In the Widow’s Bed (11 page)

Jonathan glanced up at her bedchamber ceiling, feeling more comfortable here than in his own guestroom. No doubt the presence of Phoebe made him feel so at home. She shifted, her breasts brushed his chest and a ragged sigh passed her lips. Intrigued, he inched back a bit to see her face.

Phoebe slept still, but if he were not mistaken she dreamed.
 

Her body grew restless against him, hips arching toward his. Slowly, careful not to waken her, he inserted his leg between hers. Phoebe’s thighs clamped around his leg and her sex pressed against his skin. Amused, Jonathan decided to see how far his lady could go in her fantasies before she wakened.

He urged her with his hands, sliding her sex against his firm thigh until he grew slick with her desire. She woke with a gasp, blinked, and then glanced up at him guiltily.

“Good morning.”

Phoebe’s head dipped to his chest. “Good morning.”

Feeling altogether too excited to let the moment pass, Jonathan rocked her against his thigh again. “Were you having a wicked dream?”

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Jonathan flipped her about so her back snuggled into his chest, prodding her sex with his cock. Instinctively, Phoebe settled his cockhead in place and he pressed into her tight heat slowly. Ignoring the urge to thrust hard and deep, he set about increasing her pleasure. He slipped one hand over her sex, the other cupped her full breast. A satisfied moan left her lips. Jonathan thrust into her, keeping the movements calm, building her arousal higher.
 

She seemed impatient with his slow loving because her hips rocked against him eagerly. But he kept her passion under his control, making love to her slowly, sliding his fingers over her hard nub and nipples. When he pressed harder and pinched, she buried her face into the pillow. Her moans and gasps grew louder and louder around the muffling pillow until she tensed and appeared to strangle as her release overtook her.
 

Jonathan straightened Phoebe’s hair from around her face and he turned her head so she had to see him. Her dazed expression and rapid pant brought another smile to his lips. He’d definitely take her in the mornings when they married.

Biting his lip to hold in the urge to propose right that very minute, he slid clinging strands of hair from her brow and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. The taste of her sweat damp skin on his lips heightened his arousal so he thrust again.
 

A loud bang on the wall made them both jump.

Jonathan glanced at the door that connected Phoebe’s bedchamber with his as a male voice rose in anger.

Cautiously, Jonathan slipped from Phoebe’s body and bed to stare at the connecting door. Yes, he had remembered to lock it, but something definitely odd what happening in his bedchamber. That room should have been locked from the inside. No one should be in there.

“I’ll kill Selwood for this.” Warminster’s voice threatened from the next room.

A female voice cried out piteously in answer and Jonathan glanced at Phoebe only to find her skin white with shock. She stumbled from the bed and reached for her night gown and wrapper, throwing them on carelessly in her rush. When her beautiful skin was covered respectably, she tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear to it.

Just as quietly, Jonathan reached for his breaches and slipped them over his hips, pushing his softening member into the tight confines. Unfortunately, in their haste to make love last night there were buttons missing from the garment and they wouldn’t stay on his hips properly. That could be embarrassing should it be discovered. He snagged his shirt from beneath the bed and threw it over his head. The long linen would hide the state of his breaches, but what could he do to hide himself should Warminster decide to include Phoebe in whatever drama was happening next door?

Jonathan glanced toward his lover and found her backing away from the door. She glanced at him and then frantically waved her hands in the direction of the bed. Did she want him in it or under it?

Under it, he decided, as she snatched up his cravat stockings and boots and shoved them into the nearest drawer. Jonathan fell to the floor and scrambled under the solid bed. He moved until he hid in the exact center and then the world grew dark as Phoebe straightened the bedding so no one could see him beneath. He watched the pink tips of her toes move about him and then she disappeared from sight.
 

~ * ~

Phoebe’s heart beat so loud that she feared she might faint. Next door, Warminster was ranting about Lady Jocelyn sleeping with Jonathan, and very soon everyone in the house would suspect that something was seriously amiss. She had to take steps to stop this disaster. She couldn’t let Warminster convict his best friend of such a scandalous act.
 

Frantically, Phoebe straightened her tumbled hair into some semblance of decorum and approached the connecting door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the key and knob and stepped into the fray.

Lady Jocelyn sat on Jonathan’s rumpled bed, sheets pulled up to her chest, defiance clear on her face. Phoebe’s stepson appeared quite without his usual disguise. There was none of his usual foppish charm or elegance on display.
 

“What do you want,” Warminster snapped. “This is none of your concern.”

Phoebe stepped close to him. “Get yourself under control now,” she whispered urgently. Warminster blinked and met her gaze. She tried to convey how damaging his behavior seemed and hoped he understood.
 

Phoebe tightened her wrapper. “Well, you woke me and your discussion appeared diverting. What a shame it’s all foolish nonsense.”

Phoebe turned for the bed. “Your bedchamber is on the other end of the hall, Lady Jocelyn. Was there something the matter with your accommodations?”

The glance Lady Jocelyn sent her was triumphant. “This room has been very welcoming to me. Unlike some I could name.”

Warminster winced. “I explained I had urgent business to attend to.”

Lady Jocelyn scowled. “At night? Every night of the house party? I swear Warminster, you are toying with my affections for your own amusement. Well, I won’t stand for it. Lord Selwood appreciates me and is desperately in love.”

Phoebe choked. She’d never imagined Lady Jocelyn would have the nerve to behave like this. Attempting to entrap a lord, or any man, into marriage was fraught with all kinds of danger. What if they refused? What if a duel was fought for her honor and someone was killed? What if society shunned her even if she married?

Lady Jocelyn hopped off the bed, bold as brass in an obscenely revealing negligee, snatched up her wrapper and threw it over her shoulders as she strolled out the bedchamber door. Phoebe hurried to shut it before turning back to her enraged stepson.
 

 
“Where the hell is the bastard?” Warminster’s voice still had a hard edge and his hands sat on his hips in a threatening stance. “Clifford will kill him for this.”

“I suggest you lower your voice, Warminster, unless you want everyone to question where you’ve been at night because I believe I have a fair idea. I heard about yesterday morning’s interlude in another bedchamber in this house. I’ve done my best to distract Jonathan from any murderous tendencies, but I’m still surprised he hasn’t filled you with shot holes already.”

“Nothing happened.” Warminster moved forward, leaving her uncomfortably close to her stepson, a place she never liked to be.
 

Phoebe pushed at his chest. “Jonathan did not rendezvous with that chit. He isn’t even here. The walls are thin. I would have heard something before you barged into the room. I heard nothing at all through the night.”

Warminster glanced about him, distaste clear on his features. “Then where is he to clear his name? By now every servant in the place would have discovered that Lady Jocelyn met with him.”
 

“Only because you pranced in here like a bull in a China shop and believed her.”

Warminster crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you defending the degenerate so staunchly? He seduced an innocent.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Phoebe hissed. “He didn’t do anything of the sort. Lady Jocelyn has been flirting with the pair of you. But apparently you haven’t been attentive enough so she planned this little scandal to secure a titled husband. You must have neglected to fall at her feet often enough.”

Warminster scowled. “I wouldn’t put myself out for any woman.”

“Yes, I can actually believe that.” Furious that Warminster was so dense, she had little choice but to reveal Jonathan’s location. “Come this way.”

Phoebe spun about and walked into her own bedchamber. After a moment or two, Warminster followed. “What?”

“Shut the door.”

Warminster raised a brow but did as he was bid. The slam of the heavy door raised goose bumps along her arm. Was it really wise to share such a confined space with a spy who could probably kill you without compunction?

Taking a deep breath for strength, Phoebe set her hands to her hips. “Jonathan, come out!”

There was a low scrape then Jonathan’s head popped out from under the bed. “Thanks, it’s a bit dusty under there, better tell Warminster that his servants…” Jonathan’s voice trailed off as he noticed Warminster’s presence across the bed. The two friends stared at each other, belligerence clear on both faces.

“When today is over . . .” Warminster growled.

“. . . we will have a very long, private discussion about your behavior towards my sister,” Jonathan finished.

Warminster’s hands curled into fists. “You planned to punish me by seducing Lady Jocelyn. I intended to offer for her.”

Jonathan crossed his arms over his rumpled shirt. “Seducing her would be punishment for me. She’s definitely not worth the trouble.”

“No. How dare you deny it? I found her in your bed.”

“Technically, yes, you found Lady Jocelyn there and I’ll not deny that. But I was not with her,” Jonathan said.

“No, not when I found you. Did you attempt to hide in here from me?”

“Not at any time.” Jonathan’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t run in here to hide. I didn’t sleep in my bedchamber last night. Just like you apparently haven’t been doing for the duration of the party. If you had then you’d be the one finding Lady Jocelyn in his bed.”

“Then where did you sleep? Go on, this ought to be good.”

Jonathan’s gaze fell on Phoebe and she saw him swallow hard. At this point, it seemed Warminster was incapable of believing anything different unless they laid out the cold hard truth before him.

Phoebe nodded and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see Warminster’s disgust. She’d had enough of the man’s prickly disposition to last her a lifetime.
 

Jonathan crossed the room and set his hand to the small of Phoebe’s back. “I slept in Lady Warminster’s bed last night.”

Silence thickened around her, and she opened her eyes to see Warminster’s reaction to her scandalous behavior.

The smirk on Warminster’s face showed he didn’t believe Jonathan. Not one word of it at all. As she stared at her stepson, Phoebe accepted she might have no choice but to save Jonathan from his own friend’s blindness. Phoebe rubbed a shaking hand across her brow, waiting for a miracle. When none came soon enough for her liking, she moved closer to her lover.
 

“Jonathan did sleep here all night, Warminster. And the night before that too.”

Her lover’s fingers curled over her hip and she took comfort in his steady presence. Her stepson turned to face her, disbelief clear in his expression. The knowledge he considered her so unappealing rattled her calm.

Incensed, Phoebe punched Warminster’s arm. “Oh, for Gods sake, must you be so entirely dense. What do you imagine Jonathan might be doing in my bed all night? It certainly wasn’t lace making.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“You must be joking.” Warminster laughed outright at the news Phoebe and Jonathan were lovers.

Apparently, Jonathan didn’t care for that reaction either. His arm tightened around Phoebe’s waist as he pulled her to his side. “No. You know me better than to imagine I’d lie about something like this. It is the truth,” he warned.

Nervously, Phoebe glanced up. His jaw was set in a stubborn line as he stared at his amused friend. She set her hands to his arms where they wrapped about her waist and pushed.
 

Despite her attempts, Jonathan wouldn’t release her. His breath beat against her cheek. “Let me fix this, my love.”

Across the room, Warminster wiped his eyes, still chuckling. He still didn’t believe them. Gradually, when neither of them joined in his merriment, Warminster appeared to absorb their words. His gaze flickered over Jonathan’s protective stance, her rumpled state, and then behind them. A sneer curled his lip as his arm gestured toward the neatly made bed. “Nice try.”
 

Jonathan set his head alongside Phoebe’s, snuggling her tighter against him and inhaled deep. “Is he always this dense?”

The blush that crossed her face must have lit the room at Jonathan’s open display of affection. Not even her late husband had behaved so casually before his son.