She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I remember when they sent him away. What a wastrel he was to be sure.”
“Of course they would have heard,” Mrs. Burwell said. “Have you forgotten Lady Phoebe’s brother, Cranbourne, is married to Amabel Finley?”
“Oh, yes, I had quite forgotten,” Mrs. Spencer replied. “Has anyone met Lord Marcus, do you know?”
Mrs. Burwell smiled condescendingly. “Mr. Burwell and I met Lord Marcus at the Drummonds’ dinner party. He had a well-informed mind. Mr. Burwell was quite impressed, and I thought him a very handsome man.”
Mrs. Burwell glanced at Phoebe. “Lord Marcus is here this evening. He will be one of the biggest catches on the Marriage Mart this Season.”
Phoebe struggled to maintain her indifferent countenance. If anyone thought they could match her with Lord Marcus, they would be greatly disappointed. She would rather be a spinster than marry him. A vision of him on the floor, bleeding, entered her mind. Good. If he came after her, she would lay him out again.
“Be that as it may, my dear Mrs. Burwell, good looks and intelligence are not the only qualities he needs,” Mrs. Spencer responded, apparently determined to have her say. “We will have to see how he goes on. He will probably have picked up all sorts of strange ways living in the tropics.”
Phoebe followed the conversation concerning Lord Marcus only in the hopes one of the women would point him out to her so she could avoid him.
Her aunt turned toward the direction Uncle Henry had gone and smiled. “Ah, here come the gentlemen.”
Phoebe glanced at Mrs. Burwell, feigning a nonchalance she did not feel. “Indeed, ma’am, it is fascinating about Lord Marcus Finley. Perhaps when you see him, you could point him out. I would be interested in how such a reputed reprobate looks.”
Phoebe wanted to escape the room before he could approach her.
Mrs. Burwell squinted. “There he is, I believe, next to Lord Abemarle.”
Phoebe glanced in the direction Mrs. Burwell indicated and saw a tall, slender gentleman with dark hair. She noted that Lord Abemarle and Lord Marcus were walking in their direction.
Catching her aunt’s eye, Phoebe said in a low voice, “Aunt Ester, I believe I shall go to the ladies’ retiring room.”
Her aunt inclined her head as Phoebe moved quickly and discreetly away.
Phoebe reached the door leading into the hall where the ladies’ retiring room was situated. Having been to the house many times before, she knew the library was a few doors down. Perhaps she could safely sit there for a few minutes, to regain her composure and steel herself to meet Lord Marcus Finley again.
The ball, although well attended, was not so crowded she could hope to avoid him. Eventually, she thought grimly, he would cozen some unsuspecting person to introduce him to her.
Chapter Seven
P
hoebe entered the library and realized she was not alone. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood across the room with his back to the door looking out the window.
“Oh, I am sorry to disturb you. I thought the room would be empty.” She turned to leave.
A deep voice that seemed like a caress responded, “Stay. Please.”
Her heart leapt. Her knight-errant.
He walked toward her, stopping just a few feet from where she stood. Once more, his turquoise gaze captured and held her.
“I came in here to think, after the meeting,” he said, then took a step closer to her. “Being new to the political world, I wanted to ensure I fully understood the problems and solutions being proposed before taking a position.”
Unable to speak for a moment due to the strange occurrence of her heart jumping to her throat, Phoebe nodded. “I think that is an eminently sensible desire. There is always so much to learn at first.”
Her chest tightened with excitement, and she couldn’t believe he was here.
“Have you much experience in this sphere?” Her knight moved a bit closer.
“I believe I stay well informed as to the issues. When I visit my aunt and uncle I attend all the political dinners and other entertainments.” When she glided nearer to him, a hurry of spirits coursed through her.
He narrowed his eyes curiously. “What made you seek out the library?”
“I was avoiding someone.” Phoebe found herself even closer to him and wanting to be in his arms again. His deep, soft voice was like a warm wave, drawing her in. Did male sirens exist?
“I see.” He closed the distance a little more.
She searched his face. Barely a foot separated them. If only he would reach out to her. “You were in Littleton for the fight last week.”
“Yes, I attended with a friend,” he replied, his tone, intimate.
Phoebe tried to steady her thudding heart. “I remember your voice. You rescued me from the young man pounding on my chamber door and spent the night guarding me.”
She drew a ragged breath. Why was it so hard to breathe? “You didn’t want to be thanked. You have now saved me twice from importuning young men.”
His gaze seemed to focus even more intently on her. “Yes, I took him from your door. I thought, at the time, I didn’t need to be thanked.” His lips curled into a provocative smile. “I may have been mistaken. You may thank me, if you wish.”
Phoebe had no idea what she was doing. She’d never before been affected like this. His eyes and his body willed her closer. She ignored the small voice urging caution. Her pulse thrilled and there was no more space between them.
Tilting her head up, she put one hand on his face, resting her fingers lightly on his cheek. “Yes, I would like to thank you.”
He bent his head and lightly, very lightly, touched his lips to hers. They were warm and firm and so enticing.
Phoebe’s lips tingled just as her hand had when he’d touched it, but that was through gloves. This was a great deal better. “I have never been kissed before. I don’t know what to do.”
A flame lit in her knight’s eyes. “I’ll teach you.”
Phoebe took her cue from him, copying him, learning, returning his kisses more confidently. She never knew a kiss could be like this. She wanted so much to trust this man. To try to find the happiness her sisters and aunt had.
She tamped down her fear and tried to step nearer to him. His large warm hands held her firmly in place, but his lips incited her to respond and give him more. Heat rose within her. She felt a wanting she’d never experienced before, as if he was opening a new world to her. A world she needed to explore. Phoebe moved her hands to his shoulders.
Marcus placed his hands on her small waist, reveling in the feel of her body. Her hands held his face tenderly. They were so small. She was so petite. Her head didn’t even reach his collar-bone. He moved his lips on hers, teasingly, asking Phoebe’s to respond. She did, innocently, tentatively at first. He waited until she was comfortable returning his kisses before kissing her more firmly.
He kissed her more fully and sensed Phoebe’s hesitation before she responded to him again, to his need. He stopped her from leaning in to him. That would be disastrous. The mere fact that she was here, touching him, threatened to fray his resolve. Her hands slid up to his shoulders and he almost groaned. It had been five years since he’d held a woman and kissed her.
Marcus wanted to pull her into his arms, but this was a long game. He could not allow them to go too far, too quickly. This time he would care for her as she deserved and treat her like the innocent she was. It wouldn’t be safe to take the kiss any deeper.
Gradually easing back from Phoebe, he lifted his head.
She sighed. Her blue eyes, hazy with desire, gazed up at him.
He smiled. If he could, he’d keep her here all evening, but it wasn’t possible. He needed to be concerned for her reputation and his.
As he murmured in her ear, she shivered. “Milady, I hear the orchestra starting. I was told the first set would be a waltz. Will you grant me this dance?”
Phoebe’s voice was soft. “Yes, my knight, it would be my pleasure to dance with you.”
Placing her hand on his arm, he led her into the ballroom just as the other couples were taking their places.
He was careful to keep the proper distance between them. Finally, his dreams were coming true. He’d ached for years to hold her and kiss her. Phoebe relaxed in his arms, as he twirled her around the floor.
She smiled up at him. “You waltz very well, my knight.”
“Thank you, milady, as do you.” But he knew she would. Was there anything she didn’t do well?
Phoebe was so happy and satisfied there was no reason to speak as she would normally have done while dancing. The warmth of his hand on her waist and the way his other hand engulfed hers sent a pleasant tingling sensation through her body.
Her knight must feel the same, as he said not a word. His eyes twinkled as he moved them gracefully around the floor. No man had ever looked at her like that, and Phoebe wondered what it meant.
Henry and Ester were twirling around the floor when Ester saw Phoebe and her “knight-errant.”
“My dear, there is that young man with Phoebe. The one from Bond Street. Do you know who he is?”
Henry glanced at her wryly. “
That,
my dear, is Lord Marcus Finley.”
She couldn’t keep her eyes from widening. “Oh no.”
“Indeed.”
“Henry, she cannot know who he is.”
“That, I think,” he said dryly, “is rather obvious.”
“It is no wonder he did not want to give me his name.
Oh my,
look at the way they stare at one another.”
“I did notice they seem rather spellbound.”
When Henry took Ester through the turn, she glanced at him. “What shall we do?”
Henry’s hand tightened on her waist. “We wait. If Lord Marcus survives Phoebe finding out who he is, he may actually have a chance with her.”
Ester gazed again at Phoebe and Lord Marcus, then back at Henry. “Do you think it possible, after what happened between them?”
Her husband answered, “I ask you, my love, when was the last time you saw such an attraction between two people? She’ll be furious, to be sure. It will be up to him to try to convince her, and bring her around.” Henry’s eyes twinkled with humor. “We are about to discover, my love, the true depth of Lord Marcus Finley’s address.”
When the set ended, her knight released Phoebe, bit by bit, as if he didn’t want to let her go. They stood where they were for a few long moments.
He broke the spell. “Where do you want me to take you?”
The question returned Phoebe to the world of the ball. Smiling shyly, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. The library was her preference, but she could not return there with him.
He continued, “I should escort you to whomever you are here with.”
“My aunt.” She tried to focus on the proprieties, yet her mind drifted back to the dance and his kisses. “I suppose. I should return to my aunt.”
Quirking his lips up, he replied, “Yes, of course. Who is your aunt?”
Phoebe raised her gaze, barely aware of the other guests milling around them. “My aunt, sir, is the Marchioness of St. Eth.”
Phoebe searched the room and saw her uncle Henry escort her aunt to a sofa. He bowed then left. “She is over there with the lady in the purple turban and feathers.”
Her knight brought her fingers to his lips. “Milady, I shall take you to your aunt next to the lady in the purple turban and feathers.”
Phoebe smiled at his silliness, but when Marcus glanced at the woman in question, he hid a groan. Lady Bellamny, his mother’s old friend, was sitting with Phoebe’s aunt. No prayers, no prevarication would save him now. Phoebe would learn his identity much sooner than he’d wished.
Would she allow him to explain how much he loved her, and how much he’d changed because of her?
Trying to delay the moment of her discovery, he allowed his gaze to rove over her, taking in every precious feature. Her skin was like warm cream, not the cold white of so many English ladies. She was more beautiful now than she had been at sixteen, more mature and elegant. She wore a dull gold silk gown. He wanted to groan as he took in the gown’s low neckline that barely encased her ample breasts. Perfect mounds that he wanted to caress.
Phoebe’s ears were adorned simply with pearl drops that tempted him to run the tip of his tongue over the outer swirl of her ear, to breathe in her fresh and woodsy scent.
Marcus couldn’t bear the thought that Phoebe would ever kiss another man. He never before felt such possessiveness. No other woman made his pulse race or called to his soul. He wanted to tell her she was his—had always been his.
Instead, he walked with her toward the lady with the purple turban and the feathers, feeling like he was walking off a plank.
As they arrived at the sofa, Phoebe realized she did not know her knight’s name. Dancing with an unknown man was the most scandalous thing she’d ever done, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. Yet, Lady Bellamny, whom Phoebe had known all her life, remedied that oversight. “Well, well, my dear Marcus,” Lady Bellamny said. “It’s delightful to see you, again. Lady Phoebe, I take it you have already met the prodigal son.”