by Darcy Burke
“He won’t lose anymore, I promise. I’ll take care of everything tomorrow night.”
Marcus kissed her temple as his fingers stroked her arm and shoulder. Phoebe nestled into his side and put her arm around his abdomen. He smelled lovely, and his skin was so firm and warm, his muscles taut. She wanted to spend days in this bed exploring every part of him. Alas, they were not wed and he did not live there.
Wed?
That was not a word she wanted to think about. Not now, not with Marcus. She’d wanted an affair, and she had one. It was more than she’d ever expected, particularly with a man like Marcus. She tipped her head to look up at him, the strong arc of his jaw, the sensuous curve of his lips, the lines fanning around his eyes that deepened when he smiled at her, the cobalt of his eyes that sparked with desire and seduction. She couldn’t believe he was hers, even for a short time.
Yes, this was more than enough.
Chapter 12
The Lennoxes’ butler was an affable-looking gentleman in his middle age. Marcus smiled as he handed the man his card.
“Come in, my lord.” The butler opened the door wide, and Marcus stepped into the small but elegant entry hall. “If you’ll wait here.”
Marcus inclined his head and watched as the butler walked past the stairs toward the back of the house. While he was gone, Marcus imagined a young Phoebe living here. Had she run down the stairs in her childhood, dark ringlets swinging? He smiled at the image.
A moment later, the butler returned. “Follow me, if you please.”
Marcus trailed him to a doorway at which the butler announced his arrival and then stepped aside so Marcus could enter. Walking over the threshold, Marcus saw Mr. Lennox standing near a chair situated in front of the hearth. The room was clearly his study.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lennox,” Marcus greeted, offering his hand.
Lennox shook it and indicated another chair. “My lord, would you care to sit?”
“Briefly. I don’t anticipate staying long. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called.” Marcus took his seat.
“I am.” Lennox sat down opposite him.
“It’s come to my attention that you’ve been investing with my cousin. You may know him as Tibbord, but his name is actually Drobbit. The fact that he uses an alias should tell you everything about him.” Marcus crossed his legs. “To put it plainly, he’s a swindler.”
Lennox tried very hard to school his features, but there was no mistaking the flash of alarm in his gaze. “While I appreciate your concern, I assure you that I’m not involved with this in any way.”
Marcus hadn’t really known how Lennox would react, but he hadn’t expected complete denial. However, Marcus couldn’t call him out on the lie without saying he knew Osborne had called. And the only way he could know that was through Phoebe. Surely her father would demand to know how Marcus was privy to such information, and that was not a conversation he wished to have.
Instead, Marcus went along with him and tried to convey a warning. “That’s…good to know. If you were by chance even thinking of investing with Tibbord—either with him directly or via his assistant, Osborne, I am here to tell you that is no longer an option. My cousin will not be taking money from anyone anymore. So, if you had any plans with him, don’t bother keeping them. His game is done.”
Hopefully, Lennox understood. Marcus didn’t want to specifically mention the meeting he was perhaps going to that night. To do so could expose Phoebe, and he wouldn’t do that.
“How do you know he’s a swindler?” Lennox asked. “Are you a part of this?”
“No,” Marcus answered coldly. “I would never participate in such a crime. He cheated some people I know, and I am putting a stop to further misconduct. I can’t allow a member of my family, no matter how estranged, to behave in this manner. Surely you understand that.”
“I do. You are to be commended for your intervention. I’m sure those he’s stolen from are grateful.”
Was he trying to thank Marcus without actually doing so? Or was he merely being polite while trying to indicate he was not one of those who would benefit from Marcus’s aid? Marcus wasn’t sure.
There was nothing else he could say without being overt. He stood. “That concludes my business here, then. I wish you good fortune, Mr. Lennox.”
Lennox rose. “Thank you, my lord. Good day.”
Marcus departed, hoping for Lennox’s sake that he wasn’t lying to him—or to his daughter—about investing with Drobbit again. If he tried, the man was beyond help. Hopefully that wasn’t the case since Marcus didn’t wish to see Phoebe’s father ruined.
As he climbed into his gig, he tried not to think about why he cared.
Because you’re having an affair with his daughter.
That has nothing to do with it, he argued with himself. He wanted to stop his cousin from harming anyone else, whether they were his lover’s father or not.
The word “lover” prowled through his mind as he drove back to Hanover Square. He’d never had one of those before. It made him feel slightly uneasy as well as incredibly possessive. That was a goddamned problem.
Phoebe didn’t belong to him, nor did he to her. They were enjoying each other and nothing more. He was thirty-one. Perhaps he’d simply reached the stage of his life where he wanted something different. If not permanent, then at least something more than fleeting. And Phoebe was definitely that.
The question was whether she was something more. Marcus didn’t have an answer—nor did he want one.
Jane stalked into Phoebe’s garden room the following afternoon, a frown stamped upon her usually cheerful face. After removing her bonnet and gloves and tossing them on the settee, she joined Phoebe at the table near the door to the garden.
“I’m doomed.”
Phoebe poured her a cup of tea. “Why?”
“My parents have invited Mr. Brinkley to dinner in a fortnight. I have just enough time to find someone and pay them to kidnap me to Scotland.”
“Scotland? Why, are you going to wed at Gretna Green?”
“If he’s handsome, intelligent, and kind, yes.” She picked up her tea. “On second thought, he needn’t be all that handsome if he’s the other two. He cannot be boring, and he absolutely cannot be someone I’ve already decided I don’t want to marry.”
“Such as Mr. Brinkley.” Phoebe sipped her tea, then set her cup down. “What is wrong with him exactly?”
Jane scowled. “My parents chose him? Oh, he’s pleasant enough, I suppose. I just don’t see myself married to a banker, not to mention becoming a mother overnight.”
“Who do you see yourself married to?” Phoebe asked. She realized she’d never really thought about that. She just knew she’d wed whomever her parents deemed appropriate. But then it happened that their choice was anything but. “Never mind, you’re right. Don’t marry someone your parents chose.”
“Exactly!” Jane sipped her tea and then exchanged her cup for a cake, which she nibbled for a moment. “That’s the problem. I’m not sure I see myself married to anyone. The more I see you here, enjoying your independence, the more I want it for myself.”
“Well, you are an official member of the Spitfire Society.”
“Yes, about that. I think we should consider expanding our membership. I’ve met a lovely woman who’s just come to town. She and her sister are already independent. She’s a widow.”
“The best kind of independence,” Phoebe said wistfully. Then she giggled. “Such a morbid thing to say.”
Jane lifted a shoulder. “You know I’m not offended. Perhaps I’ll leave London for a while and return claiming to be a widow. Would anyone ever know?”
Phoebe laughed. “If anyone could do that, I’d wager it’s you.”
“I shall have to consider this at length.” Jane sat back in her chair with a pensive expression and finished her cake. “Just think, as a widow, I could even have an affair.”
“You may not even have to be a widow…” Ph
oebe had planned to tell Jane about Marcus. This was the perfect opportunity. She picked up her teacup and took a sip.
Jane leaned forward, her sherry-colored eyes sparkling. “Ripley?”
Phoebe nodded over the rim of her cup.
“Tell me everything.”
“Maybe not everything.” Phoebe laughed, setting her cup down. “I decided there was no point in being a spinster if I didn’t take full advantage. You helped persuade me. Indeed, you’re a very bad influence. It’s as if you’re a scandalous widow already.”
Jane giggled. “Happy to oblige. Ripley! Is he wonderful?”
“As you know, I have little to compare him to. Just Sainsbury, who I am now calling the Blackguard.” Her lip curled. “I can’t even categorize them in the same species.”
“Well, that was a given,” Jane said.
“I did tell him—Marcus—about what the Blackguard did.”
Surprise flashed in Jane’s gaze. “Did you? Whatever did he say?”
“He was quite angry, actually. I wondered if he might do the Blackguard some harm, but that would only draw attention, and I sincerely hope he doesn’t do that.” Yet she gained a perverse pleasure imagining Marcus pummeling Sainsbury into oblivion.
“Speaking of Sains—I mean, the Blackguard,” Jane said distastefully. “He is officially back on the Marriage Mart. He actually had the gall to ask me to dance the other night.”
A tremor of disgust skipped over Phoebe. Declining to dance with someone was a noteworthy event, so she imagined Jane danced with him. “He knows you and I are good friends.”
“Of course he does.” Jane scoffed. “I pleaded a stomachache and even acted as though I might toss up my accounts all over him. He couldn’t leave fast enough.”
Phoebe smiled in relief. “I’m so glad—for your sake.”
“I could never dance with him. I’d faint dead on the floor in the middle of a ballroom if I had to. My mother was annoyed, but she usually is with me of late. Fortunately, she was able to focus her attention on Anne, who continues to be more popular than I ever was. I still don’t know whom she’s in love with. In fact, she now denies that she ever was.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Fickle.”
“Perhaps she changed her mind after coming to know him better.” Phoebe shuddered. “I did.” Though she’d never claimed to love Sainsbury. Phoebe wasn’t sure she’d know what that felt like.
Maybe the way you feel about Marcus?
What a preposterous thought. And one she didn’t care to ponder. Marcus excited her. He made her feel like a desirable woman, and he honored her opinion and choices. That wasn’t love. That was mutual admiration and respect, as well as attraction.
What was love, then?
“It’s absolutely horrid that Sainsbury, I’m sorry, the Blackguard, can do what he did and still be invited to events to which you are not. He should be the one who is shunned.” Jane glanced at Phoebe apologetically. “Not that you’re shunned.”
“I am, mostly,” Phoebe said. “Or at least ignored, which is fine with me. Let them focus their attention on the Blackguard and whoever is foolish enough to wed him. I pity the woman.” In fact, Phoebe ought to warn her when the time came. The thought of someone in his clutches, as his wife, filled her with anger. That reminded her of Meg, her parents’ former maid who was currently in his employ. Phoebe needed to hire her away from him immediately. She’d speak with her housekeeper as soon as Jane left to determine the best way to accomplish that.
“It so unfair,” Jane said, flopping back against her chair. “All of it. How we’re expected to behave, our lack of choices and control. Even our clothing is more frustrating. Men don’t wear this many undergarments.”
“Some of them do,” Phoebe said with a mischievous grin. “Some men wear corsets.”
Jane arched a blonde brow. “Don’t tell me Ripley is one of them.”
Phoebe gasped. “Good Lord, no. He’s…he’s perfect.”
“I’m seething with jealousy,” Jane said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m afraid I may have to find my own gentleman with whom to have an affair. After I declare my spinsterhood, of course.”
“And when will that be?” Phoebe asked, plucking a biscuit from the tray.
“Soon.” Jane reached for a biscuit too. “Soon.”
The conversation turned to Lavinia’s baby and then Arabella and the fact that she and Graham were leaving to visit Fanny and David the following day. By the time Jane left, Phoebe was feeling quite gratified about her life—her friends, her affair with Marcus, even things with her parents seemed to be improving.
She hoped Marcus was able to achieve whatever he intended with his cousin that night and that he prevented her father from losing any more money. Phoebe would support them, if he would let her, but knew that would be a tough fight.
She’d find out how things went later, as Marcus planned to return that night after meeting with his cousin. Phoebe smiled to herself in anticipation.
Russell Street ran from Covent Garden to Drury Lane and was full of shops and taverns, including the Horn Tavern, which sat closer to Drury Lane. Marcus arrived at around ten o’clock and wasn’t sure what to expect.
Would Drobbit be in the common room? If he wasn’t and Marcus asked for him, would he need to disclose a certain word as had been necessary in Leicester Square?
Making his way to a table in the back corner that afforded him a view of people entering as well as the staircase that led upstairs, presumably to rooms for let, Marcus sat down and ordered an ale. The serving maid who fetched it for him offered her services in plain terms, to which Marcus politely declined. “I’m otherwise engaged.”
It was the reason he often used since he almost always went to Mrs. Alban’s. However, tonight was different because he planned to return to Phoebe’s. For the second time in the same number of nights. It was unprecedented. Not to mention the other times they’d already spent together—and it wasn’t just the sex.
He’d prided himself on having no attachments. His father had drilled that into his brain from a young age, and since he’d admired his father above all others, Marcus had lived his life that way.
This wasn’t an attachment. This was an affair. Phoebe didn’t expect anything from him. She’d never once spoken of the future. They both seemed to want precisely the same thing, and for now, he was content to let their connection run its course.
Connection.
That word was awfully close to attachment.
Marcus snorted as he took a long pull from his tankard. He’d thought too much about her, about them together, today. Enough. He surveyed the room intently, looking for anyone he recognized. Drobbit wasn’t here, nor was Osborne. Neither was Phoebe’s father, thankfully.
As Marcus finished his ale, he considered his options: continue to wait and observe or try to find out if anyone here knew Drobbit. Feeling impatient, he hailed the serving maid.
He flashed her a smile. “Tilly, is it?”
She nodded, her lips parting slightly to reveal a gap between her front teeth. “Change yer mind?”
He ignored her question. “I’m looking for someone who might come here from time to time. Shorter gentleman with a stocky build. Dark hair but light gray eyes—you’d notice them if you were paying attention.”
“I don’t pay much attention to shorter gents. Not unless they pay me.” She laughed. She bent over the table, the bodice of her dress gaping so that he had an unimpeded view of her breasts. “Ye’re not short. And ye don’t have to pay me.”
“That’s awfully generous of you, Tilly. As I said, I am otherwise engaged this evening, but if I could find this gentleman, who knows?” He slid a coin across the table to her.
She picked it up. “I’ll ask Mary. She might be able to help ye.” She put her hand on his thigh and slid it up to his crotch, her thumb brushing against his cock, which wasn’t remotely interested in her attention. “Just remember who helped ye first.”
With a wink, she took herself o
ff. Marcus exhaled. He reached for his tankard, then realized it was empty. A moment later, a younger maid came to his table. She was rather petite, with dark blonde hair and a wide, infectious smile. “’Evening, my lord. Tilly said ye’re looking fer someone.”
Marcus described his cousin once more and immediately saw the light of recognition in her eyes even as her smile dimmed.
“I don’t think I know him, my lord. Sorry.” She started to turn, but Marcus clasped her elbow. Working his hand down her forearm, he held her hand out and pressed several coins into her palm. He closed her fingers over them and encompassed her small hand with his.
“I need to see him. Is he here?” He felt her clench the coins in her hand. It was more than she made in a month.
She nodded. “Upstairs,” she whispered. “But he doesn’t come out. I take him supper every night and fetch his clothes from the laundry.”
He took his hand from hers. “Where upstairs?”
“Last room on the right on the second floor. Please don’t tell him I told ye.” Her plea was quite earnest.
“He hasn’t threatened you, has he?”
“He said if I told anyone he was here, he’d make sure I was tossed out.”
Marcus rose, anticipation thrumming through him now that he’d finally found Drobbit. “I’m not going to tell him, Mary. I promise you.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you.” Then she swept his empty mug from the table, and Marcus made his way through the common room to the stairs.
He climbed up to the first floor and then to the second, where it was much quieter. There were two doors on each side of the gallery. Marcus strode to the last one on the right as Mary had described. Instead of knocking, he tried to just walk in. Unfortunately, the door was bolted.
So he rapped on the wood. When there was no response from within, he knocked more loudly. After another long moment, he pounded his fist. “I’m coming in, whether you open the door or not. And I’ll not pay for any damage.”
