In the Widow's Bed

“No, not when I found you. Did you attempt to hide in here from me?”

“Not at any time.” Jonathan’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t run in here to hide. I didn’t sleep in my bedchamber last night. Just like you apparently haven’t been doing for the duration of the party. If you had then you’d be the one finding Lady Jocelyn in his bed.”

“Then where did you sleep? Go on, this ought to be good.”

Jonathan’s gaze fell on Phoebe and she saw him swallow hard. At this point, it seemed Warminster was incapable of believing anything different unless they laid out the cold hard truth before him.

Phoebe nodded and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see Warminster’s disgust. She’d had enough of the man’s prickly disposition to last her a lifetime.

Jonathan crossed the room and set his hand to the small of Phoebe’s back. “I slept in Lady Warminster’s bed last night.”

Silence thickened around her, and she opened her eyes to see Warminster’s reaction to her scandalous behavior.

The smirk on Warminster’s face showed he didn’t believe Jonathan. Not one word of it at all. As she stared at her stepson, Phoebe accepted she might have no choice but to save Jonathan from his own fr

iend’s blindness. Phoebe rubbed a shaking hand across her brow, waiting for a miracle. When none came soon enough for her liking, she moved closer to her lover.

“Jonathan did sleep here all night, Warminster. And the night before that too.”

Her lover’s fingers curled over her hip and she took comfort in his steady presence. Her stepson turned to face her, disbelief clear in his expression. The knowledge he considered her so unappealing rattled her calm.

Incensed, Phoebe punched Warminster’s arm. “Oh, for Gods sake, must you be so entirely dense. What do you imagine Jonathan might be doing in my bed all night? It certainly wasn’t lace making.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“You must be joking.” Warminster laughed outright at the news Phoebe and Jonathan were lovers.

Apparently, Jonathan didn’t care for that reaction either. His arm tightened around Phoebe’s waist as he pulled her to his side. “No. You know me better than to imagine I’d lie about something like this. It is the truth,” he warned.

Nervously, Phoebe glanced up. His jaw was set in a stubborn line as he stared at his amused friend. She set her hands to his arms where they wrapped about her waist and pushed.

Despite her attempts, Jonathan wouldn’t release her. His breath beat against her cheek. “Let me fix this, my love.”

Across the room, Warminster wiped his eyes, still chuckling. He still didn’t believe them. Gradually, when neither of them joined in his merriment, Warminster appeared to absorb their words. His gaze flickered over Jonathan’s protective stance, her rumpled state, and then behind them. A sneer curled his lip as his arm gestured toward the neatly made bed. “Nice try.”

Jonathan set his head alongside Phoebe’s, snuggling her tighter against him and inhaled deep. “Is he always this dense?”

The blush that crossed her face must have lit the room at Jonathan’s open display of affection. Not even her late husband had behaved so casually before his son.

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.”