In the Widow’s Bed (9 page)

Jonathan hugged her close. “I like Phoebe very much.”

Lizzy squeezed him tighter. “Do you love her?”

While his head screamed
yes
, he wouldn’t admit to something that utterly astonished him. He admired Phoebe, desired her so much he longed for her touch this minute. But love? He shook his head. “You mustn’t entertain such fanciful notions.”

Yet he couldn’t stop himself from entertaining the same. Jonathan glanced about the chamber. “Now what am I to do about Warminster? Shall I beat him to a pulp or slice him to ribbons on the field of honor?”

He watched Lizzy very carefully, but his bloodthirsty suggestions dragged a shudder from her. So that was a
no
to any retribution. He wondered what she had in mind.
 

Lizzy shook her head. “Back to you and Lady Warminster. What can I do to help?”

Jonathan drew in a breath at the change of subject, but for now he’d allow it. “Nothing. Despite our affair, she will always be your friend. But forgive her for this morning, won’t you? She was terrified.”

When Jonathan stood, Lizzy climbed to her feet too. “Thank you for coming to check on me. You really are a wonderful brother.” She stood up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

When she exited the room, Lizzy moved with customary but distracted haste. Jonathan stepped out into the hall, wondering what was going through her mind now, but she disappeared down the servant’s staircase without a backward glance. Really, sometimes he wondered just what went on in her brain. He shrugged off his sisters problems for now and took the stairs down towards his study.

Phoebe paced the room.
 

Jonathan took a moment to enjoy the view then he quietly locked the door behind his back. He must have made a sound because she turned to face him. The deathly pallor of her features hurried him across the room. “It’s all right, ma belle.”

“I told you this was a mistake.” Phoebe wailed against his chest. “How will she ever be able to speak at me again? I’ll miss her so.”

Phoebe broke into uncustomary sobs and Jonathan did his best to soothe her with his hands. The fact that she clung to him so readily made him feel ten feet tall. His sister’s discovery of their affair had shifted the balance in his favor. With luck, he wouldn’t do anything to end their liaison too soon.
 

When Phoebe’s sobs quieted, Jonathan swept her up into his arms and sat with her on his knee. She clung to him and Jonathan decided he could get used to this kind of afternoon. A pretty woman on his knee, quiet house about him.

A timid knock sounded on the door. Phoebe scrambled from his lap and put the entire room between them. He groaned as he climbed to his feet and unlocked the door. His housekeeper waited on the other side.

She cast a quick glance over his attire. “Lady Elizabeth suggested Lady Warminster might enjoy tea.” She bustled past and set the tray on the corner of his desk, nodding politely to his lover. When she’d set everything to order, his housekeeper turned for the door and the impish grin on her features startled him. She winked as she swept out the door.

Damn that Lizzy! She’d told the servants.

When he looked up, Phoebe appeared confused.
 

“Lizzy cannot be too angry with you. She sent tea.” Jonathan relocked the door, skirted the desk and sat down to read the small stack of correspondence that had built up over the past few days. After a few minutes, Phoebe moved to sit on the other side of the partner’s desk to pour her cup of tea.

“There isn’t a second cup. Should I call your housekeeper back?”

Jonathan snorted. “I hate tea.”

Her brow wrinkled. “You take tea whenever you come to Moreton Hall.”

Jonathan winked, but he turned his attention to the correspondence rather than explain himself. Phoebe was a clever woman. Eventually, she would work it out.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Jonathan let her absorb his odd past behavior a while before he spoke. “How do you like Lord and Lady Parsons? We have an invitation to a soiree in three weeks’ time.”

Phoebe’s cup rattled to the saucer. “They are a well placed family. Their daughter is coming out soon.”

“Hmm, this ball must be for the daughter then. What are her chances of making a good match?”

“Quite good. She’s a beauty.” Phoebe’s voice wavered with her admission.

“Ah,” Jonathan murmured then set the letter to one side. He picked up the next. “And what of Lord Prescott? I’m invited for a week long shooting party next month.”

“His daughter is a sweetheart,” Phoebe’s voice whispered. “Very kind.”

“Right.” Jonathan dropped the invitation with the other and continued through the pile. He had a lot of invitations from families with eligible young daughters. And by the end of the short stack, Phoebe looked profoundly uncomfortable. “What are you doing for the next few months?”

Phoebe appeared surprised by his question. “I’ll be here, of course.”

“Hmm,” Jonathan grumbled.
So, no rendezvous away from these parts.
Disappointing
.

Jonathan dragged out parchment and wrote out the brief replies. He sealed his letters with a heavy sigh and rang the bell for his butler. Once the notes were dispatched to his servant’s care, Jonathan returned to sit on the edge of the table near Phoebe.

“So,” she began. “You’re off to Dorset next month. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.” Phoebe offered him a hesitant smile, settled her empty teacup to the tray, and then pressed her palms to her thighs.

“Well, no, actually.” Jonathan settled his hands to his hips. “I sent my apologies to all of them.” He wasn’t going anywhere without Phoebe. At least, not yet.

Again she appeared startled, so he leaned forward to capture her lips. After a brief, intoxicating kiss Phoebe pulled away. “The door?”

Jonathan curled his hand around her skull and pulled her to him. “Locked,” he whispered against her lips and then kissed her again.

The intense heat of her mouth drove Jonathan wild. He pressed her deeper into the chair, falling to his knees until he burrowed his hips between her thighs. When the material prevented him from getting closer, he impatiently scooped up the dark blue muslin until he could touch her skin.

Jonathan ate at her mouth, rejoicing when her tongue tangled with his in a heated dance. Her fingers threaded through his hair and kept him close, deepening the kiss until their teeth grazed. He hooked his fingers under her thighs and tugged Phoebe’s bottom toward the edge of the chair. Impatiently, he bumped his already firm cock against the heart of her.

Phoebe whimpered and squirmed to put a distance between them. “No, Jonathan. Not here,” she moaned.
 
“Your sister and all the staff are in the house, probably outside the door.”

“Then it will teach them to eavesdrop on us.” Jonathan dragged her against him, firmer than before. “This is my house and I want to make love to you here where I spend my days. I want to inhale the scent of our lovemaking while I read my newspaper. I want to remember the image of you spread over my desk as I fill you up.”

Jonathan picked Phoebe up off the seat and settled her bottom on the sturdy partner desk. With one swipe, he cleared the surface of blotter, teacups, and the unlit candelabra.
 

“Jonathan, we shouldn’t.”

Before Phoebe could say another denying word over his intentions, he kissed her, lavishing her mouth in a furious assault on her senses. His palm captured her knee and rubbed, inching her closer to the edge, and to his body. Her other foot curled around his thigh, unconsciously encouraging as he dragged her the remaining distance until her heat pressed against his length. Frantically, Jonathan snapped his jacket from his shoulders, ripped open his trousers, and shoved the long fold of linen from his shirt up under his waistcoat out of the way.
 

Phoebe fell to her elbows, gasping. “This is madness.”

But her eyes fell to his rigid length, prodding against her damp lips. Jonathan thickened further at the sight. “And you love it. Admit it?”

He took himself in hand and swiped the head of his cock through her dampness. Phoebe squirmed, legs parting to accommodate him. He propped himself over her body, holding himself away so only the tip of his cock touched her skin. After several passes over her rigid nub, Phoebe squirmed closer.

Jonathan didn’t give her what she wanted. Although it pained him, he shifted away an inch. Phoebe’s eyes flew to his. “Admit what you want, Phoebe, and then I will pleasure you till you scream.”

Her hands curled about his neck and tugged, hard, persistent. When he didn’t bend all the way to her waiting lips she growled. Actually growled. If he didn’t need to hear the words so badly, hear her say she desired him, he might have laughed.

As it was, he was in no hurry to end this interlude. He could restrain his passion until she gave him some encouragement of her own.
 

Phoebe licked her lips, glancing toward the door. “Come closer.”

He complied, but with a quick shift of her hips the movement settled his cockhead at her entrance. Phoebe’s legs tightened about his thighs. Jonathan resisted her entrapment and waited.

She licked her lips again. “All right. All right. I desire you,” she whispered, glancing at him shyly and then quickly lowering her lashes.

“To do what, exactly?” he whispered.

Phoebe dug her fingers deep into his shirt-covered arms. “I desire you to push that beautiful cock of yours inside of me.”

Jonathan invaded a little and then stopped.

Phoebe panted impatiently. “All the way.”

Jonathan pressed forward slowly until he reached her limit and stopped again.

Phoebe tossed her head then reached to capture his hair again to pull his lips close to hers. “If you don’t make love to me properly, Jonathan Oliver, I will spank your perfectly round arse until its red. Move,” she ordered.

Pleasantly surprised that his gambit had paid off, Jonathan did as he was told. He let his instincts take over as he made love to her, smooth strokes gliding into the intense heat of her passage. Beneath him, Phoebe breathed raggedly on every thrust. The sight of her wild abandon, her hair falling from her combs to lie over his mahogany desk, quickened the movement of his hips.
 

But he wasn’t anywhere near close enough.
 
He caught up one of her legs, and stretched the shapely flesh over his arm, altering her position until her body opened wide. The greater depth, the slick flesh rubbing against his engorged cock, slowed his pace. He wanted to savor these moments of pleasure with Phoebe. He wanted to imprint her passion on his soul.

Jonathan caught Phoebe’s gaze as he slipped his fingers over her nub. She gasped again, hips rising to push her flesh harder against his fingers. While he held her gaze, he stroked over her with sure flicks of his fingers, delighting in her efforts to suppress the sound of her enjoyment. Her glazed expression told him she was very close to finding her release. He kept his thrusts hard, slow, until her back arched from the desk and a strangled scream erupted from her throat. Jonathan rode out her contractions, gritting his teeth over the need to come too. When she subsided, legs falling away from their tight grip on his body, Jonathan withdrew and took himself in hand.

The slick, hot length slid easily over his palm, setting every nerve he possessed alight. Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open and then she glanced down to where his hand stoked over his engorged flesh in a slow rhythm. She rose to her elbows as he shoved her gown higher up her hips, pushing the material aside until he could see the smooth white expanse of her belly.

He tightened his grip, fisted himself quicker as her eyes widened. Phoebe’s leg tightened its grip around his thigh, bringing him closer. “Ah, hell, Phoebe. The sight of you lying like that is going to torture me for the rest of my life.”

Desire raced up his spine, his body stiffened then shuddered as his seed shot over her belly, marking her perfect skin with the evidence of his desire. His brand.

Once the last spurt landed on her skin, Jonathan fell to the desk, using his hands to keep his weight suspended. Phoebe blinked up at him and then another shy smile, the kind filled with warmth and affection lifted the corners of her mouth. Jonathan leaned in to press a hard, possessive kiss to her lips.

CHAPTER NINE

In all honesty, Phoebe should be considerably alarmed by her willingness to skirt scandal with her lover. She had let him, no begged him, to make love to her over his wide study desk. Twice. She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks and kept her gaze fixed outside the carriage window. Thank heaven no one seemed in the mood to make conversation during the return to Moreton Hall. She couldn’t utter a coherent word that wouldn’t sound strained.

The mark on her skin was sufficiently covered again with another application of Lizzy’s special cream. To her surprise, Lizzy’s skin near the base of her neck sported an angry red mark that Phoebe had never noticed before. She had reluctantly revealed the imperfection, explaining how she had hidden it under clothes until she’d matured then started applying the cream to her skin so people wouldn’t whisper that she was ill. It was a birthmark she’d been born with apparently, not an illness in any way.