Chapter Seven
James played with hellfire and disaster in courting Phoebe Landon. He knew it too. The girl was forbidden fruit, and yet, he couldn’t drag himself away. The intoxicating woman consumed him. Every thought. Every desire. Truly he couldn’t get her out of his head. They’d met for daily walks or rides every morning for the past week. He liked Phoebe. Her intelligence… her wit… In all, she fascinated him.
Today was no exception. He reclined in the clover-scented grass, chewing the end of a long blade, watching her paint, taking in every facet of her luminescent eyes and the golden sparkle of her hair.
“Do you know the story of the Heart of the Nile?” She asked suddenly, setting her brush down and turning somber eyes to him. “I scarcely remember what the necklace looked like, and after my brother, Patrick, was killed no one ever spoke of it.”
James rolled onto his side, reaching out to snag a loose curl wafting on the breeze. He smoothed the tress between his fingers. “Ah, yes, the famed Egyptian jewel,” he murmured, drawing on long suppressed memories of the dreaded relic. “It is believed that the necklace was a gift to Cleopatra from her lover Mark Antony.” Phoebe’s eyes lit with the romantic prospect. “Shortly after Antony left Cleopatra’s side, never to return, the necklace was stolen. It is said the Queen’s heartbreak and wrath cast a permanent curse over the jewel, and death is rumored to follow any who possess it.”
Phoebe’s sultry eyes fixed on his. “Do you believe such?”
“I believe a man makes his own destiny.” James had no desire to speak of the contemptuous gem or be reminded of the feud between their families, though it might be wise for him to heed some measure of history—Romeo and Juliette ended in disaster after all.
Drawn to Phoebe with ethereal force, James rose up on an elbow, dropping his palm to her shoulder. His thumb stroked the exposed flesh of her collarbone. She shivered in response, eyelids drooping to half-mast. The low burning desire in his gut flared to life. She was such a sensual creature. So responsive and warm. How could anyone in London have dubbed her an ice queen? He shifted closer, gaze dropping from Phoebe’s glittering pale eyes to the full curve of her lips. So pink… the sheerest shade of a spring time rose… He’d resisted the temptation to kiss her again since that day her horse had bolted. The restraint proved torture in the truest form, but he knew the reality that nothing more could come of their friendship. He could never marry her—even if their families would allow such a thing he had no plans for a wife, he would die bloody fighting the French before he had the chance.
Phoebe leaned in ever so slightly, the invitation to take her lips clear.
James could resist no longer, he’d been hard for her since the day on the beach. With a barely stifled groan, he slipped a palm around the back of her neck, claiming her lips in a hungry kiss. The days of restraint proved too much, and at the first taste of her mouth, he lost all self-control. Rising to his knees, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her greedily.
She responded in kind, tilting her chin to grant him better access, taking all of him. She matched every erotic stroke with one of her own, and wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in until her breasts crushed against his chest.
James groaned, curling one arm around her tiny waist and the other about her neck and shoulders. He lowered her into the lush bed of grass and clover. He settled over her, relishing the heat of her petite frame. She shivered beneath him, burying her fingers in the short locks of his hair, drawing him down for another deep kiss. James didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and he didn’t particularly care. Phoebe was perfect and responsive… everything he could imagine and more.
He dragged his lips along the graceful curve of her neck, tasting the milky perfection of her skin, breathing deep her scent. Lavender. She must bathe in the stuff, for every silken inch of her smelled deliciously of it. Mingled with the sweet perfume of baby grass, he was consumed by springtime and passion.
Instinct took over.
He worked his way down to the bow at the center of her modestly curved bodice. He pressed a soft kiss to the exposed flesh just above it, and expertly slid the gown sleeve off her shoulder, exposing the sheer fabric of her chemise. Eagerly he grazed a thumb across her camouflaged nipple. She moaned, trembling beneath him. James tensed. He could feel her everywhere. And not just her body… her heat touched him in far deeper places… his heart for one. It was an alien sensation. One he was unused to feeling. He kept a firm leash on his emotions, letting them loose for painfully few, and never for a woman. But Phoebe—his siren—rendered his every defense utterly useless. He hesitated for a moment, disconcerted. She wriggled her hips, restlessly against him. Any hint of panic fled on a fresh wave of lust, and James dropped a hand to her thigh, hauling the length of her skirts up.
“James!” Her eyes flew open as she jerked upright against him.
“Phoebe…” Lost in a haze, he pressed her back into the clover, kissing her collarbone, more than ready to tumble her right there in the heather.
“We should stop,” she mumbled breathlessly, tremulous hands pressed against his chest.
He stilled, dropping his face into her bared shoulder. Blood hammered in his ears and her clean, enticing scent inundated his senses, making intelligent thought impossible.
Stop?
Please, God, anything but that! James drew a deep breath and held it in, grappling for self-control.
Her hands dropped from his chest as she released a shaky breath.
Finally he drew back, looking into her face. Heaven help him… He shouldn’t have looked. He should have rolled to the side and showed her his back. The mere sight of her golden hair spilling over the grass, her skin passion flushed, her eyes hazy and lips swollen from his kisses nearly drove him over the edge. The overpowering need to possess her griped him hard. He never wanted her to gaze up at another man with those passion clouded eyes. She was his.
Panic quenched a bit of the desire coursing through him. James jerked off her and jumped to his feet, quickly distancing himself from Phoebe. It didn’t matter how far he removed himself, however, his awareness of her could span oceans. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “I should not have taken liberties.”
Silence followed by the frantic rustle of fabric was his only response.
James turned his head slightly. From the corner of his eye he spied Phoebe yanking the short sleeve of her gown back up. Crimson stained her cheeks and he’d swear a hint of disappointment dampened her expression. She clamored to her feet and he snapped his gaze back to the front, rocking on his heels.
“James,” she murmured tremulously.
He faced her once more, and gulped. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from touching her again. Lord knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to stop himself again.
“James, what is… is—” She shook her head, breaking the contact of their eyes. “I should go.” She dropped to her knees, quickly throwing her paint supplies into the wicker basket she carried them in. The latch rattled as she fastened.
James stood frozen in place, watching her, knowing he should say or do something to help, but unable to move for fear of… What exactly? Fear of her? Himself? The emotions raging through him?
He’d been with scores of women. Quick sport and nothing more. What he felt for Phoebe surpassed any measure of past lust. He and Phoebe were friends. True friends. He liked her, missed her when she left him each day, looked forward to when they’d meet again. Just yesterday he’d seen a painting of horses beside a stream and instantly wanted to tell her about it. What did it mean?
Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? Consorting with innocents? He never engaged in romantic entanglements—too messy and far too many female tears—much less with virgins of Phoebe Landon’s caliber. He steeled himself. Best to end things with Phoebe now.
“I will see you at the wedding tomorrow.”
James snapped from his thoughts. Phoebe stood before him, the basket clutched in her hands, golden tresses floating in sultry disarray around her head. He lifted a hand, fully intending to brush an errant strand behind her ear, but stopped short, dropping his arm back to his side. “Goodbye Phoebe.”
“Until tomorrow, you mean.”
“No, Phoebe,” he replied quietly, firmly. “This flirtation has gone far enough. Too far. It’s best we don’t see each other this way again.
Hurt and disappointment flashed in her lovely eyes. It gutted him, but really, it was for the best. He was no good for her. She tilted her chin and squared her shoulders, making solid—defiant—eye contact with him. “Very well then. Good day, Colonel. I wish you well.” Without another word, she spun and raced out of the grassy field.
* * *
James returned home restless and filled with thoughts of Phoebe. Her essence consumed him. Her smell, her laugh, the unique coloring of her hair and eyes. The devil take him, he could not banish the heat of her lush figure pressed against him as he’d lain overtop of her.
“Could I interest you in a drink, James?”
Dragged from the depths of his thought, James glanced up to find Judith standing seductively in the doorway to the family parlor, a decanter of brandy propped in one hand, an inviting smile on her lips. She wore her hair in a loose chignon with chunks of chestnut hair dripping down and a gown that revealed entirely too much bosom.
James groaned. “Not now, Judith.”
She pouted, sashaying forward, allowing one sleeve to slide off her shoulder. “But I worked so hard to find this for you. Your mother insists there are to be no spirits in the house while you’re in residence.”
“I’m aware.” The fact Judith wished to circumvent his mother’s wishes to reform him bothered James. Did no one believe him more than a philandering drunk?
“I thought we might share a drink and have a bit of fun.” Judith moved in on him, closing her palm around his bicep and leaning close.
He pushed her off. “I said, no, Judith.”
Her eyes hardened and narrowed to slits. She recoiled as though struck. “James, you reek of perfume!” She stuck her nose in the air presumably for another sniff. “Lavender. It smells expensive.” She speared him with an accusatory glare as though he’d somehow wronged her. “Have you been with another woman?”
James rolled his eyes. “How is that your concern?”
Red flared up Judith’s neck. She slammed the crystal decanter down on the end table. “Why do you brush me away, James? For years, I have watched you bed any harlot with legs to spread, but you shove me aside like a leper. Why?”
“Because you are my brother’s wife. I would never betray Tobias,” he said quietly. “Never.”
Anger crackled in Judith’s gaze. She scoffed. “Don’t pretend to have a code of honor now, James. I know you better.” She laughed bitterly. “All of Britain knows better. Your reputation precedes you.”
“You know nothing of honor or what I’ve done for my brother.” Old memories flared to life, further blackening James’s mood. He suddenly felt tired. Very, very tired. He wanted to go back to Phoebe, to the one person—other than his mother—who saw and expected more in him. “Take your brandy, find a stable boy to service you, and leave me in peace.”
Judith’s icy glare remained locked on him. “I—”
“Uncle Jamie!” Toby’s voice exploded from the front hall. “There is a soldier riding up. Come quick.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” James adopted the air of indifference he’d mastered over the years and brushed past Judith into the front hall. He spotted Toby instantly and smiled. Pure excitement brimmed from his nephew. “Come along, lad, take me to this soldier.”
“He’s in the drive, uncle.” Toby raced toward the front door. James followed at a more sedate pace. A dispatch rider carrying his orders no doubt. For the first time in his military career he felt conflicted about leaving.
He washed a palm over his jaw. Christ, he’d really gotten in over his head with Phoebe. He had no one but himself to blame for the folly.