In the Widow’s Bed

by Heather Boyd

  “There isn’t a second cup. Should I call your housekeeper back?”

  Jonathan snorted. “I hate tea.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “You take tea whenever you come to Moreton Hall.”

  Jonathan winked, but he turned his attention to the correspondence rather than explain himself. Phoebe was a clever woman. Eventually, she would work it out.

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  Jonathan let her absorb his odd past behavior a while before he spoke. “How do you like Lord and Lady Parsons? We have an invitation to a soiree in three weeks’ time.”

  Phoebe’s cup rattled to the saucer. “They are a well placed family. Their daughter is coming out soon.”

  “Hmm, this ball must be for the daughter then. What are her chances of making a good match?”

  “Quite good. She’s a beauty.” Phoebe’s voice wavered with her admission.

  “Ah,” Jonathan murmured then set the letter to one side. He picked up the next. “And what of Lord Prescott? I’m invited for a week long shooting party next month.”

  “His daughter is a sweetheart,” Phoebe’s voice whispered. “Very kind.”

  “Right.” Jonathan dropped the invitation with the other and continued through the pile. He had a lot of invitations from families with eligible young daughters. And by the end of the short stack, Phoebe looked profoundly uncomfortable. “What are you doing for the next few months?”

  Phoebe appeared surprised by his question. “I’ll be here, of course.”

  “Hmm,” Jonathan grumbled. So, no rendezvous away from these parts. Disappointing.

  Jonathan dragged out parchment and wrote out the brief replies. He sealed his letters with a heavy sigh and rang the bell for his butler. Once the notes were dispatched to his servant’s care, Jonathan returned to sit on the edge of the table near Phoebe.

  “So,” she began. “You’re off to Dorset next month. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.” Phoebe offered him a hesitant smile, settled her empty teacup to the tray, and then pressed her palms to her thighs.

  “Well, no, actually.” Jonathan settled his hands to his hips. “I sent my apologies to all of them.” He wasn’t going anywhere without Phoebe. At least, not yet.

  Again she appeared startled, so he leaned forward to capture her lips. After a brief, intoxicating kiss Phoebe pulled away. “The door?”

  Jonathan curled his hand around her skull and pulled her to him. “Locked,” he whispered against her lips and then kissed her again.

  The intense heat of her mouth drove Jonathan wild. He pressed her deeper into the chair, falling to his knees until he burrowed his hips between her thighs. When the material prevented him from getting closer, he impatiently scooped up the dark blue muslin until he could touch her skin.

  Jonathan ate at her mouth, rejoicing when her tongue tangled with his in a heated dance. Her fingers threaded through his hair and kept him close, deepening the kiss until their teeth grazed. He hooked his fingers under her thighs and tugged Phoebe’s bottom toward the edge of the chair. Impatiently, he bumped his already firm cock against the heart of her.

  Phoebe whimpered and squirmed to put a distance between them. “No, Jonathan. Not here,” she moaned. “Your sister and all the staff are in the house, probably outside the door.”

  “Then it will teach them to eavesdrop on us.” Jonathan dragged her against him, firmer than before. “This is my house and I want to make love to you here where I spend my days. I want to inhale the scent of our lovemaking while I read my newspaper. I want to remember the image of you spread over my desk as I fill you up.”

  Jonathan picked Phoebe up off the seat and settled her bottom on the sturdy partner desk. With one swipe, he cleared the surface of blotter, teacups, and the unlit candelabra.

  “Jonathan, we shouldn’t.”

  Before Phoebe could say another denying word over his intentions, he kissed her, lavishing her mouth in a furious assault on her senses. His palm captured her knee and rubbed, inching her closer to the edge, and to his body. Her other foot curled around his thigh, unconsciously encouraging as he dragged her the remaining distance until her heat pressed against his length. Frantically, Jonathan snapped his jacket from his shoulders, ripped open his trousers, and shoved the long fold of linen from his shirt up under his waistcoat out of the way.

  Phoebe fell to her elbows, gasping. “This is madness.”

  But her eyes fell to his rigid length, prodding against her damp lips. Jonathan thickened further at the sight. “And you love it. Admit it?”

  He took himself in hand and swiped the head of his cock through her dampness. Phoebe squirmed, legs parting to accommodate him. He propped himself over her body, holding himself away so only the tip of his cock touched her skin. After several passes over her rigid nub, Phoebe squirmed closer.

  Jonathan didn’t give her what she wanted. Although it pained him, he shifted away an inch. Phoebe’s eyes flew to his. “Admit what you want, Phoebe, and then I will pleasure you till you scream.”

  Her hands curled about his neck and tugged, hard, persistent. When he didn’t bend all the way to her waiting lips she growled. Actually growled. If he didn’t need to hear the words so badly, hear her say she desired him, he might have laughed.

  As it was, he was in no hurry to end this interlude. He could restrain his passion until she gave him some encouragement of her own.

  Phoebe licked her lips, glancing toward the door. “Come closer.”

  He complied, but with a quick shift of her hips the movement settled his cockhead at her entrance. Phoebe’s legs tightened about his thighs. Jonathan resisted her entrapment and waited.

  She licked her lips again. “All right. All right. I desire you,” she whispered, glancing at him shyly and then quickly lowering her lashes.

  “To do what, exactly?” he whispered.

  Phoebe dug her fingers deep into his shirt-covered arms. “I desire you to push that beautiful cock of yours inside of me.”

  Jonathan invaded a little and then stopped.

  Phoebe panted impatiently. “All the way.”

  Jonathan pressed forward slowly until he reached her limit and stopped again.

  Phoebe tossed her head then reached to capture his hair again to pull his lips close to hers. “If you don’t make love to me properly, Jonathan Oliver, I will spank your perfectly round arse until its red. Move,” she ordered.

  Pleasantly surprised that his gambit had paid off, Jonathan did as he was told. He let his instincts take over as he made love to her, smooth strokes gliding into the intense heat of her passage. Beneath him, Phoebe breathed raggedly on every thrust. The sight of her wild abandon, her hair falling from her combs to lie over his mahogany desk, quickened the movement of his hips.

  But he wasn’t anywhere near close enough. He caught up one of her legs, and stretched the shapely flesh over his arm, altering her position until her body opened wide. The greater depth, the slick flesh rubbing against his engorged cock, slowed his pace. He wanted to savor these moments of pleasure with Phoebe. He wanted to imprint her passion on his soul.

  Jonathan caught Phoebe’s gaze as he slipped his fingers over her nub. She gasped again, hips rising to push her flesh harder against his fingers. While he held her gaze, he stroked over her with sure flicks of his fingers, delighting in her efforts to suppress the sound of her enjoyment. Her glazed expression told him she was very close to finding her release. He kept his thrusts hard, slow, until her back arched from the desk and a strangled scream erupted from her throat. Jonathan rode out her contractions, gritting his teeth over the need to come too. When she subsided, legs falling away from their tight grip on his body, Jonathan withdrew and took himself in hand.

  The slick, hot length slid easily over his palm, setting every nerve he possessed alight. Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open and then she glanced down to where his hand stoked over his engorged flesh in a slow rhythm. She rose to her elbows as he shoved her gown higher up her hips, pushing the m
aterial aside until he could see the smooth white expanse of her belly.

  He tightened his grip, fisted himself quicker as her eyes widened. Phoebe’s leg tightened its grip around his thigh, bringing him closer. “Ah, hell, Phoebe. The sight of you lying like that is going to torture me for the rest of my life.”

  Desire raced up his spine, his body stiffened then shuddered as his seed shot over her belly, marking her perfect skin with the evidence of his desire. His brand.

  Once the last spurt landed on her skin, Jonathan fell to the desk, using his hands to keep his weight suspended. Phoebe blinked up at him and then another shy smile, the kind filled with warmth and affection lifted the corners of her mouth. Jonathan leaned in to press a hard, possessive kiss to her lips.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In all honesty, Phoebe should be considerably alarmed by her willingness to skirt scandal with her lover. She had let him, no begged him, to make love to her over his wide study desk. Twice. She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks and kept her gaze fixed outside the carriage window. Thank heaven no one seemed in the mood to make conversation during the return to Moreton Hall. She couldn’t utter a coherent word that wouldn’t sound strained.

  The mark on her skin was sufficiently covered again with another application of Lizzy’s special cream. To her surprise, Lizzy’s skin near the base of her neck sported an angry red mark that Phoebe had never noticed before. She had reluctantly revealed the imperfection, explaining how she had hidden it under clothes until she’d matured then started applying the cream to her skin so people wouldn’t whisper that she was ill. It was a birthmark she’d been born with apparently, not an illness in any way.

  Reluctantly, Phoebe’s gaze skimmed over the occupants of the carriage. Jonathan sat across from her, relaxed and more handsome than any gentleman should be allowed. His gaze was already fixed on her, his lips curled into a warm smile. Despite the presence of his sister, Phoebe quaked in response to the wicked gleam in his eyes.

  What had happened between them had tumbled her world into shambles. Her lover affected her with just a look, a touch, and a deviously worded invitation to make love to him. Oh, the things Jonathan Oliver did to her senses defied description. However would she bear the loss of such attention when the affair ended?

  And it had to end. Warminster must never learn of her indiscretions with his best friend, although, her step-son was doing a fine job of damaging his own friendship with Jonathan by kissing Lizzy.

  Beside her, Lizzy Oliver sat with a smug smile hovering on her lips.

  Little minx.

  The woman should be scandalized to have a friend debauched in her home, yet Lizzy seemed more than willing to return home with Phoebe to keep up the pretext that they had been together the whole time. Lizzy would have to know Phoebe had just made love to her brother. Neither of them had been able to restrain their enjoyment to make the encounters quiet ones. Half the servants would be whispering too. She just hoped that they might be inclined to keep their master’s secrets.

  Again, her gaze fell on Jonathan as the carriage turned round the drive. But he sat stiffly now, jaw clenched tight.

  Phoebe leaned forward and laid her hand on his knee. “What is it?”

  “Warminster is on the front steps. Waiting.”

  At Lizzy’s sharp gasp, Phoebe captured the other woman’s hand. “Please, Jonathan. Do not lose your head and challenge him. You must consider your sister’s reputation.”

  Jonathan’s frown deepened. “That might be the only reason the bastard has legs left to prance about on his front lawn with.” Jonathan covered her clutching fingers under his broad palm and squeezed. “I’ll deal with him once this wretched house party is over. Never fear.”

  When the carriage drew to a halt, Jonathan climbed out first. From where Phoebe sat, she could tell the two friends had locked gazes, but couldn’t tell who was winning the battle of wills. However, it was Warminster who glanced at the carriage first, noticing her presence and Lizzy beyond. Jonathan snorted and held out his hand to Phoebe.

  As their palms connected, a tremor passed through her. This might be the only time they would touch for the next several hours. The thought of that distressed her. She liked Jonathan’s possessive hands on her skin. When her feet hit the gravel, she turned to wait for Lizzy.

  The young woman came to her immediately, twining their arms together tight, ignoring Warminster completely. Her stepson took a step in their direction, but Jonathan stepped between. Considering it wise to take the source of tension far away from trouble, Phoebe pulled Lizzy with her. She clearly needed some help where Warminster was concerned.

  Resolved to be a better friend, Phoebe led Lizzy into the house, passing Warminster so she stood between them. When they crossed the threshold, neither looked to see how he took the cut. The manor was quiet about them as she swiftly dragged Lizzy up the staircase and along to her room. Most of the guests must be elsewhere or resting up for the dinner and games tonight.

  Once the door closed behind their backs, Lizzy expelled a harsh breath. “Pompous idiot. Did he intend to intimidate me?”

  Phoebe leaned against the bedpost. “Lizzy, do you have any idea why Warminster is so keen to marry you off? It’s not like him to meddle outside his own family party.”

  The other woman shrugged and moved to the window. “Perhaps he doesn’t like his advice to be ignored. I told him to mind his own business on the first day of the house party. He’s been hounding me ever since.”

  That wasn’t like Warminster at all. Phoebe had the distinct feeling that she was missing an essential piece of information that would explain why their association had reached boiling point so quickly. But she couldn’t very well press the woman to share the confidence. Lizzy might expect Phoebe to be equally forthcoming about her liaison with her brother, and she wasn’t in any way sure how to classify that.

  Phoebe moved to the window too. “Ah, the archery contest is over.” She peered at the raucous group approaching the house. Lagging behind the rest, a tall gentleman leading her way, Lady Jocelyn sauntered daintily across the lawn. Warminster and Jonathan strode out to meet them. From her vantage point, Phoebe had an unimpeded view of their tête-à-tête.

  Lady Jocelyn flirted shamelessly, fluttering her fan to encourage the gentlemen. When Jonathan took a step back from the group, Phoebe let out her breath. She hoped that meant Jonathan was disinterested in Lady Jocelyn. She really hoped that was true.

  “I’d wager Lady Jocelyn has won handily at the archery,” Lizzy mused. “She looks too well satisfied to have not had success.”

  “Lady Jocelyn has other interests on her mind right now.” Phoebe turned from the window. “She’s currently trying to encourage both Warminster and Jonathan into offering marriage. Her mother confided this to me last night.”

  “That despicable harridan! Last night she had Warminster and Mr. Perkins trailing after her like hungry puppies. How many gentlemen does she need?”

  “More than a few, I fear.” Phoebe shrugged. “None of them have proposed marriage yet.”

  “Warminster has an empty-headed ninny as a candidate for his wife?” Lizzy threw up her hands. “Oh, of course he does.”

  When Lizzy started pacing, Phoebe settled comfortably to watch. In all honesty, Lizzy should not be disconcerted by Lady Jocelyn’s designs for marital bliss. Yet she realized something had changed in Lizzy’s manner. Instead of appearing amused by Lady Jocelyn’s ambitions, she seemed jealous. Just what exactly had happened between her and Warminster?

  Lizzy crossed to her wardrobe and threw open the door. “What should I wear this evening?”

  With the change in conversation, the afternoon progressed smoothly. Phoebe chatted and helped Lizzy prepare for the evening and then they both retired to her room. While she dressed for the arduous dinner ahead, Phoebe tried to ignore the bumps and thumps from the room beside hers. Jonathan’s loud conversation with his valet pricked her ears, yet with his sister hovering she could
n’t slip into his room to capture even a brief kiss.

  Besides, nothing they ever did was brief. Every conversation, touch, and decadent pleasure seemed to soak up hours not minutes of time. In Jonathan’s company the world disappeared, yet tonight she wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Once she was as ready as ever, Lizzy captured her arm again to stroll downstairs to the drawing room where everyone would be gathered.

  A few steps past Jonathan’s bedchamber door, he joined them. “No disappearing without me tonight. Understood?”

  Phoebe wasn’t sure whether the man meant her or his sister, but she nodded her head anyway. She would soak up every second she could until their affair ended. And after that she’d consider what she had done.

  ~ * ~

  Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief as the ladies left the men to their port. After an endless dinner of polite conversation, he wanted to wipe the fraudulent smile off his face. Lady Jocelyn had placed her hand to his arm so often that the couple sitting opposite had begun to cast speculative glances at them. She’d dominated the conversation too, filling in the silence and speaking for him when he’d offered no opinion. That last had annoyed him. She didn’t understand the first thing about his opinions, but he hadn’t liked to embarrass her in front of everybody. He may no longer want her, but he didn’t wish her ill. Besides, she’d possibly end up married to his best friend so they needed to get along.

  To his considerable disappointment, Phoebe had been placed too far away for easy conversation. She’d stayed with his sister all afternoon, and while he didn’t begrudge their friendship, he was necessarily forced to stay away. Even though his sister approved of their affair, he hadn’t wanted Phoebe to be discomforted. Besides, he suspected he hadn’t the power to keep his hands under control if he had set foot in her bedchamber?