To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

The tumult gradually faded. Relaxed beneath the arm he’d flung across her waist, Phoebe suddenly giggled. Eyes bright, she turned her head and looked at him. “That was…” She raised a hand, or tried to, then let it fall back to the bed. “Wonderful! Remarkable. Just don’t ask me to move any time soon.”

He snorted. “We’ll just lie here for an hour or two, until I figure out which way is up.”

She laughed, apparently delighted by the weakness she’d caused. The sound washed over him, a wonderful note that sank to his bones, evocative and intensely satisfying—just as satisfying, he decided, as the breathy little cry she always uttered when she climaxed.

After a moment, he struggled up on one elbow. He looked at her face, drank in her blissful expression. Debated, but he had to know. “What happened then?”

Lifting the lids she’d allowed to fall, she regarded him through the shadows, then sighed; her expression changed as she looked into the past.

“I ran all the way back to my room. I summoned Skinner and she came. She stayed with me. Later, when Marion looked in to ask where I’d got to, I told her I’d had a headache. Skinner and I discussed it—at the time, there was nothing I could do. If I’d made any protest…in those circles, in the circumstances, some wouldn’t have believed me—they’d have whispered that I was making such claims to make myself interesting—while others would have known I spoke the truth but wouldn’t have wanted to know. And above all else, there was the embarrassment, not just for myself but for Marion, too, and our hostess, who’d been nothing but kind.”

“Other than inviting a gentleman to her house who she must have known preyed on young ladies.”

Phoebe considered the naïve innocent she’d once been. “Indeed. Other than that.”

A moment passed, then Deverell asked, “Who was he?”

She looked at him, met his eyes, and decided against telling him he didn’t need to know. He didn’t, but not because he didn’t have the right to ask, especially not after what had just passed between them. “He…I took my revenge on him a few years later, once I’d learned how it could be done.”

He frowned. “How?”

“I learned he’d married for money and was dependent on his wife’s family, and therefore her support. I’d spent more time with Edith by then, and I’d learned how gossip works in the ton.” She held his gaze. “His wife didn’t know—she had no idea, but from all I could see she was the only one who didn’t have some inkling. I started a rumor—very easy when people credit Edith with knowing everything there is to know and assume I’m in her confidence. It was a simple matter to say I’d heard from someone else…his wife heard it from any number of sources and started watching her husband. Within days, she had proof the rumors were true. Ever since, she’s kept him a virtual prisoner in the country. She holds his purse strings, and given what she learned, she keeps a very tight grip on them.”

She paused, then added, “In the end, I hit him where it hurt him the most—in his pride. He’s something of a laughingstock now, for everyone knows why he’s confined to his estate. And of course his wife never holds house parties.”

Deverell studied her eyes, then nodded. “Remind me never to get on your wrong side.” The gentleman he’d met at the ball hadn’t been all that far wrong. Deadly—approach at your peril.

She chuckled and closed her eyes. “But now I’ve told you all my secrets, I want to know one of yours.”

He blinked, considered. “I don’t think I have any secrets—none that you might want to know.”

“Ah, but you do.” She opened her eyes and found his. “Tell me—why is it that with you, no matter what you do, no matter how…how forceful you are, how dominant, how frightening, how revulsed and panicked I would feel were it any other man but you doing the things you do to me—” She paused, then holding his gaze simply said, “Why is it that with you, the same things are so enjoyable?”

He looked into her eyes, shadowed in the dark, for a long moment, then bent his head and brushed her lips with his. “Because all the others are wrong—and I’m not. Because”—he touched his lips to hers, breathed over the delicate curves—“I’m the right man for you.”

She asked no more questions. After a long, lingering, gentle kiss, they undressed in the dark, let their clothes fall where they would, then climbed under the covers and found sleep in each other’s arms.

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Sitting at the agency’s kitchen table beside Deverell, the accounts spread before them, Phoebe stared at Emmeline.

“Disappeared.” Emmeline nodded grimly from the mouth of the corridor. “J

ust like that other one, only this time the girl knew we were coming for her tonight—so why would she run last night?”

Deverell glanced toward the front of the shop. “Is that the housekeeper?”

“Yes. Mrs. Stanley. She’s the one helped organize our rescue. She’s embarassed, but”—Emmeline shrugged—“it’s hardly her fault.”

Deverell glanced at Phoebe, then looked at Emmeline. “Ask Mrs. Stanley to step in here. Let’s see if we can’t shed some light on what happened.”

Ushered to the kitchen by Emmeline, Mrs. Stanley nervously clutched her tapestry bag. Seeing Deverell and Phoebe, her eyes grew round; she quickly bobbed, regarding them with unbounded amazement. When Deverell politely invited her to sit, she looked uncertain.

“Oh, go on—they won’t bite.” Emmeline nudged her into a chair. “Just answer their questions and let’s see what we can work out.”

Mrs. Stanley perched on the edge of the chair and swallowed. “She—Lizette—was looking forward to getting away tomorrow with the agency. I swear I can’t make head nor tail of why she vanished last night—she’s not a silly girl, not Lizette.”

“Vanished?” Deverell kept his expression encouraging, as unthreatening as possible.

“Yes—one minute she was heading upstairs, and this morning she was nowhere to be found.”