In the Widow’s Bed Read online

  Phoebe glanced up, lips colliding with the rough stubble of Jonathan’s jaw. “Yes. I’m afraid so. Do you believe we need to go so far as to complete the act before his eyes so he might pay attention?”

  The warmth and desire in Jonathan’s gaze set her heart to tumbling down a long well of pent up dreams. He made her experience sensations she had no right to expect at her age. But then again, Jonathan had always made her want. She accepted the quick press of lips to her temple and attempted not to blush harder.

  “I hope not,” he whispered, seduction in his tone, the hard ridge of his erection pressing impatiently into her bottom again. “The man can find his own amusements. And apparently has. Something we will need to discuss soon.”

  When Jonathan snuggled Phoebe into his arms so they both faced Warminster as a couple, she could swear her stepson’s eyes would fall from his head. “Dear god. Are you mad? She’s old!”

  Phoebe dropped her gaze to the floor, embarrassed by Warminster’s accurate assessment of Jonathan’s state of mind. He should want a young woman in his arms, not someone past her prime. He shouldn’t desire someone so much older than himself. Feeling the chill of discomfort cover her skin, Phoebe rubbed her arms briskly.

  Behind her back, Jonathan tensed. “I would suggest you watch your words, Warminster. Any cut you deliver to Phoebe is a direct cut to me. I will not stand by and listen to you disparage her.”

  Warminster must have believed Jonathan because her stepson took a pace away from them. Phoebe glanced up in time to see Warminster shove his fingers through his hair, disturbing the elaborate pale curls in a way he usually wouldn’t dare. But his reaction to this affair was very telling. Everyone would be scandalized.

  Hoping the worst was over, Phoebe squared her shoulders. “The situation between Jonathan and myself is irrelevant to anything but Lady Jocelyn’s accusation. If it becomes necessary, I will speak up on Jonathan’s behalf against the girl.”

  The connecting door flew open again as Lizzy stormed through. “I should say so. The whole house knows of her behavior by the way.” She skirted Warminster as if avoiding a deadly cobra and stopped before her. “Good morning. What an abominable mess.”

  Lizzy pressed a kiss to her cheek and turned on Warminster. “Go. Go deal with Clifford properly, Warminster. She’s making a bloody spectacle of herself.”

  Warminster blinked. “Get the hell away from those pair. Do you realize what they’ve gone and done?”

  Lizzy glanced down at her fingers, appearing disinterested in Warminster’s violent protest. “Of course. I’m not as foolish as some people I could name. Oh, dash it all. I’ve broken a nail.”

  Whatever discomfort Lizzy had experienced yesterday had apparently passed. She seemed more than capable of handling Warminster now. Phoebe had never had a champion before. The novelty was quite singular.

  Warminster growled and grasped at her arm. “Come away.”

  With a quick blur of movement, Lizzy had Warminster flat on his back, gasping in pain from the hard fall to the timber floor. She stood over him, arms tensed for a fight. “I told you not to touch me again, you scoundrel. I don’t need your hands on me, and I certainly don’t need to listen to the stupidity you sprout. Go and deal with Clifford before she makes it impossible to show her face again. Oh, and just so you know, I’m perfectly happy with this arrangement. Jonathan has loved her forever. You’re blind not to have known.”

  Phoebe gasped in shock at Lizzy’s blunt pronouncement of Jonathan’s feelings. He couldn’t love her. She was far too old for that.

  Behind her, Jonathan tensed and his hold tightened marginally.

  Warminster crawled to his feet, groaning. “Should have remembered you were fond of that trick,” he muttered, hands held out before him to ward off Lizzy should she try again. He glanced at them again, a frown creasing his face. “Told you to watch over her—not seduce her, Selwood.” With a shrug, Warminster ended the discussion, turned on his heel, and stalked from the room.

  “Well thank goodness the pretty boy has gone. We have a lot to do today,” Lizzy said. “Jonathan, kindly release Phoebe so we may prepare to go into town. I’m looking forward to escaping Moreton Hall for some fun with my friend. Thank heavens this is the last day to suffer through this gabbling crowd.”

  Jonathan’s head dropped to Phoebe’s shoulder. “Nothing kills a man’s passions like the arrival of family. I should get dressed.”

  Phoebe glanced up at the disappointment in his tone. Like her, he really did appear to enjoy the physical aspects of their affair. A pity tonight would be the last night of such close and constant loving. She set her hand to his jaw. “Probably for the best. There will be enough babble among the guests to make them wonder at your absence. You’d best go clear the air about last night.”

  “I certainly will.” Jonathan dropped his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. Warmth, lured by the expectation of further pleasure, bubbled up inside Phoebe, desperate for fulfillment.

  Reluctantly, she moved her head away. “Good luck with the hunt.”

  His smile deepened then he strode out of her bedchamber without another word.

  Unfortunately for Phoebe, she missed him as soon as she couldn’t see him. And given that their early morning tryst had been interrupted, he’d walked away unfulfilled. She’d have to make it up to him tonight. The thought of surprising him brought a smile to her lips.

  Lizzy cleared her throat. “Really, I see you love and adore him, but could you possibly wait till I’m gone before you smile like that again,” Lizzy urged. “I might love you, and the idea of you and my brother, but I’d rather have no inkling of what you plan to do with him when you’re alone again.” Lizzy wrinkled her nose and crossed to the wardrobe.

  Oh dear. Did Lizzy imagine their affair a grand love match between equals? But the only thing equal would be the depths of their passion. Jonathan quite easily stole her ability to behave as a respectable widow should. However, with yet another person aware of her scandalous liaison with a gentleman ten years her junior, Phoebe couldn’t really claim any respectability.

  Jonathan couldn’t love a woman who’d fallen so far from grace as she had this past week, never mind that he’d taken her there himself. At her age, she should have acted with some semblance of intelligence. How foolish to blindly accept a lover into her bed.

  Feeling the heavy weight of the world settle on her shoulders, Phoebe dressed. She chose a dark silk, simple, modest and fitting for a woman of her elevated years. Although Lizzy bounded by her side during their shopping expedition, the heavy weight of future scandal depressed her spirits.

  “I say Phoebe, are you at all listening to me?”

  “Sorry, Lizzy, my mind is elsewhere this morning,” Phoebe murmured as she held up a long length of deep green ribbon against Lizzy’s hair. “How about this one?”

  Lizzy shuddered. “No thank you. I believe Warminster has a suit of clothes in that exact same shade.”

  “Warminster has more clothes than most ladies,” Phoebe replied briskly. “It’s impossible not to match him in some way.”

  “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. How is it that you can stand him? The man is so incredibly stupid. I mean, just consider the idiots he invited for this party. I’ve not heard a sensible word from one of them all week.”

  “Lizzy,” Phoebe began carefully. Should she set the girl straight about Warminster’s other, secret activities? Lizzy could be incensed to find out that Warminster had hidden his true nature behind that of a fop all her life. But hadn’t this foolishness gone on long enough? Given everything that had happened recently, Phoebe didn’t have a choice. It was simply too dangerous for Lizzy to goad a man so capable of killing her if he was incensed enough and lost his head. “Not everyone behaves honestly at these affairs. Warminster doesn’t believe half the notions he prattles on about. It’s a well staged act.”

  “An act?” Lizzy returned the green ribbon to the pile and scowled.

>   “Yes, a performance. Like a masquerade or a farce. You’ve been to a play where the characters look one way but act another. You should not always believe what you see at first glance. Especially with Warminster.”

  Lizzy’s fingers curled into the pile of ribbons and she methodically straightened them. She didn’t raise her head and didn’t speak so Phoebe continued to browse, thinking Lizzy hadn’t paid attention. Besides, she had to consider her future beyond tomorrow. After Warminster’s guests depart, she should cut all ties to Jonathan and do her best to forget that she’d ever been so indiscreet as to take her stepson’s friend as her lover. Perhaps she should move to another of Warminster’s properties, a distant one to keep temptation at bay. Warminster should like to have her out from under his nose, once and for all.

  Yes, that sounded like a grand plan.

  But she would also be leaving Lizzy behind. That thought truly saddened her. She had grown used to Lizzy’s friendship, her coltish ways as she moved about. How sad to think that she might never see her again. Or be here to witness her marry someone special. And the young woman deserved happiness with a man that would adore her.

  All of a sudden, Lizzy’s head snapped up. Her eyes widened and then her lips curled into a smile so unlike her usual expression. Alarmed, Phoebe returned to her side and clasped Lizzy’s hot fingers.

  When Lizzy’s smile fell upon her, Phoebe wondered perhaps if the young woman had grown mad. The calculating expression on her features frightened. Lizzy patted her hand. “Warminster has played his last game.”

  “Lizzy?” Phoebe tugged on her fingers, trying to separate herself from her friend. She didn’t like that expression, didn’t like the way her eyes had lit up with glee.

  Lizzy laughed, chuckling in her usual fashion. “Oh, Phoebe, I’m going to make that ridiculous popinjay regret ever pulling the wool over my eyes. And I’m going to have a damn fine time doing it. Let’s return to Moreton Hall. We both have a gentleman to torture.”

  Lizzy threw whatever she’d been looking at to the shelf and spun on her heel. When Phoebe couldn’t see her anymore, she quickly paid for her items and hurried outside. Her friend had already settled into the carriage, fingers drumming against her knee impatiently.

  “Lizzy,” Phoebe whispered. “You are not going to expose Warminster are you? Believe me, despite the foolish charm, he’s not a man to cross.”

  Lizzy folded her arms under her breasts. “Oh, I know that. Now. Thanks to you. But the bounder does need to be taken down a peg or two. Trust me; I’ll be content to see him get his comeuppance in privacy.”

  Despite Lizzy’s threat against her stepson, Phoebe thoughts turned inward. It would be beyond embarrassing if word of her affair with Jonathan leaked beyond her control. So when Moreton Hall came into view, she steeled herself to betray nothing but calm. Yet guests lingered about the vestibule, buzzing like bees around honey. Were they there because of Lady Jocelyn’s behavior or had they learned that he had seduced a younger man?

  Phoebe wasn’t sure, but when Lady Clifford spotted her, the scowl that crossed her face made her quake. As the whispers grew to a dull roar, she tried to ignore the sense of panic. Thankfully, Lizzy captured her arm in a tight grip and guided her up the stairs before she could blurt out something incriminating.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “What on earth were you thinking?” Warminster chided, as they stalked through the long grass after their fallen quarry.

  “I had a clear shot at it.” Jonathan bent to pick up their prize. The poor bird was a bit battered and bloodied since both men had shot it at once, but the important thing was that he had fired first. Not bad for a civilian against a spy.

  Jonathan handed the bird off to the waiting servant.

  “That will be all for today,” Warminster told the man as he handed over his rifle and gestured for Jonathan to do the same. Reluctantly, Jonathan parted with his weapon. A faint stir of disquiet thrummed though him at the conversation to come. He’d been waiting all morning.

  Warminster turned and scowled. “Lord and Lady Clifford plan to leave this morning. But I cannot guarantee they won’t blacken your name over this.”

  Jonathan grunted. “They can try. He didn’t particularly care about the conniving little chit. He only cared for Warminster’s reaction to him and Phoebe. Could they remain friends?

  “She still claims she shared your bed last night.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “Couldn’t have, I’ve been too busy seducing your stepmother.”

  “About that.” Warminster toed a tuft of grass. “I am surprised at you.”

  The midday sun beat down on his head as he considered how to answer. “I love her. I’ve loved her since I first laid eyes on her. Remember, you used to tease me that I’d turn into her lapdog if she snapped her fingers.”

  “You were young, and she my new mother.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “My admiration hasn’t dimmed as I’ve gotten older. When you warned me of her plans that first night at the ball, I decided to act before she changed her mind.”

  Warminster scratched his hand through his hair. “Still can’t believe she’d do it—seduce her son’s best friend.”

  “Actually, it was the other way round.” Jonathan grinned. “Perhaps I’ve been around you too long, but the lady didn’t realize I spent the night in her bed. I loved her in darkness, using my best French to do it too.”

  Warminster’s mouth fell open. After perhaps a minute, he snapped it closed. “Yes, I remembered you saying that the ladies loved that once. And when she discovered the truth?”

  “I got the reaction I expected.”

  Warminster winced. But sympathy wasn’t required. After the initial shock had worn off, he’d gotten Phoebe in his arms again and again since then. But he needed to clear the way to keep her there.

  “I want to marry her, Warminster. I want your blessing.”

  His friend appeared shocked. “An affair is one thing, but marriage? What if she is incapable of providing you with an heir? My father never came close to siring one with her.”

  “I was not terribly surprised that she didn’t conceive.” Jonathan tilted his head to one side, considering his friend. Warminster fidgeted. “I figured it out, why all the paintings of your father disappeared into the attic. You don’t take after him at all, do you?”

  Warminster’s jaw clenched tight. After a very long moment he turned his head to stare at his friend. “No.”

  Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t get your hackles up. It’s quite common. But I do remember the painting from the morning room where we used to meet so often. He was about your age in that if I remember correctly.”

  Warminster let out a deep sigh. “Should have known you’d notice. But will you treat my stepmother any better than he did if she doesn’t reproduce?”

  Annoyed that Warminster thought him so shallow, Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest. “I have accepted the possibility, but I love her enough that it simply doesn’t matter. Your own mother, through design or accident, found a way to produce the needed heir, but not a second son. Phoebe had more morals than to cuckold her husband to do it. I admire her highly for resisting the temptation to please the bastard.”

  “Lady Warminster is unusually high minded.”

  Jonathan let his arms drop. “Was that a compliment?”

  Warminster picked at some grass seeds stuck to his sleeve. “I’ve never said I hated the woman. Just didn’t care for her snooping about.” Warminster sighed. “Besides, it’s better that the world at large thinks us at odds. Far safer for her given my line of occupation.”

  “She’ll be safe with me.”

  “Well, one less to worry over.” Warminster glanced up at the cloudy sky. “She fooled me. The Clifford chit fooled me. Damn it, I’m slipping.”

  For a man in the spy trade that could be a very bad thing to believe. Warminster relied upon his instincts to survive. Cautiously, so as not to startle, Jonathan set his hand t
o Warminster’s shoulder and squeezed. “Perhaps you should consider a change of career, my friend?”

  Another sigh rattled out of Warminster’s chest and Jonathan dropped his arm. “I must admit, the thrill of the chase has lost its allure somewhat of late. The most fun I’ve had this last year is when you joined me in Paris.”

  Unlike Warminster, Jonathan remembered those few days with horror. They’d been hiding from their pursuers in every low place imaginable. Desperate, hungry beyond words, and without a single credential to prove them English should they be intercepted by either French or English forces. After that nightmare assignment, Jonathan had declined further involvement. “You need a partner.”

  “A partner?” Warminster’s frown deepened as he gazed off into the distance. He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned to meet Jonathan’s gaze. “Perhaps. I’ll consider it. The trouble will be convincing the right one.”

  “I’m sure you can be persuasive. I take it you have someone in mind?”

  “Yes, perhaps I do.” A sudden grin broke over Warminster’s face, a smile reminiscent of simpler times. “Come. We should return to the hall and clean up. We have guests to entertain.”

  Since all was settled between them for Jonathan to propose to Phoebe, the trek to Moreton Hall was conducted in friendly silence. Once Warminster had disappeared from sight, Jonathan wandered to his bedchamber door, opened it, and slipped inside. Empty.

  Thank god.

  Wearily, Jonathan rang the bell. After trekking through the woods all day he was ripe enough to repel even himself. But he wanted everything to be perfect for tonight when he proposed. Fantasies and fears for the future brought alternate smiles and frowns to his face over the course of his bath.

  They would be happy together. He was determined to put her first before all other concerns, yet there was still a very real fear in him that Phoebe would reject him in favor of maintaining her respectability. He hoped he’d done a good enough job of making her last rule inconvenient to her.