Potent Charms (28 page)

Without a thought to the consequences, he leapt up,
marched to Phoebe and grabbed her hand. The submission
in her eyes humbled him. As though they both realized
tonight was indeed special, a time to forget, a time to pretend, she followed him away from the fire.

The music had begun again but this time the men took to
the forest floor in a more robust, virile display. When
Stephen snared a blanket from the step of a wagon, Phoebe
gave the dancers no more thought. Without a word, she
allowed him to lead her away, the rhythm of the music still
a wild echo in her body. She had never felt so alive before.
This was foolishness, insanity. But she trusted Stephen to
take care of her.

They found a small clearing near a brook. Somewhat like her emotions, the water rushed over the stones toward
an unknown destination. Stephen spread the blanket, knelt,
and for a second time that night she accepted his invitation.

She hadn't intended to come with him, couldn't believe
she'd agreed so readily, yet here she was, alone with him.
When she'd ceased dancing and met his eyes, she couldn't
refuse him. Knee to knee, chest to breast, they studied one
another, silently acknowledging what might happen. His
lips descended to her lips. She reveled in the texture of his
mustache abrading her skin, and she whimpered in a soft
sigh of longing.

Without thinking beyond the moment, trapped in the
sensual haze created by the magic of the night and the soul
of the music, she touched her tongue to his. Like a star
bursting in the heavens, the kiss exploded.

Passion was no longer new to Phoebe. She understood
the dampness between her legs, her body's answer to
Stephen's touch. She understood the hunger that seemed
unquenchable, the thirst for more, the endless pit of desire
that only Stephen's caresses could quell. The rhythm of the
earlier dance hummed through her body, singing praises to
each caress, every kiss.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he loosened the ties on the
front of her shirt with trembling fingers. His reaction
amazed her and inflamed her already fired senses. His
hands drifted downward, sliding the soft fabric from her
shoulders to expose her breasts, the nipples taut with anticipation.

"Do you realize how drawn I am to you?" he asked as he
brushed the back of one hand across the peak of her breast.

She dared not breathe, let alone speak. She shook her
head.

"More than the bee to honey." Both hands caressed the
tender mounds of her breasts, squeezing ever so gently.
"More than the waves to the shore." His tongue lapped one breast, then the other. "More than the song to the nightingale." He suckled on her left breast.

The tugging of his mouth and the swirling of his tongue
upon her breast shot a sea of flame to her core. She threw
back her head and clasped her hands to Stephen's shoulders for fear she'd collapse to the ground. Then his lips
were devouring hers again, thrusting deep into her mouth
as though he meant to capture her soul.

He drew her hand from his shoulder, guided it downward and placed it across the proof of his desire. Except for
their reedy gasps of air, neither moved. Slowly, cautiously,
and ever so clumsily, she traced the length of him.

"Sweet mercy," he gasped. He thrust himself into her
innocent embrace, marveling that trained courtesans had
never elicited from him such hunger. The threads of
ecstasy lay somewhere between pain and pleasure, he was
sure. Somewhere from the depths of passion, the hazy
plateau between sensation and reality, Stephen heard the
rustling of leaves. His one fleeting hope was that a fox, a
rabbit, any creature of the night, invaded his sanctuary. Not
one of the humans that he knew were just through those
trees.

"Stephen," sounded Elizabeth's ever-familiar voice, soft
yet determined. "Where the devil are you?"

When he felt Phoebe tense, he lifted his lips from hers
and stared at his hand still wrapped around her breast,
seemingly powerless to remove it. Her hand hovered a
hairbreadth above his groin. Perhaps if they said nothing, if
they remained perfectly still, the female interloper set on
ruining his life would take her leave.

"Stephen, stop whatever you're doing this instant and
show yourself. Do you hear me? Phoebe? Are you all
right?"

A loud thwack preceded several ripe curses from an agitated Winston. "Sweet Mary Jane! Be careful with those bloody branches. Give Stephen a moment and have a care
with your ankle. A mother-to-be should not be traipsing
through the forest at night. Elizabeth, are you listening to
me? It would serve you right if I left you here."

Stephen judged Winston to be twenty or so feet to the
right, arguing none too quietly with his wife. The image of
his friend tromping through the forest, acting the watchdog, was too much to overcome. Stephen lay his chin on
the top of Phoebe's head. A rumble of laughter started deep
in his chest until it boomed across the clearing. "Cease
your worries, Elizabeth," he finally managed to sputter.
"I'm not ravishing Phoebe." At least not any longer, he
thought.

Phoebe fumbled with the lacing of the shirt. "I don't
know what came over me," she whispered.

Stephen understood her embarrassment. He gently
removed her hands and assumed the task of repairing her
appearance. "Don't. Please. You are a passionate woman.
The music, the mood, the night, fed that passion and I took
advantage."

She slapped his hands away. "Goodness, it's not your
fault. I could have stayed right where I was."

"Could you have? Truly?"

She never answered, but stood and brushed the nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. Grasping the blanket, he took
her hand, kissed her knuckles and headed toward the grumbling voices of Elizabeth and Winston.

"Either you want them together or you don't," Winston
said. "Make up your mind."

"I don't understand," Stephen said as he pushed through
a hackberry bush to face his friends. "Would you care to
enlighten me?"

"Spare me your droll sense of humor, Stephen. I'm not
in the mood," Elizabeth said.

"If I remember correctly, you and Winston have disappeared into the forest a time or two."

Smiling like the tiger with the mouse between his teeth,
Elizabeth limped to Phoebe's side. She clasped the girl's
hand and headed toward camp, managing the most elegant
of hobbles Steven had ever seen. Over her shoulder, she
said, "We were engaged. Let me know when you intend the
same."

"Don't ask me why, but I love her to distraction," Winston said. He slapped Stephen's back. "Let's go home.
You'll have the entire weekend at Payley Park to impress
Phoebe with your skills and drive Elizabeth half-crazy
with worry."

Stephen grinned. His life was no longer recognizable.
The fact that he was smiling over the debacle of the last
half-hour only solidified his conclusion. This American bit
of fluff had careered into his arms and blasted him like a
fourteen-gun frigate.

He'd been content on his estates, traveling to London
now and again to visit his mistress or tend to business.
Aside from a select group of friends, he'd avoided society.

Phoebe had freed him from his protective cocoon. His
mouth curved downward. Sweet heavens, he feared he
might never be able to return.

Payley Park occupied the good portion of a hill overlooking a lush valley of budding trees and shrubs, its beige
stone walls forming a three-story rectangular shape that in
its simplicity spoke of elegance. A long circle drive lay in
the middle of a manicured lawn Phoebe thought any
Southerner would envy. It suited Elizabeth and Winston,
and it evoked the longings for a life she'd likely never see
again. The estate was magnificent, and a welcome sight.

Aunt Hildegard, her mood as waspish as ever, had
issued rules and commands the entire three-hour journey.
Lands alive, that woman was contrary. She had been more
so ever since Phoebe had returned from Marsden Manor
and bombarded her with questions. Of course, Hildegard
had pleaded forgetfulness and acted contrite. It was clear
that Phoebe would get nothing from her aunt, the wretched
woman. However, if listening to Hildegard grumble and
complain meant spending more time with Stephen, Phoebe would tolerate the lecture. Surely once they arrived, she'd
have time to herself.

Elizabeth must have read her mind, for she quickly
deposited Charity and Hildegard in one room. Against
Hildegard's not-so-subtle objections, Elizabeth placed
Phoebe two doors down. A large four-poster bed occupied
the corner near the window and a door opened onto a small
balcony.

Promptly at seven, dressed in a simple rose-colored silk
gown, Phoebe ventured into the drawing room. At least
thirty people milled about the room. When Elizabeth saw
Phoebe, she separated herself from a group of women and
crossed to her side. "Did you find everything to your satisfaction?"

"It's glorious." Phoebe nibbled her lower lip and cast a
quick glance over her shoulder to watch Sir Lemmer as he
conversed sociably with a small group of people. "I must
confess, I didn't expect to see him here."

"Neither did I.Although I don't find the man overly
charming, he does have access to the better parlors of London. Since he arrived in the company of my step-uncle we
couldn't very well ask him to leave. If he becomes bothersome, simply pretend he doesn't exist."

"Easier for you than me. You're married. I'm the bait
waiting mercilessly for the fish and I think Hildegard
would gladly hold the line for him as well."

Elizabeth patted Phoebe's arm. "Oh Lud. Winston and I
shall monopolize your time. If you find yourself trapped,
gamer my attention and I shall save you."

One question remained unanswered, actually the most
important in Phoebe's mind. Scanning the room once more
to make sure the scoundrel wasn't lurking in a dark corner
somewhere, she said, "I don't see Stephen."

"There is no need to feign indifference with me, Phoebe Rafferty, but not to worry. Stephen will be here. In fact, his
room is next to yours."

Wicked images popped into Phoebe's head, suddenly
and vividly, thoughts that heated her skin and parched her
throat. She really needed to gain control of these unwanted
impulses. Afraid her face revealed her thoughts, she shuffled her feet while she stared at her soft pink slippers.
"Elizabeth, you're shameful."

Clasping Phoebe's hand in hers, Elizabeth said, "No.
Hopeful. My role as matchmaker began weeks ago. I'd like
nothing more for Stephen to marry you however, I have
no intention of allowing the man full liberties." She whispered behind her fan. "Being married, I know about these
things." She cleared her throat. "Having said all that, I am
not above manipulation, enticement and pure, unadulterated temptation. I leave the rest in your capable hands.
Imagine you and Stephen so near each other for three days.
It will drive him insane. Lord Tewksbury will be here part
of the time as well. I can't wait to witness Stephen's reaction to that surprise. Until then, let me introduce you to my
friends."

True to her promise, Elizabeth entertained Phoebe while
easily performing her duties as hostess. Before and during
dinner, Phoebe never had a free moment; neither Sir Lemmer nor Hildegard had a chance to speak to her.

The evening progressed fairly well until she found herself cornered by Lord Milsip, who warned her to mind herself this weekend. After all, her name had been linked with
Lord Badrick in The Times. Shortly after that, Lord Renoke
trapped her in a game of cards during which he, too,
expressed his odious thoughts about Stephen.

She tried to remain silent, she truly did; however, honesty won out. Neither man appreciated her opinion. Finally
free of both men, she glanced over her shoulder and saw
Hildegard and Sir Lemmer together once again, their heads bowed together in a most disconcerting manner. Stephen
had yet to appear and unfortunately, it was far too early to
escape to her room. Phoebe dropped her forehead into her
hands and massaged her temples.

"As bad as all that?"

Phoebe smiled at Winston, who stood before her with a
glass in his hands. She eagerly accepted the drink. "I fear I
have insulted Lord Renoke and Lord Milsip."

He chuckled. "Do not fret. They thrive on controversy
and gossip. Few people whose opinions truly matter pay
them any mind. Needing their support for a bill in parliament, I tolerate their company. It's all quite bothersome
sometimes and must seem rather shallow, but alas, it's the
way of things. Who was their target tonight?"

"Who else? Stephen." Her temper resurfaced in full. She
wanted to stomp her feet and shout. "The things they said
were atrocious. If I didn't think they believed what they
said, I'd laugh myself silly."

Tucking his tongue in his cheek, he appeared to fight the
urge to laugh. "So you became Stephen's champion?"