Chapter 23

23

W hen Nicholas returned to his bedchamber, nothing awaited him but the rumpled counterpane upon his bed and two sheets of paper, covered with rows of sloping handwriting, folded upon his desk. Evidence of Phoebe’s presence, although she was nowhere to be seen.

He ignored the supper tray sitting on his bedside table, racing back into the corridor and bounding up the stairs two at a time until he arrived on the floor above. A space that had become enveloped in silence.

Taking care to keep his footfalls quiet, he peeked into Emily’s room, where the candles had been extinguished but her sleeping form remained visible. A slender lump beneath the covers with the enormous cat dozing beside her, its paws stretched out and its belly up in the air. That was a relief, at least. His daughter had returned home, contented enough to settle early for the night. But no Phoebe .

He quickly retreated from the doorway, his head beginning to hum. Surely , she wouldn’t have grown so anxious that she left, without a word, to take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t go alone, not without anyone—without him —to help her when she was clearly still reeling from shock.

But then, he saw it. The flicker of light emerging from beneath the door to the other side of the schoolroom. Phoebe’s room.

He crossed the corridor, dropping a few light taps upon the door. No response. He tried again, and at the continued stillness, he eased it open, his chest immediately tugging at the sight.

Phoebe was here, asleep. Not restfully like Emily , but rather as if she’d collapsed across her counterpane in exhaustion and hadn’t gotten back up. Her hair remained partially in its pins, and while she’d changed into her nightclothes, she’d neglected to remove her dressing gown, leaving the garment to become tangled around her sprawled-out limbs.

He inched forward, studying her face in the light of the candelabrum she’d left burning on the bedside table. Even in sleep, her features remained tight with worry, and her cheeks were unusually pale.

“ Phoebe .” He murmured her name, allowing himself to sink to the edge of the bed beside her. He placed a hand atop her shoulder—a soft, bare patch of skin where her dressing gown had slid down—and gave her a gentle nudge. On one hand, it felt like doing wrong, for God knew she could use the rest after what she’d been through. But on the other, she looked so unsettled, so restless, and he wanted to take those burdens and make them go away.

It was alarming how much her troubles felt like his troubles. How he had an overwhelming urge to tear apart the world until everything became right for her again. He knew— Christ , did he know—the incomparable pain of having one’s child stolen away, of thinking his daughter may be forever lost. He’d be damned if he let Phoebe live with that agony.

He curled his fingers lightly against her skin, and with the subtle motion, her eyes flew open, her expression glazed and uncertain. Until suddenly, she sucked in a sharp breath, bolting upright onto her elbows.

“ I can’t believe I fell asleep.” She gave her head a terse shake, sitting up straighter and pushing back the errant clumps of hair that had come loose and clung to her face. “ I was supposed to be up waiting, to be doing more?—”

“ There’s no shame in it.” He met her fingers as they ran over her crown, stilling her hand with his. Tracing back to her cheek and tucking another strand behind her ear. “ You had a shock. Don’t begrudge yourself a few moments of rest. I only woke you because I knew you’d be eager for news. I’m riding to London at first light. There’s someone I plan to meet, a trusted, longtime employee who’s known for his discretion and efficiency.” Someone who, technically, was a former employee, but with any luck, he could be bought back for the right price.

“ It will provide a good start, at any rate,” he continued. “ If need be, I’ll hire a detective. Procure additional men to travel north and take up the search. Through whatever means, we will locate her.” He found himself leaning toward Phoebe , a lightning-like surge coursing through him as his hands went down to clasp her shoulders. In this matter, he wasn’t so different from the dowager: he refused to accept an outcome that didn’t agree with the one he wanted.

“ Thank you. I cannot begin to say how grateful I am for the assistance; I …” She let out a long breath, her body loosening beneath his grasp. Her voice quieting. “ Thank you.”

As if there were any world in which he wouldn’t help her.

For just a moment, he lowered his head, letting his lips brush against her temple. Her hair hung in disarray, not yet rid of all the dust from the field. And even so, she smelled faintly of wildflowers, sweet and fragrant and beautiful. “ You should try to get some more rest now,” he said. “ I plan to leave a note for Emily in her bedchamber, if you could ensure that she gets it in the morning. But I shan’t be gone long. A day, two at most, and we can determine where to go from there.”

She nodded, and at that, he pulled away, raising himself off the bed. Away from her warmth. “ Goodnight , Phoebe .” He uttered the farewell without looking back at her. Because there were too many things left unsaid between them, too much temptation to hold her in his arms and simply be with her, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted by any of it. She was depending on him; as such, this wasn’t a moment for thinking but doing, and he needed to leave. He would write Emily’s note, go to the stables to ensure Merlin was prepared for the early morning journey, return to his bedchamber to check that his small valise was packed as requested?—

“ Wait .” Her breathy call came just as he turned to the doorway, making his boots halt against the floorboards. Making each item on his ordered list of what came next disintegrate and his body pivot back toward the bed. Toward her.

“ Don’t go yet. I cannot sleep again right now; I don’t want to be alone. Please …” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Released it with a quiet entreaty. “ Stay .”

Just like that, he was atop the counterpane once more. Sitting beside her on the edge of the bed with a feeling in his chest that proved frightening in its intensity. She was right there, his to reach out and embrace, caress. Yet before he could move another muscle, she shifted closer to him, her spine growing straighter, her expression intent.

“ My lord, our conversation in your study ended far too abruptly, and there’s something I need to say to you.” She folded her hands upon her lap. Squeezed her eyes shut a moment, and when she reopened them, her blue-gray-green gaze shimmered, penetrating him with its raptness. “ What you told me about the hunting accident. About Emily . It doesn’t make you any less of a marquess, or of a father to the daughter you clearly love beyond measure.” Her hands flew up, and suddenly, she was the one embracing him, squeezing tight to his shoulders. “ You were never broken. Not to me.”

“ Phoebe .” Her name came out cracked, guttural. She could say he wasn’t, but with her words, something deep within him constricted and then smashed, each piece jagged and aching.

“ I don’t say this to placate you. I don’t mean it as a passing fancy that will fade with time and disillusionment.” She paused, her chest quivering as she took in a long breath. “ After what happened in Suffolk … I do not want to get with child again. The surgeon who came to see me afterward said it may no longer be possible, that I’d risk experiencing similar complications again even if it were. So , if that is the standard by which you judge a person deficient, then I suppose I’m broken, too.”

“ No .” He cut her off before she could say another thing, his throat growing thick. He hated hearing those ugly words about her, even if they came from her own mouth. Phoebe wasn’t deficient. She was strong, determined, compassionate, passionate … She was everything good, everything in the world that made him hope, and he needed to make her understand. “ I’ve never wanted you any way other than exactly as you are. That hasn’t changed. That will not change.”

“ Nothing has changed for me, either.” She tilted her chin upward. Drew her face closer as years of his pent-up self-loathing scraped between his ribs and tore free, leaving behind an odd sense of buoyancy. A momentary flash of a future where maybe he wasn’t alone.

And then, her mouth fell upon his, the gentle press of her lips stealing the last of his reservations and enveloping him with a sense of rightness. He returned the kiss in kind. Not roughly and desperately, like in their previous encounters, but lightly, taking the time to truly absorb each sensation, to savor every motion. She tasted like the sweetness of summer. The salt of tears. She was soft, warm, and exquisite, and he cupped the back of her neck, wanting every last facet of her.

How long they remained with their lips joined, continuing their careful exploration, he didn’t know. He recognized only that with each passing second, something was building within him, raw and powerful. A feeling akin to the lust that had become his frequent companion where she was concerned, but also so much more than that.

This was something startling. Something that made him vulnerable.

And even so, he didn’t shy away from it. When she arched against his palm, making their lips draw apart, he didn’t jump from the bed and bring the encounter to a swift end.

Instead , he stayed with her. Watched as she brought her fingers to his cravat, working to free the series of knots. As she took the loosened scrap of linen and cast it to the floor, then dragged her hand down the front of his waistcoat.

“ My lord, I want …”

He pressed a finger to her lips. Dragged it along her cheek and into her hair, where he located one of the confining pins. “ It’s Nicholas .” He tugged the pin at the same moment he uttered his name—the name he so seldom heard, an intimacy he permitted few others—causing the thick lock to tumble down her back. “ You should call me Nicholas .”

“ Nicholas .” She whispered it back to him, slipping his buttons loose while he worked to release more pins, until his waistcoat gaped open and her hair hung around her like a shiny brown curtain.

“ Phoebe ,” he returned in a rasp, letting her push his coat and waistcoat down his arms so all that remained was his shirt. Letting her take hold of that, too, and begin nudging it upward, and he finished the task, pulling it over his head.

Then , it was his turn to tend to her. He leaned in, shifting the shoulder of her dressing gown to expose the same patch of skin he’d seen when he happened upon her sleeping. He brought his lips to it, leaving a trail of kisses as his fingers unfastened her belt, and the dressing gown also came open, sliding down her body with his faint pull.

For a moment, he simply drank in the sight of her clad in nothing but her shift, noticing all the details there’d been no time or place to think of earlier. The way the tops of her breasts, as pale and smooth as cream, sloped above the neckline. The way the thin fabric clung to her body, revealing shadows that hinted at the beauty beneath.

A low sound emerged from his throat as he reached for his boots, and without looking away from her, he pulled them from his feet and sent them tumbling to the floor. As he worked, she drew her legs onto the bed, shuffling to the side to allow him room. Lowering herself until her head hit the pillow, her hair fanning out behind her.

He pulled his legs up as well, his breeches growing uncomfortably tight against his growing arousal. Her bed was far smaller than the one that stood in the marquess’s chamber, but it proved big enough. The perfect size for him to lie alongside her and kiss her again. First , her lips. Then , her ear. Her jawline. Her neck.

She ran her fingers down his bare abdomen, skirting along the waist of his breeches in a way that caused need to surge in his veins. “ Will you extinguish the candles?” she asked.

“ No .” He took hold of the ribbon securing her shift, and when she made no objection, he pulled it loose, watching the garment slacken. “ This time, sweet, I’m going to look at you. I want you to look at me.”

Her reply came in the form of a quivering exhale, and he placed his hands upon her thighs, gently easing them apart. Making just enough room that he could kneel between them and gaze at her from above. He took hold of the shift, easing it down with the same care, just until it rested below the curve of her breasts, revealing the two perfect globes. The deep pink nipples.

He wanted them in his mouth, to feel each bud grow taut from his ministrations, to hear her cry out in pleasure. At the same time, though, this felt like too significant a moment to be rushed. Finally , he was getting to see her. To have her all for his own, without interruptions. His to savor, to explore, to know .

And so, he took his time, resuming his kisses where he’d left off at her neck. Working across the length of her collarbone. Finding the place where her heartbeat echoed up to his lips. Traveling down to the valley between her breasts, her skin smooth and sweet. Only when he’d given sufficient attention to each flawless curve did he take her nipple into his mouth, suckling the rosy point. Rediscovering the taste of her, learning which motions of his tongue made her breath catch.

He licked and stroked, one side and then the other, and when her hips began writhing against the mattress, he grasped her shift again, sliding it lower until it hung slackly upon her hips. Then , he lay down in the space between her thighs, turning his cheek to rest lightly against the soft surface of her abdomen. His lips followed, creating a path that led to her navel. That veered to the side and halted where faint silver marks decorated her skin. Evidence of the life she’d once carried inside her.

“ My l-lord,” she stammered. “ That is, Nicholas , I …” Her head rose from the pillow, and her hands went to her belly, splaying wide like a shield.

“ You’re so beautiful.” He entwined her fingers with his, guiding them back to rest atop the counterpane. “ So beautiful.”

He kissed the top of one of the marks. The middle. The end. Watching as the hesitation melted from her features and she dropped to the pillow once more. With his palm still pressed to hers, he kissed every wavy silver line that told the story of her past.

Just as his hands told the story of his. Each jagged scar a damnable symbol of how he’d been battered and cut down, how his life had changed. A fact he’d spent so long bemoaning. But in the end, he’d lived to rise above it, hadn’t he?

Like Phoebe , he was marked, forever altered, but not broken. Not broken .

He eased her hips off the mattress so he could pull her shift the rest of the way down and cast it to the side. Then , he brought his mouth to the same thighs he’d explored in the dark, only this time, candlelight illuminated the pale skin beneath his lips. Illuminated the patch of curls between her legs, and the way her mouth fell open, releasing a sigh, when he at last brought his tongue there, licking down her seam. She was wet and hot and utterly alluring, and he drank her in, tracing over every fold. Finding the bundle of nerves that made her cry out, circling it until her nails dug into the back of his hand, and her eyes screwed shut.

“ Watch ,” he murmured, letting his breath float over her sensitive flesh. Keeping his lips just above her until her eyelids fluttered open, her pupils bright with longing. When their gazes locked, he took hold of her legs and coaxed them to bend, nudging them even farther apart. Leaving every intimate surface of her bared to him.

She gave her hips a tiny thrust, fisting her hands in his hair. “ Nicholas , I need?—”

He answered by returning his tongue to her clitoris, the sound of his name on her lips like kindling to his own burning desire. He licked and caressed and sucked, observing each twitch that crossed her features as her body grew taut and quivering. Witnessed the moment when she bit down on her lip and abruptly released it with a moan, her muscles pulsing from her release.

He kissed her one more time—a lingering caress to sear the essence of her into his brain—before rising back to his knees and reaching for his fall.

And , just as he’d instructed, she watched. Her eyes widened, followed him as he slipped the buttons loose. As he shoved the breeches from his hips and freed his rigid cock. He placed a hand to each side of her head and stretched out above her, and suddenly, it was no longer just her eyes upon him but her fingers, the careful stroke down his arousal enough to tear a groan from his throat.

Her fingers curled, sending more shockwaves to his nerves as she guided him to her entrance. Her hips moved upward. His moved down. And with that, he was deep inside her, buried in tight, welcoming heat.

He said something. Her name, maybe, or words of praise for how damn good this felt. How right it felt. Frankly , he was having trouble forming a coherent thought. Everything had been reduced to sensation, need, and a deep pull in the vicinity of his heart.

Again , the fire in his veins caused his body to burn, making it demand more , now , quickly . And again, he held the urgency at bay, sinking into her with long, steady thrusts. Committing every detail of her to memory. All too soon, other responsibilities would beckon, and the day’s struggles would come hurtling back. For as long as this moment lasted, though, it contained nothing but the two of them.

He heard himself utter more words. Good girl. Beautiful . Sweet . Felt the weight of her legs as they wrapped around him, saw her chest rise and fall as her breaths grew heavier. He stared into stormy ocean eyes, the yearning that coursed through him building like a tempest of its own. Building in her, too, if the soft sighs she emitted were any indication.

He raised a hand from the bed and slid it between their joined bodies, finding the center of her pleasure. Circling it with his forefinger. Allowing himself, just one time, to plunge into her faster, deeper.

Except one time wasn’t enough. Already , her body was tightening, her hips moving more frantically, and all of a sudden, everything he’d held back inundated him at once. He allowed the feverish pace to take over, his need restrained only by a thread that seemed perilously close to snapping.

“ Phoebe .” He called out to her, a heated sound of both reverence and desperation. A sound accompanied by her cry as she shattered around him, her intimate muscles clenching him tight. He gave one more thrust, and release hit him, hard, his body thrumming with unraveled desire as he spilled his seed deep inside her.

Bracing his weight on his forearms, he dropped his chest to hers and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Waited until his heart rate slowed, his breaths were no longer so ragged, and he could find the strength to withdraw from her and collapse to the side.

Even then, a strange sensation tugged at his chest long after the pleasure-filled waves faded away. It had never been like this with anyone before: a need that went beyond physical pleasure. A desire for closeness. A feeling like he never wanted to let her go.

He held tight to her on the narrow bed, drawing her to her side so her back reclined against his chest. He’d stay just a little longer, until he was certain she could rest again.

“ Try to sleep, sweet.” He stroked her hair. Her shoulders. Traced patterns along the places he’d kissed on her abdomen.

It took a long time, but eventually, her breathing became even, and when he shifted up onto his elbow so he could steal a glance at her face, her eyes were closed.

The odd sensation within him grew, squeezing like a vise against his heart. He inched away, untangling his body from hers with painstaking slowness, careful not to disturb what was no doubt her fragile state of rest.

“ I’ll return soon,” he said under his breath, far too quietly for the words to reach her awareness. He supposed he must have uttered them as a reassurance to himself.

Because he would get Phoebe the answers she sought.

He would see her happy.

And then …

Maybe he’d dare to think that he’d have her in his arms, his bed—his heart—again, and that happiness would include him and Emily , too.