To Dance until Dawn (Girls Who Dare Book 12)

by Emma V. Leech

  She made quite a production of it, taking her time, enjoying the heavy-lidded gaze that settled upon her, weighty as a caress. By the time she stood before him in nothing but her stockings and garters, he was breathing hard.

  “Come here,” he said, his voice low and dark.

  Phoebe moved towards him, kneeling on the bed and Max pushed her down, climbing over her. His hand cupped her breasts, squeezing and kneading, pinching her nipples until she gasped.

  “Mine.”

  The word was fierce, possessive, the look in his eyes precisely matching the sentiment, and she was no longer certain they played a game. He lowered his body to hers and circled the hard nub of one nipple with his tongue, making her shiver, before taking it in his mouth and suckling hard. Phoebe cried out, clutching at his hair, uncertain if she had meant to drag his head away, but holding him to her as pleasure with a hint of pain lanced through her and made her whimper beneath him. One hand slid down her body, finding the place between her legs that ached for him, that had longed for him every time they had been together this way. He had always left her sated and replete, but never yet had he filled the hollow yearning that wanted him so badly.

  “Max,” she whispered as he caressed her, making her arch into his body. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

  A rumble of laughter vibrated through him. “I rather like it this way. I like you naked like this while I am dressed. I think it should be this way as often as possible.”

  Phoebe huffed.

  “That is unfair,” she grumbled, though in truth, there was something delicious about being naked when he was fully clothed. Nonetheless, she wanted her hands on his skin, wanted to feel the heat of his body against hers. “Max,” she protested, tugging at his shirt.

  “Whatever you want, love,” he said, sitting back and stripping off his coat and waistcoat.

  Phoebe watched with avid interest as he tugged his cravat aside and then pulled his shirt over his head. Her breath caught, and she found herself delighted with the play of muscle beneath his skin, and with the dark trail of hair that led beneath the waistband of his trousers.

  “Enough?” he queried, all innocence.

  Phoebe scowled at him and he chuckled, shaking his head. “And you said I was wicked.”

  Max swung his legs to the side of the bed and stripped off shoes and stockings before getting to his feet. He shucked everything else in one smooth movement, giving her a wonderful view of a taut backside and powerful thighs, and then he turned to face her.

  Whatever it was he saw in her face as she looked at him—hungry to touch everything she saw—galvanised him into action and a moment later he was pushing her down again, his mouth on hers, hungry and demanding. Whatever had held him back before, whatever had made him cautious, it was gone now.

  Phoebe sighed, overwhelmed by the feel of his body against hers, hot and hard and heavy. The weight of his arousal burned against her intimate skin and she pressed closer, sliding her own aching flesh against his, encouraging him not to wait any longer. He made a low sound of pleasure as his large hands kneaded the softness of her behind, tilting her hips just so. She gasped as the blunt head of his erection pressed against her and he stilled.

  “No! No, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  There was a muffled laugh.

  “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he managed, pressing against her again.

  Phoebe shifted beneath him, helping him and her breath snagged in her throat as he slid inside her. She made a soft sound, surprise more than pain as he filled her, the sensation foreign and a little uncomfortable.

  “Phoebe.”

  Max’s voice was strained, his body taut as he held himself still.

  “It’s all right,” she said, knowing he was giving her time, allowing her to accept the intimate invasion. “I’m all right.”

  He moved again, deeper and then deeper still in one firm thrust and she held her breath at the slight pinch of discomfort, there and gone as Max took her attention. He bent and kissed her, slow and lingering, and then he was moving again. Phoebe ran her hands over his shoulders, down his back, revelling in the shift of muscle beneath her fingers, the silk of his skin. It was all new, all astonishing, the tenderness and the comfort of his embrace, the trust and the knowledge that she was loved so deeply. Even though they had been intimate before, it had not been like this, this sense of completion, connection. The sounds he made, of effort, of carnal delight, made her own body react with heat and desire, wanting more of him. She slid her hands to his buttocks, enjoying the powerful thrust of his body beneath her palms and clutched at his backside, squeezing, urging him deeper, harder. He made a sound that rumbled low in his chest, that made pleasure ripple through her.

  Phoebe stared up at him, the strong line of his throat, his handsome face, eyes closed as he gave himself over to this, to loving her.

  “I love you,” she said, and his eyes opened, dark and warm and filled with adoration as he gazed down at her.

  “And I….” he began, the words lost as pleasure overtook him.

  He reached between them, his fingers seeking the place that would hurry her to join him, caressing her as Phoebe moaned under his touch. He watched, his breathing erratic, the sinuous slide of his body into hers becoming fractured and urgent.

  “Phoebe,” he said, before closing his eyes, turning his face into her hair. “Oh, love….”

  Phoebe held tightly to him as his big body shuddered, her own desire peaking as she watched him give himself over to pleasure, to her, spilling himself inside her with a helpless cry. It was too much, enough to overwhelm her and send her tumbling in his wake, holding tight until at last they subsided. She clung to him, still breathing hard, and quite unable to keep the delighted smile from her lips.

  Max let out a long, slow sigh before he raised his head to look at her.

  “Are you all…?” The question died on his lips as he regarded her smug expression and he gave a rueful bark of laughter. “You’re happy now I’ve ruined you, then?”

  Phoebe pulled his head down and kissed him. “I am blissfully happy. Thank you, Max.”

  He snorted and turned on his back, taking her with him.

  “Anytime, love,” he said dryly. “It was my pleasure, I assure you.”

  “Mmmm,” Phoebe sighed, snuggling into his warmth. “Mine too,” she murmured, and drifted happily to sleep.

  Chapter 21

  Dear Florence,

  Phoebe is coming home on Friday and the place is in uproar. It’s supposed to be a secret wedding to avoid a dreadful scandal, but that’s not stopping Mama from preparing like the King himself is coming to stay. I’m glad you’re coming too, but do try to keep Evie from following us. I’m not getting into trouble if she gets lost again.

  ―Excerpt of a letter to Miss Florence Knight from The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Blakeney.

  24th April 1827. Dern Palace, Sevenoaks, Kent.

  Max handed Phoebe down from the carriage, uncomfortably aware of her father’s cool gaze upon him. The back of his neck prickled and he had the awful suspicion that he might blush, but then Phoebe gave a shriek of delight and threw herself into her papa’s arms, kissing his cheek and hugging him tightly.

  “Oh, Papa! We’ve had such an adventure. I can’t wait to tell you all about it,” she said, before kissing him again and running to embrace her mother.

  “Phoebe, darling,” Matilda said, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, we are so glad to have you home again. We’ve been so worried.”

  “Whatever for?” Phoebe asked, looking a little put out. “Surely you knew Max would look after me, and I’m not such a ninny as all that. Well… mostly I’m not,” she added, sending Max such a joyful smile his heart skipped.

  Good Lord, but he was smitten, so helplessly in love with her that it was a good thing she had agreed to marry him. He wasn’t certain he could have survived losing her. He straightened abruptly, suddenly aware he’d been ga
zing at her like some lovesick mooncalf, and discovered Lucian watching him again.

  Max stiffened as the marquess approached him and, to his great relief, held out his hand. Almost daring to breathe again, Max took it.

  “Welcome home,” Lucian said, smiling now. “And thank you for keeping her out of trouble.”

  Max cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, uncertain he could accept thanks for that in the circumstances.

  “No,” Lucian said, silencing him before he could speak. “There’s no need. I know better than anyone that it is impossible to keep her entirely out of trouble, but she’s here in one piece and she’s happy, that much is obvious.”

  “She is,” Max said, able to agree with that with no problem. “We both are.”

  Lucian nodded. “I’m glad. More than I can say. I have always worried that she would fall for the wrong sort of man, someone who would not deserve her.”

  Max gave a rueful smile. “I’m not certain I deserve her, but I love her, Lucian. With all my heart. I’ll be good to her.”

  “I believe you. After all,” Lucian added lightly, “we are both members of Angelo’s.”

  A wicked glint of amusement shone in his eyes and Max cleared his throat, aware it was a joke, but… still.

  “So we are,” he replied.

  “Papa, don’t frighten Max,” Phoebe scolded her father, running back to thread her arm through his.

  Lucian looked down at her, his adoration quite obvious as he covered her hand with his own.

  “As if I would, Bee,” he said, reproach in his expression. “Besides, I believe Max is not so easily intimidated. He would never have won your heart if he was, I think.”

  “That’s true.” Phoebe beamed at him and then turned to smile at Max. “And I do love him, very much.”

  Max’s throat tightened and he took a breath as he looked at her father, surprised to see the intimidating Marquess of Montagu blinking back tears.

  “I’m glad, dearest Bee,” he said softly. “For you know, I could not have parted with you for anything less.”

  “I could not bear to be without him, Papa,” Phoebe said, something in her tone that made Max believe this was something her father had needed to hear. “Just as you promised.”

  Lucian nodded and pulled her into his arms, resting his head on hers. “Then I shall let you go, sweetheart, but you must promise to come back and visit us very often, for I shall miss you dreadfully. We all shall.”

  “Oh!”

  Max turned to see Matilda sobbing into a handkerchief and Lucian held out an arm to her, holding both his wife and daughter close.

  Phoebe hugged her mother tightly and then looked down with a frown.

  “Mama…?” she said, a quizzical note ringing out.

  Max frowned as Matilda blushed a little.

  “Oh, Phoebe, yes, there is something we were going to tell you too―”

  Before either of them could say a word, Phoebe gave a squeal of delight and embraced her mother again before turning back to Lucian.

  “Papa!” she said, her expression one of feigned outrage.

  “Bee, you are dreadful,” Lucian said, shaking his head, though his eyes were alight with laughter.

  Phoebe laughed with delight.

  “If I am it’s entirely your fault,” she pointed out. “But this is marvellous. You shall have another little girl so you won’t miss me so dreadfully, though I hope she won’t take my place in your affections,” she added with a coquettish smile.

  “As if anyone could,” Lucian replied, laughing now and holding his Matilda close to him. “And we cannot be certain it will be a girl, love.”

  “Oh, but it must be, for that will be perfect, and everything today is perfect. Isn’t it, Max?”

  Max nodded, too overwhelmed to speak as he realised what he had at last. The family he had always dreamed of having about him would not only comprise his beloved Phoebe and any children they were blessed with, it would also mean being a part of this. Her brothers, Philip and Thomas, ran up to him, taking an arm each and tugging him through the house and out to the gardens, determined he should see the new model sailing boats they had. He went with them, glancing over his shoulder to see Phoebe smiling happily. She blew him a kiss as the boys chattered beside him. He grinned at her and went along with her brothers, happy to be a part of it all.

  ***

  They were married at the private chapel in the grounds of Dern Palace. Helena and Gabriel came with their daughters, Florence and little Evie, who was not yet five years old.

  Phoebe had cried when she’d seen what Mama had arranged for her, the doorway to the chapel smothered with an archway of white roses and peonies, gypsophila and honeysuckle, the sweet scent delicious as she waited outside on her father’s arm.

  “Thank you, Papa,” she said, leaning into him as he smiled down at her.

  “For what?”

  “For taking me in when you might so easily have left me where I was. For protecting me and giving me a home, and for being so very kind. I love you more than I can say, you know that?”

  Her father leaned in and kissed her forehead and was quiet for a long moment before he spoke. “Thomas would have been so immensely proud of you, my darling, Bee. I know I am.”

  Phoebe blinked back tears, only to see her father do likewise. They both laughed and she hugged him, careful not to spoil her flowers or the beautiful yellow gown her mother had prepared for her to be married in.

  “It’s time,” he said, holding out his arm to her.

  Phoebe took a deep breath and nodded and turned towards the church. “Then take me on to my next adventure, Papa.”

  Lucian covered her hand with his and stepped forward, leading her into the church. To marry the man she loved.

  Epilogue

  My dear friend,

  I am coming home. It seems forever since we were all together last. Is little Lottie still getting into mischief? I imagine everyone has changed a great deal in the two years I have been away. I had a letter from Leo yesterday. Have you seen him of late? My word, Eliza, I have so much to tell you. Such things I have seen and done. You must come to France as soon as you have the opportunity. Perhaps next summer we can persuade the duke to take the whole family. Your mother would love it too, I know.

  ―Excerpt of a letter to The Lady Elizabeth Adolphus from The Right Hon’ble Cassius Cadogan, Viscount Oakley

  Eleven years later…

  5th June 1838. Dern Palace, Sevenoaks, Kent.

  Lucian sighed and set down the letter he’d been trying to read. Matilda’s house parties were something he always enjoyed, but it never failed to astonish him how a vast place like Dern seemed to shrink when all the family and their friends were in residence.

  “Bee, when did I gain so very many children?” he asked, giving his daughter the benefit of a pained expression.

  She laughed and reached over, patting his hand. “They’re not all yours, Papa.”

  “They’re not, but I am!”

  Lucian looked beside him to where his youngest child was sitting, having stolen her mother’s place. Matilda was having a well-earned lie-in after an extremely late night last night. Lucian’s lips twitched as he remembered why that was.

  Lucian peered at his daughter, eleven years old and the image of her mother, except for her eyes. Her eyes were his, silver-grey. They were silver. He had to admit to that now, having insisted for many years his own were a light grey. Catherine, his darling little Cat, proved he’d been wrong.

  “Are you quite sure?” he said dubiously, narrowing his eyes at her.

  “That wicked girl could belong to no one else,” her big sister replied tartly.

  Cat stuck her tongue out at Phoebe and they both laughed.

  Lucian retreated behind his newspaper.

  “When does everyone go home?” he grumbled, knowing they were all aware he didn’t really mean it, though a bit of peace at breakfast would not go amiss in his opinion.


  “Not until the end of the week,” Phoebe said cheerfully.

  Max walked into the room with Jacob—Lucian’s first grandson, who was just a year younger than Cat—and holding the hand of his granddaughter, Rose, who was seven.

  “There, see, here is Mama,” Max said soothingly to the little girl, who ran to Phoebe and threw her arms about her neck.

  “Oh, darling, whatever is the matter?” Phoebe asked the child, looking to her husband.

  “Jake was rude to her,” Max said, giving his son a stern look. “But he has apologised and promised not to do it again.”

  Jake glowered, his arms folded, and privately Lucian thought that promise would not hold past teatime.

  “Oh!”

  A shriek came from the other end of the table to where Lady Elizabeth and Lady Charlotte Adolphus were breakfasting with his sons, Philip and Thomas.

  “Cassius is coming home!” Eliza cried with excitement, only to mutter a curse a moment later as her sister, Lottie, snatched the letter from her hand.

  “When? What does he say?” Lottie demanded, getting up and running from her sister’s reach when Eliza tried to take the letter back.

  “Give that back, Lottie!” Eliza demanded as Pip and Thomas laughed and shook their heads.

  “Oh, he’s bringing friends,” Lottie exclaimed, dancing out of her sister’s reach. “Goodness, the Comte de Villen and his brother. A real life French Comte! That’s like an earl, isn’t it, Lord Montagu?”

  Lucian smothered a sigh and nodded, lowering his newspaper. “It is.”

  “Oh, Max, it’s Louis César and Demarteau!” Phoebe exclaimed with delight.

  Max grinned at her. “You might get that game you wanted after all, love.”

  Lucian laughed at her obvious excitement, remembering the story she had told him about playing cards with the enigmatic brothers.

  “Oh, how exciting!” Bella cried as her mother, Alice, exchanged an anxious glance with Matilda’s brother, Nate.

  “Give me my letter, Charlotte,” Eliza demanded again, trying to snatch it back.