Marcus?
Phoebe stiffened. It couldn’t be.
Lord Marcus Finley?
Lady Bellamny continued talking, and Phoebe felt as if she were in a vortex, unable to think or act.
“I should probably call you Lord Marcus, now you are out of short coats. How have you been, my boy? Your mamma told me you were returned. I would not have known you, if she hadn’t pointed you out earlier. I’m so sorry about Arthur . . .”
The reality of her knight’s identity was finally sinking in.
This was Lord Marcus Finley? How had she not recognized him?
Phoebe smiled politely even as her stomach clenched.
Lord Marcus bowed over Lady Bellamny’s hand. “I am well, ma’am, and delighted to see you again. You look to be in your usual good health.”
Lady Bellamny’s laugh jiggled her many chins. “I’ve grown fat as a calf, but thank you any way.”
Phoebe barely heard Lord Marcus as he continued to converse with Lady Bellamny. Phoebe wanted to run, yet she was frozen at his side.
Aunt Ester, with an expression of calm interest, caught Lady Bellamny’s eye.
She was brought to her duty. “Allow me, my dear Lady St. Eth, to make Lord Marcus Finley known to you.”
He bowed and took her hand. “My pleasure, my lady.”
Ester glanced at Phoebe with concern. “Phoebe, my dear, it is a trifle warm in here. Let me take you to the terrace for some air.”
She was ready to leap at the chance of leaving, when Lord Marcus said, “My lady, if Lady Phoebe will allow it, I would be honored to accompany her in your stead.”
Phoebe couldn’t breathe again. Very well, if that was the way he wanted it, they might as well end this farce now. She’d give him a piece of her mind and tell him never to approach her again.
“Please, stay where you are, Aunt Ester.” Phoebe’s voice was tight. “Lord Marcus may escort me.”
Phoebe moved silently, as calmly as she could, beside him as he led her to the terrace doors. It cost her a severe struggle to maintain her countenance as her wrath bubbled up within her.
Lord Marcus bent his head and spoke. “Would you like to go where you may speak freely?”
She knew he meant rip up at him. “Yes, a place where we cannot be overheard would be best.”
“As you desire, milady.”
His deep voice washed over her again and she shivered, confusion added to her fury. She had never been so conflicted. That the man she thought fate had finally given to her to love could be Marcus Finley seemed a cruel joke. How
could
she be so attracted to him?
She’d let him—wanted him—to kiss her. How in God’s name was she to forget what he’d done to her before? How he’d treated her that weekend. Could she ever truly trust him not to turn into a drunken lout again?
Lord Marcus escorted her down the terrace and turned the corner. He opened the door to an empty parlor, standing back to allow Phoebe to enter. A candelabrum cast a gentle glow over the room.
She swept past him, back straight, and he prepared for the worst. Closing the terrace door, he locked it and went to the door opening onto the hall, securing it as well before returning to her. It wouldn’t do for anyone to walk in on them.
Marcus stood before Phoebe, waiting for the storm to break. He’d decided that if she wanted to plant him a facer, he’d let her. He didn’t usually give his head over to another for washing, but if that was what he must do to break the coldness in her, do it he would.
For what seemed like hours but could have only been minutes, Phoebe stood staring at him.
Her face was white with rage. “You.”
“Lady Phoebe—”
She cut him off with a curt wave of her hand. Her voice was suspended by tears. “How could you?”
She turned, blinking quickly as her eyes filled and threatened to spill over.
Marcus’s gaze remained on her, studying her face. He prayed he could find a way to abate her wrath, to bring back the mood, the feelings they’d shared before she discovered who he was.
He stepped around to face her.
This time Marcus closed the distance between them and took her trembling hands. “Would it help if you hit me again?”
Phoebe raised her tear-filled eyes and shook her head.
Marcus had never pleaded before, not even when his father informed him he was being banished, but now, when his future depended on what he said, he’d beg. “Lady Phoebe, please forgive me. I beseech you to believe I am not the same man who gave you such a disgust of me.”
He looked up, praying for the right words. “If I could change the past I would. I would do
anything,
anything at all, to wipe that memory from your mind. There was no excuse, could be no excuse for my behavior. I don’t know how I came to be so completely, so arrogantly stupid, but your words to me that day made a difference in my life. Set me on a new course.”
Her hands were cold in his. Marcus wanted to take her in his arms and somehow, soothe her pain away. “Let me show you how much I’ve changed. How much I value you. But, if you find you cannot bring yourself to forgive me, to be in my company, I’ll never approach you again. I only ask that you try.”
Phoebe stared at him for a long time. She saw the very real contrition in his face, his eyes pleading.
Oh, his eyes
. They looked nothing like the clouded ones of so many years before. She was so very drawn to him. If his name were not Marcus Finley—but it was.
She dropped her gaze and her chest tightened, restricting her breathing.
She had never been afraid of anything before. She’d
never
been tempted to give her heart to anyone. It terrified her that it could be to
him.
Her gaze met his searchingly. There was a depth of feeling there she’d never seen in a man’s eyes until now, at least not for her.
Phoebe knew if she didn’t take this risk, she might never know love.
Trembling, she took a deep breath. Her questions tumbled out in a confused muddle. “Why? What do you want? What future could we have? What do you want from me?”
His mien was grave, pensive. “I love you. I want to marry you. There has never been any other woman for me since the moment I saw you. I need you in my life.”
She looked away. Phoebe’s heart was beating so rapidly she felt faint. She should be shocked by his words and was only surprised that she wasn’t.
Part of her wanted to go to him, to have him hold her, to allow him to kiss her, so she could return his kisses. Another part of her, the part that held the hurt he’d inflicted years before, and she’d hidden deep inside, wanted him to pay, at least a little, for the harm he’d done.
Several minutes passed before she could meet his gaze again. No gentleman had ever made a claim such as his. “How could you love me? You don’t know me.”
His eyes warmed with the same look he’d had in Bond Street and in the library. “I do know you. I know your compassion and your kindness. I know you were the only person who tried to understand the desolate youth I was. There is no use telling me I can’t be in love with you, when I am. It was the only good decision I’ve ever made.”
She fought to hold back her tears and searched her reticule for her handkerchief. Before she found it, he’d tilted her head and, using his, gently dabbed the corner of her eyes.
“Pray excuse me,” she said wetly. “I don’t normally cry. I detest it.”
He stroked her back lightly and waited while she composed herself. “Lady Phoebe, is it possible for us to have a new beginning?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can trust you again, or forgive you.”
But what if she did not even try? She’d never run away from problems before. Could she live with herself if she did it now when he was the only man to stir her heart? “You will need to convince me you’ve changed. The stories I’ve heard do not encourage trust.”
But could she allow him to try to persuade her? Maybe, if she was in control of their meetings, and they proceeded very gradually. . . . “You—you will have to court me. I give you no promises. I will only give my hand where my heart already is.”
Her heart, that errant organ, nudged to tell her it was his already.
Marcus let out a breath and brought one of her hands up to lightly brush his lips against it. “Thank you. I’ll show you, I’ll do anything I need to do.”
Phoebe pushed her treacherous heart ruthlessly aside. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not promising you a happy ending. You have a lot of ground to make up. We shall take this slowly.”
“I am still obliged to you. You’re correct. Our courtship and feelings need to be right. I need to make them so.”
Stunned that he’d acquiesced so easily, Phoebe could only nod. Lord Marcus was actually going to agree to what she wanted? “Yes, you do.”
He straightened. “We’ve been gone long enough. Where do you want me to take you?”
Well, that was unexpected, his paying attention to propriety. Her voice sounded small to her as she struggled with her emotions. “I think I would like to go home.”
“I shall escort you to your aunt.”
“Yes, that would be best.” Phoebe glanced at him. His eyes still held the same warmth and caring as before. But what would he be like in a week or two? Phoebe steeled herself. “If you do not have a prior engagement, you may meet me at St. Eth House at ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“I shall be there.” He kissed her hand. “I am different, you have made me so.”
Phoebe drew back her hand from the warmth of his and prayed he was right.
Chapter Eight
W
hen Marcus escorted Phoebe to her aunt, Lady St. Eth was alone on a small sofa. He bowed. “Lady St. Eth, would you like me to find St. Eth and send him to you?”
Aunt Ester regarded him shrewdly. “Yes, very kind of you to offer, Lord Marcus. I am feeling a little tired and would like to retire.”
After he took his leave, Phoebe sat down and tried to smile. “I too am a little tired.”
“My dear, are you all right?”
“I think so.”
A few moments later, Uncle Henry came up. “I found our host and made our excuses.”
The short drive home was silent. Aunt Ester and Uncle Henry exchanged glances. Phoebe knew she’d have to explain everything.
Once in the house, they went to the small parlor.
Uncle Henry poured Phoebe a sherry, pressing it into her hand. “Drink.”
She obeyed and he refilled her glass.
Aunt Ester chafed her hand. “My dear, are you all right? After what you’d told me I was never so astonished in my life to see you on Lord Marcus’s arm.”
Phoebe gazed at them both, chagrined. “Not as surprised as I.”
Ester bit her lip. “I did see that you were quite taken aback when Lady Bellamny said his name.”
Phoebe glanced at her aunt and uncle. They wanted the whole story and she wasn’t sure she was ready to give it. “As you have already surmised, Lord Marcus is the man who rescued me both at the White Horse Inn and in Bond Street. I did not recognize him from before. He—he looks so different. He behaves so differently. I would never have guessed he was the same man I have hated all these years.”
Aunt Ester abandoned subtlety. “
That
I understand.
How
did you happen to be with him tonight?”
Phoebe sighed and took a sip of sherry. “You’ll remember Mrs. Burwell pointing out the man she thought was Lord Marcus? That’s what he looked like years ago, rangy and petulant. I had not doubted it was he.”
After taking another sip of sherry, Phoebe continued, “I decided to go into the library rather than the ladies’ retiring room, and—and collect thought, but Lord Marcus was already there. I only recognized him as the gentleman I’d been searching for. We talked a little, then heard the orchestra start up and returned to the ballroom.
“I thought he could protect me from Lord Marcus’s attentions.” She glanced at her aunt and uncle. “When he escorted me to you, as I requested, and Lady Bellamny said
he
was Lord Marcus, I—well, you of all people could see how upset I was. He very correctly offered to take me to a parlor where no one could overhear us talk, or rather could hear me confront him on his actions.”
Phoebe grinned ruefully before continuing, “When he offered to let me hit him again, or rip up at him, I found, surprisingly, that was not what I wanted to do.”
Uncle Henry’s eyes were alight with laughter, but his tone was perfectly grave. “A brave man to offer to put himself once more through your castigation.”
Aunt Ester glanced sharply at him, but Phoebe agreed. Lord Marcus could have left with another bloody nose. “Yes, that is what I thought. So I asked him what he wanted and he said”—her voice caught—“he said he loved me and wanted to marry me.”
Her aunt gasped. “Oh, my child, what did you say?”
Phoebe raised her chin. “I told him I would promise him nothing. If he wanted to marry me, he’d have to court me properly and prove he has changed.”
She smoothed her skirt. “I shall be in charge of this courtship. He agreed to be here at ten o’clock to-morrow morning. I’ll take him for a drive in my phaeton.”
Aunt Ester stared at Phoebe without saying a word for several moments. “Very proper. We all have a lot to consider, and I believe it’s time to retire. This has been an extremely eventful evening indeed.”