Chapter 15

15

G iven the choice, Nicholas would have stayed sequestered on the grounds of Beaumont Manor , huddled in the Temple of Athena with the heat of Phoebe’s body beneath him, until the end of time. He didn’t want to pull away from her to search for his discarded shirt upon the ground. Nor did he want to mutter words about the rain easing up and them returning to the house. The echoey stone structure, which smelled slightly of damp and had lacked any particular appeal to him until tonight, had become their sanctuary, and never again would he pass it without fire rising in his blood.

However , even beneath the cloak of darkness and the haze of satiety that overtook his body and mind, he could recognize the impracticality of remaining there overlong. The building contained not a stick of furniture. Nothing soft and inviting beyond her . Phoebe deserved silk sheets. Somewhere she could lie down while he explored her inch by inch.

And so, with another idea taking hold, he’d initiated their departure from the temple, throwing back on his wet shirt and assisting her with the fastenings of her dress.

When he opened the door, letting the outside world encroach on them once again, the air had both lightened and cooled, refreshed by the summer rain. A good thing, for even the act of touching her neck while helping her get dressed had caused a new wave of heat to spread through his veins.

The rain still hadn’t stopped, although instead of a deluge, it fell in a sprinkle of misty droplets that dampened their faces as soon as they stepped under the sky. He couldn’t resist pulling her in for an embrace. He wanted to taste the raindrops upon her kiss-swollen lips, to glean a final bit of sustenance before they left their sanctuary behind.

Her slender hand cupped his jawline. Traveled down to place her palm in his. And then, in an unspoken agreement, they began running, going back toward the distant glow of candlelight in Beaumont Manor’s windows. This time, their pace was leisurely instead of frantic, for they were no longer rushing toward something they both needed but prolonging a moment he didn’t want to end.

Be that as it may, they eventually reached the terrace doors, and he peered through the rain-dotted glass, ensuring the drawing room beyond lay empty before easing one open and leading her inside. The room was silent, lit by only a trickle of light from the corridor sconces. Yet it was enough for him to detect the blue-gray-green glimmer of her eyes and the bodice, which he hadn’t quite fastened properly, clinging to her skin. Enough for him to see the settee in the corner that was large enough for her to lie down while he?—

No . Not here. While the household was likely abed, Barrington would still be coming through to do his final rounds and lock all the doors for the night.

But that doesn’t mean this needs to end .

He encircled her waist and drew her against him, pressing a kiss to the spot he loved where her jawline met her ear. “ Come to my bed,” he murmured, for although it was late, they had hours left until daybreak. Hours to continue the pleasure, to keep pretending that nothing else existed.

She shivered against him, her voice coming out on a wavering breath. “ Yes .”

He kissed the spot again before pulling away, his cock already beginning to stir. He remembered to exhibit discretion in creeping across the room and into the corridor, and out of an abundance of caution, he didn’t bring them to the main staircase but to the servant’s stairs, which wouldn’t be in use at this time of night.

Beyond that, though, it was becoming increasingly difficult to move slowly. The fever had begun again. The escalating need. Darkness in the temple had made the sensations of touching her, tasting her, entering her so vivid that it was a wonder the pleasure of it hadn’t finished him then and there. However , this time, he wanted his sense of sight. He would light every candle and then learn every one of her curves. Watch her face as he licked between her thighs. As he plunged into her. Perhaps he’d bring her in front of the mirror before the night was through so she could watch, too.

Thank Christ , they’d made it up the stairs, for his arousal pushed achingly against his breeches. He stumbled toward his door like he’d consumed too much brandy, her footsteps unsteady beside his as they hurried down the corridor. They were almost there, just a few more steps.

And he’d be goddamned if he could wait another second. He spun her toward him, claiming her lips as he shifted her to rest against the wall. She gave the most delicious little cry, part surprise and part pleasure, opening her mouth to allow him entry. She tasted so sweet; her body felt so warm and pliant beneath his touch. He kissed her deeply, his fingers twining in the wet strands at her nape and trailing forward to the column of her throat. His mouth wandered, too. Across her cheekbone. To the edge of her jawline.

“ This time,” he said against her ear, letting his finger trace over her bodice until he felt the hardened point of her nipple beneath, “ I will go slowly. There is so much of you that warrants careful study, and I want my exploration to make you desperate.”

She made a sound, incoherent beyond the fact that it was full of need. He swallowed it up with another kiss, blindly fumbling with the door latch beside him. He felt rather than saw it give, shoving the door with his palm and then backing his weight into it so it swung open the rest of the way and they could stagger inside.

All without breaking the embrace. He had no intention of taking his mouth from hers until he had her laid across his bed. Only then would he turn his attention to removing each article of her clothing one by one, and after that, his mouth would have numerous other places to keep it occupied.

The first gasp barely reached his awareness. It was low and came from far away, almost like a figment of his imagination that held no significance because it had nothing to do with more and need and Phoebe . The next gasp, though, was impossible to ignore. This one arose from Phoebe herself as a startled rush of air against his mouth, and in the span of an instant, her body became stiff in his arms, struggling to break away.

He released his grasp on her at once, his eyes flying open.

Jesus . His breath, too, caught in his throat, the fire that consumed him turning to ice.

Lady Burville sat upon his bed, the flickering light of his bedside candelabrum illuminating a face gone pale and a mouth that gaped in horror.

He stiffened his spine. Made a brisk attempt at smoothing his crumpled shirt. But damn, what was the point? Lady Burville seemed a shrewd woman, and even the biggest simpleton could discern the meaning of the scene he’d created. Because I grew bloody careless .

He stepped forward, his limbs feeling brittle enough to crack. “ What are you doing here?”

Her mouth snapped closed, and she rose from his counterpane in a seamless motion, the filmy white hem of her dressing gown settling around her feet. The fabric was thin, nearing translucency, clinging tight to the contours of her body. Revealing she wore nothing underneath. Oh , God . Of all the times ?—

“ I had it on good authority,” she intoned, her voice tinged with steel, “that you were in want of companionship this evening. It seems, though, that you already found someone to fill the role.”

A pit opened in his stomach, his muscles tightening under the vise of fury. “ I can imagine who told you that,” he bit out. “ Regretfully , you’ve been misinformed.”

“ But you did want companionship. Just not mine.” Her dark eyes flared, her glower falling first in his direction and then in Phoebe’s , and he experienced an overbearing urge to step back to the door and shield Phoebe from the vitriol brought about by his recklessness. However , she stood as if made of stone, the grim set of her features a warning for him to keep away.

Lady Burville stalked toward him, stopping too close for comfort and pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “ I thought we had an understanding, my lord.”

“ We didn’t.” That was the most damnably infuriating part about all of this. “ Any understandings were between you and the dowager alone. To be clear, I’m aware of what she proposed. A new title and Rockliffe money for you. A respectable wife for me. That being said, I never agreed to any of it.”

His voice rose on the last bit, and he found himself looking at Phoebe . Silently willing her to believe him.

“ I see. I see a great many things more clearly now.” Lady Burville jabbed him in the sternum, forcing his attention back to her irate face. However , she wasn’t gazing at him anymore but to the side. To Phoebe . “ I did wonder at your incompetence as a governess, Miss Windham . But now, I understand you have other talents.”

“ Do not speak to her that way.” His words became louder again, and of the two weights pushing into his chest, it was difficult to say which would crush him first: anger or regret. “ Rage at me all you like, but do not?—”

“ Oh , good Lord !” A new voice cut through the air. An indignant rasp accompanied by the thump of a cane. He wanted nothing less than to lay eyes on the source, but his head betrayed him by turning anyway. Made him watch, motionless, as the dowager marchioness hobbled into the room, her gaze darting furiously among the three of them, all in various states of undress. She ground to a halt beside Lady Burville and stared up at him. Gave her cane another knock against the carpet. “ What in hell is the meaning of this?”

He didn’t take the time to feel horrified. His ire swelled and crested, fueled by the corrosive sting of betrayal. One that was all too familiar. “ Why don’t you tell me?” He spit out the words in a low hiss, his wrath on the verge of choking him. “ You’re the one who keeps bloody interfering. You’re the one who took the exact thing I said just hours ago not to do and did it regardless.”

“ Do not get carried away with presumptions.” Her mouth turned down, and although she tried to sound affronted, he didn’t miss the slight falter in the words. “ I may have suggested that you were alone and could use some … encouragement. I didn’t imply that it was to take place in your bedchamber without the benefit of suitable clothing. And I certainly didn’t realize that you were not, indeed, alone.”

For the first time in his memory, the dowager’s cheeks took on a hint of pink that he could nearly believe came from discomfiture. Under different circumstances, the realization may have given him a paltry sort of satisfaction. Instead , all he felt was coldness.

“ I don’t give a goddamn about the exact wording you used. You brought this about, nonetheless. You didn’t listen!” Perhaps he could have kept a more even head had he not had cause to shout such similar things in the past. Yet this was history repeating itself, and God , he was weary.

Three sets of eyes bore into him. One set icy and contemplative. One dark and furious.

And one, he couldn’t see but feel, the intensity of the gaze pricking the back of his neck. Hers was the one that mattered.

He turned toward the door slowly, a dull ache tearing through his chest. She stood with her chin held high, her hands clamped against her wet skirts, not giving the slightest waver. However , he could see the hint of desperation in her eyes. The tension upon her ashen face.

“ Phoebe …” His throat felt raw. What was he to say in a situation where no words would suffice? He could apologize for being a selfish blackguard and dragging her into this mess, but what would it change? He couldn’t take back how he’d placed her in a compromising position. Couldn’t do the honorable thing without condemning her to another miserable fate.

Suddenly , even his worthless apology vanished from the tip of his tongue, for something rustled in the corridor, and a wisp of black hair flashed in the doorway before swiftly disappearing.

His body jerked as if he’d suffered a blow, and another torrent of dread flooded his insides. Not this. Not now . Yet he knew what he’d seen. Couldn’t make it any less real than the other damnable things he wished hadn’t come to pass.

He cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t sound altogether ragged. “ Come in, Emmy .”

He half-expected to hear her footfalls racing away the instant he uttered her name. Instead , she stepped to the middle of the doorway, a thin, pale figure in her too-large night rail, her eyes giant saucers as she peered in at the chaos.

“ I … I couldn’t sleep.” She took another wary step forward, glancing at the floor as if it might detonate beneath her feet. He could no longer guarantee it wouldn’t. “ I heard arguing.”

He gave himself an instant to blink and indulge in a fleeting moment of oblivion. To swallow back the acridness coating his throat and attempt to make his expression mild and his words even. “ I’m afraid Grandmother and I don’t always see eye to eye. I apologize if our … disagreement woke you. It’s nothing you need trouble yourself over. All is well.”

The last part was the biggest lie he’d ever told her. However , even if everything else ignited around him, he needed to make her believe it. All in her world had to be well.

Although that was the problem, wasn’t it? In failing Phoebe Windham , he’d failed his daughter, too.

Emily folded her slender arms across her chest and tilted her chin to the side, giving him the look . This time, though, she didn’t reserve it for him alone but brought her sharp gaze over each of them. Phoebe , who rapidly tapped her foot, her features twisting like she, too, sought the proper thing to say but didn’t know where to find it. The dowager, who remained uncharacteristically silent. Lady Burville , whose face had only become flintier.

Emily had grown so quiet since the tragedy had befallen her, but he’d be a damn fool to underestimate her powers of observation. And eventually, instead of giving him the cut direct, she returned her observant stare to him, looking him square in the eye. “ Why is everyone in your bedchamber, then?”

Lady Burville stormed forward in a flurry of sheer white silk. “ Never mind that,” she snapped, her words bordering on shrill. “ Get back to bed.”

A growl rose in his throat. “ Do not presume to order her?—”

“ Indeed , Letitia , that’s where you should go as well.” The dowager’s cane slammed onto the carpet, the pinched line of her mouth sinking into a scowl. “ Your own bed.”

The lady paused only to deliver a last scathing glower. “ I’m going there directly, and I’ll be leaving this godforsaken house at first light. To hell with all of you.” And then, she rushed from the room, her indignant footfalls stomping down the corridor.

His head reeled, but Phoebe didn’t miss a beat. “ Let’s return to your bedchamber, Lady Emily .” She extricated herself from her position against the wall, coming forward to place a gentle hand upon Emily’s arm. “ My discussion with your papa has concluded, and I’d be happy to read aloud until you feel tired again.”

She spoke so mildly. Even managed a shadow of a smile. God , he didn’t deserve her. Didn’t want her to go until he could at least tell her that … that …

He had no bloody idea. Nothing he said would fix this. Nor could he place his daughter in the middle of his pitiable attempts.

Emily hesitated, shooting him another wary look. He didn’t have the right words for her, either. Doubted she would want to hear them even if he did.

In the end, she spun away before he could make an effort, giving Phoebe a brisk nod. “ Thank you, Miss Windham . I’d like that very much.” Her voice sounded thin, brittle. Yet she placed her hand in Phoebe’s and took off with a sudden burst of speed, making them both vanish in the span of a blink.

Wait . The imploration rose on his tongue, but he pushed it back. For now, it was better to let them go. Even if everything about the way things had ended felt wrong.

“ I’ll see what I can do to quell the gossip.” His mother’s words rang out behind him, her tone strangely lacking its usual sharp edge. Not that it grated any less. “ Lady Burville may be enticed to keep quiet if given suitable compensation.”

He clenched his teeth, pressing his lips tightly closed. Why dignify that with an answer? They could pay Lady Burville a small fortune, but it wouldn’t erase the damage already done.

Wood tapped against the carpet in a series of quiet thumps, and the dowager came around to face him, her weight shifting slightly so she leaned toward her cane. He wouldn’t say she looked contrite—that word didn’t exist in her vocabulary—but perhaps … subdued. Which was infuriating in how grossly it proved too little too late.

“ I won’t plead ignorance of your dalliance with the governess.” She pursed her lips, one of her silver brows giving an aggravating twitch. “ But you had to know it couldn’t last.”

A knife plunged into his gut, ripping open an old and festering wound. It couldn’t last . It never could where he was concerned. He had nothing to offer but disappointment and misery. The years of his marriage—the wife whose desperation to flee him in favor of someone whole had cost her her life—made that glaringly clear, and he’d be a fool to ever forget it.

That didn’t make the reminder cut any less deeply.

“ Get out,” he muttered, slumping against the wall and gazing blankly toward the doorway. Hardly a retort worthy of the dowager’s force, but weariness seeped through his bones, and he lacked the fight to offer anything more.

Something odd happened. His mother listened . After only a brief pause, the hem of her thick dressing gown rustled against the carpet, and her cane hit the floor in a series of slow, rhythmic taps, bringing her into the corridor.

“ Goodnight , Rockliffe . We’ll sort this in the morning.” Mercifully , they were the only words she uttered, although even that much proved more than he wanted to hear. He swung the door shut, stumbling to his bed with legs that felt leaden and dropping upon the counterpane.

Phoebe was supposed to be here, too. Lying beside him, beneath him, atop him as he reveled in her softness and warmth. But the counterpane beside him was cold and bare, containing none of her floral scent. Now , it never would.

He closed his eyes, remembering the sounds she made in the dark as he pleasured her. The feel of her intimate flesh beneath his fingers and tongue. Perhaps he was a selfish rogue—no, he was a selfish rogue—but he didn’t want to take any of it back. The way it had all come abruptly crashing down he of course longed to change, but the act itself? That , he wished he could repeat every night for the rest of his life.

As for the future—all the long, solitary days ahead—he found his wishes didn’t stop there. Visions flashed through his head, unbidden, of a dining table where the seat beside his was occupied. Of an arm resting in his as he strolled through the park. Of feminine laughter filling the corridors.

All because Phoebe was there, making the world brighter.

His eyes flew open, revealing nothing but his lonely, empty bed. Still , he wished. Wished things were different. Wished he were whole. Wished those visions could become a reality instead of slipping through his fingers.

But he’d learned a hard lesson many years ago. Wishing for something—even if you were the goddamn Marquess of Rockliffe —didn’t make it so.