He began by raining tender kisses over face, before repeating the featherlight kisses she loved so much over her neck. He began to inch down the bodice of her dress, his touch driving her mad as he reached behind her and began to unfasten the buttons down the back of her gown. Fortunately it was a simple day dress, not anything complex that would cause him any sort of vexation. He had the dress down around her waist in moments, and with the ease of a magician, he had soon banished it to the floor. He began to work on her undergarments next, and her body tingled with anticipation. When he finally had her lying naked before him, however, Phoebe—who never in her life could recall being shy—had the sudden urge to cover herself. What would he think of her? Before, she had not fully undressed, but today—
“You,” he said, his voice even deeper than it had been before, “are incredibly beautiful.”
She felt a flush covering her body, then, beginning in her cheeks and racing down to her toes, from more than just the fact she was lying here exposed to him.
“Your turn,” she said cheekily, and he grinned and acquiesced. She sat up then, undoing the buttons of his jacket, his waistcoat, and eventually practically ripping off his cravat.
“And they say women wear far too many layers,” she grumbled, and he chuckled.
“This is no laughing matter,” she muttered as she dispensed with her attempts to unbutton his shirt, leaving it to him as she went to work at the fall of his breeches, satisfaction filling her once she finally freed him.
“Well done, love,” he said, before descending upon her once more, scarcely giving her time to take her own fill of him. What she saw, however, made her nearly pant breathlessly. For he was divine. He was all hard muscle, his well-defined chest covered with the slightest sprinkling of blond hair, his torso sculpted all the way down to where the muscles descended into a vee. If she hadn’t known better, she would have wondered how it would be possible for the two of them to fit together.
But her mind cleared of everything except the sensations coursing through her when his hard, hot body came flush against hers, and she moved restlessly against him. He found her lips with his, while his hands held her head, divesting her hair of the pins that had kept the chignon on top. Soon she could feel her hair flowing loosely around her shoulders, as she had come to learn was exactly how he liked it.
His hands seemed to be everywhere at once—in her hair, then skimming down her arms, the gooseflesh rising behind where he touched her. He was slow and gentle, as much as she yearned for him to simply take her, to have her right then and there. This was torture, she thought with a gasp as he circled her nipples with his thumbs, and by the look on his face, it seemed that he felt as she did. So why, oh why, was he not releasing her from this madness, allowing them both to find fulfillment? He bent his head then, his tongue coming so lightly to her breast, circling it, and she cried out his name.
“Jeffrey, will you just … oh, my—”
She had no words as he continued to do delicious, torturous things with his tongue, to first one breast and then the other. His hands began to find their way lower, until they were on her hips, which jerked up toward him in response. He slid his fingers down her legs to her knees, and then ever so slowly they began to find their way back up the silk of her.
Having had quite enough of this, Phoebe decided she would show him just exactly what he was doing to her. She placed her hands on his own chest, feeling coarse hair underneath her skin, before running them down over the fine, supple muscle of his torso. She kneaded insistently as she went lower still, and just when she had found the vee below his waist that she was so admiring earlier, she wrapped her arms around him, bringing them to his backside and digging in as she pulled him toward her.
“Phoebe,” he gasped. “Do not … you are—”
“What? Torturing you?” She asked wickedly, and he closed his eyes tightly and nodded. She laughed then, and before he even realized what she was doing, she flipped herself up, throwing a leg over him so that now she was on top and in control.
“Phoebe, what are you—”
“Hush,” she said, bringing a finger to his lips. “We are doing this my way now.”
“You do understand that my intention was to delicately make love to you,” he said dryly, and she laughed, shaking her head.
“Well, you will be sorely disappointed then,” she said in a low voice, leaning down to nip at his bottom lip, and he let out another groan.
She wasn’t altogether sure what she was doing but knew only what she needed at this moment, and that was him.
Phoebe lifted herself up, and, with his hands on her hips helping to guide her, she slid down on top of him, then experimentally began to move back and forth. Oh, this was beyond words, she thought as she threw her head back as the pleasure filled her. Jeffrey guided her back and forth, and when she looked down at him she saw the mix of pain and pleasure on his face that equally filled her entire body.
She leaned forward over him, her body now finding the pace that was as natural as anything had ever come to her before, and soon she was near sobbing in anticipation of what was to come. His hands rose once more to her breasts, and the moment he began to tease her nipples, pleasure began to course through her in waves, an inexplicable exhilaration that she could not put into words.
Jeffrey gave a shout himself, and soon was pulsing into her, her release allowing him to find his own.
Phoebe collapsed down upon him, both spent as well as filled with a joy she had never known possible. For unlike the last time, now she knew that this was not just a moment in time between the two of them, but rather the beginning of a life to come together. She could still hardly believe it, and wanted to check with him once more that this—she—was what he truly wanted, and yet she knew it was true, knew that he was the man for her, just as she was the women for him.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” he murmured into her hair.
“A couple of times,” she said, “though I do not believe I should tire of hearing it.”
“I love you, Phoebe,” he said. “And while I could spend all day in this bed making love to you, I have been distracted for far too long. There are a few … urgent matters that we must discuss. Your future—our future—could depend upon it.”
“Well, that sounds awfully grave,” she said, sitting up now, and when he nodded, she was shocked at the serious expression that had once more covered his face. All she wanted to do was lean over, take his perfectly clean-shaven face in her hands, and kiss those strong, grimacing lips. She would kiss away his frowns, smooth the lines that covered his face, soothe away his worries. All she vowed to do for the rest of their days together. But first, he clearly had something on his mind, and she knew better than to continue to distract him from his purpose. So instead of doing as she wished, she clumsily slid off him, off the bed, and began to pick up their garments.
Finding that her dress was even dirtier that she would have thought, she crossed over to her wardrobe, searching through to find something appropriate. She chose a violet dress that was fairly similar to the red and turned around to find Jeffrey pulling his shirt over his head.
“Do you fancy the role of lady’s maid this afternoon?” she asked, and when his face was visible again, he nodded.
“I promise to do my very best, my lady,” he said, “though I confess I can do nothing with your hair. I am much more adept at taking apart, so it seems.”
“So you are,” she said wryly, donning her chemise and then lifting her gown overhead, turning around toward him. “I’m ready.”
Even the brush of his fingertips against her back set her nerves on edge once more, but apparently there were things to discuss. Once the two of them were each dressed—to an extent—she led him back out the door into the drawing room, where the tea had grown cold, though the pastries remained, beckoning to them.
“So,” Phoebe said, taking a seat on one of the settees. “What is it that you have to tell me?”
&nbs
p; Chapter Thirty-Four
Jeffrey sighed, wishing he could forget all else and simply take this woman back to bed, where he would continue to ravish her, showing her how much he loved her. Or even take her home and share the news with his family that the two of them were to be wed. How happy his mother would be, and he could already imagine his sisters’ glee at the thought of a wedding. But first, there more serious matters to which they must attend.
“You are aware that I set out to learn more about The Women’s Weekly not completely on my own terms, but due to the urging of other noblemen,” he began, leaning back against the settee. He had to sit across from her, or else he would be tempted to forget all that he wanted to speak to her about once more.
She nodded, and he continued.
“I am, obviously, not going to tell them of your identity, nor have I had any thoughts to do so in some time. It was going to be easy enough to tell them that you could not be found, though it would require you moving out of your current building.”
“Hence the building you bought?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Partially, yes,” he said. “Though matters have become somewhat … complicated by the fact that my brother, Ambrose, is aware that you are the publisher of said publication. Ambrose holds a vendetta against me for not supporting him in his rather nefarious, questionable schemes, and now he feels he can find justice by not only making me out to be a liar but by discrediting the woman I love.”
“I see,” she said, looking off into the distance, and he could practically see her mind working as she chewed her bottom lip.
“He means to follow me to the club, and feels he has proof that can establish that I am not all that I seem,” he said. “But I will demonstrate that this is not at all the case.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” she asked.
“First,” he said, leaning forward, “It will now require quite a bit of work on your part. It is partially why I purchased the printing press. For there can be no ties back to you. I found your printer, Phoebe, and unfortunately it did not take much to follow up on that lead. As it was, I was rather … preoccupied in courting you and therefore was no longer hunting you, or I would have found you even sooner. If someone else much more determined takes on the crusade, then you must be unfindable.”
She held up a hand, and he stopped for a moment.
“Yes?”
“While I was aware that you were no longer persecuting us, as it were, are you telling me that you have no issue with me—as your wife—continuing on publishing such a paper?”
He reached across the table and took her hands in his.
“Phoebe, I have come to learn that part of what makes you the person you are, the woman I fell in love with, is the purpose and the passion that you hold. If I were to take that away from you, you would only grow to resent me, would you not?”
She looked down at the ground and then back up at him.
“While I would like to deny it, I suppose this is somewhat true. Of course I would still love you, but I would resent the fact that it was all taken away from me, yes. There is another issue, however. We are making money now, yes, but much of the paper is still dependent upon my inheritance, the money that I bring into it. And I am the sole owner. If—when—we marry, that will all become yours.”
He nodded slowly, warm at the thought she would trust him with all that was hers, and yet at the same time aware of what it would mean for her to give it all over to him.
“When we marry, Phoebe, what’s mine is yours and yours is mine. If it would make you feel better, however, we can make a small adjustment to the marriage contract so that you may retain some of the funds in your own name—and the publication.”
She smiled at him then, one of great thanks, and it warmed his heart.
“I suppose there will be much of these negotiations to come,” she said, chewing that bottom lip again, and he nodded. “But if we do so with only the thought of one another, then I’m sure all will work out fine.”
He leaned forward, kissing her ever so gently on the lips, before settling back on the settee.
“Now, for discrediting my brother,” he continued. “I know just how to do so.”
*
Jeffrey strode into White’s the next day, confident in his plan, though a slight bit of nerves coursed through him. For if he should fail—but he would not. That was not an option, not now that he had finally accomplished nearly all for which he had been searching for so long.
“Berkley!”
A table full of gentlemen greeted him as he strode in. He could read the speculation in their gazes, with the exception of one—Clarence. Instead he leaned back with a smirk on his face as he watched Jeffrey, as though he were eager to learn what Jeffrey would have to say to the lot of them.
Jeffrey nodded to them his greetings before ordering himself his usual brandy and settling into a chair at the corner of the table.
“Well?” the Earl of Totnes asked, his face already ruddy from too much drink, despite the fact that it was still early in the afternoon. “Have you finally anything to report, Berkley, or are you still finding other matters much more important?”
Ignoring Totnes for a moment, out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey was not at all surprised to see Ambrose slip through the door, and it was concerning when his surprise at seeing Jeffrey was completely convincing.
“Ah, brother!” he said, taking a seat next to him. “I did not expect to see you here, for you so scarcely visit these days, now that you have found yourself a woman.”
Jeffrey turned to him with eyebrows raised.
“I do not recall you being a frequent visitor to White’s.”
Their father, who had always had a soft spot for Ambrose while foisting all of the duty and responsibility on Jeffrey, had, before he passed, secured a membership for his younger son, though Ambrose far preferred less reputable establishments.
“Well, one cannot argue with the quality of their whiskey,” Ambrose said with a wide grin.
“’Tis true,” Jeffrey replied, though he wondered at how Ambrose could afford such spirits when he was constantly practically begging Jeffrey for money.
“Berkley!” Totnes barked again, determined not to be ignored, and Jeffrey finally turned to him with an exaggerated sigh so that the man was aware of exactly what he thought of his summons.
“Did you have a question for me, Totnes?” He asked sardonically as he took a sip of his drink.
“You know very well I do, Berkley,” he said, leaning forward across the table and pointing a finger at him.
“If you think you can simply point a finger at me like that, Totnes, and I will obey your commands, then I will tell you just what, exactly, you can do with that finger.”
Totnes turned even redder, were it possible, but he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling to himself as he did so.
“What Totnes was so rudely attempting to ask,” the Earl of Torrington said, “is whether or not you have made any progress in determining the publisher of this women’s magazine that you so disdain, so as to bring about its demise.”
Jeffrey heard Ambrose snort slightly behind him, and he paused a moment to glare at his brother.
“As a matter of fact,” he began, knowing that he needed to play the role required of him if he was going to sell this properly. He took a sip of his drink nonchalantly, as though what he had to say was of not much consequence, “I did find the building where the publication was located.”
“That would not be altogether difficult,” said Totnes. “I imagine you just had to ask around. It can hardly be a secret.”
“It was fairly simple,” Jeffrey agreed. “I visited the building—on Fleet Street, as it were—and was met by the editor. She advised me that the publisher was not in the building, and I should come back in two days’ time.”
“Very well,” Torrington said, “And then?”
“And then I returned, and they had all vani
shed.”
“What?” came the chorus of voices from around the table, all shocked at his words.
“All had vanished,” Totnes repeated. “You cannot be serious. Do mean the people?”
“The writers, the editors, their files, hell, even their pencils—it was all gone. Cleared out.”
“Just like that?” thundered Totnes. “Did you continue the search?”
“Of course I did,” Jeffrey said, holding his nose high in the air with all of the noble status he could muster. “But they have completely disappeared.”
“So you have failed,” Totnes said with a sniff, looking as though he wanted say more but, at the last moment, he refrained from doing so. “Very well. If that is your response, we will assign someone else to the task.”
“An excellent idea, Lord Totnes,” Ambrose finally chimed in, and Jeffrey smiled. He had been waiting for his brother to speak. Ambrose continued. “I am afraid my dear brother here has become slightly … prejudiced.”
“Prejudiced?” Torrington cut in. “In what way?”
“Well,” Ambrose said, relishing this moment, and he sat up, breathed in, and puffed his chest out as far as he was able. He looked around the room to ensure he had the full attention of all. “The publisher of The Women’s Weekly is none other than … the woman Jeffrey is courting.”
There was a pause for a moment as the heads of each man at the table swiveled around to him, unsure of how to react. Jeffrey waited for a beat before he burst out into laughter. The moment his guffaw began to echo around the room, Clarence joined in, and soon the remainder of the men added in their chuckles, though none were quite as exuberant as Jeffrey, for Ambrose was still looking particularly determined for them to believe his words.
“It’s true! Lady Phoebe Winters. She is the publisher, and she is running The Women’s Weekly. Jeffrey has fallen in love with her, and she has softened him to the extent that he thinks nothing of allowing such a wretched publication to continue.”
Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two Page 65
