The Duchess and the Highwayman

by Beverley Oakley

  “Will you, sir?”

  “Hugh. Please call me Hugh. We’re…lovers, Phoebe. Do you know what that means? You’re mine, and I’m yours. I’ve never taken a mistress; I’ve never taken a lover. Never wanted to before I met you. I promise you that if you’re not happy with the house I lease for you, I’ll find you another. I want you to be happy, Phoebe.”

  He was leading her into the corridor as he spoke but now, instead of parting at the stairs, she to return to her servant’s attic and him to his own quarters, he kept hold of her hand as he drew her toward his own chamber.

  “No need to look so concerned.” He grinned, loosening his cravat and unbuttoning his waistcoat as he put his hand on the doorknob. “The servants are two levels below us. Besides, they’re very well aware of the state of affairs between us, and in a week, what will it matter to anyone but ourselves? We’ll be in London, and you’ll be ensconced in your own lover’s bower. Why, look what you’ve done to me at the mere thought?”

  The door was already closed behind them, and Hugh’s breeches were off, his rampant manhood springing proudly free before them.

  She looked from him, now almost naked, to the bed, and her body throbbed with desire. But acting on desire was a dire risk. No, she couldn’t afford to conceive now. Her future was too uncertain.

  “Yes, a real bed, my sweeting,” he growled, sweeping her into his arms and depositing her on the mattress. “How’s that for comfort?” His face was inches from hers as he caged her with his body. She could smell the fresh sweat from his recent ride overlaying the faint smell of sandalwood and leather.

  Slowly, she raised her hand and traced the lines of his sinewy arms, trailing down his chest with her forefinger. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, but she could tell he was enjoying it.

  “Do I please you?” he whispered.

  “You please me,” she responded softly, “but I am afraid…” She wasn’t sure how to phrase this. A married woman was only good for producing children, so voicing concerns that regarded procreation hardly had its place.

  His eyes kindled with a softness she’d not seen before. She could almost believe he cared for her concerns, and maybe he did. What did she know of men, after all? This wild romp with Hugh transcended the boundaries of her experience. She’d played the whore, and now suddenly she’d changed her mind. How could she put that into words? Yet the way he was looking at her now suggested he might care.

  She cleared her throat. “I know we’ve been very…abandoned,” she began. “And this has all taken me quite by surprise. I fled in fear, and I was rescued.” She ran her forefinger the length of his finely chiseled nose while her heart flooded with gratitude and some other emotion she couldn’t define. It couldn’t be love. What did that feel like anyway?

  “But I’m afraid of bearing a child and facing those consequences on my own.” She squeezed shut her eyes, not sure what she’d see when she opened them. To her surprise: understanding and tenderness.

  “You won’t be alone, Phoebe. I promise you that. I love you too much. But you’re right; it would not be fair either to you or a resulting child. I should know that, of course, in view of what Ada has gone through.”

  “Then what can be done?” she cried despairingly. “I must leave you—”

  “Good Lord, there’s everything to be done. Has no one ever spoken to you about such matters?” He frowned. “To be honest, I thought you had that side well under control, knowing I’m not your first.”

  Phoebe twisted her head to look at the wall and sighed. “I don’t know a thing about it,” she admitted miserably. “Just that I’ve never conceived. Perhaps I’m barren. But perhaps not, for contrary to what you might think, I’m not in the habit of throwing myself at men. My experience, I assure you, is limited. It’s just…I would not bring a child into the world to bear such shame if we were not married.”

  “That’s a conversation for another time. If I find you as sweet in a year as you are to me right now, perhaps a child would not be such a tragedy. Our royal family has dozens of bastards happily romping around, and no one seems to think any worse of them.”

  “What if you found a wife?”

  A shadow of discomfort crossed his face. “I’m not looking for a wife, Phoebe. I’ve got you.”

  Very unsatisfactory. But not so his gentle stroking of her breasts.

  “No need to look so concerned, my precious. I hear what you say, and I know what I need to do. Now, does that satisfy you?”

  She was dubious. “I’m sure whatever it is, it won’t satisfy you, sir.”

  “Ah, there are plenty of other ways you can satisfy me, although I’d like to add that seeing you take your own pleasure is immensely satisfying to me.”

  He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him so he could suckle her nipples. He was hard beneath her, and she wriggled down and without warning took him deeply into her mouth while gently playing with his balls.

  “Oh my Lord, where did you learn that, Phoebe?”

  She was hardly about to tell him: Wentworth. Wentworth was debauched. She’d not try half the things Wentworth would have her do to him—or that he liked to do to her. Then she shuddered with fear at the thought of what he might do to her now if he got the chance. It wouldn’t be nice.

  Mistaking her response for anticipation, Hugh gently rolled her over once more.

  “I’m so close, but I’m desperate to taste all your charms, Phoebe dearest, before I bury myself in you.”

  Burrowing deeper into the bed, he parted her legs and gently touched his lips to her most intimate parts. “Like it?” he whispered before he ran his tongue the length of her cleft.

  She gripped the sheets and tensed. “Oh, I didn’t know…” She could feel the tension within her building with an intensity she’d never experienced. “Stop, Hugh. Stop!”

  But he didn’t. He kept kissing her, until she could bear it no longer, and with a great thrashing and moaning, she took her pleasure before she could stop him.

  “So you did like that?” he asked with a wicked leer as he climbed back on top of her, entering her swiftly with a grunt of unadulterated pleasure.

  Phoebe merely smiled her satisfaction. She might be sated, but not for long, as Hugh clearly was transported by his own heady pleasures as he thrust into her in smooth, rapidly increasing strokes.

  Phoebe rode the storm, loving his total abandon, loving the pressure within her grow once again until he came with a great cry of triumph, true to his word as he withdrew just in time.

  “Oh my sweet lord, Phoebe, but that was marvelous!” he gasped. “I daresay the servants heard it all the way down in the basement. Well, it’s time I took you away from this place where you feel the censure, and I can see you’re so unhappy.” He grinned, and Phoebe’s heart contracted at the guileless look on his face. Wentworth was always so dismissive and self-satisfied after acts like this, declaring that if there wasn’t an heir to be had after “that,” then he didn’t know what Phoebe’s problem was.

  She tensed at the thought of him. Sir Roderick was sniffing around the neighborhood; a bounty was on her head. She needed to leave.

  “Let us go soon,” she begged, and he nodded as he pulled on his breeches. Slanting a look at her, he said, “Why not tomorrow? You can wear that fetching new carriage dress you ordered, and we shall exit this part of the world as if you were my wife. Wouldn’t that be novel?”

  Alarmed, Phoebe sat up clutching the sheet to her chest. “No Hugh, I shan’t leave dressed as a lady and nor with you. I won’t be branded a whore to the entire district, but worse is the danger of being recognized.”

  “Come, Phoebe, you are my chosen,” he said cajolingly. “Aren’t you proud of the fact? It means you’ll never have to curtsey to a demanding employer again. Wouldn’t you love to see the expression on Mrs Withins’s face?”

  “But I am fallen. The very dirt beneath the feet of people like Mrs Withins. And when you tire of me, I shall be even lower than a s
ervant. Destined for Hell, no less.”

  “Don’t cry, Phoebe!” His light-heartedness was replaced by concern as he went to her and gathered her in his arms. “I’d never treat you so shabbily. You won’t starve, whatever happens.”

  “Meaning, if you take a wife or tire of me.”

  “Please don’t talk like that! I can be as loyal as the Duke of Clarence who has lived with his mistress and ten children for two decades or more.” He started to button his waistcoat, warming to his theme. “And if you don’t wish to travel in my carriage, then you can follow by post. See how willing I am to humor you?” Now fully dressed, he knelt by the bed and cupped her face, smiling. “Your happiness is paramount, Phoebe.” For a moment, they stared at each other.

  Then his kissed her on the forehead and was gone.

  15

  Phoebe stared down at the soft brown curls of her sleeping lover beside her, and her heart filled with love. And fear.

  The little bower he’d leased for her on the outskirts of the metropolis was as charming as she could have wished. Hugh was certainly delighted by the arrangement. His desire for her seemed insatiable, and she responded with just as much ardor. Her heart had never been more engaged. Yes, she knew she’d never be redeemed, but what did that matter when the alternative was the noose. If she didn’t think about her soul and the afterlife, she could take what happiness was offered. She’d had little enough of it in her lifetime.

  She was astonished by the size of London. She’d never had a proper come-out. Her father had arranged her marriage with Ulrick when she was barely seventeen, delighted to avoid the cost of the wardrobe she’d have needed to find a husband, no doubt. And Ulrick had never taken her to town. He’d never taken her anywhere. Of course, she’d hated being so confined at the time, but now she was relieved to know she’d go unrecognized.

  In the leafy suburb of St John’s Wood, she had a comfortable house with a park across the road. She had a cook, a general maid, and her very own lady’s maid. Hugh had been generous indeed, as well he might for he all but lived here himself. Initially, he’d indicated he might make his visits an irregular three or four days a week, but he’d rather established himself as part of the furniture, returning to stay the night, in between going to his club and attending to his other business.

  Phoebe had no complaints. She was madly in love, and their increasing intimacy through such habitation gave her the greatest happiness.

  All that was missing was a ring on her finger and a contract, sanctioned by the church, which would give her security should Hugh’s interest wane. In every other respect, she was completely satisfied. She didn’t need the title or status that went with her old life. In fact, she didn’t even need to be acquitted. She was much happier living a more lowly existence with a kind man.

  Hugh stirred and opened one sleepy eye, his grin broadening when he realized Phoebe was awake and watching him.

  “Come here, wench,” he mumbled fondly, drawing her down beside him so he could fondle her breasts. “Ah, you are missing me,” he added as he drew his forefinger between her legs and felt the wetness. Immediately she felt his manhood pushing into her stomach, and a great surge of awareness flowed through her.

  “You’re insatiable,” she chuckled, snuggling next to him and hooking a leg over his flanks. “And you seem to think I’m just here for the taking, Hugh Redding.”

  “Well, aren’t you? That’s why I’ve set you up so handsomely. I need to keep my beloved satisfied in all ways so your pretty blue eyes don’t stray.”

  “And where would they stray, dearest? To the boot boy? Or the man who delivers the coal? It’s not as if I’m surrounded by temptation.”

  Hugh cocked his head. “Do I interpret a desire for some more lively company?” Hugh rolled on top of her and put his forehead to hers, his expression concerned. “Are you lonely, Phoebe?”

  “How could I be when we’ve been together like we have? I was just funning, Hugh!”

  He seemed relieved. “That’s good, for I do worry that when I’m gone — for I hate to tell you that I have to go away for a week very soon — you will be champing at the bit for diversion.” Grinning, he pinched her bottom. “You’re such a lively piece I have my work cut out to keep you occupied. Talking of which, where were we?” he asked, diving beneath the covers before his muffled voice emerged with, “Ah yes, between your legs.”

  And indeed, Phoebe would have admitted that in that moment, she’d never been happier or more content with her lot.

  Four days later, though, with Hugh having been gone for two, she was as he’d suggested in his equine comparison, “champing at the bit,” so that when her maid handed her a message, her heart raced with anticipation at the thought that it was from Hugh and he was returning early.

  To her surprise, she discovered it was from Ada with a request to meet her in the little park opposite as soon as possible.

  Quickly changing her dress and putting on a bonnet she’d happily dressed with floral blooms in the drawing room the previous week while Hugh had read the newspaper, the pair of them the picture of domestic bliss, Phoebe arrived at the entrance of the little, gated park wondering what on earth Ada wanted with her.

  She smiled to see the young girl heavily veiled and asked, “Are you in disguise, Ada, because you don’t wish to be seen with me?”

  “Well, of course I can’t be seen with my brother’s….you know what I mean,” she added slightly defensively. “And now I’m living with a friend of my mother’s who is even more exacting than Aunt Belcher, I need to be even more careful of my reputation.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you think being seen with me will besmirch it.” Phoebe felt a stab of pique before acknowledging the truth of Ada’s words. As Lady Cavanaugh, she was naturally Ada’s superior. She brushed the thought aside. “Now, tell me what this is about?” She tried to inject a kindly curiosity into her tone to make up for her prickly defensiveness.

  “It’s about Mr Wentworth, of course, and what I’ve discovered.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe felt a stab of fear. She’d seen a snippet in the paper Hugh had been reading regarding Mr Wentworth’s stated declaration to find Lady Cavanaugh and bring the husband-killer to justice. Hugh had thought she’d stabbed herself with her embroidery needle the way she’d gasped involuntarily.

  Phoebe knew her safest course was anonymity. With no friends among the servants or even the local community where she’d lived for five years with Ulrick, the truth would never prevail. No, she would be safest here with Hugh.

  “You see, I’ve learned where his wife is.”

  “But Hugh told you to give it up. As did I.” Phoebe stopped walking, put her hand to her chest, then forced herself to continue her measured footsteps. “There’s nothing to be gained from all this, Ada. Just leave it be.”

  Ada ignored her. “She’s a regular at Mrs Plumb’s Salon in Soho.”

  Phoebe stopped and looked at her. The name meant nothing.

  “It’s a salon where I’ve learned ladies and gentlemen meet for music and dancing, though it’s not for respectable people like me or Aunt Siddons who I’m living with now.” Ada looked appealingly at Phoebe. “That’s why I’m asking you to go.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I can’t, Ada.”

  Ada put her head on one side. “Not even for me?”

  “Not for you, not for my mistress, and I’ll tell you why not? Because your brother wants nothing more to do with the man,” Phoebe said with some energy. In fact, Hugh had not mentioned Wentworth’s name in two weeks, but Phoebe needed to make it as clear as she could that Ada must not meddle in matters pertaining to Wentworth. It was too dangerous.

  Ada raised her veil and sent Phoebe a level stare. “Mr Wentworth’s wife is a dancer at Madame Plumb’s. Is it fair to her that she remain in ignorance of the fact her husband has inherited a dukedom?”

  “No, it probably is not,” Phoebe said with forced restraint.

  “And is it so difficult to wear a
veil, visit a house filled with other people wearing veils, and simply mention to the unfortunate woman the fact that her errant husband is now a duke?”

  Phoebe made no answer, and Ada stamped her foot. “Then I’ll go. Yes, I’ll go, and Hugh will be terribly angry with me, but I’ll tell him I had no choice because you refused.”

  Phoebe nibbled the end of her pen, then tested the nib, then stared at the blank sheet in front of her. She’d had writing implements brought to her in order to scratch a note to Hugh informing him of what she was doing. Ada had suggested Phoebe say nothing about her visit to Mrs Plumb’s, but Phoebe had been adamant she was not going to keep secrets.

  Now she was in two minds. Hugh had been away three days, and she wished heartily she might have discussed the matter with him, but Ada’s pleas had prevailed, and now that Phoebe had had time to digest the possible ramifications of speaking to him as opposed to not speaking to him, she was highly undecided.

  If news got back to him that she’d gone to Mrs Plumb’s Salon, he might think her underhanded and seeking diversion, and she’d hate that.

  On the other hand, Ada had said she’d ascertained that Thursday was the one day of the week the mysterious Mrs Wentworth made her appearance at Mrs Plumb’s and today was Thursday, while Hugh would not be home for another three days.

  No, she really had to tell him. She dipped her pen into the ink and began, “My dearest Hugh, I hope you will not be angry with me but….”

  Then she scratched it out. That was not a good start. If she were his wife, he’d have every cause to be angry with her for not seeking his permission. Sadly, that was a wife’s lot, but she was not his wife, and one of the few advantages was that as Ulrick’s widow and Hugh’s kept woman, she was mistress of her own decisions. This would have to be a practice draft, she decided, making another attempt with: “Dear Hugh, though I do not wish to displease you, I have decided….”

  With a sigh of frustration, she crumpled the paper and tossed it into the grate. A letter wasn’t necessary. She’d make a clandestine visit, in disguise, to Mrs Plumb’s and Hugh would be none the wiser. Then she’d report her findings to Ada and they could decide how to proceed. All she was going to do was go to Mrs. Plumb’s house—whoever Mrs Plumb was—which was in a respectable area, and speak to Wentworth’s wife. No doubt Mrs Wentworth would be as eager as any of them to find a way to make Mr Wentworth accountable for his actions. Obviously he’d abandoned her. It was quite possible he’d forced her to live on a paltry allowance for years, simply to get her out of the way while he lived the life he chose. No doubt she was an innkeeper’s daughter or someone of lowly rank whom Wentworth had either been forced to marry through honor, or with whom he’d rashly eloped as a very young man.