Netherby Halls (18 page)

She somehow could not bring herself to refuse Sophy,
though logic told her she should. Logic, however, was not working
her heart, her brain, or her body. Something called magic was in
charge there … or was it magic of a different kind—was it
love?

~
Sixteen ~

THE MARQUIS MADE no further attempt to speak with
Sassy after the intermission. When Percy finally bade his farewell
to Sophy, Justin smiled to himself, sat back against the seat of
his high-perch phaeton, and sighed.

A thoughtful silence ensued, until Percy broke it
resoundingly with, “Damnation and fire, Justin! Just what is your
game?”

The marquis leveled his friend with a look and said,
“
My game?
”

“Don’t look at me like that.” Percy pointed a
righteous finger. “I have known you long enough to know when you
are being the very devil. What I don’t know is why?”

“Really, Percy, I should think you would be floating
with happiness at having successfully patched up your little
squabble with Miss Delleson, but here you are ranting at me like a
madman.” The marquis chuckled and looked away. He knew his friend
well enough to know that Percy was not about to give it up.

“Don’t misread me, Justin, grateful to you—was a
splendid notion you had of getting up a party to go to the theater.
But I know you, and I have this gut feeling that something was
behind it, just like I know you didn’t bring me to Bristol just
because you wanted to help me with Sophy.
T
here is
another reason.
”

“Hang it all, man. That is very bad of you, I must
say. I have been subjected to Petruchio convincing Kate that the
moon is the sun and the sun the moon more times than I can count.
So the evening offered me little more entertainment than watching
you further yourself in Sophy’s eyes.”

“
Gammon
!” Percy replied, unashamed. “Wait a
minute—by Jove and damn, why didn’t I see it sooner?” He slapped
his knee jovially. “’
Tis the Winthrop chit
, isn’t it? You
have made a push to have her, and she won’t have you. Well, that
stands to reason. You can’t offer a vicar’s daughter a carte
blanche and think she will jump at the chance, now can you?”

“Go to the devil,” the marquis said amiably.

“Hold a minute. Did you ask her to join us this
evening? You did—you did, and
she refused
, went with the
local doctor instead—that fellow Bankes, who by the way I found
too … I am not sure what the word is, but don’t like him.”

“She had already been asked by Bankes, who had the
forethought to invite her entire class. He was quite above board in
his attentions.”

“Jealous! That is what it is.
You are jealous
.
Damn if it isn’t written all over your face.”

“It pains me to say this to you again, but you leave
me no choice. Go. To. The. Devil.”

“Well, look at that, the libertine Marquis of
Dartmour, struck down by a sweet lovely. But, Justin, you cannot
expect constancy from a chit you don’t even really know?”

“Constancy? What is that, and what man past his
eighteenth year expects it?” The marquis scoffed.

“
You did
as I recall.”

“Yes, I did—
did
being the word. At eighteen, I
did expect it—at nineteen I knew better. Much better.” The marquis
folded his arms across his chest and put on an expression of
boredom.

“Yes, but—”

The marquis cut him off. “Females are wretched
creatures with foibles enough to shatter a man’s soul and scatter
it to the winds without so much as an afterthought.”

“And yet, old friend, you have a knack of collecting
them—females,” Percy said dryly.

“Not for long, Percy. I have learned to set them free
soon after they cease to be new.”

“Cynical, but Miss Winthrop, I do think, is an
innocent. It is not like you to seduce an innocent.”

“No? Is it not?” the marquis said, frowning over the
problem.

“Your heart is in this, isn’t it?” Percy asked,
watching him closely.

“Leave it be, Percy. Be a good friend and leave it
be.”

* * *

Alone and propped up against her pillow with the dim
light of her candle beside her bed, Sassy hugged the quilt to her
chin and contemplated the evening.

It had been a very full night, but—and there was the
crux of it, the
but
, because she could see that the marquis
meant to seduce her. She might not be experienced, but she was not
stupid. She knew her position in life would make it difficult to
find love and marriage as a unit.

And then there was James Bankes. The doctor had been
strangely quiet on their ride back to school. She had asked him as
gently as she could if anything was the matter, and he had shaken
his head, saying only that people like Miss Delleson and her sort
always made him introspective. She had not probed for more. It had
been obvious to her that Sophy had dismissed him negligently after
their introduction, and she sighed for it, as she had thought it
rude.

The Netherby drive had been just ahead when he turned
to her, and she had a fearful moment when she thought he was going
to kiss her. Instead, he took her hand and squeezed it as he said,
“Don’t enjoy yourself too much tomorrow night, Sassy. I fear, Miss
Delleson … well, she is I think self-centered and just the
sort to play on your kind nature.”

“Oh—then you heard Sophy’s remarkable invitation?”
Sassy tried to make light of it.

“Yes, yes, I did. I—I must say, I don’t like the
marquis or the way he looks at you …” His voice trailed
off.

“The way he looks at me? Why, James, he scarcely
looked at me all evening. His eyes were on ladies far more in his
class and to his taste.”

“You are, of course, an innocent. Just be careful
among the
beau monde
of Bristol. They could tear a child
like you to shreds,” James said bitterly.

“Why, James, so harsh?” She wondered if that was what
had happened to him. Had he been rejected by the society he wished
to enter?

“I have reason to be.” His voice was hard. “I have
age on you, my dear, and experience.”

“But are not these people, or at least many of them,
under your care?” she asked, surprised.

“My care? My dear girl, I am but a lowly country
doctor with little other than my degree to recommend me. The
ton
of Bristol are looked after by a doctor whose background
is exceptional, whose medical degree was taken many, many years
ago, and whose name carries a connection to their own set.” He
shook his head, and a short, derisive laugh escaped his lips. “But
never mind. Just remember, Sassy, who they are and how they can
hurt you.”

Sassy sighed but did not offer a reply. Some of what
he said made sense to her. She had seen people of consequence
thoughtlessly hurt people of a lesser standing. But she wasn’t in a
position to worry about that sort of thing. After all, she was a
tutor at Netherby Halls and would not forget that in her dealings
with the heady gentry.

On top of this was the fact that something very odd,
perhaps even sinister, was going on at Netherby, though she hadn’t
any idea what it could be. This thought reminded her that she
needed to catch Delia alone and have a talk that just might
enlighten her.

Her thoughts drifted through her mind until they
drifted away. She fell asleep, deeply, soundly …

And then, she was awake, or was she?

He, the marquis, was there, in her room—her room at
Netherby. She must be asleep. This had to be a dream, but it felt
so real. He stood there before her, but how could that be?

Gloriously naked, with his manhood at full attention,
the marquis was bent now over the side of her bed as he whispered
her name. His eyes were deep blue and full with his desire.

Trembling, she could only stare.

Starving
, her mind told her she was starving
for his touch—and as he came to her, she didn’t ask how or why; she
simply accepted it as a dream.

Her lips curved into a welcoming smile without her
consent. She knew that, beneath the covers, she was also naked.

He lifted the covers high and stood to gaze at her
long and soulfully, as though he was in a desert thirsting and had
found sweet, cool water at last.

He climbed into the bed beside her. His body fit
against hers tightly, as it was but a single bed and he was a large
man.

Her body burned for him. She told herself she was
dreaming. She was safe, because it was only a dream, but in her
heart she knew it was more, so much more.

His kisses traveled from her ear down the side of her
neck, to the hollow of her neck, and then back up to her mouth. He
parted her lips to receive his delicious tongue, and she squirmed
in his arms, wanting more, so much more. How could she know what it
would feel like to be made love to in this way? She had been kissed
when she was younger, but never like this.

His kisses took her breath away, and when he
straddled her, her eyes opened wide. He didn’t speak. She didn’t
speak. It was a time of sensation—so much sensation.

What was happening to her? And then she suddenly
realized,
this was not a dream,
This was magic taking
control, drawing her inside, but it wasn’t her magic. Oh no, this
was … this was …

She awoke with a start, and he was gone. She knew
somehow he had been in bed with her. The bed where he had lain next
to her was warm. The scent of him was still in the air.

What,
oh faith, what did this mean?

* * *

Sunlight peeped through the middle of the window
where Sassy’s drapes did not quite meet, and she scrunched up her
face as she looked at the wall clock. “Ugh … six o’clock,” she
said out loud.

It wasn’t long before she was washed and dressed.
Heading for the kitchen for some coffee, she heard a commotion in
the student’s wing.

The girls were getting ready for their outing to the
theater later that day, but an argument between two of them had
called each of the disputants’ cronies into choosing sides.

Sassy stopped and watched, hoping it was something
the girls could settle between themselves, but a violent exchange
of insults erupted with one of the girls pushing the other roughly
into the wall. Sassy moved towards them, but before she was able to
intercede, it got worse.

“Damn your eyes, wench!” Delia Standish shocked Sassy
as she kept her arms extended and her hands pointing for each to
take their corners.

“And yours, you—you blubber-headed mort!” returned
her opponent, Caroline Hughes.

“Quiet!” Sassy ordered. “What sort of language is
that?”

The two girls looked at their feet and said nothing
to this, but Sassy wasn’t letting go. “Well?” she demanded.

“Whatever is going on?” Miss Graves appeared on the
scene.

“Caroline took my scarf,” Delia said petulantly. “I
have a right to demand its immediate return.”

“So you do,” Sassy snapped. “But you have no right to
shout and rant like a hoyden. It is most unbecoming.” She turned to
the other girl. “Return Miss Standish’s property at once, and we
shall drop this matter.”

The article in question was reluctantly handed over
while Delia stood gloating. Sassy frowned over Delia’s expression.
Something was off here. Why did Caroline look so frightened, and if
she was frightened, why then had she refused to turn over the
scarf?

She heard one of the younger girls say softly to her
group of friends, “That Delia is awful,” but when Sassy started
towards her, the little group ran off. She turned to see Delia
staring after them. Just what was going on here? Why were they all
so afraid of a fifteen-year-old girl?

Later, this trouble lingered in her mind as she took
out her gown and began the business of airing it out and repairing
a piece of lace that had torn away from the puff sleeves.

Before she knew it, the evening had arrived. Sassy
donned her old cloak and floated down the stairs, under Miss
Sallstone’s disapproving eye.

However, it was Saturday night, she was on her own
time, and the perfectly respectable Delleson coach awaited her
outside, she told herself. The headmistress could not possibly
object. She handed the driver her overnight portmanteau and then
with excitement climbed into the coach.

Some fifteen minutes later and feeling just a bit
nervous as the coach pulled up to the brightly lit Delleson estate,
Sassy rubbed her ring and was immediately calm. A whisper told her
she could retire to her room if it all became too much. And so she
could. The question remained:
did she want to?

Honesty forced her to admit to herself that she did
not want to leave. She wanted to see the marquis again. She wanted
to face him and look into his eyes and ask her magic to tell her
just
who
and
what
he was. For he was more than he
seemed, so much more. She was sure of this, just as she was sure
her magic, the magic that had come with her transition into a fully
matured white witch, had not created last night’s love scene.

She heard her name announced by the butler and took a
bracer of air as she could not help but notice many of Bristol’s
society looking her over.

“Oh! How precious!” declared Sophy, rushing to grab
hold of her white long-gloved hands and to stand away to gaze at
her. Sophy was lovely in her creamy, clinging silk and her bubbling
head of yellow curls. “Sassy,” she said approvingly, “that shade of
aqua brings out the color of your green eyes perfectly.” Her finger
went to the low curve of Sassy’s scooped neck, and she nodded.
“Very nicely done with the lace—naughty and yet quite respectable.”
She touched the white and silver silk flowers at her own cleavage
and said, “It is precisely why these flowers are here.” She giggled
and touched Sassy’s hair. “Your ringlets have such a shine. Yes,
your black hair and my blonde curls. We shall stun them all.” She
laughed merrily and led Sassy into the crowded room.