knew that, despite her tough exterior, Phoebe’s heart was true.

  “Oh, Jeffrey,” she said with a bit of a moan, and he took that as acceptance, and leaned in, softly brushing his lips over hers. He simply tasted at first, slowly nibbling her bottom lip, softly licking the top. Her hands came to his chest, and for a moment he had a strange worry that she would push him away, but instead her fingers dug into his chest, and his breath hitched.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, heady with the thought that everything this woman was—trying, but true—would be his, forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She really should not be doing this. No, she should put a stop to this kiss, push him away and tell him the truth—her truth. As he had spoken to her, his words had brought the strangest combination of emotions swirling within her—guilt and … something else. As he kissed her, his body flush against her, the masculine heat of him radiating toward her, she had nearly jerked in surprise at the sudden realization that flooded her mind. She loved him. She loved Jeffrey Worthington, the contrary, impossible man. Bloody hell. This was not good—not good at all. For when he rejected her, and she was certain he would, damn but it would hurt, more than anything she could imagine since the death of her parents.

  Tell him, Phoebe. Push him away and tell him this instant.

  But oh, he tasted good, a mix of brandy and coffee that surprisingly appealed to her. Her hands moved from his chest to curl around his neck, and at that moment she despised the cravat that so carefully, tightly hid the skin underneath. She wanted to run her fingers down his neck, his chest, to feel upon them the strength of the muscles she could only imagine were hidden beneath his layers of clothing.

  Goodness, what was he doing to her? He was turning her into an addle-brained ninny, it seemed, as thoughts flew out of her head, to be replaced only by the need to be closer to him, to have more of him. Clearly she wasn’t alone in her feelings, for Jeffrey placed a hand behind her back as he slowly eased her back down upon the settee, the giltwood creaking under their weight.

  The narrow piece of furniture was certainly not made for two people to stretch themselves across, and Jeffrey grunted with apparent frustration as he attempted to keep the two of them on top of the quaint piece of furniture. When he lifted a hand to bring it to her hair, she nearly rolled off the damn thing and gave a squeal of surprise.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, and then with astonishing strength, he picked her up before placing her down on the Aubusson rug at their feet. He hovered above her, a quick grin spreading over his lips. “Much better,” he said, before descending once more.

  Now th
at he had full use of his hands, they seemed to be everywhere at the same time—running down her bare arms, caressing the top of her shoulder, raking through her hair. Soon her hair brushed over her surprisingly bare shoulders, and his lips moved to caress her collarbone, before lowering to the top of her bodice. His breath tickled the rise of her bosom above her dress, and he shocked her by taking the top of her bodice between his teeth before inching it lower so that her breasts were exposed to him. With delight evident his face, he cupped one and then the other, stroking her reverently with his thumbs.

  “You are exquisite,” he whispered, his face full of rapture, and a thrill coursed through her at the thought that such a look at her would cause these feelings within him. She knew she ought to cover herself up, to hide from him, but she found that she wanted him to look at her, needed to see that desire evident in his eyes, which had become so dark they were nearly black.

  He brought his lips to one breast, and she nearly came off the floor with the sensation that coursed through her as a result. What in the—

  “Did you like that?” he murmured.

  “Perhaps.”

  He moved to her other breast, this time slightly scraping her nipple with his teeth, and she let out a moan.

  “I will take that as an affirmative answer,” he said, tilting his face to look at her and smiling wickedly. She swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than for him to do it again, an unknown wave of heat filling her when he complied with her unspoken thought.

  This was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and yet, somehow, she wanted more than even this. Her fingers came to that damn cravat, untying it and removing it with one great yank before tossing it to the side, exposing the skin she had so urgently wanted to explore.

  Her hands came around his neck, sliding down over the stubble that stretched over his Adam’s apple, before finding smooth skin that led to a slight whorl of hair at the top of his shirt. Gripping the lapels of his jacket once again, she pushed it down over his arms, before her fingers came to unbutton the waistcoat underneath. When only his shirt remained, she hesitated for a moment, suddenly shy, but when his fingers began to slide up her legs, which were bare underneath her muslin dress and chemise, she was emboldened once again and made quick work of his shirt buttons.

  “You have done this before?” he asked with an arched eyebrow, and she shook her head fiercely.

  “No, but I am an efficient, determined woman, Jeffrey,” Phoebe said, winking at him and he let out a noise that was part-chuckle, part-groan as he left her legs alone for a moment to lift his shirt overhead, and now it was her turn to push him back onto the floor, and she rose above him so she could have a better look.

  She had been right. Those muscles that she had imagined as quite solid underneath his shirt were so defined from his chest to the bottom of his torso that her mouth went dry as her eyes ran over him. The pattern of hair on his chest was as blond as the hair on his head, and she reached to run her fingers over it, entranced by this, her first view of a half-dressed man up close. Well, he had certainly been correct about one thing. There were differences between men and women that could not be denied. And yet, even here, their two bodies fit together, complemented one another, as it should be in all aspects of life, should it not?

  Her thoughts trailed off as she continued down his body, noticing that the hair tapered off over his abdomen, but for a slight trail that led from his navel down beneath the waistband of his pants. Phoebe’s eyes widened as she took it in, her fingers becoming slightly less brave as they wandered in that direction.

  Sensing her hesitation, he took advantage. He covered her fingers with his, rolling them both over so that they lay on the plush carpet side by side, their faces even with one another. Not breaking eye contact, he went back to his previous ministrations, his fingers reaching down to lift her leg up a bit higher for better access. He wrapped his hand around her ankle, caressing it with his thumb, and she was grateful that she was wearing only her simple day dress with a chemise underneath. His fingers slid slowly upward, seemingly leaving no section of her leg unexplored as he continued.

  When he crested her knee, her nerves seemed so exposed, her body so jumpy, that she wanted to bolt upright and run out of the room, but the sure gaze of the warm chocolate of his eyes steadied her, holding her in place. She knew with absolute certainty that she could open her mouth and tell him to stop, that she no longer wanted this and he would do as she said, but that would be more of a lie than anything else she had previously said to him. Her breath came quicker the higher his hand rose, her heart pounding so hard and rapid that she was sure he could hear it, louder than even the ticking of the ormolu clock on the mantle of the fireplace.

  But then she noticed that he was slightly panting himself, and she was curious at the fact that he would be so affected when he was the one who was doing this to her. She closed her eyes for a moment, both hiding from him and reveling in the sensations, but then he whispered her name, and her lids flew open to find him again.

  She gasped when his fingers came between her thighs, and he lifted his knee to rest it between hers to open her up to him. Was she a harlot for wanting him to continue, for not driving him away? But no, she realized as she kept her gaze focused, her eyes wide open on his face, which had now taken on a strained expression. This was what it meant to be with someone you cared for greatly or even loved. For she did. She loved him.

  Her thoughts fled when his fingers reached between her folds and found the most sensitive place in her entire body. His thumb stroked her, and she finally broke their locked gaze, throwing back her head with a cry as he mercilessly continued to fondle her, his thumb increasing its pressure as it moved in circles, driving her to madness. If this was how it could feel with just his fingers…

  Restless, she brought her hand to the fall of his breeches, and he shook his head.

  “Phoebe,” he murmured, “Let me please you. You do not have to—”

  “I want to,” she whispered, urgently looking at him as if to ensure him of her desire. “And I do nothing that I do not wish to do,” she added.

  He nodded, his eyes intent upon her.

  “If at any time, you want to stop, just say the word,” he said in a low, gruff voice, and she nodded, completely understanding and trusting in what he told her. His hands fell away as he allowed her to clumsily undo the fall of his breeches, and he rolled up above her, until he was between her knees, and his body, in the flickering light of the sconce on the wall and the candle atop the table beside them crossing over it, was astonishingly beautiful.

  She reached up to draw him down toward her, and he complied. She braced herself for him to enter her, but instead, after first lifting her skirts to settle around her middle, his hands found her once more, this time were much more insistent, much more urgent, and she found herself falling away from the present to lose herself in sensations as she never had before. It was only when her entire body began to pulse, waves of the finest flames she could ever imagine coursing through her, that he sheathed himself inside her, and she let out a gasp as pain and pleasure intermingled.

  He brought his forehead to hers, kissing her lips softly before raining kisses over her cheeks, nose, and chin, then dipping his head to find her breasts once more, suckling and making the desire begin to build all over again. The pain began to recede, and she tentatively moved against him ever so slowly to experiment how it might feel. And it was … good. It felt very, very good.

  Jeffrey looked down at her with question, and when she nodded, he began to move, a slow back and forth, and it was nearly torturous. His pace began to increase, until finally, just when she didn’t think she could take anymore, she arched into him at nearly the same time he gave a shout, and they tumbled into the waves together this time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Phoebe laughed with gleeful abandon, and the sight of her brilliant smile warmed Jeffrey thoroughly inside. He was surprised at just how much the happiness of an
other could bring happiness to himself. A slight sense of guilt began to fill him—not remorse, for he would love nothing more than to do that all again, but still, perhaps he should have ended it before it even began. Though once she had given him her assent—no, more than that—her own desire, he didn’t think there was anything that could have kept him back from following through with what she wanted of him.

  “Phoebe…” he began, wanting to apologize, but not knowing how. She apparently understood his thoughts, however, for she brought a finger to his lips, silencing him as she shook her head.

  “Don’t you dare express any regret for that, Jeffrey,” she practically commanded him, and at his apparent persevering look of uncertainty, she continued. “We just made love, and it was magical, better than anything I could have ever imagined. I desired it, I asked you for it, and if you apologize, then I will take that as a sign of disrespect. Understood?”

  He nodded weakly at her words, understanding that Phoebe Winters would never do a thing she didn’t completely choose herself.

  She lifted her bodice to cover those glorious breasts, before reaching for his clothing, which was scattered across the carpet, his shirt sprawled over the brandy decanter and glasses on the table.

  When she looked back at him, however, her face had softened, and she bestowed the most beautiful smile upon him.

  “Thank you, Jeffrey,” she said, with another quick kiss on his lips. She lifted the shirt back over his head, seeming to enjoy helping him dress nearly as much as she had to undress him. The smile she wore seemed somewhat sad, though why he had no idea.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Like a different woman than I was an hour ago,” she said on near a whisper, and they shared a quick kiss, wordlessly speaking to one another of the secret that would remain between the two of them.

  Finally he was dressed, though not as immaculately as he would have been with a valet, despite Phoebe’s skill with a cravat. Phoebe stood before him, her fingers tangled together, and she stepped toward him.