In the Widow's Bed

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 m

aterial 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.

Reluctantly, Phoebe’s gaze skimmed over the occupants of the carriage. Jonathan sat across from her, relaxed and more handsome than any gentleman should be allowed. His gaze was already fixed on her, his lips curled into a warm smile. Despite the presence of his sister, Phoebe quaked in response to the wicked gleam in his eyes.

What had happened between them had tumbled her world into shambles. Her lover affected her with just a look, a touch, and a deviously worded invitation to make love to him. Oh, the things Jonathan Oliver did to her senses defied description. However would she bear the loss of such attention when the affair ended?

And it had to end. Warminster must never learn of her indiscretions with his best friend, although, her step-son was doing a fine job of damaging his own friendship with Jonathan by kissing Lizzy.

Beside her, Lizzy Oliver sat with a smug smile hovering on her lips.

Little minx.

The woman should be scandalized to have a friend debauched in her home, yet Lizzy seemed more than willing to return home with Phoebe to keep up the pretext that they had been together the whole time. Lizzy would have to know Phoebe had just made love to her brother. Neither of them had been able to restrain their enjoyment to make the encounters quiet ones. Half the servants would be whispering too. She just hoped that they might be inclined to keep their master’s secrets.

Again, her gaze fell on Jonathan as the carriage turned round the drive. But he sat stiffly now, jaw clenched tight.

Phoebe leaned forward and laid her hand on his knee. “What is it?”

“Warminster is on the front steps. Waiting.”

At Lizzy’s sharp gasp, Phoebe captured the other woman’s hand. “Please, Jonathan. Do not lose your head and challenge him. You must consider your sister’s reputation.”

Jonathan’s frown deepened. “That might be the only reason the bastard has legs left to prance about on his front lawn with.” Jonathan covered her clutching fingers under his broad palm and squeezed. “I’ll deal with him once this wretched house party is over. Never fear.”

When the carriage drew to a halt, Jonathan climbed out first. From where Phoebe sat, she could tell the two friends had locked gazes, but couldn’t tell who was winning the battle of wills. However, it was Warminster who glanced at the carriage first, noticing her presence and Lizzy beyond. Jonathan snorted and held out his hand to Phoebe.

As their palms connected, a tremor passed through her. This might be the only time they would touch for the next several hours. The thought of that distressed her. She liked Jonathan’s possessive hands on her skin. When her feet hit the gravel, she turned to wait for Lizzy.

The young woman came to her immediately, twining their arms together tight, ignoring Warminster completely. Her stepson took a step in their direction, but Jonathan stepped between. Considering it wise to take the source of tension far away from trouble, Phoebe pulled Lizzy with her. She clearly needed some help where Warminster was concerned.

Resolved to be a better friend, Phoebe led Lizzy into the house, passing Warminster so she stood between them. When they crossed the threshold, neither looked to see how he took the cut. The manor was quiet about them as she swiftly dragged Lizzy up the staircase and along to her room. Most of the guests must be elsewhere or resting up for the dinner and games tonight.

Once the door closed behind their backs, Lizzy expelled a harsh breath. “Pompous idiot. Did he intend to intimidate me?”

Phoebe leaned against the bedpost. “Lizzy, do you have any idea why Warminster is so keen to marry you off? It’s not like him to meddle outside his own family party.”

The other woman shrugged and moved to the window. “Perhaps he doesn’t like his advice to be ignored. I told him to mind his own business on the first day of the house party. He’s been hounding me ever since.”

That wasn’t like Warminster at all. Phoebe had the distinct feeling that she was missing an essential piece of information that would explain why their association had reached boiling point so quickly. But she couldn’t very well press the woman to share the confidence. Lizzy might expect Phoebe to be equally forthcoming about her liaison with her brother, and she wasn’t in any way sure how to classify that.

Phoebe moved to the window too. “Ah, the archery contest is over.” She peered at the raucous group approaching the house. Lagging behind the rest, a tall gentleman leading her way, Lady Jocelyn sauntered daintily across the lawn. Warminster and Jonathan strode out to meet them. From her vantage point, Phoebe had an unimpeded view of their tête-à-tête.

Lady Jocelyn flirted shamelessly, fluttering her fan to encourage the gentlemen. When Jonathan took a step back from the group, Phoebe let out her breath. She hoped that meant Jonathan was disinterested in Lady Jocelyn. She really hoped that was true.