by Burke, Darcy
“It might not be so bad,” Phoebe said. “I have investments, and so far, they’ve proven profitable. Papa just suffered a bit of bad luck.”
Mama shook her head. “He’s lost two of them, and I believe they are with this same person. He goes on about ‘him’ when he’s ranting about the losses.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Someone he meets at night—in Leicester Square. I only know where because I asked the coachman.” Mama twisted her hands together and then set them in her lap. Then she abruptly stood and stalked toward the doors that led to the garden. Turning, she gave Phoebe a tentative look. “May I stay with you for a few days?”
“Here?” Phoebe could hardly believe her mother wanted to stay with her when she’d been so displeased that she’d purchased her own house in the first place. But it was more than that. If she stayed here, Phoebe couldn’t very well have Marcus over to conduct an affair.
“If it’s not too much trouble. I’m just so angry with your father. He needs to learn to take me seriously.”
After over thirty years of marriage, and one in which he was most definitely in command, Phoebe wasn’t sure her father was going to learn anything, but she kept her mouth closed.
Culpepper arrived with the tea. He set the tray on a table near the garden doors and asked if he should pour.
“No, thank you,” Phoebe said. The butler turned to go, and Phoebe passed him as she went to sit at the table. “Culpepper, please have the spring bedroom prepared for my mother. She’ll be staying with us for a few days.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
“Would you send a footman to fetch my trunk from the coach?” Mama asked.
It was a good thing Phoebe had said yes to her request. Not that she would have said no. She would always provide help and support for her parents. Frustrating as they were, she loved them. She was also keenly aware that she was their only remaining child and that she’d disappointed them gravely. While she didn’t regret her choices—and wouldn’t change them—she supposed she would always want to heal that rift.
Culpepper departed, and they sat down. Phoebe poured the tea.
“I interrupted you on your way out,” Mama said. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”
“It’s quite all right. I’ll still go out—in a bit.” Phoebe dropped sugar into their cups. “You’ll need to get settled.”
“Thank you for understanding, dear.” She stirred her tea, then took a sip. When she looked at Phoebe next, her eyes were clouded. “I’ve thought a great deal about what you told me the other day. It was…difficult to hear.”
And Phoebe hadn’t even revealed the specifics, not as she had with Marcus. “It was more difficult to experience, I assure you.”
Mama flinched. “I wanted to ask if I could tell your father. I think he should know. It would help him understand.” She cocked her head to the side and then straightened it again. “It might also prompt him to violence, so perhaps we’ll keep it between us.”
Phoebe thought of Marcus’s reaction. His anger had been palpable. She’d gloried in its ferocity. Still, she didn’t want him to act on it. “While I would like nothing more than for Sainsbury to suffer, I would prefer to put the entire thing behind me. If you think telling Papa would help do that, then please tell him. I’d rather he stop bringing Sainsbury up.”
“I’ll try to think of how to do it. When I’m no longer angry with him.” Mama scowled at her cup. “Do you still want to go to the soiree tonight?” They’d planned to go together.
“We don’t have to.” Phoebe tried not to sound disinterested, but she was disappointed about her plans with Marcus being ruined. She’d have to send him a note. Or…
Phoebe took another sip of tea, then stood. “I’ll go out now. Please let Culpepper know if you need anything. I’ll see you for dinner.”
Mama reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Phoebe. I haven’t been as supportive of you as I ought to have been. I will be now.”
“I appreciate that.” Phoebe turned and left, eager to be on her way.
She went into the entry hall and donned her hat. “Culpepper, is the coach still outside?” She realized she hadn’t given any direction in the midst of her mother’s surprise arrival.
“Yes.”
“Excellent, thank you.” Pulling on her gloves, she left the house. Outside, she gave the coachman her direction. “Hanover Square, please.”
It wasn’t very far, but she didn’t want to be seen walking there. She wasn’t going to Lavinia’s.
A short while later, the coach stopped in front of one of the grandest homes in the square. Wide windows flanked the massive door, which stood at the top of a short flight of stone stairs.
The coachman helped her down, and she walked up to the house. She didn’t have to knock, for the door opened to reveal a tall butler with a sharp nose. He was in his middle age and possessed kind eyes. She thought so because of the lines that indicated he smiled often. How peculiar for a butler, since they were often so austere. But then she imagined Marcus might give him ample opportunity to smile.
“Good afternoon. Miss Lennox to see Lord Ripley.”
The butler closed the door as she stepped into the grand entry hall. Stairs climbed each side, meeting in the middle over an archway that led straight back to the rest of the house. A landscape by Joshua Reynolds hung on the right beneath the stairs.
“I’ll show you to the drawing room,” the butler said, gesturing toward the stairs on the right. She followed him up, taking in the paintings on the wall. An alcove halfway up held a tall Wedgwood creamware vase. She glanced across the hall to the other alcove and saw that it held the urn’s twin.
She wondered who’d decorated his house. She would never have guessed the Marquess of Ripley lived in such an elegantly appointed residence.
The butler showed her into the drawing room to the right of the stairs. The room was massive, quite large enough for a ball if the furniture was moved out. She was left alone and took the opportunity to circuit the room. There were five seating areas, with ample space between each one. Two in front of the windows that overlooked the square, one near the doorway, and a large one that was in the back and center of the room, and finally a cozy gathering in front of the hearth. The space managed to be spectacular and warm at the same time.
“My God, you are here.”
She turned from where she stood near the hearth, and her body reacted to seeing him—turning hot and tight in an instant. “Yes.”
He came into the room, grinning. “Welcome to my home.”
“It’s stunning.” Her gaze swept the room. “Did you select all the furnishings? It’s so…tasteful.”
He stopped just in front of her, his eyes glinting with mischief. “What did you expect, beds stretching from wall to wall?” He laughed at her expression of horrified surprise. “My apologies. I make that jest whenever someone new comes to visit, which isn’t often.” He leaned close. “No one dares.”
Her pulse sped. “I dare.”
“I’m the luckiest man alive.” He took her hand and lifted it, pressing a lingering kiss to her wrist. Then he inhaled. “You smell divine. Always.”
The insistent throb he’d aroused in her sex the day before returned with force, making her tremble. “I came to tell you we have to cancel our plans for this evening.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, tugging the edge of her glove back to kiss the heel of her hand. “Tomorrow, then.”
“No.” Her voice sounded a bit strangled. “No,” she tried again. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible either. My mother has come to stay for a few days.”
His lips froze against her flesh, and he raised his head, frowning. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
His chagrin was so complete that it drew a laugh from her. What else could she do? “Quite. I hope she’ll be gone by Monday or Tuesday. My father won’t last that long without her. They had a disagreement
over money.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
She shook her head. “Why did you stop?”
He glanced at her hand. “You want me to continue?”
They were alone. Their plans for later were foiled. Why not take advantage of right now? “Please. If you don’t mind.”
“Never.” He kept his eyes on hers as he pulled the glove from her hand, then he kissed her palm, using his tongue to trace the lines there, watching her while she watched him.
Phoebe had never imagined such a simple act could be so erotic. He moved to her other hand, removing the glove, and repeating his seduction with his lips and tongue. When he’d said there were other things they could do besides intercourse, this hadn’t even registered as a possibility. And yet here she was, quivering and desperate for more.
“Should I keep going?” he asked, the deep timbre of his voice sending shocks of want through her.
“Yes.” She glanced toward the open doorway.
He noticed. Clasping her hand, he drew her across the room to a closed door, which he opened, and pulled her over the threshold. He closed the door with a firm click, shutting them into a much smaller, rather dim space.
“This is the music room.”
She looked around and saw a pianoforte as well as a few mismatched chairs and a chaise. “You don’t come in here.”
“I do not. It appears to be used for a bit of storage—the perfect place for privacy.” He arched a dark brow as he pulled her against him. “Unless you’d rather I carry you up to my bedchamber?”
The pulse in her sex intensified. Before she could answer, he spoke again. “Perhaps not today. We are taking this slow, after all. Furthermore, I didn’t soak a French letter. I don’t suppose you brought a sponge?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. He was warm and solid against her, and her breasts tingled where they touched. She hadn’t thought she would feel anything resembling pleasure when it came to her breasts, where—
No, she wouldn’t think of that.
Overcome, she stood on her toes and curled her arms around his neck, then kissed him. She was a terrible novice, but hopefully what she lacked in skill, she made up for with zeal. Applying all she’d learned from him, she opened her mouth and touched her tongue to his lips. He met her with a soft moan, his arms pulling her more tightly against him.
The sensation in her breasts heightened, making them feel heavy and…aching. She wanted him to touch them. Almost as badly as she wanted him to touch her sex again.
She pressed her chest to his and tugged at his hair as she angled her head to spear her tongue deeper into his mouth. He pulled back, and she feared she’d done something wrong.
“Dear God, Phoebe,” he breathed. “You are magnificent. Are you ready for the next step?”
“Yes. Please. Tell me what to do.” She threw off her hat, uncaring of where it landed. “I want to do what you did for me the other day.”
His eyes darkened to nearly black, the pupils dilating. “You want to—” He gave his head a shake. “Later. This is about you first. Always.”
“You’re not touching me,” she complained, eager for whatever this step entailed.
“My apologies.” He took her hand and led her to the chaise. “Will you sit?”
She did so. “I want you to…” She faltered.
He perched on the chaise, folding one leg atop the cushion so that he faced her. “You want me to what? Don’t ever be embarrassed or ashamed to ask for what you want, especially in the bedroom.” He glanced about. “Or the unused music storage room.”
She smiled, then worked up the courage to say what she wanted. “I can’t believe I’m asking, but I want you to touch my breasts. They seem to, um, want you to.”
He blinked, surprised at the request. “Well, I am not one to disappoint you or your breasts. How does this gown unfasten?”
She turned to present her back. “It’s a drop front. Untie it.”
He plucked at the tie, and she felt the gown loosen around the bodice. When she turned back, she opened the fabric, exposing her corset and the chemise beneath.
Slowly, he lifted his hand and drew his fingers over the upper curve of her breast. “You’re certain?”
Desire trailed in the wake of his touch, stoking the fire he’d started the day before. “Yes.” She lifted her hands to untie her corset below her breasts.
“May I?” He put his hands over hers, and she moved out of his way.
Picking at the laces, he untied them. He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips and tongue stealing her breath and equilibrium. She felt light again, ready to fly at any moment. He tugged her chemise down and apart, then loosed the top of her chemise. Cool air caressed her bare skin and then his fingers did the same.
He gently stroked her flesh, drawing circles around her nipple as he continued his gentle assault on her mouth. She whimpered with need as he drew closer to the tip. She clutched his shoulders, wordlessly begging him to give her what she didn’t know she wanted.
His hand closed around her briefly, then cupped her from underneath, lifting the weighty globe. At last, his thumb dragged across her nipple. She gasped into his mouth and then moaned when his thumb and finger closed softly around her. When he tugged—ever so gently—she thought she might go mad.
Suddenly, his mouth was gone from hers. He was kissing her jaw and neck again. She loved the feel of him ravishing her flesh, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She moved her hands up into his hair, holding him to her and basking in his touch. He delved lower still, licking along her collarbone and then dipping over her breast.
She inhaled sharply, and he paused. Her fingers tightened around his scalp. “Don’t stop.”
He cupped her breast as his lips grazed her skin, leaving a path of heat and need. Then his mouth was on her nipple, wet and tantalizing as he suckled her.
Sensation overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes. Rapture bloomed and spread like a field of wildflowers opening to the sun. Desire, urgent and encompassing, pooled in her sex, growing with each lick of his tongue and caress of his fingers.
She held him against her, reveling in the pleasure building within her. It was just like the day before, her body rushing toward that magnificent release.
He guided her back on the chaise, pushing her up the cushions. Then he left her breast. She opened her eyes and saw that he was staring down at her.
“You’re unbearably beautiful.”
“Really? You can’t bear it?” She reached for her chemise. “Should I cover myself?”
He grinned, recognizing that she was joking. “Don’t you dare. I will bear it. I want to see more. May I?” He reached for the hem of her skirt.
She clasped the folds near her waist and pulled the fabric up in answer to his question. “Is that what you want?”
“Higher.”
Kneeling between her calves, he watched her legs as she tugged the fabric. Realizing she could taunt him the way he did her, she moved slowly, revealing herself bit by bit—her knees, her thighs, higher still until the hem of her gown was at her waist.
“Open your legs.” His voice had gone incredibly deep so that the words sounded like a command.
She parted her thighs, again moving slowly. When she thought she should stop, she opened them further, until she felt more exposed than she ever had in her life. The chaise wasn’t wide enough, so she let her legs drape over the sides.
“Perfection,” he murmured, moving between her legs, his gaze locked on her sex.
Looking at him fully dressed, a dark lock of hair hanging over his forehead, she was overcome by his masculine beauty. And the fact that she couldn’t see very much of him.
Arranging the gown at her waist and pushing the weight of it to one side, she sat forward and reached for his cravat, pulling the ends from his waistcoat. He looked up at her as she untied the silk and slid it from around his neck. She brought it to her nose and inhaled. It smelled so much like him, she never wa
nted to return it. She clutched it in her hand and watched as he removed his coat and dropped it to the floor.
“The waistcoat too.” Now she sounded like him, ordering him about.
He arched a brow but said nothing as he unbuttoned the garment. This game was almost as arousing as when he actually touched her.
The waistcoat followed his coat to the floor. He prowled up the chaise, and she reclined as he came up over her. He braced his hands on either side of her and kissed her, exploring her mouth with passion and tenderness. When he drew back, he tugged her lower lip with his teeth. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He pinned her with a dark, seductive stare. “Remember that everything you feel and do is right. Everything.”
He kissed her again before returning his attention to her breasts. He worked at a feverish pace this time, using his lips, tongue, and fingers to tease her nipples into hard, aching buds. She cast her head back and closed her eyes, surrendering to his touch. When he pinched her, she gasped, but not from any pain. Sharp desire pulsed in her sex.
As if he knew that was precisely what had happened, his hand moved between her thighs. He grazed her heated flesh, slowly, gently, then with more purpose, his fingers tangling in the curls and finding her clitoris. When he pressed her there—like he was now—she knew she could fly.
Her hips shot up off the chaise, and she moaned.
Then something wet was against her. She opened her eyes and looked down—at the top of his head. Oh God, he was using his mouth. Was that even right?
Remember that everything you feel and do is right.
She took that to include everything he did to her. And how could anything that felt this extraordinary be wrong? She shivered with want as his tongue explored her sex, licking and teasing. Then driving right into her as his finger had done the day before.
She bucked up, unable to contain her reaction. Instinctively, she grabbed his head.
He clasped one of her thighs. “Wrap your legs around me.”
She couldn’t… Except she did. This couldn’t possibly be right. Except it was.
Robbed of coherent thought, she arched up, wanting more of him. And he gave it to her, adding his finger to her sheath. He pumped in and out as his mouth drove her to the brink of sanity. This was familiar. The sky beckoned. She just had to let go and take flight.