by Darcy Burke
“I think so. Mama didn’t know his name, so I can’t say for certain.”
Marcus looked at her intently. “You must tell him not to invest.”
“I don’t think he’ll listen to me,” she said wryly. “I tried to offer assistance when I learned they were having financial trouble. His pride won’t allow it.”
The bloody fool. Marcus couldn’t stand by while he lost more money. “I believe this man he’s meeting in Leicester Square—rather, that man’s employer—is a swindler.”
Phoebe sucked in a breath. “You’ve heard of him?” She narrowed her eyes suddenly. “Is this the same man who cheated Arabella’s father and the former Duke of Halstead?”
“You know about that?” He let go of her hands and exhaled, then turned to pick up his coat. “Unfortunately, the swindler is my cousin.”
She touched his arm. “The man you fought with in the park the day we met?”
“Yes.” He let out an ironic chuckle. “He’s an utter scoundrel, but if I hadn’t fought with him that day, I wouldn’t have met you.”
Her lips curved into sultry smile. “Then he’s not completely horrid.”
“Oh, I’m afraid he is. He’s gone missing. I’ve been trying desperately to find him—to stop him. Now, that’s more important than ever.”
She stepped toward him and curled her arms around his waist. “Thank you. I’ll try to talk my father out of it.”
Marcus hated that he’d already lost money to Drobbit. He couldn’t let that happen again. Only it seemed imminent. Which meant… “If your father is planning to make another investment, he would know where to find my cousin—or at least his assistant, Osborne.”
She looked up at him with a shrug. “I suppose? I could try to find out, if that would help.”
“It would, thank you. I need to put a stop to Drobbit’s villainy.”
She pulled her hands to his front and slid them up his chest. Then she tucked them into the collar of his shirt so her bare hands were against his flesh. Desire swirled within him. He was sorry she had to go.
To punctuate that sentiment, she stood on her toes and kissed him, her lips and tongue teasing him into a half cockstand as if he hadn’t just reveled in a powerful release a short time ago. It was she who ended the embrace, stepping back from him with heat and desire in her gaze.
“I must return home.”
He wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs to his chamber and lock them both inside for the rest of the day. Forever, maybe.
He bent to retrieve her gloves, which he’d dropped at some point after they’d come to this room. Then he fetched her hat. “Yes. Keep me apprised of your house guest.”
She laughed softly. “I will.” She glanced at his coat as she took her gloves from him. “I don’t suppose you can properly dress given the state of your cravat.”
“No.” He grinned, then turned to open the door to the drawing room. He held it for her. “After you.”
She walked past him, then waited for him to follow. “Won’t your retainers see your…state and conclude what we’ve been about?”
“Perhaps.” Probably, but he didn’t care. “They are incredibly discreet.”
“Because you bring women here regularly.” The words chilled him on their own, but she said it so pragmatically that he flinched.
He moved closer to her. “I don’t.”
He had, however, hosted the occasional party that often included sexual activities. Just a few weeks ago, he’d hosted a party with courtesans for the purpose of drawing Drobbit and Osborne out. It had worked. Hell, he’d do it again, but since Drobbit knew he was aware of his schemes, Marcus doubted his cousin would come within ten feet of his house.
“To be fair, you didn’t bring me here either.”
He took her hand. “Phoebe, I can’t pretend I haven’t been with other women. You know my reputation. It’s not inaccurate.”
“Are there any now? Other women.”
“No.” And there’d never been one like her. A virgin with whom he planned to have an affair. Actually, weren’t they already having one? He gazed down at her, unblinking. “There is only you.”
Her eyes heated with pleasure. “Good. I don’t like to share.”
He pulled her against his chest. “Me neither.” He kissed her, a hungry claiming of her mouth that declared his intent to take her—and no one else.
After several minutes, they parted, and she rested her head against his chest with a sigh. “I really must go. My hat?” She exchanged her gloves with him for her hat, and when she had the latter fixed atop her head, she took the gloves back, swiftly donning them.
He offered her his arm and escorted her downstairs.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve spoken to my father.”
“Yes, do.” He resisted the urge to kiss her again. Instead, he watched her as she departed and didn’t close the door entirely until she was in her coach and it was moving away.
He turned to see Dorne watching him with a peculiar expression. “Whatever you’re thinking, just keep it to yourself.”
The butler inclined his head. “Of course, my lord. May I say that Miss Lennox seems charming?”
“She is.” She was also intelligent, witty, delightful, kindhearted, and an utter joy to spend time with. And the things she could do with her tongue…
Marcus dashed up the stairs to fetch his abandoned clothing from the music room. Once there, he was assaulted with the musky smell of their sex. He lingered.
When at last he left, he turned his mind to Drobbit and the urgency he now had in stopping the man. It was time to tell Harry everything he knew, Drobbit be damned.
And when he got his hands on his cousin, the man was going to be very sorry he’d chosen Phoebe’s father as his next victim.
After three days with her mother in residence, Phoebe was at her wit’s end. She’d come to realize one of the things she loved best about her independent life—she didn’t have to live with her parents.
Mama had taken up a position in the garden room, Phoebe’s favorite place. There, she took breakfast, read the paper, ate luncheon, did her needlework, wrote correspondence, and talked. And talked. Phoebe had forgotten just how much the woman liked to talk.
And then there was the fact that Phoebe wasn’t able to pursue her affair with Marcus. She’d considered paying another call and telling her mother she was visiting Lavinia. However, that idea had evaporated when Lavinia had gone into labor the day before yesterday. She and Beck were now the proud parents of a baby boy.
Then Phoebe had planned to say she would visit Jane. Before she could do so, Jane and her mother had arrived. Mama had invited them, unbeknownst to Phoebe. She’d begun to feel as if her house wasn’t actually hers.
The worst part was that Mama had dragged her to church yesterday in the hope of seeing her father. He hadn’t gone. Plenty of other people had, however, and Phoebe had been keenly aware of the derisive looks and whispered remarks. Mama, for her part, had seemed oblivious, and for that, Phoebe was grateful.
So here she was, back at her parents’ house in the hope that she could convince her father to make amends.
Foster welcomed her and immediately asked how her mother was faring.
“She’s quite well,” Phoebe said. “Though, she misses Papa.” While she was still angry with him, it was clear from the amount of time she spent talking about him that she was ready to come home. Even if she didn’t realize it.
“I came to see if I can’t find a way to smooth things between them. Will you tell my father I’m here?”
“He is in a meeting, but I will let him know,” Foster said. “Do you want to wait in the sitting room?”
“I will, thank you.”
Before she turned, Foster said, “I know you’ve been keen to determine how Harkin and Meg are faring since they were let go. Both have found positions. Harkin has become maid to Lady Knox, and Meg is working in, er, Mr. Sainsbury’s household.” He glanced away with a
bit of discomfort as he said Sainsbury’s name.
Phoebe’s stomach tightened. “I’m pleased to hear about Harkin.”
“But not about Meg?” Foster’s brow furrowed. “Should we be concerned about her employment?”
Summoning a weak smile, Phoebe said, “I’m sure it’s fine.” She’d check on Meg to make sure.
Phoebe made her way toward the sitting room, her mind churning. She nearly ran into a man who’d apparently just left her father’s study. He was very tall and carried a walking stick. “Pardon me,” he said with a deep voice before continuing on his way.
Pausing on the threshold of the sitting room, she watched as he went to the entry hall. Then she turned and circuited the room as she waited for her father. She frowned halfway around, noticing that a few things were missing.
Papa came in, and it seemed a dark cloud followed him. Deep creases lined his forehead, and his brows were pitched at a sharp angle over his hazel eyes. “Is your mother with you?”
“No. Papa, have you sold some things, such as the silver box that sat on the mantel?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
Phoebe folded her arms. “Who was the man I saw leaving your study?”
“Also none of your concern.”
She frowned. “I will always have concern for you. And for Mama. She needs to come home.”
“Does she want to?”
“Of course.” Deep down, Phoebe was certain of that. “Just as you want her to.”
“Is she going to harangue me about what I do with my money?”
“Is it so terrible if she does?” Phoebe unfolded her arms and took a few steps toward him. “Papa, she’s worried about losing more money to this mad investment scheme.”
“She called it mad?”
“No. I was being hyperbolic.” And she shouldn’t. Not with him, and not now. “She has a right to be concerned. You’ve had two investments go poorly, you’re selling things, and you’ve had to let retainers go. There’s no shame in admitting things didn’t go as planned. If you must invest, do something different. Don’t use this same person.”
His eyes sparked with anger. “I’ll do whatever I please.”
Phoebe knew the man wasn’t Marcus’s cousin. She’d seen him in the park the day she’d met Marcus, and if she recalled correctly, Drobbit was short and stocky. “Was the man’s name Osborne? If so, he works for a man called Drobbit. I have it on good authority that Drobbit is a swindler.”
Papa’s eyes widened briefly, then the sullen mask came back into place. “No. As I said, none of this is your concern. Tell your mother I am making a different kind of investment—with the man you saw. It’s safer and is guaranteed not to fail.”
Phoebe knew better than to believe that, but she also knew better than to argue with him any further. “All right. I’ll tell her that.” That would be enough to persuade her to come home. “Don’t you miss her, Papa?”
He grunted, but she saw the softening in his expression. “It’s quiet here.”
“I’m sure it is,” she said drolly. “My house, on the contrary, is not.”
“Is that the real reason you live alone?”
She noted the edge of humor in the question and was so glad to hear it, she thought she might giggle with joy. “I will never say.” She smiled at him and winked. “How about I ask Cook to make her favorite dessert? I’ll bring her over in time for dinner.”
“You’ll stay too? For dinner, I mean.”
She knew he wished she’d come home to stay—until she wed. But maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to accept the choices she’d made. For a brief moment, she wondered if Mama had told him about the Blackguard, but realized he would not have taken that well.
“Of course. I’ll go speak with Cook.”
He looked relieved, his shoulders dipping and his frame relaxing.
Phoebe paused as she walked past him and lightly touched his arm. Then she continued on and went downstairs to speak with Cook.
As she climbed into her coach a short while later, she fell back onto the seat with a smile. Her mother was likely going home. That meant Marcus could come that night. She’d dispatch a note to him as soon as she got home.
She thought about the man with the cane and whether he could be Osborne. She’d ask Marcus about him that night. Phoebe could describe him—the man had been almost unnaturally tall.
Assuming he was Osborne, she could try to help Marcus find him. Presumably, Papa was able to communicate with them. She could tell him she wanted to meet with the man about investing. If it was a safe and guaranteed investment, he would have no problem helping her. And if it wasn’t?
She pursed her lips as she pondered how to help Marcus. Maybe there was something in her father’s study that would lead them to Drobbit or Osborne. She could surely create an opportunity to look… Yes, that seemed the best course of action. She only hoped she was able to find something that would be of use to Marcus.
He’d be so thrilled. She could hardly wait to see him.
Chapter 11
Energy sparked through Marcus as he stepped into White’s. He was a rare visitor, but for the fourth night in a row, he found himself there once again. He sincerely hoped Sainsbury finally showed up.
After Marcus accomplished his objective, he’d move on to something even better: going to Phoebe’s house.
Her note that afternoon had been a welcome surprise. At last, her mother was returning home. He smiled thinking of what she’d written: You’re cordially invited to attend me at midnight for the purposes of ravishment.
It was all he could do to focus on the matter at hand, but he was fairly motivated to his cause. He walked into the main room and looked about for his quarry. Sighting him near the center of the room, Marcus felt his pulse begin to drum. At fucking last.
Marcus began to thread his way through the gentlemen gathered, moving slowly to exchange pleasantries, lest it become obvious he was on a single-minded mission. He was here to punish Sainsbury in any way possible. He’d call the blackguard out if it wouldn’t have further impacted Phoebe. What reason could Marcus give for demanding satisfaction aside from avenging her?
It took everything Marcus had not to march right over to Sainsbury and knock him to the ground. Hit him so hard, the man wouldn’t ever be able to get up.
For a moment, Marcus froze. The busy room around him slowed to nothing, and the sound disappeared. This wasn’t him. He didn’t let emotion rule the day. Ever.
Everything started again, a whir of noise and light. He lingered near Sainsbury, close enough to hear him speak.
“I wish she had something better to grip, if you know what I mean.” Sainsbury, a man of middling height with a small nose and pronounced chin, lifted his hands and mimicked grabbing a woman’s breasts to indicate precisely what he meant, to the sniggers of those around him. “Still, she’s extremely biddable, which is a far more important trait.” Sainsbury brushed back a lock of dark blond hair on the side of his head.
This was met with nods in his small circle. Marcus’s hands fisted. He hung back and listened.
“I agree,” another man said. “My wife is well-mannered, does exactly what she must.”
“Are you going to propose, then?” This came from a second man, who looked at Sainsbury expectantly.
“Not yet, but I’m considering it.” He swore under his breath, then laughed. “Now you’ll all spread rumors, and I’ll be dragged to the altar.”
Marcus sniggered to himself. That was probably the only way he could get there. If someone was stupid enough to bother.
“We would never say anything that could ensnare you in the parson’s trap,” the first man said, clapping his hand on Sainsbury’s shoulder. “Especially after the way you were woefully mistreated last time. You must be certain you choose wisely.”
The urge to strike the man for simply referring to Phoebe as an unwise choice nearly overwhelmed Marcus. Dammit, this was not who he was. Perhaps he should go
. She was waiting for him—or would be soon.
“I was mistreated, but don’t worry. I got at least a little something out of her.” Sainsbury chuckled, and there was a disgusting glint of pride in his eye. Marcus longed to blacken it.
This was his moment. He pretended to trip, falling into one of Sainsbury’s companions. This drew the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity.
“My apologies,” Marcus said, straightening. “Did I hear you discussing Sainsbury’s upcoming betrothal?” he asked loudly.
“No,” Sainsbury said, his brows darting low over his narrowing eyes.
“My mistake,” Marcus said with a flat smile. “Was it your seductive prowess, then?”
One of the men snorted a laugh.
Sainsbury’s thin lips twisted into a grin. “Yes, that was it.”
Marcus adopted a pensive expression. “How peculiar. It’s my understanding you’re unable to perform at some of London’s finest brothels.”
Sainsbury’s eyes darkened to nearly black as he glared at Marcus. “That’s a bloody lie, Ripley.”
“How would you even know?” one of the other men asked, turning toward Marcus. He was very young and likely didn’t realize the stupidity of his question.
Laughing, Marcus slapped the buck on his upper back. “You must not be aware of my reputation. I know plenty about London’s finest brothels. Who visits them and how often, as well as whether the guests are appreciated.” He winked at the young man. “I’m quite appreciated, and therefore, I hear a great many comparisons.”
Around the inner circle, men guffawed. Someone nudged Marcus on the shoulder with a laugh.
“So Sainsbury’s got a broken branch?” someone asked from somewhere behind Sainsbury.
Marcus lifted a shoulder. “Seems to be the case from what I hear—from multiple sources, mind you.”
Sainsbury’s lips turned white and practically disappeared into his too-long chin. “Damn you, Ripley. That’s a bloody lie. I ought to call you out.”
