The Duchess and the Highwayman (Hearts in Hiding 1)

He touched her cheek then, unable to help himself, slid his hand down into her bodice. “You know I will do what is right by you, but also what is right by my sister,” he whispered as the mere feel of her, and her awareness of him, began to take possession. He chuckled when she shuddered slightly, in clear anticipation of what might come next. “Ah, but you do still like me, even if I’ve made you cross.”

To his surprise, she kissed him then, with a need for reassurance that instantly fired his senses.

In three backward steps, he had her against the sideboard, and she was making no attempt to stop him as he rucked her skirts up past her thighs. “You could not feign desire like this were you the most accomplished actress on Drury Lane.”

“No, I could not,” she acknowledged, slackening in his embrace as he played her like a violin and her breathing accelerated. “But we must not do this here for Mrs Withins could enter at any moment.”

“Not before I do, sweet Phoebe,” he quipped, quickly unbuttoning his trouser flap. God, he wanted her again. He’d never experienced the lust and need that fired him so unexpectedly whenever she was near. He was not the kind of man who rutted like a bull, or even had the desire to, like some of his compatriots. Nor was he one to take his fill with lightskirts either. No, he’d enjoyed women of his station with a roving eye who crossed his path from time to time but, as he’d told her, he’d never taken a mistress. Not when he was half on the lookout for a wife. He liked the idea of domesticity and children. He wanted a woman he could love and be proud of. One who loved him back.

“You are wicked, Mr Redding,” she gasped into his hair as he slid his hands under her bottom and hitched her up, so she had her back against the wall and her legs wrapped about his waist. “Making an innocent girl like me want to go to the devil for my sins.”

“Ah, not to the devil, Phoebe…but to Heaven and back.”

“What a honeyed tongue you have, Mr Redding.”

“All the better to know you with, my dear Phoebe,” he muttered, enjoying her surprised gasp as he drove into her.

“Not expecting that so soon, were you?”

“No…sir.”

She was wet and hot and smooth, and Hugh was almost ashamed by his lack of self-control were he not having such an astonishingly good time. Her soft little moans in his ear spurred him on as with each thrust his need ratcheted up.

“Quick, I hear Mrs Withins coming!” Phoebe’s horrified whisper drove him to the edge within a second, and then the door was thrust open, and Phoebe slid to the floor before they turned guiltily toward the housekeeper who was bearing down upon them like an avenging bull.

“Sir, yer sister’s jest bein’ admitted through the front door. I wanted ter warn ye now so’s ye could get this…piece out of ‘er way.” She raked Phoebe with narrowed eyes and curled lip.

“Where am I to go, sir? Downstairs?”

Guilt needled him. If he didn’t know better, she could pass for a lady except for the ghastly gown, another belonging to the wife of the miller which had been retrieved from an old trunk. Clearly, it was not even one that she wore any longer, for even he could see the fashion was years out of date. In the two weeks he and Phoebe had been sating themselves in one another’s arms, they’d barely left the house.

“Perhaps you should go into the village and find yourself something fitting to wear, Phoebe.” He tried to modulate his tone, hoping his words and actions would not inflame either Phoebe or Mrs Withins though he knew that was an impossible task. The housekeeper looked like a trussed-up turkey growing even more purple in the face as Phoebe looked smugly between them.

“How very kind, sir? So I might wear it to take tea with your sister?”

“No!” He’d not meant to sound so panicked. Phoebe clearly didn’t take kindly to his tone for, with a toss of her head, she picked up her thick, cumbersome skirts and swept to the door. “I shall go through the kitchen, and of course I must be quick if I’m to avoid embarrassing you, sir. However, I cannot do your bidding on thin air.”

Embarrassed, Hugh waved his hand dismissively toward the housekeeper. “That’ll be all, Mrs Withins. Please see my sister into the parlor. Phoebe, come with me now.”

He led her hurriedly down a short corridor to the room where the miller did his book work, closing the door behind him.

“How much do you want, Phoebe?”

When he glanced up, he was scorched by her fulminating look.

“I am not a…whore!” she hissed.

He blinked.

“Five minutes ago you were taking your pleasure, despite my protests that the timing could be better—”

“I did not force you, Phoebe. And you were more than ready for me.”

“And immediately you’d had your pleasure you banished me downstairs because I’m not good enough to see your sister, and then you ask me what payment I require.”

“You’re being too sensitive, Phoebe—”

She cut him off. “Half a crown will do for the moment to amuse me with bibs and bobs. I shall see what else I need in the way of suitable attire, and then you can arrange payment later.”