by Darcy Burke
“Because when I think about the rest of my life without you in it, even for one more night, I can’t breathe.”
Phoebe put her hands on his face. “Breathe, my love. I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him. It was more than he expected and so much more than he deserved. He swept her up against him and gloried in the taste and feel of her. How had he thought he could walk away from her? As if she were no different from the nameless women who’d warmed his bed for years? She was absolutely different. She was exceptional. She was everything.
She was Phoebe.
She was his.
He turned and carried her to the bed and was about to lay her upon it, but she put her feet down and pulled away from him.
“I came here. I’m in charge.” She pushed his shirt up, and he drew the garment over his head. Her hands skimmed over him, blazing a path of need with every stroke of her fingers. She unfastened his fall and pushed his breeches down over his hips, her palms caressing his backside and sending a jolt of lust straight to his cock.
He wriggled his hips, sending the garment to the floor, and kicked it aside. He looked into her eyes. “I’m yours to command.”
Her lips curved up, and her gaze sparked with heat. “On the bed. On your back.”
Eager to comply, he did as she bade and watched as she climbed up next to him. She kissed him again, her tongue driving deep into his mouth and pulling a groan from his throat. After leaving him breathless, she moved down his jaw and neck, using her teeth and tongue to devastating effect.
She took her time, exploring every bit of his chest and abdomen. As her tongue swirled over his hip, her hand curled around his cock, then lower to cup his balls. Marcus thrust, unable to stop himself, and let out a low groan.
Moving her hands around him, she took his tip into her mouth, licking his flesh. Ragged desire tore at him as he clasped her head. He told her in plain, filthy terms what he wanted from her.
She did them all, taking him deep into her mouth while she squeezed his balls with one hand and his hip with the other. He rose up, sliding along her tongue and filling her until he felt her throat.
Then she was gone, pulling back, only to engulf him once more. Over and over, she sucked him. He pulled the pins from her hair and tangled his fingers in the dark, silky mass, holding her while he pumped into her, captive to her.
“Phoebe, I’m going to come. In your mouth.”
She released him and came up over him with a sultry smile. “Next time.”
Straddling him, she pulled the chemise over her head, exposing her delectable body inch by inch. He reached for her, but she shook her head. “Just watch for a moment. And listen.”
She clasped his cock and positioned it at her pussy. He clung desperately to what was left of his control. “Next time, you can come in my mouth. This time, I’m riding you because I rather liked that the other morning, and as I said, I’m in charge. Understand?”
He nodded, unable to speak through his cloud of staggering lust. She pushed down over him, taking his cock into her with ease. She was so wet, so hot, so unbelievably tight around him.
She just sat there for a moment, her eyes narrowing to slits. Then she wiggled her hips, and he moaned again, his eyes closing briefly. But only briefly. He couldn’t bear not to look at her.
She began to move on him, slowly at first, her body undulating with elegant grace. Her breasts, so round and pert, beckoned him.
“May I touch you yet?” He clutched at the bedclothes in desperation.
“Yes.”
He put his hands on her breasts, cupping and kneading them, then tugging on her nipples and drawing a cry from her lips. She cast her head back, and he was certain he’d never seen anything so erotic. He would draw her like this—the line of her throat, the curve of her breast with his hand around her.
He flattened his palm at the top of her breast, his fingers grazing the hollow of her throat, his touch memorizing the planes of her flesh so he could translate them to parchment. If he could.
She put her hand over his and dragged it down between her breasts and straight to her sex. With his thumb, he teased her there, coaxing whimpers from her mouth as she rode him faster. She pitched forward slightly as her movements increased.
Marcus cupped the back of her head and brought her toward him so he could capture her breast in his mouth. He feasted on her flesh, welcoming the distraction of pleasuring her lest he explode before he was ready.
Fuck, once again, they’d neglected to plan. This time, he’d pull out.
He pressed on her clitoris and rubbed her flesh until he felt her muscles clench around him. She cried out, over and over, as her body shuddered. Her movements became stilted under the onslaught of her orgasm.
Marcus held on to her until the storm passed and her eyes opened. She blinked, bracing her hands on his chest.
“May I roll you over?” he asked.
She nodded, and he flipped her to her back. Settling himself between her legs, he thrust into her, then came up on his elbows. He stroked her face with his hands and kissed her.
“I love you,” she said between kisses.
He froze, staring down at her. She looked up at him with her beautiful green eyes and moved her hips. Her dimples flashed, and he was overcome.
“Don’t stop,” she rasped, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Marcus kissed her again, pushing his hands into her hair as he pumped into her. He didn’t want this moment, this perfect bliss, to end. But his balls tightened, and he knew he was going to spend.
“Phoebe, I need—”
She dug her heels into his backside and squeezed his hips with her hands. “Don’t leave me.”
Groaning, Marcus drove hard and deep, giving her everything he had. He held on to her as he poured himself into her, body and soul. She came again with him, her pussy clenching around him and sending him into a void of sheer mindlessness.
When he was spent, he rolled to his back, panting, and still so overcome, he could barely think. Had she said she loved him?
She pressed herself to his side and rose over him. “Did you hear me, Marcus? I love you. I don’t expect you to say the same in return. I just want to make sure you know it. I love you. You might be a scandalous rakehell, but you’re my scandalous rakehell. I don’t know what the future holds, but so long as I have you for now—for a time—I will count myself lucky. Please don’t throw away what we share because of fear.”
Was he scared? Not of her, of losing her, of what she’d just said—not knowing what the future held. He’d always lived for now—for the absolute present. It wasn’t enough.
Marcus sat up and clasped her head in his hands. “I am afraid. Terrified of a life without you in it. Now that I have you, I don’t ever want to let you go.”
She grinned, her dimples cutting deep. “You don’t ever have to. Let’s be terrified and then blissfully happy together.”
Together. He’d been alone, truly alone, for so long. “I don’t know how to be a family.” He stroked his hand down her cheek and along her jaw. “But I love you, Phoebe. Somehow, impossibly, I am in love with you.”
She arched her brow in that damnably provocative way again. “Impossibly?”
He laughed. “I don’t love anything. Hell, I don’t feel anything strongly. At least, I didn’t until you.” He stared at her, baffled. “I don’t know how you did it, but please don’t stop.”
“Never.” She kissed him, twining her arms around his neck and moving onto his lap.
After several moments, she settled into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder.
Marcus smoothed her hair back from her face. “You said Harry—whom you are apparently on a first-name basis with now—is taking care of things. Just what is he doing?”
She moved off his lap, disappointingly, and sat at his side, turning toward him. “Oh! I should tell you about that. Harry—and yes, we have become close friends alrea
dy due to our shared goal of proving your innocence—has a new suspect.”
It couldn’t be her father, not with the glee she displayed. Marcus couldn’t think of who it might be. “Who, and however did you find this person?”
“You won’t believe it.” She hesitated the barest moment, during which his anxiety climbed. “Sainsbury.”
Marcus gaped at her. “Of all the—”
“It was a stroke of good fortune of sorts when my father let one of his maids go.” Marcus looked at her in abject confusion, and thankfully, she quickly explained. “Meg was hired by Sainsbury’s household. He was as terrible an employer as you can imagine, but Meg was there to see him return home early Wednesday morning in fine spirits and sporting gunpowder on his clothing.” Phoebe’s brow darkened briefly. “That reminds me, you neglected to tell me that Sainsbury was the cause of your wound on Monday or that you broke his nose.” She smiled widely. “Thank you for that—for breaking his nose, not for keeping it from me.”
Marcus kissed her. “I’d break him in two if I could.” He leaned back. “So he killed Drobbit?”
“Harry is still investigating, but we both agree that he had the motive to do so. He was angry after you humiliated him at White’s and then quite cheerful after Drobbit was murdered.”
“He would have had to have been following me that night,” Marcus said, thinking of the events that had transpired. “No one knew where to find Drobbit until you discovered that note on your father’s desk.” Marcus frowned. “How would Sainsbury even know to kill Drobbit, unless he overheard our conversation?”
“There was a rumor that you threatened him that day in the park,” Phoebe reminded him. “Sainsbury was likely aware of that too.”
It was a bloody diabolical scheme. “If this is true, Sainsbury is a truly horrible human being.” Another thought struck him. “What about the witness who came forward to say he heard me arguing with Drobbit just before the gunshot?”
Phoebe quickly nodded, demonstrating she was well versed in this entire situation. Perhaps more versed than Marcus. “Harry was going to interview him again. He went to see Sainsbury—after he came to tell me what you’d done. Not just that, actually, he also questioned me about your behavior when you came to my house that night. I told him the truth—you didn’t behave like a man who’d committed a murder.”
“Any man would be hard-pressed to behave like anything but a besotted fool in your arms.”
She pursed her lips. “You are not a fool. But I will accept besotted.” Her dimples emerged again, and he fell even more in love with her. Would he always feel like this? He wanted to. Every damn minute of every day.
Marcus wrapped her in his arms and kissed her soundly, taking them both down so they lay side by side. They stared at each other, a kind of wonder arcing between them.
“What do we do now?” she whispered.
“Wait to see what happens with Harry’s investigation, I suppose. As far as I know, I’m still going to see the magistrate tomorrow, and then I’ll be thrown in the Tower.” He’d been resigned to that, but now he would move heaven and earth to avoid it—to stay with Phoebe.
Forever.
The permanence frightened him, but the alternative was unacceptable.
“You are not going to be thrown anywhere,” she said fiercely. “It’s all going to work out—you’ll see. What happens after that is up to you.” Her tone turned soft, shy almost.
“Us. It’s up to us. Can I assume we both want to continue our affair?”
“At least.”
“I suppose the potential for a child is even greater now, since you lured me to remain inside you tonight.”
“I lured you.” She rolled her eyes. “I asked, you complied. Do not act as though you played no part in that. I will not accept responsibility for your choices.”
She was right. If he’d really wanted to, he would have left her. But he hadn’t. He’d known then, just as he’d known the other night, that he loved her, that he was committed to her in every way. “I knew,” he said softly, smiling. “I knew you were mine and we were meant to be together, even if I was too foolish to recognize it until tonight.”
“I said you aren’t a fool, so you can’t be foolish. You were…unilluminated.”
He laughed. “Well, you have brought brightness and clarity to my world. Thank you.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Thank you.”
“I love you, Marcus.” She yawned. “I’m staying here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I love you too.” He gathered her in his arms and kissed her temple. “Stay.”
Chapter 17
Despite her assurances to Marcus the night before, Phoebe was filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread as they took breakfast in the morning room of Marcus’s town house. At least she didn’t feel self-conscious about staying the night and arriving downstairs this morning. Marcus’s retainers were kind, considerate, and they behaved as if she belonged there.
How easy it would be to make that mistake.
And it would be a mistake because she no more belonged here today than she had last night or last week. While it was clear her affair with Marcus had been rekindled, he’d made no promises for the future. No firm indication that he wanted their relationship to be permanent.
She looked at him from beneath her lids, sitting across the table perusing the newspaper that sat next to his plate. She sipped her tea, trying to focus on just putting Drobbit’s murder behind them.
“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Marcus noted.
She glanced at his plate. “You haven’t exactly devoured yours.”
He made a sound in his throat and went back to reading.
“Are you nervous?” she asked. “I am.”
“A bit,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “But someone I admire very much told me everything would work out.”
Her heart did a somersault just as the clock chimed the ten o’clock hour. Marcus closed his eyes briefly, then dipped his head.
“Is everything all right?” Phoebe asked.
“My cousin is being buried this morning. I thought to go, but that was before I learned I would be visiting the magistrate today.”
“I need to go home and change my clothing,” Phoebe said, suddenly feeling as though she had to do something beyond sitting here staring at the remnants of a breakfast she had no plans to eat.
Marcus gave her a dark stare. “You’re not coming with me.”
“I am, and you can’t stop me—I’ll wait in your coach. Don’t you know I’m an independent spinster?”
“You’re a bloody spitfire,” he muttered, a smile teasing his lips.
Dorne appeared in the doorway and announced the arrival of Mr. Harry Sheffield.
Marcus sprang from his chair. “We’ll meet him in the drawing room.”
Phoebe was on her feet before Marcus could aid her. Clasping his arm, she walked upstairs with him to the drawing room.
Harry stood inside already, his large frame imposing even in the spacious chamber. His gaze lit with surprise as it landed on Phoebe. “Good morning.”
“Don’t bother with nonsense,” Marcus said. “What news?”
Phoebe took her hand from Marcus’s arm, then promptly wished she hadn’t. She needed his support and wanted to give it in return. She edged closer to his side.
“I’ve been very busy. Do you mind if I sit down?” Harry asked, moving to a wide chair.
Marcus scowled slightly, then escorted Phoebe to a settee near Harry. “If you’re trying to increase our anticipation to a boiling point, I’d say you’re succeeding rather well.”
“Indeed,” Phoebe murmured. She wanted to yell at him to tell them what he’d learned.
Harry grinned. “My apologies. I’m just delighted to see you here together. Particularly after what I’ve discovered.” He looked to Phoebe. “As you know, I went to find the witness who informed us that Marcus had quarreled with Drobbit just before he was shot. I’m pleased to say
that I found him, and when he was presented with the dangers of being found guilty of perjury, he completely recanted.”
Phoebe took Marcus’s hand between hers and squeezed, her insides singing with joy. “Did he say why he lied?”
“Sainsbury paid him to.”
Marcus sagged beside her. “Was that to cover up his crime?”
“It seems so, though he hasn’t confessed. We caught him trying to escape to the continent, however, and that won’t recommend him to the magistrate when he appears before him in,” Harry withdrew a timepiece from his pocket and glanced at the face, “two hours.”
“Marcus doesn’t need to go, then?” Phoebe thought she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from Harry.
Harry smiled at them both. “Marcus is no longer a suspect.”
Phoebe gave in to her joy and threw her arms around Marcus’s neck, laughing. He clasped her tightly and kissed her cheek.
Harry’s cough drew them apart. Phoebe let Marcus go and turned to see that Harry had stood. Marcus also rose, holding his hand for Phoebe to join him. She clasped his fingers with hers and didn’t let go.
“I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding,” Harry said. “Or at least the wedding breakfast, unless it’s just for Society types.”
“Whether you like it or not, you’re a Society type,” Marcus said with a chuckle. “Or have you forgotten that your father is an earl?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, nor that my older brother has a courtesy title—he likes to remind me often.”
“Did you know that Harry is a twin?” Marcus stage-whispered to Phoebe. “He’s the younger by what, eleven minutes?”
“Twelve, but I appreciate you giving me the slight benefit.” Harry smiled again. “I’ll expect an invitation, then.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Phoebe said. “We do not have any plans to wed.”
Harry stared at Marcus, his jaw dipping open. “You’re an idiot.”
Marcus inclined his head. “You aren’t the first one to call me that, and you probably won’t be the last.”