by Darcy Burke
Then Mama had cried.
Phoebe hadn’t expected her to demonstrate such emotion. Because of her surprise and the sheer relief of unburdening herself, Phoebe had cried too. Then Phoebe had reiterated her commitment to never being a man’s pawn or property. Mama, to her credit, hadn’t debated her.
The buoyancy lifting Phoebe reminded her of how she’d felt at the masquerade with Marcus. She’d been busy the past few days with purchasing the painting for her father, but she’d thought of Marcus endlessly. The thrill of surprising him when he hadn’t known who she was. The anticipation of going into the maze and knowing he was behind her. The rush of excitement when they’d moved into the dark nook. And the kiss…
She shivered as the coach stopped in front of her house. Yes, she was ready to move on. And she knew exactly what she wanted to do.
The scent of spring blossoms filled the air as Marcus made his way along Cavendish Square toward Phoebe’s house. Her invitation yesterday had come as a bit of a shock, albeit a wholly welcome one. He’d responded immediately and without begging to move the appointment up. He’d wanted to drive to her house at once and show her how much he’d missed her since the masquerade.
Indeed, the past several days had been torture.
He’d considered writing her a letter. Or paying a call. Or sending flowers. Instead, he’d done nothing. Thankfully, she was smarter than him and had taken the initiative.
Marcus had wanted her to. No, he’d needed her to. It was one thing to kiss him amidst the excitement of a game of hide-and-seek in a darkened maze, and another to want to see him in the light of day.
He dared to hope…for what, he wasn’t sure. But he was about to find out.
Taking the steps two at a time, he was on her doorstep before her butler had the door open.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” the butler said, welcoming him inside. “May I take your hat and gloves?”
“Thank you.” Marcus handed him the items and then followed the man to the garden room. The moment he caught sight of Phoebe standing near the windows, his breath left him in a whoosh.
Her hair was dark once more—good, he preferred it that way—and swept atop her head, save for a pair of curls that grazed her temples. He could see every detail of her face, especially the hint of her dimples, which had been impossible to detect in the dark of the maze.
“Where is the peacock?” he teased.
“It was a good costume, wasn’t it?”
“Very.” He perused her from head to toe, appreciating the curve of her neck as it transitioned to her shoulder and the swell of her breasts beneath the dark yellow bodice of her gown. “Though I prefer you like this.”
He hadn’t heard the butler leave, but assumed he had. Turning his head, he saw that the door was closed. They were quite alone. His blood heated. He cautioned himself—he would assume and expect nothing.
“Thank you for coming today. May we sit?” She indicated the wide settee on the opposite side of the room from the windows, where he’d sat on his last visit.
“Certainly.” He pivoted and waited for her to walk past. Following her, he sat down, angling himself toward her as she did to him.
She sounded—and looked—rather serious. The hope he’d arrived with withered and died. This was not the behavior of a woman who wished to discuss the joys of shared kisses or the potential for more.
“How is Lord Colton?” she asked.
Marcus blinked as his brain worked to change direction. He hadn’t expected that question. “He’s fine. I think.” Marcus had taken him upstairs to one of the rooms at Brixton Park, where Anthony had slept late into the next day. He didn’t recall the fight at all. Despite that, he’d written a note of apology to the other gentleman at Marcus’s behest.
“Oh, good. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.” She clasped her hands in her lap.
Anthony might not agree. Marcus had tried to talk to him about curbing his alcohol consumption the other night, but Anthony hadn’t wanted to hear it. They hadn’t spoken since.
He noted that her hands looked tense, as if she were squeezing them together. Was she nervous? Afraid? Damn, he’d hoped she wouldn’t be anymore. Not after the masquerade.
After a pause, she continued. “I wanted to thank you again for kissing me at the masquerade. It wasn’t at all what I expected, and I’m glad you persuaded me to try. Again.”
Marcus tried to relax and reminded himself not to assume. “Did you enjoy it?” She’d said so at the masquerade, but the light of day and the absence of masks and urgent desire and fireworks could have a sobering effect.
“I did. More than I could ever have imagined.” She unclasped her hands and flattened them against her lap. “I wanted to talk to you about that—about why I didn’t expect to enjoy it.”
Now he was curious as hell. He turned more fully toward her and rested his arm against the back of the settee. “About Sainsbury?” Just saying the man’s name made him angry.
She nodded.
“You don’t have to,” he said softly.
“I think I do. While I’ve decided I like kissing—you, to be specific—I’m not sure about the rest. And I would like to be. But I think I need to understand what that entails. When you explained kissing to me, it changed my perspective entirely. I don’t know if what I’ve done, what he made me do, will ruin things.” She blushed, dark pink flooding her neck and face.
Marcus wanted to kill Sainsbury for causing her this pain. He closed the distance between them so that his arm was behind her head. “Tell me as much, or as little, as you want.”
“I told my mother the other day. That was difficult.” She let out a short, nervous laugh. “I thought today would be easier.”
He put his free hand on one of hers. “What can I do?”
“Just listen.” She took a deep breath. “We were betrothed. Sainsbury asked if he could kiss me. He said we were as good as wed, which I supposed we were. Breaking an engagement is ruinous.” She added sardonically, “Which I later learned.
“So I said yes, and he took me for a promenade—we were at a ball. We stole into an empty chamber. It was rather dark, with only a few candles burning. As soon as we arrived, he put his arms around me.” She looked away from Marcus, directing her attention toward the garden. “Then he kissed me, but after kissing you, I’m not sure I would call it that.” She tossed him an uneasy smile before looking back at the windows.
“I remember wetness, and his tongue shoving so far down my throat that I wanted to gag. He was rather inebriated. I pulled away and said I didn’t like it. He laughed and said I was too inexperienced to know, that I would get used to it.” She turned her head back to Marcus, her eyes wide and without guile. “I believed him.”
“Of course you did.” Why wouldn’t she? Fury built in Marcus’s muscles, turning him into an animal ready to spring. “You did nothing wrong.”
“So I let him kiss me again. And again. He was wrong. I didn’t get used to it. But he was to be my husband, so I let him continue and prayed it would improve. That’s when he pushed me onto the chaise.”
Marcus wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what happened next. But he would because she’d asked him to. “What happened?” He barely recognized the husky rasp of his voice.
She took a breath and blew it out, then clasped his hand between hers. Her warmth and softness soothed him, which was ridiculous and wrong. He should be the one comforting her.
“He laid me back and asked if we could do just a bit more—to prepare for the wedding night. That way, I wouldn’t be so afraid. That made sense to me, so I said yes.”
He’d said all the right things to her to force her acquiescence. “The man’s a scourge.”
“He said he wanted to look at my breasts, that if I showed them to him, I wouldn’t feel embarrassed on our wedding night. I opened my gown for him. He—he thanked me. Then he said that he should show me part of himself too.” The color reentered her cheeks, and her grip tightened aroun
d his hand. “So he unbuttoned his fall and pulled out his—”
“Phoebe, you don’t have to go on.” Marcus cursed himself. This wasn’t about his discomfort. If she wanted to tell him this, he owed it to her to listen. “I shouldn’t have interrupted. Continue. Please.”
“Do you think less of me?”
Marcus’s insides twisted. He wanted to flay himself for his insensitivity. “Never.” He took his hand from hers and cupped her cheek. “I think so highly of you, more right now than ever before. What you’re doing—what you did—takes courage.”
“Most people would think less of me. They do since I threw Sainsbury over.”
“I’d like to throw him over a damn cliff.” And he might yet.
She smiled softly, briefly. “Can I help?”
“Of course. I’ll drag him there, and you can push him.” He clung to the humor and gratitude in her gaze. “Continue. If you want to.”
She nodded once, and he put his hand in hers once more. “He showed me his penis. It was long, hard, and…pasty.”
Marcus stifled a snort.
“He said we should touch each other. I told him I didn’t know how, so he showed me how to stroke him. When he was satisfied that I was doing it correctly, he touched my breasts. He…hurt me. I asked him to stop, and he said he would soon. Then he told me to move my hand faster, that if I did that, he would stop.”
Marcus really was going to kill him. “So you did.”
“Yes, and he stopped touching me. But then…he said he wanted to put himself inside me, that it was fine since we were shortly to be wed.” She paused to take a breath. “I didn’t want to. Not then, not ever. I started to panic. I tried to move away, but he grabbed me. He…threatened me. He said if I didn’t let him do what he wanted that he would call off the wedding and I’d be ruined. I realized right then that I would prefer that.”
Marcus’s chest squeezed beneath the combined pressure of pride and fury. “You were very brave.”
“I wasn’t. I wanted to be. A footman came in then, interrupting us. Sainsbury went…soft. I scrambled away from him and called for the footman to hold the door open for me. If he hadn’t come in…”
Sainsbury would have raped her. Goddamn, Marcus could scarcely believe she’d allowed him to flirt with her, let alone kiss her. He felt like such a beast knowing what he now knew.
He gripped one of her hands and stared into her eyes. “I am so sorry.”
“Later, after I spent a considerable amount of time in the retiring room, I saw him in the ballroom. He told me I shouldn’t have left, that in a few days I’d be his anyway.
“The wedding was two days later. I couldn’t go through with it. Not after that. I knew our marriage would be a series of battles in which I would never prevail. But I imagine that’s how most marriages are.”
Marcus didn’t know but couldn’t disagree with her, particularly when he thought of some of the men with whom he was acquainted. “Men are selfish blackguards.”
“Are you sure you don’t think less of me?”
“God, no. I think less of myself. When I think of how I behaved toward you… Why didn’t you toss me out that night? The day we’d met.”
She pondered his question for a moment, her thumb tracing circles on his hand. “I liked you. You were—are—different from Sainsbury. In every way. He never made me laugh. He never made me feel beautiful. He never made me think I was special.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
Her eyes widened, and she clutched at his hand. “No, you mustn’t.”
His gaze locked with hers for a long moment, but he eventually nodded. “I want to, however.”
“And I appreciate that more than you can know. Almost as much as you listening to me and not running away as soon as I finished my story.”
“Is that what your mother did?”
“No, but I was slightly less graphic in my description.” She flinched. “I wanted to be completely open with you because I don’t know if I can do… Are those normal things that men and women do?”
Marcus exhaled heavily and readjusted his weight on the settee. “Mostly, yes. It’s generally pleasurable for a woman to have her breasts fondled, and it’s absolutely pleasurable for a man to have his cock stroked.” He watched her reaction, but there was nothing negative. She was listening raptly. He could be discussing anything of interest—the latest hat styles or the horses for auction at Tattersall’s last week or the constellations that would be in that night’s sky.
“I can’t imagine having my breasts touched would feel good. As for the other, I couldn’t begin to say, since I don’t have a penis of my own.”
“And thank God for that.” He cracked a smile.
“However, I didn’t think kissing would feel good either, and you demonstrated how wrong I was.”
“No, I demonstrated how inept and pathetic Sainsbury is. It doesn’t sound as if he could pleasure a woman if his life depended on it.”
“Can we put Sainsbury from our conversation now? I’d rather focus on what you did for me. And what you can do next.”
Oh God. Now he understood her purpose in telling him this. “What’s that?” he asked cautiously, his heart thudding.
“I want to have an affair. With you.”
Marcus’s blood roared in his ears. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, and what’s more, he couldn’t hear a damn thing at the moment.
“Marcus?”
He’d been silent too long. “My apologies. Did you say you wanted to have an affair? After everything you just told me?”
She turned toward him, shifting her thigh farther onto the cushion. “Yes. I don’t want the memory of Sains—the Blackguard is what I will call him from now on—to be all that I have. I’d like you to erase it by creating something new. With me.” She put one hand on his knee. “Will you?”
That she would trust him with this… Not just the tale of what she’d endured, but with helping her to move past it was the most humbling thing he’d ever been asked. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Never more. Can you come Saturday night?”
He wanted to flirt with her, to say he hadn’t even agreed yet. But was there ever a question? She knew there wasn’t. “Yes. I take it you have a plan?”
“I have many.” Her answer intrigued him, but then everything about her was so damn fascinating and remarkable, he was continually astonished. “You’ll come around midnight. Everyone but the footman should be asleep.” She smiled, and her dimples came out in force. He had to stifle the urge to kiss her right then and there. “And me. I’ll be waiting. You’ll come in through the garden doors and then through there,” she pointed toward the door the butler had closed, “then up the stairs. My chamber is on the second floor at the back, overlooking the garden.”
“You don’t have a trellis or tree I can climb to your window?” he asked with a grin.
“Alas, I do not. Shall I have one installed?”
“Perhaps wait to see if you want to invite me a second time.”
“Lord Ripley, where is your arrogant confidence?” Her tone was saucy, her eyes sparkling. “Now, as to my other plans. I’ve researched how to prevent a pregnancy and—”
He gaped at her as her request finally sunk in. She wanted to have an affair. With him. “You’ve what?”
“I’ve purchased sponges.”
“I’m impressed.” And completely and irrevocably shocked.
“I suppose you could also use a French letter. I assume you know what those are?”
He coughed. “Er, yes. I can bring one. Actually, they need to be soaked prior to use, so I could send it over.”
“Ah, yes, I’m aware of how to prepare them. I’ve done quite a bit of research.” And there she went astounding him again. “Which do you think we should use?”
Marcus’s cock was growing hard. His brain tried to catch up, but he was still grappling with the fact that she wanted an affair. “I don’t know. Maybe neither
. We may not have intercourse on Saturday.”
Really? He’d postpone that when he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her?
Yes, really. He wanted to take this slow. She deserved nothing less.
He caressed her face again, stroking his fingers along her temple and down her cheekbone. “I want this to be special.”
She smiled, her gaze bold and confident. “It will be. I have no doubt you will make it that way.” She tipped her head to the side. “Perhaps we should use the sponge. The woman who sold it to me said the French letter may dull your pleasure a bit.”
He shook his head in amazement. “That you would give my pleasure any concern after what you suffered…”
She put her finger against his lips. “Shhh. No more about him.”
He kissed the pad of her finger and lightly sucked the tip. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted.
“There are many things we can do that aren’t intercourse.”
She put her hand back in her lap. “Show me.”
“Now?” He glanced toward the door behind her.
“We won’t be disturbed. I saw to that.”
“Another plan?” At her nod, he went on. “Well, there’s kissing, as you know.”
“Yes, I do know. Show me something new.”
His cock lengthened as arousal pumped through him. “May I touch you?” She nodded again. “You must tell me at any moment if you’re uncomfortable or if you want me to stop. Tell me everything you’re feeling.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.” He wanted so badly for this to be right for her. No, not right: perfect.
“May I touch you?” she asked tentatively.
“God, yes. Anyhow and any way.”
“You’ll also tell me how it feels?”
“Yes.” The word came from his mouth sounding like gravel pouring from a bucket. “I know you said it was repetitive, but I’m going to kiss you now because I simply must.”
“I didn’t say it was repet—”
He silenced her with his mouth, cupping her face with his hands as he moved his lips over hers. Tasting and teasing, tugging and tantalizing. She gasped, and he slid his tongue inside, claiming what she offered and asking for her to give in return. She did so, meeting his gentle thrust with one of her own.
