The Duchess and the Highwayman

by Beverley Oakley

  Mr Redding laughed easily once more, and Phoebe noticed the dimples among the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. He really was a handsome and good-humored man when he smiled. Phoebe couldn’t remember when lightness and easy humor were a feature of her endless days with either Ulrick or Wentworth.

  His eyes narrowed but again with humor. “Oh, I think you’ll enjoy it, Phoebe. You like a challenge; I can tell.”

  “I like a challenge, it’s true, but my greatest challenge right now is convincing you that my honor is greater than my mercurial desires.”

  “You intend to see how much I’ll give you without you giving me anything in return?”

  “I’m giving you amusement.”

  “There’ll soon come a time when that’s not enough.”

  “Spoken like a true male. Why, then, am I disappointed? Perhaps it’s time for me to move on, since my true value—that is, getting you Wentworth—has proven not such a great asset since I’m not going to speak to Sir Roderick and risk my neck for anyone.”

  He sobered a moment, then laughed again, though less convincingly. “I never pretended to be better than I am. Perhaps I’ll just call in that kiss you promised, especially if I’m likely to find you gone in the morning and nothing more on offer, given our last conversation.” He pulled her back into his embrace, murmuring with his face inches from hers before he kissed her, “See if I can persuade you to stay.”

  She was easy to win over, she knew. The touch of his lips upon hers, the sensation wrought by his fingertips upon her heated flesh was incendiary. She had no shame or compunction in surrendering to the moment, albeit briefly. She’d had little enough warmth and affection in her life.

  But they were in the parlor. Mrs Withins was quite likely to enter without knocking, and Phoebe was not going to compromise herself to such a degree.

  “By God Phoebe, but you know how to send a man wild with wanting,” he ground out as he kissed her neck.

  “I’d…best place a chair against the bedchamber door tonight then, sir.” Phoebe tried to make her breathing soundless as she watched Mr Redding gazing at her with a mixture of desire and frustration after they’d broken apart. She was aware she was nearly at the point of doing something unwise, and her head spun as she gripped the table ledge for balance. She must ensure he did not notice her discomposure. Let him think she held all the cards. The moment he realized the extent of her attraction toward him, then her power was heavily diluted.

  She cocked her head in the direction of the passage, smiling brightly as Mrs Withins entered the room. “Ah, perfect timing, Mrs Withins, as I needed someone to admire my new gown. Do you like it?”

  She cast an impish look at Mr Redding and saw that he appeared as breathless as Mrs Withins though did not have the excuse of having climbed a set of stairs.

  “That’s a gown fer a lady, and though it mightn’t be me place ter say it, reckon people are goin’ ter wonder ‘ow ye came by such a thing, Phoebe,” she muttered, swinging around to present her with her back and to ask her master, “I take it ye’ll be dinin’ alone this evenin’, sir?”

  Mr Redding looked past the red-faced retainer and licked his lips as he contemplated Phoebe.

  “There’s been a dearth of ladies’ company to enjoy, Mrs Withins, and as you rightly point out, young Phoebe here is doing a fine job of pretending the role and now even looks the part. I think I might indulge her just this once and see if she knows how to hold a knife and fork. I suspect her deficiencies might mock her if I put her through her paces.”

  Mrs Withins gave a short nod. “Aye, well, if ye want entertainment, I’m sure Phoebe don’t ‘ave any scruples that’ll get in the way, sir.”

  Phoebe gasped as she positioned herself in front of the rude servant. “I demand an apology this instant!” she said in her most cultured accent. “Mr Redding?” she entreated when no apology was forthcoming.

  Mr Redding shrugged his shoulders as he sent her a look of shame. “I rely on Mrs Withins to feed me and keep me in comfort, Phoebe. I wouldn’t dare. As for you, I’ve funded a new dress with nothing in return.”

  At least he made this point clear to his housekeeper, thought Phoebe, though the housekeeper looked skeptical. To push it home, Phoebe added, “Yes, you rescued me, and I’m grateful. I shall have to consider what recompense is appropriate.”

  Mrs Withins put her apron up to her face. “What a den of vice the good miller’s house ‘as become. If I ‘ad anywhere else ter go I’d be packin’ me bags on the instant. In fact, it mayhap’ll come ter that if that baggage ain’t gone soon!” she added with a baleful look at Phoebe.

  Phoebe watched her scurry out of the room, transferring her despairing look from Mrs Withins’s departing back to Mr Redding’s amused face.

  “Well, you made your intentions very clear to the servants, didn’t you, Phoebe, promising me I’ll soon get what I want in return for your fancy finery.”

  “She thinks I’ve already bartered my soul for a new gown.” Phoebe shrugged. “Perhaps I have.”

  9

  “I have nowhere to go, Mr Redding. Certainly not while Mr Wentworth is on his murderous rampage.” Phoebe took a sip of the wine which a mutinous Mrs Withins had been prevailed upon to serve Phoebe at the dinner table. “But this afternoon, I’ve come upon a plan.”

  “I imagine you’d always have a plan, Phoebe. And another plan in case the first one failed.” Mr Redding raised one eyebrow, but Phoebe could see he was intrigued. Intrigued by her or intrigued by her potential plan? Preferably both. Phoebe needed some security to know he was not going to suddenly evict her or, if he chose to take a more gentlemanly approach, deposit her in the village she professed to come from.

  “Pray, do not keep me in suspense.”

  “I know things about Mr Wentworth that my mistress told me and which I believe the magistrate—no, the government—would be interested to know about.”

  “Why didn’t you say?”

  The truth was, Phoebe had been dismayed by her lack of knowledge regarding anything along these lines, though she’d trawled through her memory in case Wentworth had mentioned anything that might constitute felony.

  Mr Redding needn’t know this though. He just needed to think she knew enough to be useful, so he’d keep her safe until she’d somehow come upon a solution to her terrible conundrum as to where she could possibly go when she had no money and only one dress.

  When Phoebe glanced up, however, she saw though that his look was not nearly as interested as before. He snorted.

  “You don’t know anything, do you?” Shaking his head, he topped up her glass. “Ah well, I’m a philosophic man by nature, so I’ll just have to try and console myself with the fact that it’s not a wasted evening to enjoy dinner with a woman as easy on the eye as you are, my dear.” He sent her a rueful look. “I think I must be soft in the head to let you talk me into giving you such latitude. Mrs Withins asked me before you entered… ‘Where will it end, sir?’.” He shrugged and sent her a piercing look across the table. “Where will it end, Phoebe?”

  His voice had dropped. The light was fading outside, and the candle in the center of the table sent long shadows dancing on the wall.

  Phoebe finished her second glass of wine and noticed with a surge of appreciation how well he looked in evening clothes. His snowy stock was pristine. He’d shaved, and the smoothness of his skin was suddenly intriguing. She had a ridiculous urge to feel the soft linen of his stock drift across the back of her hand before she twined her fingers up through his hair and caressed the smooth skin of his newly-shaven jaw.

  Goodness, he was a handsome man. His eyes were somewhere between green and brown, though in some lights she would describe them as…tawny. She’d never seen eyes like his. His light brown hair was fashionably styled; angular sideburns followed the line of his sharply-delineated cheekbones. When he was amused, he had one dimple that popped out, but when he was angry, his mouth was set in a hard, uncompromising line.

 
Now, however, the rhetorical question clearly both perplexed and amused him.

  Phoebe pushed back her chair and slowly stood up. The wine had emboldened her, and she had a position to maintain. In this man’s eyes, she was for all intents and purposes a doxy; and one who’d failed to give him any return on his money, at that. The money he’d spent on a fine dress which she hoped would come in useful for effecting her escape some day.

  She took a couple of steps toward him, and her calculated thoughts were entirely a separate matter to the heat that swept through her core. She needed this man, it was true. Thank God she wanted him, too.

  “Where will it all end, Mr Redding?” Her voice was low and husky as she stood behind him, lowering her head so that her breathy tone ruffled the curls behind his ears.

  She noticed how he tensed, thrilled that her ploy really did seem to put his nerve endings on notice.

  Gently she laid a hand on his shoulder, and slid her other down his waistcoat, lingering on his breast before snaking down toward his groin.

  He startled, but beyond that was still. Phoebe was in charge.

  In charge and charged with lust. She didn’t believe she’d wielded such power. Certainly not with Ulrick. She doubted with Wentworth, even in the early days.

  But this man had been attracted to her from the start. She’d seen it in the first interested flare during their heated exchange in the woods when her face had been smeared with mud.

  Well, that was only a few of days ago, but the tension had been building up between them ever since and now Phoebe knew exactly what she wanted.

  And what she needed.

  “You have ordered me a very beautiful gown, sir, for which I am truly grateful.” Gently she nipped his ear. “But I do not barter anything unless my interest is piqued.”

  “Your interest is piqued, now, Phoebe?” He sounded strangled. “I’m glad to hear it. I’d all but given up hope.”

  “Either this fine Rhenish has gone to my head, or perhaps we’ve been leading toward this moment from the start.” She slid her body around as she spoke, and sat on his lap, twining her arms behind his neck as she offered an impish grin. Oh, she was in charge and how mightily she was enjoying it.

  “I like to think it is the latter.”

  She closed her eyes as she gently ground her bottom over his growing erection. They would make love, and she would feel safe and enjoy it. The anticipation of what the next few minutes…night…might bring was singing through her veins. Her brain throbbed with excitement, and the heat and moisture between her legs made her lightheaded.

  Kissing his ear while he gently ran his hands over her, she acknowledged that she desired this man deeply and sincerely.

  She felt his thighs tense and heard his slight exhalation as she pressed her lips to Adam’s apple.

  Tipping her head and tightening his arms around her, he kissed her long and hard, and excitement fueled her body to fever pitch. She’d never felt like this before.

  Yet she had to remain in charge. She could not be the weak vessel, the slave she’d been to Wentworth.

  Mr Redding’s hand was on her knee now, beneath her skirts, and climbing higher. She’d given him license at last, and he was succumbing to the ecstasy of the moment. She could see it in the lust-fueled glaze of his eye and his smile as he touched her.

  Her own excitement was growing, but to remain in charge, she needed distance.

  Within seconds, she realized distance was not going to be possible. She was as swept away as he by this moment of mutual desire when she had surely everything to gain by abandonment.

  With one practiced hand, Phoebe unbuttoned his trouser flap while she continued to kiss him, then slid her hand into the opening.

  “Oh God!” he gasped, jerking as he was taken by surprise, cupping her chin, but ever so gently. Not like Wentworth, though dear Lord this was no time to make comparisons. Not when the men were as different as chalk and cheese, and the reasons for her behaving no better than a whore purely life preserving.

  No, that wasn’t true. The only time she’d offered her body up to a man’s like a whore was when she’d married Ulrick. She’d felt nothing for him. At least with Wentworth in the early days, she’d been listening to her heart.

  Rising swiftly and pulling up her skirt, she quickly straddled him, aware that even without stimulation she was highly lubricated as she impaled herself on his straining member.

  “Wait, Phoebe!” His voice came through a wall of sensation, for the feel of him inside her was more exciting than she could have believed possible.

  “I want this as much as you do,” she gasped, for he was about to withdraw and, like the real lover, bring her to climax first, but she needed him inside her more.

  Phoebe tightened her knees around him. She had less than two weeks to get with child. It was only a matter of time before the murdering Lady Cavanaugh of Blinley Manor was located and brought before the courts, and justice in this country was harsh and summary. Her noble position in such an instance would carry no weight. Not when she was branded by everyone as a whore with the motive to murder her husband. Only if she carried supposedly noble cargo was there any possibility of a reprieve. Justice was swift in these times. No wonder so many women in prisons sought the offices of the turnkey, or whatever willing man was available to get them with child so they could plead the belly and postpone the noose. Justice did not serve women in her situation kindly. This was her most hopeful solution.

  Did it make her a whore? She was desperate, yes, and she’d been trying for a child for five years. Wasn’t this the first time she was truly answering the wild beating of her heart?

  Grinding her hips against his, she felt his objection die as he was overpowered by his own lust and her determination to see this thing through.

  He was large and deep within her, and his breath felt soft and sweet on her cheek, for all he was gasping like a man in the throes of the greatest ecstasy.

  Then, to her astonishment, something deep within her began to happen. The very first time Wentworth had seduced her he’d done things to her that had made her feel this way. Never since. And never without direct stimulation.

  Each delve and thrust of this man before her—her lover, she hoped, for the next two weeks—sparked something exquisite and tantalizing in the depths of her core; something that grew in tandem with his own excitement.

  So when he plunged into her for one final thrust, his gasp of pleasure was echoed by her own as she came in his arms, shuddering at the impact of this unexpected encounter with the first man she thought might be worthy of her affection.

  “By God, Phoebe,” he gasped, “you are extraordinary.”

  She sagged against him and tightened her arms about his neck. She didn’t want to let him go and was afraid of meeting his eye for the first time.

  They were lovers now. What would the future bring?

  Yes, they were lovers, each day reinforcing their desire and need for each other. They did not speak of Wentworth or the murder, vengeance or the future, as one week turned into two, and their quiet cottage became an idyll from the outside world. Despite the fact she could see the lights of Blinley Manor far in the distance, Phoebe felt safer than she’d ever felt.

  Hugh was a kind and caring protector who seemed as reluctant as she to leave this strange, honeymoon world they’d created.

  But of course, change had to come. Although Phoebe knew the end of the lease of the miller’s home was approaching, Hugh had insinuated he would take her to London with him. As Phoebe had only once been to London and was unfamiliar with the fashionable set, she’d accepted now that she would never become the lady she once was.

  Nor did it matter, for what were fine clothes and servants if the price was being bound to a man who did not care for her, or worse?

  As Hugh’s mistress, she had an affection and freedom she’d never had as Lady Cavanaugh.

  But of course, her happiness could not last forever.

  10

>   Hugh ran his fingers through his curls and tried again, gripping the back of the wooden chair as he prepared to rephrase his explanation in language less calculated to set up Phoebe’s bristles. This was not going well.

  Angrily, Phoebe faced him across the room. “Let me understand this, sir,” she whispered tightly, holding herself up with all the dignity she could clearly muster. “You’ve just had news your sister is arriving unexpectedly, and now, suddenly I am relegated to the servant’s quarters. Yesterday you were very happy to take what I offered, but now, like a discarded toy you’ve grown weary of, I am to be sent back to where I came from.”

  He crossed the room in a few strides and gripped her hands.

  “Please don’t be hurt. You make it sound as if I regard you as a novelty when nothing could be farther from the truth.” Kissing her knuckles, he was filled with dismay. He’d never expected this, but then, perhaps she thought this was a precursor to him being rid of her. Perhaps this is how her last protector had let her down. He tried to reassure her. “Phoebe, you’ve bewitched me and that is the truth! But my sister is a gently-reared young woman who cannot possibly know you. No gentleman would introduce his…”

  She raised an eyebrow at his want of the right word. “Doxy?” she supplied.

  He shook his head vigorously, and a strange and unexpected sensation filled him from his boots upward. Not lust. Well, not that alone. “Mistress,” he whispered. His mouth parted slightly, and he held her back from him. “You’re my mistress, Phoebe. Do you know, I’ve never taken a mistress? Yes, I’ve had women and liaisons that have entertained me for weeks at a time. But I’ve never…”

  “Kept a woman as you would a wife only without offering her the security of a marriage contract.”

  He shook his head in frustration. “You really do have ideas above your station, don’t you? You know as well as I do that gentlemen do not marry lady’s maids.” He moved to wrap his arms about her, but she remained stiff.