The Wrong Way to Catch a Rake, page 20
‘Yes, he does. I...care for him. I want him to be happy. Or content. Or something. I want him...’ Her breath cut her off before she could complete her thought and it didn’t matter because that was the truth. She wanted him. To be with him. It felt...so right. Not even knowing it would destroy so much of what she had so painstakingly built could change that conviction. But thoughts and actions were two utterly separate things.
She cleared her throat and continued. ‘I want him to have a good life. But I cannot give that to him any more than he can give that to me. Because what I have now is already good. And it is mine. I won’t give that up for what may very well be an infatuation. After all, everyone appears a little infatuated with him, so why not me? Perhaps in a year or so I shall think fondly of him but heave a sigh of relief that I was wise enough to walk away. I have done what you told me to—created memories to sustain me.’
‘There is a vast difference between creating memories and finding a man who you feel bonded to through your heart, Phoebe. You and he... I was there at your birth, love. I could not be closer to you even if you were my own child.’ Milly placed her hand on Phoebe’s, her voice shivering a little. ‘Please don’t lie to yourself, Phoebe. I am an expert on infatuations, but I have only ever loved one man in my life and I carry that knowledge with me always. If you choose to walk away, then admit what it is you are walking away from. Make that choice knowing that you are in love with him and that what you have with him is unique. If you hide from that, it will follow you around like an arrow in your back that you cannot reach.’
Phoebe didn’t answer. She couldn’t. It was true.
A ship sailed by, unfurling its topsails as it headed towards the open seas. She wished she could hail it and climb aboard. It didn’t matter where it was headed. As long as it was away from temptation.
‘It makes no odds,’ she managed at last. ‘Even if I was willing to throw away everything I have built, why would I risk it all for a liar? Because that is the only thing I am certain is true about him—that he lies about who he is and what he does. I don’t even know him, Milly. For all I know he may be doing to me what I have done to von Haas, only a thousand times more successfully. He might be Luzzatti’s puppet or just a common thief. Whatever he is hiding, he is hiding. He asked me to marry him, to tie my future to his, without any attempt to explain or justify his actions. I am merely to trust him like a dumb, blind little mouse because he asks me to and smiles at me and... The more I think of it the more infuriating and disrespectful and outrageous it is.’
‘I admit it does sound rather bad when you put it that way. Still...’
‘Still?’ Phoebe prompted, almost hoping that Milly might magically find a way out of this fog without her either losing her heart or herself. But Milly merely shrugged.
‘No, you are quite right. If it was someone like Rupert, then it might have been possible to keep to our work without giving the fellow up, but Dominic... No, I cannot see it. He is too clever to hide our activities from indefinitely and...well, whatever he is up to, chances are it won’t mix well with being an agent of the Crown. You would have to choose.’
Phoebe let those words settle. That was the core choice: Dominic—whoever and whatever he was—or the life she had created. The person she had fought to become. The only person she knew how to be.
She drew a deep breath, hoping that something, anything, would come to her rescue. But in the end it was simple. She could not have both.
‘I earned who I am, Milly. I will not give it up. I cannot. He likes me, I know that. It isn’t merely the...the passion, but there is something between us that makes us both...comfortable. Not just with each other, but with ourselves. I think that is why he is willing to wed someone so utterly outside his sphere. When we are together I can see him so much more clearly than when he is with other people. It is like putting on spectacles when my eyes are tired and those smudgy lines gather into words. I don’t know why he is like that with me, but he is. I think... It is absurd in a way, but... I think he feels safe with me.’
‘And so he should.’
‘No, he should not. He does not trust me with his truth and I do not trust him with mine. We could never go forward like that. And I didn’t even mention that his best friend is Lord Sherbourne.’
Milly straightened. ‘What? Good lord. How did I miss that?’
‘He doesn’t precisely advertise the fact, but they are even more than friends; Lord Sherbourne appears to be something of a big-brother figure to him.’
‘Of all the awful luck. Oswald might be able to take advantage of you being a duchess, but I doubt he would appreciate you marrying the best friend of the director of the Foreign Office’s spies. Does Dominic know what Lord Sherbourne’s occupation really is?’
‘I doubt it, but it is even worse than that. Lord Sherbourne saw me.’
‘Saw you? When? Where?’
‘Six years ago. In Oswald’s private office in London. After we returned from Hamburg. It was only for a moment, in passing, but he looked right at me. His kind don’t forget faces, even faces like mine.’
‘No, but there’s no reason why he would think you were one of Oswald’s agents, is there?’
‘Would Oswald meet a nondescript young woman in his private office? And then the same woman is introduced to him as Dominic’s fiancée? You must see this is an impossible situation. The whole idea is so preposterous that I can’t imagine why I even have to raise objections to it.’
‘I can. Because you don’t want to lose either of your selves. Not the Phoebe you worked so hard to create, nor the Phoebe you discovered with Dominic.’
Phoebe let out a long, shaky sigh. That was it, she supposed. ‘No, I don’t. But, as you said, I must choose none the less. It is as simple as that.’
As painful as that.
‘We’re done here, Milly. I shall play his game for the duration of this week and then break this so-called engagement. It is time to move on.’
She tipped back her parasol and raised her face to the caressing sun. Perhaps if she just kept going, walked right over it, this ache would fade as most everything else did in life. She hoped it would, because right now it was wrenching at her like a tiger’s paw shoved through her chest, talons sharp into her thudding heart. But the pain could not change reality, or the choice she had to make.
A week with Dominic and then she must leave.
In all the nights she’d lain awake over the years, worrying and planning for the morrow, Phoebe had never imagined her downfall would come at the all-too-gentle hands of a handsome, seductive, lying heir to a dukedom.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It took Phoebe two days to realise that being openly engaged to the most desired and reviled man in Venice for a week was her worst idea ever.
Every moment spent with her new betrothed was pressing a knife deeper into her heart, an organ which should have been sufficiently dried up to offer greater resistance, but was proving as mushy as overcooked peas.
If she had an ounce of sense or self-preservation, she’d bundle Milly into a boat and leave Venice right away.
It didn’t help in the least that she was now famous.
The same way a five-legged goat or a flying pig might be famous. The same element of fascinated disbelief appeared in people’s eyes whenever she and Dominic were together, which Dominic ensured was often.
She told herself it was important she be seen with him so that she could find the right time and opportunity to jilt him in a convincing manner. Apparently her ability to lie was now extending to herself. It wasn’t merely that Dominic wasn’t giving her any reason to do so, but also that she wasn’t even looking.
Yet despite her growing confusion and misery, she was also happier than she’d ever been. Which was confusing in itself.
So she did her best to justify her madness. What was a week in the grand scheme of things? She’d earned this time, hadn’t she? A week of living the fantasy life of a younger, prettier, simpler woman. A normal woman with normal pursuits and wishes and plans who was being wooed by the handsome son of a duke. A charming, clever, lying, scheming...
She pushed those thoughts away and fixed her attention on the concert Dominic had brought her to this afternoon at Chiesa San Toppoli, where a young man was now singing Handel’s Ombra mai fu.
She glanced at Dominic’s profile, wondering if he too remembered that long-ago day at the Gioconda. Probably not. For her it had been the day she’d taken her first steps down this path, but for him it had likely been just another day of pulling the wool over the world’s eyes for reasons she still could not fathom. She’d tried to trick him into revealing his secrets, but he’d sidestepped all her attempts or offered that most infuriating palliative of all: Trust me.
She trusted him as much as she trusted herself. Which at the moment meant not one smidgen.
Yet here she was, seated beside him on the hard wooden pews, her hand tucked in his and his thigh pressed against hers in a manner that would have drawn strict condemnation from Mrs Banister had she been present, which, happily, she wasn’t. The daytime crowd in the small church was mostly local Venetians who weren’t in the least scandalised by physical proximity, and soon Phoebe relaxed into the pure pleasure of the music and being so close to the bane of her existence.
Because, in the end, Dominic made her happy. And often more than happy. Sometimes even ecstatic. A state of mind and body she had not realised was possible. All he had to do was smile at her and her insides lit like one of the electrical mechanisms Pietro had described that fateful day in Campo San Polo.
‘I stand by my earlier claim about love songs,’ he murmured to her under the cacophony as the audience applauded the end of the concert. ‘That must have been one hell of a tree. Did you like it?’
‘It was beautifully sung. Thank you.’
‘I thought we should commemorate the first day you deigned to speak to me. Or down at me.’
Phoebe laughed, absurdly pleased he had remembered. And there it was—that damned inner flurry of bliss, for all the world as if she was seventeen. And there, too, was the knife in her heart.
‘You had me well fooled, Dominic. It was a masterly performance.’
His hand stiffened in hers and he sighed. ‘It wasn’t all a performance. I adored teasing you. It is like... One day I’ll take you swimming on the other side of the lido. There are these big, swelling waves there. Sometimes you have to dive under them before they give you a good thrashing, and sometimes they just...pick you up. It’s an amazing feeling.’
‘What on earth has that to do with you lying?’
He shook his head and drew her to her feet. ‘It has to do with you. That’s how I felt when I tangled with your alternately sharp and soft tongue, sweetheart. Even ducking to avoid a thrashing was exhilarating. And when you went soft and worried it was like being picked up by those swells... I can’t describe it. I’ll take you there so you can see for yourself. But none of that was a performance.’
Phoebe didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Damn the man. Damn him. This was why she shouldn’t press for answers—every time she did, he just pulled her in deeper.
He bent closer as they moved aside to allow the boisterous Venetians to exit first, his voice lowering further and further as he spoke until it was a subterranean rumble. ‘You’ll love it. The water is still warm from the summer, like liquid silk, and it wraps around you and picks you up... Or we’ll go after dark when the waves are calmer, somewhere no one can see us. I’ll strip you naked and hold you against me in the warm waves. Can you feel it? Your body pressed to mine, your legs hooked about me as the waves wash around us, my hands cupping your beautiful behind while I kiss you into oblivion...’
‘Dominic!’ she scolded as a trickle of perspiration ran down her back. Could she feel it? She was aching with it, her breasts already heavy and tight, her stomach a chaotic knot of lust.
Luckily he fell silent, but his hand was tight around hers and she could feel the tension thrumming through him as well.
‘Let’s go somewhere...private. My Venetian side draws the line at carrying through a seduction in a church.’
There was nothing she wanted more at the moment than to be carried through this seduction, but their engagement had had one unforeseen effect. She could no longer move about unobserved. It was one thing attending a church concert with her betrothed. It was another going with him to the di Benedetti palazzo to spend an afternoon of sin. Or to a lonely beach to spend a night of delight.
Milly had made those rules very clear to both of them.
He gave a sudden harsh sigh, as if she’d spoken aloud. ‘Very well, I’ll behave. I know that look.’
‘What look?’
‘Like you’ve found the perfect bridge.’
‘What?’ she asked, confused.
‘From which to push me off.’
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘I have. The bridge of sighs. Through the window.’
‘Ow. I hope you open it first. I would hate to damage the local art.’
‘Yourself or the window?’
‘Now, that is thoroughly mean, Rosie mine.’
‘You’d be feeling mean, too, if you had people staring at you all the time...’ He raised a brow and she corrected course, adding, ‘In a critical... Oh, you know what I mean!’
‘I do, and I’m sorry people are such idiots, but my God-like powers don’t extend to correcting the mistakes of creation. This nonsense will die down if we ignore it. I won’t even tell Milly she looks delightful for a future mama-in-law.’
Phoebe laughed despite herself. ‘I dare you.’
Dominic smiled down at her. ‘That’s better. And speaking of honorary in-laws, Marcus, who is the closest thing I have to a real family, is due in Venice shortly, which is excellent because I want you to meet him.’
‘You want me to meet him?’ She couldn’t keep the alarm out of her voice.
‘Of course I want you to meet him. He’s my Milly. Don’t look so terrified. He has a damned soft heart underneath that gladiator’s exterior.’
‘When...when is he arriving?’
‘He and his wife are probably with his mother’s family in Ravenna at the moment, but he should be here any day now.’
Oh, hell.
Hell, hell, hell. The last thing Marcus Endicott, Earl of Sherbourne, would feel when he met her was adoration. The universe could not have concocted a better jest than if it had been penned by the most mischievous of Greek playwrights. She followed Dominic in a half-daze, trying to consider her options, but there weren’t any. Sherbourne’s imminent arrival didn’t truly change anything, it merely moved the inevitable closer.
It was time for this Zephyr to waft away once more.
She started in surprise when just before they passed through the arched wooden doors that opened onto the square Dominic propelled her into a small room, shutting the door behind them.
‘Dominic...?’
‘Just one more moment before we have to rejoin the world, Phoebe.’ He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. ‘You look so worried. Don’t be. Marcus will adore you. He likes people with twisty minds as much as I do. And he likes people who seem to like me. You do still like me, don’t you, Phoebe?’
She wished she could lie, but her skills failed her when her body and mind colluded against her.
‘Of course I like you, Dominic. You know I do...’
Before she could think, she found herself picked up and planted on the simple wooden table set against the stone wall with Dominic’s arm around her waist, his face buried in her hair, and his mouth warm against the sensitive skin of her neck. Her body, already teetering, shuddered with delight, and relief, and anticipation.
‘I thought you said something about your Venetian side and churches...’ she murmured, arcing her head to give him better access. Her time with him had slipped from days to mere hours and she did not wish to waste one moment of it.
‘So I did, but then I remembered what you said about reading Fanny Hill in the basilica,’ he whispered as his hands moved over her hips and waist to brush lightly against her breasts. ‘No better place for the stark naked truth. And there is nothing as pure as this, is there?’ His palm brushed over her breast, the fabric of her dress rubbing over her sensitised nipple. She moaned, her hands fisting in his coat, her legs clenching together against the need he unleashed. He pressed them apart, grasping her hips and pulling her against him, his erection hard and hot even through their clothes. What would it be like in the sea? With nothing between them but the warm water of the Mediterranean...?
‘Nothing as pure as this,’ he said again, his voice a harsh growl as his mouth closed on hers, nipping her lower lip gently and drawing another moan from her.
Pure, maybe, but there was nothing gentle about his kiss this time. It was ravenous, his mouth and tongue plundering and taking, giving her no time to think and barely to breathe. This was another part of Dominic, fierce, demanding, taking what he wanted...
She loved it. Loved being pulled along in the tide of his passion as it fed hers. Stark, naked lust. She wanted him to push her fully over the cliff of his desire, to spread her out on this plain wooden table and take her to heaven.
‘God, Phoebe, I want you so damned much.’ He spoke the words against her mouth, his voice as raw as she felt. She gave a cry and kissed him back, her fingers digging into his hair, its silk slipping between her fingers. She loved feeling him, tasting him, losing herself in him. She loved him.
‘Why can’t you marry me today, Phoebe? Right here. I’ll go find a damned priest.’
His urgent words sliced her right down the middle.
One side cried out: Yes. Today. Now. Before I can think.
But the other side knew better. Their time had already run out.
