“I have nowhere to go, Mr Redding. Certainly not while Mr Wentworth is on his murderous rampage.” Phoebe took a sip of the wine which a mutinous Mrs Withins had been prevailed upon to serve Phoebe at the dinner table. “But this afternoon, I’ve come upon a plan.”

“I imagine you’d always have a plan, Phoebe. And another plan in case the first one failed.” Mr Redding raised one eyebrow, but Phoebe could see he was intrigued. Intrigued by her or intrigued by her potential plan? Preferably both. Phoebe needed some security to know he was not going to suddenly evict her or, if he chose to take a more gentlemanly approach, deposit her in the village she professed to come from.

“Pray, do not keep me in suspense.”

“I know things about Mr Wentworth that my mistress told me and which I believe the magistrate—no, the government—would be interested to know about.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

The truth was, Phoebe had been dismayed by her lack of knowledge regarding anything along these lines, though she’d trawled through her memory in case Wentworth had mentioned anything that might constitute felony.

Mr Redding needn’t know this though. He just needed to think she knew enough to be useful, so he’d keep her safe until she’d somehow come upon a solution to her terrible conundrum as to where she could possibly go when she had no money and only one dress.

When Phoebe glanced up, however, she saw though that his look was not nearly as interested as before. He snorted.

“You don’t know anything, do you?” Shaking his head, he topped up her glass. “Ah well, I’m a philosophic man by nature, so I’ll just have to try and console myself with the fact that it’s not a wasted evening to enjoy dinner with a woman as easy on the eye as you are, my dear.” He sent her a rueful look. “I think I must be soft in the head to let you talk me into giving you such latitude. Mrs Withins asked me before you entered… ‘Where will it end, sir?’.” He shrugged and sent her a piercing look across the table. “Where will it end, Phoebe?”

His voice had dropped. The light was fading outside, and the candle in the center of the table sent long shadows dancing on the wall.

Phoebe finished her second glass of wine and noticed with a surge of appreciation how well he looked in evening clothes. His snowy stock was pristine. He’d shaved, and the smoothness of his skin was suddenly intriguing. She had a ridiculous urge to feel the soft linen of his stock drift across the back of her hand before she twined her fingers up through his hair and caressed the smooth skin of his newly-shaven jaw.

Goodness, he was a handsome man. His eyes were somewhere between green and brown, though in some lights she would describe them as…tawny. She’d never seen eyes like his. His light brown hair was fashionably styled; angular sideburns followed the line of his sharply-delineated cheekbones. When he was amused, he had one dimple that popped out, but when he was angry, his mouth was set in a hard, uncompromising line.

Now, however, the rhetorical question clearly both perplexed and amused him.

Phoebe pushed back her chair and slowly stood up. The wine had emboldened her, and she had a position to maintain. In this man’s eyes, she was for all intents and purposes a doxy; and one who’d failed to give him any return on his money, at that. The money he’d spent on a fine dress which she hoped would come in useful for effecting her escape some day.

She took a couple of steps toward him, and her calculated thoughts were entirely a separate matter to the heat that swept through her core. She needed this man, it was true. Thank God she wanted him, too.

“Where will it all end, Mr Redding?” Her voice was low and husky as she stood behind him, lowering her head so that her breathy tone ruffled the curls behind his ears.

She noticed how he tensed, thrilled that her ploy really did seem to put his nerve endings on notice.

Gently she laid a hand on his shoulder, and slid her other down his waistcoat, lingering on his breast before snaking down toward his groin.

He startled, but beyond that was still. Phoebe was in charge.

In charge and charged with lust. She didn’t believe she’d wielded such power. Certainly not with Ulrick. She doubted with Wentworth, even in the early days.

But this man had been attracted to her from the start. She’d seen it in the first interested flare during their heated exchange in the woods when her face had been smeared with mud.

Well, that was only a few of days ago, but the tension had been building up between them ever since and now Phoebe knew exactly what she wanted.

And what she needed.

“You have ordered me a very beautiful gown, sir, for which I am truly grateful.” Gently she nipped his ear. “But I do not barter anything unless my interest is piqued.”

“Your interest is piqued, now, Phoebe?” He sounded strangled. “I’m glad to hear it. I’d all but given up hope.”

“Either this fine Rhenish has gone to my head, or perhaps we’ve been leading toward this moment from the start.” She slid her body around as she spoke, and sat on his lap, twining her arms behind his neck as she offered an impish grin. Oh, she was in charge and how mightily she was enjoying it.

“I like to think it is the latter.”

She closed her eyes as she gently ground her bottom over his growing erection. They would make love, and she would feel safe and enjoy it. The anticipation of what the next few minutes…night…might bring was singing through her veins. Her brain throbbed with excitement, and the heat and moisture between her legs made her lightheaded.

Kissing his ear while he gently ran his hands over her, she acknowledged that she desired this man deeply and sincerely.

She felt his thighs tense and heard his slight exhalation as she pressed her lips to Adam’s apple.

Tipping her head and tightening his arms around her, he kissed her long and hard, and excitement fueled her body to fever pitch. She’d never felt like this before.

Yet she had to remain in charge. She could not be the weak vessel, the slave she’d been to Wentworth.

Mr Redding’s hand was on her knee now, beneath her skirts, and climbing higher. She’d given him license at last, and he was succumbing to the ecstasy of the moment. She could see it in the lust-fueled glaze of his eye and his smile as he touched her.

Her own excitement was growing, but to remain in charge, she needed distance.

Within seconds, she realized distance was not going to be possible. She was as swept away as he by this moment of mutual desire when she had surely everything to gain by abandonment.

With one practiced hand, Phoebe unbuttoned his trouser flap while she continued to kiss him, then slid her hand into the opening.

“Oh God!” he gasped, jerking as he was taken by surprise, cupping her chin, but ever so gently. Not like Wentworth, though dear Lord this was no time to make comparisons. Not when the men were as different as chalk and cheese, and the reasons for her behaving no better than a whore purely life preserving.

No, that wasn’t true. The only time she’d offered her body up to a man’s like a whore was when she’d married Ulrick. She’d felt nothing for him. At least with Wentworth in the early days, she’d been listening to her heart.

Rising swiftly and pulling up her skirt, she quickly straddled him, aware that even without stimulation she was highly lubricated as she impaled herself on his straining member.

“Wait, Phoebe!” His voice came through a wall of sensation, for the feel of him inside her was more exciting than she could have believed possible.

“I want this as much as you do,” she gasped, for he was about to withdraw and, like the real lover, bring her to climax first, but she needed him inside her more.

Phoebe tightened her knees around him. She had less than two weeks to get with child. It was only a matter of time before the murdering Lady Cavanaugh of Blinley Manor was located and brought before the courts, and justice in this country was harsh and summary. Her noble position in such an instance would carry no weight. Not when she was branded by everyone as a whore with the motive to murder her husband. Only if she carried supposedly noble cargo was there any possibility of a reprieve. Justice was swift in these times. No wonder so many women in prisons sought the offices of the turnkey, or whatever willing man was available to get them with child so they could plead the belly and postpone the noose. Justice did not serve women in her situation kindly. This was her most hopeful solution.

Did it make her a whore? She was desperate, yes, and she’d been trying for a child for five years. Wasn’t this the first time she was truly answering the wild beating of her heart?

Grinding her hips against his, she felt his objection die as he was overpowered by his own lust and her determination to see this thing through.

He was large and deep within her, and his breath felt soft and sweet on her cheek, for all he was gasping like a man in the throes of the greatest ecstasy.

Then, to her astonishment, something deep within her began to happen. The very first time Wentworth had seduced her he’d done things to her that had made her feel this way. Never since. And never without direct stimulation.

Each delve and thrust of this man before her—her lover, she hoped, for the next two weeks—sparked something exquisite and tantalizing in the depths of her core; something that grew in tandem with his own excitement.

So when he plunged into her for one final thrust, his gasp of pleasure was echoed by her own as she came in his arms, shuddering at the impact of this unexpected encounter with the first man she thought might be worthy of her affection.

“By God, Phoebe,” he gasped, “you are extraordinary.”

She sagged against him and tightened her arms about his neck. She didn’t want to let him go and was afraid of meeting his eye for the first time.

They were lovers now. What would the future bring?

* * *

Yes, they were lovers, each day reinforcing their desire and need for each other. They did not speak of Wentworth or the murder, vengeance or the future, as one week turned into two, and their quiet cottage became an idyll from the outside world. Despite the fact she could see the lights of Blinley Manor far in the distance, Phoebe felt safer than she’d ever felt.

Hugh was a kind and caring protector who seemed as reluctant as she to leave this strange, honeymoon world they’d created.

But of course, change had to come. Although Phoebe knew the end of the lease of the miller’s home was approaching, Hugh had insinuated he would take her to London with him. As Phoebe had only once been to London and was unfamiliar with the fashionable set, she’d accepted now that she would never become the lady she once was.

Nor did it matter, for what were fine clothes and servants if the price was being bound to a man who did not care for her, or worse?

As Hugh’s mistress, she had an affection and freedom she’d never had as Lady Cavanaugh.

But of course, her happiness could not last forever.