It had not been a good idea to kiss Phoebe the way he had. Nor should he have plopped her in front of him on the ride back to her townhouse. His idea to walk and have her ride his horse would have worked out much better. With her lovely, soft bottom pressed against his groin, he could think of nothing other than how much he wanted her.

What had started out as mild interest, then had turned into a warm friendship, now bordered on lust for the woman. The kiss had only convinced him even more that he desired her in more ways than one. Her warm body pressed up against his chest kept his body alert and eager to ravish her.

Because of the injured horse, they could only walk the animals from the park, which gave him plenty of time to imagine ways he could strip Phoebe of her clothes and kiss every inch of her luscious body. He’d wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her steady, and now his hand was itching to edge up and cup her generous breast. For which he would receive a well-deserved slap in the face.

He sighed and began to count the horses in his stables at St. Albans Estate. Anything to distract him from the lovely woman resting against the part of his body he wanted so badly to slide into her moist warmth.

“Will you be attending the Livingstons’ musicale this evening?” Phoebe’s breathless words—most likely her attempt to ignore how snuggled together they sat after that searing kiss—had him thinking she was as affected by him as he was by her.

“No. Tonight is The Duchess’s dinner party for Lady Brenda and her parents.”

“Oh.” Five minutes of silence followed.

Well, then. It appeared Phoebe had lost her talent for polite conversation, given their kiss and the position they were now in. He grimaced as she shifted. ’Twas better to go back to counting his horses.

* * *

Morgan rose from his chair as the butler, Davis, stepped into the drawing room and announced the arrival of Lord and Lady Stevenson and their daughter, Lady Brenda.

His usually unsociable mother stepped forward with a bright smile on her face and her arms extended. “How lovely of you to join us tonight for dinner.”

She and Lady Stevenson air-kissed each other’s cheeks. “It is our honor, Your Grace.” Lord Stevenson bowed so low over Mother’s hand that Morgan was afraid the man would tip over.

All three guests turned to him. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Good evening.” He waved them to the settee near the window. “Would you care for a drink before dinner?” His mother had at least instilled good manners in him, just not the easy banter Phoebe was used to. Useless chatter, she’d always called it. She then took those opportunities to remind him of his station, and how, as a duke, he needn’t speak with anyone if he so chose. She never added, though, how to speak to those with whom he wanted to converse.

Once they were all settled with drinks, Lady Stevenson said, “If you would permit me a slight motherly indulgence, Your Grace, I would like Lady Brenda to play the pianoforte for us once dinner is completed.” She turned her attention directly to Morgan. “My daughter is quite accomplished in so many wonderful skills necessary for a noble’s wife.” She smiled warmly at the chit who regarded him with a smile that was almost as cold as his reputation. Tight, controlled, and calculating. The exact opposite of Phoebe’s smiles which were so genuine they warmed the heart.

“Indeed?” What else could he say?

His mother jumped right in. “I am sure His Grace would be thrilled to hear Lady Brenda play.”

Maybe the gel would also whip out her latest watercolor painting or the embroidered pillows she worked on daily in preparation for the time she would snag some poor rotter and claim his home. After his conversation about Lady Brenda with Phoebe, that rotter would not be him.

Although a somewhat pretty girl, her very pale skin, light blond hair, and crystal blue eyes did not appeal to him at all. She didn’t have a real smile, light brown with golden highlights hair, or hazel eyes.

Phoebe had that.

Although Mother had insisted that mundane chatter was unnecessary, it appeared she was skilled at it herself. She kept up a stream of conversation with their guests while he sat back and studied Lady Brenda.

This was the sort of woman his mother thought suitable for the role of the Duchess of St. Albans. While their parents talked of the weather, upcoming social events, and the Season thus far, Lady Brenda looked around the room with hungry eyes, as if she already owned it and planned how she would re-decorate. Hopefully his mother had not made promises to the girl’s parents because he had no intention, whatsoever, of offering for her.

“Dinner is served, Your Grace.” Davis made the announcement just as Morgan realized he was quite hungry.

The five of them rose, with Lord Stevenson escorting his wife and daughter, and Mother taking Morgan’s arm. The places were set near one end of the table, making it easier for conversation to flow. He drew out Lady Brenda’s chair, and took his own place at the head of the table, leaving Lady Brenda to his right.

Footmen began service by pouring wine and placing dishes of boiled eel, fried white fish, with tureens of white and brown soups on either side of the epergne. The diners helped themselves as Mother related a story about Morgan’s childhood that he would prefer to forget. In fact, since the event occurred while his parents were in London and he at the estate, the only way The Duchess even knew about it was Cook relating the story to her upon their return. Therefore, the warm, motherly look on her face actually amused him.

Leave it to Mother to bring up his remarkable grades at University next. Since he was a rare student who actually studied, his professors were always enamored of him. His memories of University were not something he wished to dwell upon.

Lady Brenda leaned close to him. “Your Grace, I would love to view your portrait gallery when dinner is finished.”

He couldn’t help his brows rising. View his family’s portrait gallery? Row after row of stuffy men and women glaring down at them from their immortal perch? Obviously the girl was interested in getting him alone. Something he would never do. Disaster lay in that direction.

“Yes. I agree. I imagine your parents would enjoy viewing the gallery also.”

Lady Brenda’s jaw dropped, almost making him laugh. Whatever would Mother do if he laughed? He doubted she’d ever heard that sound coming from him since he’d been in leading strings. His life had never lent itself to humor.

Until he met Phoebe.

Lady Brenda dug into her food, frowning at the dish as if it had insulted her. Most likely the chit was thinking of another way to get him alone. He, on the other hand, allowed his thoughts to drift away from the inane conversation going on around him.

To where they always drifted lately. Right to Phoebe. He relived the ravishing kiss, followed by the horseback ride from Hyde Park with Phoebe settled snugly in front of him. By the time they’d reached her townhouse, they were both so out of breath one would think they’d run there instead of riding the horse.

The dinner continued on, with Lady Stevenson throwing very pointed comments about her daughter in his direction and Lady Brenda simpering and giggling at what she must have felt were at the proper times. He was bored to death.

Once the cheese and fruit placed on the table at the end of the meal had been eaten, Mother stood and announced they would all retire to the drawing room for tea and, if the gentlemen so desired, brandy.

“Perhaps you and Lady Brenda would enjoy a walk in the garden?” Lady Stevenson’s face glowed with eagerness, as did her daughter’s when they both looked up at him once they arrived in the drawing rom.

“It is raining.” Thank the good Lord for his cooperation in keeping Lady Brenda’s talons from him.

Both women’s shoulders slumped as they glanced at each other, and again he had the urge to laugh.

“I would prefer to hear Lady Brenda play the pianoforte for us,” Morgan said. He had absolutely no desire to hear the girl play, but it was better than the shenanigans they were attempting to pull on him. He would not allow himself to be caught alone with Lady Brenda and end up with Lord Stevenson demanding marriage.

Just the thought of that made him shudder. Then again, aside from Phoebe, just about every young lady he’d met so far affected him the same way. He could not imagine himself married to anyone else except Phoebe.

Since he did not believe in love, what was it about Phoebe that made him want her for his wife? He desired her, and after this afternoon, there was no doubt about that. She had some lovely curves he’d seen when her gowns had been plastered against her as she waltzed in the ballroom or stood outdoors in the wind. But he also had desired his various mistresses over the years but never considered marrying one of them.

He enjoyed Phoebe’s company. Her wit, her compassion, her caring. He also liked the fact that she saw more in him than he’d thought he possessed. She’d told him he deserved more than the likes of the Lady Brenda types.

And kissing her had been the highlight of his day. Week, even.

Then there was only one thing to be done. He must convince Phoebe to marry him. However, since she insisted on love, he would have to dig deep into his body and find that missing heart. Or seduce her into it.

* * *

Phoebe was awake, washed, dressed, and ready to go. She was excited about the upcoming house party at Lord and Lady Bentworth’s estate which was not too far outside of London. She loved the country much more than London, and house parties were always such fun. Providing one ventured beyond the drawing room where the ladies sat and gossiped while they worked on various needlework.

Phoebe liked to go for early morning rides, lengthy walks around the estate, and if the hostess planned a picnic with games, that made the party perfect for her. Glancing out the window as she donned her pelisse, she hoped the present lovely weather would continue for the four days of the party.

“Are you ready?” Prudence drew on her gloves as she walked into Phoebe’s room.

“Yes. Jenny has finished packing, and someone should be up here for my things momentarily.” Phoebe waved in the direction of the trunk that sat in the middle of her bedchamber floor.

“I wonder if your soul mate will be there.” Prudence smirked.

Phoebe sighed. “St. Albans is not my soul mate.”

“Perhaps you don’t think so—yet—but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He thinks you’re soul mates.”

They left Phoebe’s room and made their way down the stairs. “I doubt that.”

“Why? I’ve seen the two of you together and you both seem enamored.”

Phoebe stopped on the steps. “The duke claims he has no heart, and therefore, could never love a wife.”

“That is utter nonsense. He has love in his eyes.”

If only that were true. Phoebe found that every time she was with Morgan her feelings grew. If she’d had any reservations that she was strongly attracted to him, the kiss they’d shared in Hyde Park put to death any doubts. Although the marriage bed was an unknown to her, she certainly recognized the signs of desire that teased her body when he’d ravished her mouth.

She really should break her promise to him to help him find a bride. It had become obvious he wasn’t trying very hard to find a woman to marry, and the more time she spent with him, the more certain she was that she would end up with a broken heart whether she married the man or not.

Thinking of the paths to true love her three stepsisters and Mother had traveled, with all the problems, it seemed as though no one found love easily. Which was probably why it was so wonderful to have it.

But her situation was different. Morgan had been raised with no affection, no obvious love, or even friendship. He thought of himself as cold and unable to love another since no one had ever loved him. Such a sad condition.

He’d told her he would be at the house party, and she tried very hard to quell the eagerness she felt at four days of them together. Perhaps it would be best if she stayed as far from him as she could, and even encourage other potential suitors. Except the same gentlemen would be there who had been at every affair she’d attended the past few years. No one had ever caused the feelings in her that Morgan did when they were together.

The carriage ride with her, Prudence, Mother, and Mother’s lady’s maid, Spencer, was a pleasant one. Since the estate was not too far out of the city, it was a short ride, which suited Phoebe since she hated being cooped up for long periods of time.

Two carriages were discharging passengers when the Pomeroy carriage drew up to the front entrance. As the girls stepped out, Lady Millicent and her sister, Lady Adelaide, both rushed up to Phoebe and Prudence. The women all hugged and exclaimed over each other’s outfits and how excited they were about the party.

They moved indoors where a maid directed Phoebe and Prudence to the bedchamber they were sharing. Mother was led down the corridor to hers.

“My ladies, tea is being served in the drawing room if you so desire after you have refreshed yourselves.” The maid gave a slight curtsy and left the room.

Her sister gave her an indulgent smile as Phoebe spun around in a circle in the middle of the room. “I don’t know why, but house parties appeal to me so much more than the normal round of soirees, routs, and balls.”

“And given your history, more ways for you to get into trouble,” Prudence said as she headed to the bowl and pitcher on the dresser to wash her face and hands.

Phoebe bounced on the bed. It felt quite comfortable. “That is not true. I don’t get into trouble. Not much, anyway.”

Prudence turned and smiled. “Climbing a tree with your gown tucked between your legs?”

“The poor kitten was stuck up there.”

“Removing your shoes and stockings to wade in the pond at the Rothmore house party?”

“It was hot. At least I left my clothes on.” She grinned at her sister who was always the perfect twin. Quiet, soft-spoken, demure, and never bent the rules. Phoebe was her exact opposite.

“Then there was the time—”

“I believe you have made your point, Sister. I do a few things that most young ladies of the ton don’t do. I still have my reputation. No scandal or ruination.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Prudence said.

Refreshed and ready for the party, the two girls descended the steps and followed a footman’s direction to the drawing room. A group of about twenty or so people stood in clusters, drinking tea and conversing.

“Lady Prudence.” They both turned as Mr. Pettiford approached them. “I am delighted that the two of you have arrived. Lady Bentworth told me you were expected.” He bowed as a true gentleman would.

Mr. Pettiford was a pleasant man, most likely in his late thirties. He was a widower with two small girls that he was looking to provide a mother for. Both she and Prudence had danced with him, shared supper with him at a ball, and taken a carriage ride or two. But he had done nothing for either girl in the courting sense.

He still paid them quite a bit of attention, but Phoebe was oftentimes tempted to tell him to cast his glances elsewhere since neither one of them found him suitable.

“May I fetch some tea for you?” His eagerness to please was one thing about Mr. Pettiford that annoyed Phoebe. Not that she preferred a man who would be mean to her, but always being solicitous and begging to do things for her that she could very well do herself was an annoyance.

“Thank you, Mr. Pettiford, but my sister and I were about to visit the tea table.” Prudence smiled at him. “Would you care to accompany us?”

Prudence was always patient with him, and more than once Phoebe had cautioned her that in doing so, she was merely encouraging him and giving him false hope.

Their tea fixed to their liking and carrying small plates with several biscuits and small sandwiches, they all moved to a grouping of chairs near the French doors. Phoebe had just taken a sip of tea when two well-toned legs commanded her attention. Her gaze wandered the firm body with slim hips, trim waist, and muscular chest to Morgan’s face.

Smiling.

“Good afternoon, Lady Phoebe, Lady Prudence, Pettiford.” He bowed slightly. “May I join you?”

Gad, why had her heart sped up? Why did everything in the room seem to fade away as she watched him flip his tailcoat back and settle on a chair opposite her. The biscuit in her hand suddenly felt like a rock, and she put it down. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

The look he cast her could only be called smoldering. Phoebe quickly glanced at her sister who was engaged in an exchange with Mr. Pettiford. Thank goodness they hadn’t noticed.

Phoebe stared at Morgan and mouthed, “Stop.”

He grinned and mouthed back, “Stop what?”

“Looking at me that way,” she mouthed again.

“What way?”

By this point, they had garnered the notice of Mr. Pettiford and Prudence. Her sister tilted her head and raised her brows. Uneasy and anxious to escape her feelings, she hopped up. “I believe I will take a short walk in the garden.”

“Excellent, Lady Phoebe. I was just thinking how pleasant it would be to take a stroll outside with the weather being so fine.” Morgan stood and extended his arm, his eyes twinkling with mischief, a slight smirk on his handsome face.

She had no choice. Either she accompanied him outside or questions would be raised by those watching the exchange. Of which there were many. As always, he had gotten quite a bit of attention just by walking into the room and sitting with them.

Telling her heart to calm down, Phoebe placed her hand on Morgan’s arm, and they moved toward the French doors.