Potent Charms (13 page)

Winston dug through the wicker basket, found an apple
and polished it on the sleeve of his jacket. "Yes. Such
behavior is common for Hathaway. I am surprised Tewksbury accepted the bet. He's normally rather prickly about
propriety."

"How exciting," Phoebe said.

Stephen sat abruptly. He snatched the bread from the
basket, waving it in the air as an extension of his arm. "I'd
say its bloody stupid."

Why, if she didn't know better, Phoebe would swear
Stephen was jealous. She pursed her lips. "Hmmm. His
hair certainly is a fascinating color."

"I believe it's called red," said Stephen, his voice sounding more wonderfully annoyed by the minute.

"Lands alive, no," Phoebe said, pouring every bit of her
Southern sweetness into her words. "More like sable with
just a touch of cinnamon. I wonder what color his eyes
are?"

"I believe they are blue," remarked Winston.

Stephen ripped a chunk of bread from the loaf. "Winston, must you foster this ridiculousness?"

Shrugging his shoulders, a mannerism Phoebe decided
he used frequently, Winston proceeded to eat his apple.
She crooned, "I just love blue eyes."

"Enough," snorted Stephen. "I did not come here today to discuss the color of another man's eyes. Change the
bloody topic."

Elizabeth waved her napkin toward Stephen before she
turned to grin at Phoebe. "And he's quite rich. A benefactor
for numerous charities, a"

"I'm quite rich," added Stephen, trying with considerable difficulty not to lose his temper. My God, Elizabeth
seemed prepared to nominate Tewksbury for sainthood.
Phoebe's insipid fascination with the man, not that it mattered, wasn't helping.

A fanciful smile on her face, Elizabeth said, "But
remember our task. We search for a husband for Phoebe."

Stephen's eyes narrowed to thin slits. Tugging none too
lightly on the ribbons of her bonnet, he said, "You're toying with my good humor today, aren't you, Elizabeth?
Matchmaking is for doddering matrons who chew with
their back teeth and undisciplined young girls with nothing
better to do. Leave Phoebe and myself to our own devices."

"Why would I do that?" Her blond brows arched and her
mouth formed a pout honed by years of practice.

Stephen had fallen for Elizabeth's false innocence hundreds of times. Normally, he detected such transparent tactics. Today he'd fallen for her trap like an unwitting hare.
He quickly excused his lapse to Phoebe's presence. Her
behavior was rude, a shameless exhibition of bad manners.
A lady simply did not stare at one man when another sat
beside her as an escort. Stephen reminded himself to clarify for her that little lesson in propriety when Phoebe and
he were alone. Stephen stood and pivoted toward the
Thames. "Enough. We came to watch the race."

Feeling better, he concentrated on the fifteen boats moving closer. Three in particular raced head-to-head. The
excitement grew to a deafening roar as the sailors rounded
the bend, veering toward the finish line at the Chelsea
Royal Hospital. He pulled Phoebe to her feet.

Elizabeth gleefully announced, "Here comes Tewksbury."

Stephen glanced over his shoulder to witness the earl's
approach. Noting that Phoebe also watched the man, he
remained indolently beside her, purposely closer than was
proper. "Ignore him. The boats are coming."

Chuckling, Winston stood, as did Elizabeth. "Good
afternoon, Tewksbury," he said.

"Good to see you, Payley." Tewksbury faced Stephen.
"Badrick."

Stephen nodded in turn while Tewksbury assessed
Phoebe with disturbing frankness. Blast, but this entire
morning had been one annoyance after another. No matter
how irrational he was being, he wished the man would turn
about and leave. Now. Before introductions took place.

No such luck. Elizabeth cleared her throat.

"I believe you know my wife, Elizabeth." Winston said.

Tewksbury greeted Elizabeth with perfect comportment,
then turned expectantly toward Phoebe. "And this must be
the illustrious colonial."

Reluctantly, Stephen introduced Phoebe, who extended
her hand far too eagerly to suit him. He stifled the impulse
to grab her fingers and secure them in his lap. The thought
of her hand within inches of his groin led to a tantalizing
image that caused an uncomfortable physical reaction
inappropriate to his current surroundings. He groaned.
Today was not going as planned. In fact, none of his
encounters with Phoebe Rafferty ever seemed to go as he
intended. Right now she needed a reminder of his presence. He edged closer yet, going as far as to place a hand
on her elbow. "Pardon us, Tewksbury, but we did come to
watch the race." Stephen fixed his eyes on the river.

Attempting to pry her arm free of Stephen's grip,
Phoebe twisted around Stephen and smiled. "I understand
you placed a sizable wager. Is your sailor in the lead?"

"No, but fortunately Hathaway's apprentice is further
back than mine. I shall gain a small compensation for that."

"Glory be. I'd hate to think of you losing a ship."

"You are exceedingly kind."

Prepared to relinquish her arm lest he appear like a buffoon, Stephen dropped his hand. Air puffed through his
nostrils like an angry bull preparing to charge. He took
three deep breaths before he finally muttered, "Impetuous,
if you ask me."

"Mind your manners, Lord Badrick," Phoebe whispered.
She exchanged glares with Stephen before whirling around
to watch the race. Sunlight glistened off the Thames. The
men used their entire bodies as they gripped wooden oars,
their strokes hurling their boats forward. The excitement
escalated as one young apprentice, Phoebe figured to be
eighteen or so, exhibited a final burst of strength. His tiny
scull flew the final few feet ahead of his competitor. The
crowd cheered loudly. People continued to shout until the
last of the racers crossed the line, at which time money
exchanged hands and hawkers began to push their wares
once again.

Stephen traded an almost adversarial look with Tewksbury, as though they shared some secret masculine conversation without the benefit of words. Phoebe thought she
knew the topic. Her. Annoyed with Stephen, Phoebe said,
"Lord Tewksbury, I must ask. Whyever did you call me the
illustrious colonial?"

"I meant no insult, Miss Rafferty. Only that your prominence precedes you. It seems that after today's events, coupled with your unique situation, someone felt you aptly
deserving of such a name. It's in the papers."

Clearly expecting an explanation, Winston said, "It
seems I missed something of import. Would anyone care to
enlighten me?"

"Nothing to worry yourself with, Winston," Phoebe said. She knew every action had a consequence. Thinking
ahead to the problem of Hildegard, she also knew this
name business was utter nonsense and nothing but trouble.
Phoebe peeked at Stephen to judge his reaction to this new
information. Considering the scowl on his face, he seemed
no less pleased than she was. "My, my, I declare, you
British have a way of creating a rumor big enough to choke
a cow."

Tewksbury laughed. "My dear Miss Rafferty, after making your acquaintance today, I wholly agree with my peers.
You are a delight."

Stephen crossed his arms over his chest. "Thank you for
your edification, Tewksbury. I believe Hathaway is looking
for you. Good day."

Winston choked on his wine while Elizabeth clapped a
hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle or a gasp Phoebe
wasn't sure which, nor did she care. She was so astounded
by Stephen's rude behavior she could only stare.

After a seemingly inordinate length of time, Tewksbury
bent slightly at the waist. He lifted Phoebe's hand to his
lips. "Lord Badrick is correct. I am required elsewhere.
First though, I've decided to hold a small, impromptu dinner party on Tuesday. I shall send invites today. I hope you
shall attend. Until we meet again."

Drumming her fingers together, Phoebe faced Stephen,
who had the audacity to smirk with self-satisfaction. Irritation bubbled below her calm surface. She waited for
Tewksbury to venture a step or two away, then said,
"That's a fine how-do-you-do. Your behavior was rude and
then some."

"Mine? Hah! After listening to your recitation of the
man's many attributes, I wearied of watching him ogle you
before my very eyes. A man can only take so much."

"You hold no claim over me."

"Not yet, at least."

"Not ever, if this behavior is an example of-"

Winston cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me, children. Unless you wish to add a public argument to
Phoebe's list of accomplishments, I suggest we change
topics."

She wanted to stomp her feet or, at the very least, kick
Stephen in the shins. He was infuriating. A bully. And
judging by the twitching of the corner of his mouth, he was
enjoying himself. Immensely. That realization checked her
temper long enough for an idea, like a small seedling, to
take shape in her mind. A plan. The very plan she needed.
A way to spend more time with Stephen Lambert and pry
information from his very own lips. A way to prove to the
man that he was the only one she should marry.

Feigning exasperation, she threw her hands in the air.
"Fine with me. Besides, I was wondering if I could ask a
favor of Winston."

"By all means," Winston said.

"As you well know, I'm searching for a husband. I narrowed the list to several possibilities, but truthfully, I know
very little about the men."

"A list of possibilities?" Stephen asked, his forehead
creased with confusion. Surely he'd heard wrong. He'd left
her to her own devices for three days and now she had a
bloody list. "Since when?"

Elizabeth's gaze flipped from Stephen to Phoebe to Winston and back again to Stephen. Gleefully, she said, "It's
certainly no surprise. Why Stephen, you should have seen
the carriages lined up outside Hildegard's. As I told
Phoebe, she's the rage. I can understand her need for counsel. Winston is a logical choice."

Stephen's confusion quickly shifted to irritation, Elizabeth the new target of his scowl. "Because?"

As though she schooled an unruly youth, Phoebe patted
Stephen's arm in a patronizing manner. "Excuse me. I was
trying to have a conversation with Winston." Dismissing
Stephen once again, she said, "Anyway, what I was wondering is this. Would you be willing to tell me whether or
not any of the gentlemen are suitable? I mean, I certainly
don't trust Hildegard's opinion. She highly recommends
the likes of Sir Lemmer, who already acts as though we're
betrothed."

Abandoning any and all pretense of control, Stephen
leaned forward. "Stay away from him."

She stiffened her spine. "I believe that's for me to
decide. Anyway-"

"This little charade is not going to work."

"What charade?"

A calm settled over Stephen. Confident in his powers of
deduction, he curled his lip in a familiar cocksure manner.
He rocked back on his heels, his hands shoved in his
trouser pockets. "This nonsense of analyzing your potential suitors, your attempt to make me jealous."

"Why on earth would I do that? You already told me you
wouldn't marry me."

"He did?" Elizabeth asked. "When?"

"None of your business," Stephen answered, his eyes
fixed on Phoebe. "You know my intentions."

"I certainly do. And you know mine." Phoebe's tone
hinted of challenge. "If Winston can aid my cause, then so
be it."

"What a splendid idea," Elizabeth added with an abundance of enthusiasm. "By the way, Winston, I invited
Phoebe to our party. There will bachelors galore."

Phoebe was playing a game with him. Stephen was sure
of it. Some form of manipulation that Elizabeth had seized
with her front teeth. He had two choices. Stay out of the
matter altogether or act as her go-between, which in turn would provide time and circumstance to persuade her to
become his mistress. "Why Winston?"

Nestled beside Winston, Elizabeth squeezed her husband's arm. "He knows everyone."

"I know everyone," he rejoined.

Elizabeth tsked several times, wagging her head.
"Stephen, you spend far too much time in the country."

"I do not."

Phoebe pursed her lips, deep in thought. She wrinkled
her nose and drew an invisible pattern in the soil. "Why
Stephen, if I didn't know better I'd say you were offering
your services."

Folding one arm across his chest, he repeatedly
stroked his mustache with his other hand while studying
Phoebe, noting every nuance, every twitch, every blink
of her eyes. The opportunity she provided was too tempting by far. He'd cling to Phoebe like a shadow, ever
eager to reveal the peccadilloes of the overbearing lords
of the Ton. By the time he finished, he'd be the prize
worth winning. "I live to do your bidding. Remember. To
the victor go the spoils. I shall plead my own case as
well."

"Which case is that?" asked Elizabeth while kneeling
beside Winston.

"None of your business," Stephen quickly remarked.

Elizabeth tossed a napkin into the basket. "What is the
point of eavesdropping if no one intends to elaborate?"

Ignoring Elizabeth's frustration, he smiled at Phoebe.
"When are my services required?"

"We can begin with Lord Tewksbury's party. With only
four weeks left, time is of the essence. And I leave for
Marsden Manor sometime soon. I hadn't planned on visiting before I married, but I received an odd note from the
butler. Truth be told, I might enjoy a few days free of
Hildegard's household."

"Where is your estate?" Elizabeth asked.

"Somewhere on the southeast coast, near a small town
called St. Margaret's at Cliff. It's supposed to be quite
lovely."

"Not far from Dover," added Stephen. "You can practically see France."

Elizabeth tapped her finger to her lower lip. "I have
an idea. We'll make an outing of it. Winston and I shall
gladly act as chaperones. We can wave to dear old Bonaparte."