Potent Charms (30 page)

"Once the fox is spotted, stay to the back of the field. The
ride turns wild rather quickly. I shall keep my eye on Lemmer. Remember what I said last night. No nonsense."

Yawning behind her hand, Phoebe spared Stephen a
glance. Goodness, he was agitated this morning. She
hadn't slept all that well either, but she didn't blame him
for her lack of rest, even though if she had, she would have
felt justified. His kiss had left her yearning for his company long into the morning hours. Admittedly, her preoccupation with the hunt had also prompted her to wake
earlier than normal. She intended to show Lemmer that she
was not easily intimidated. Or manipulated. She yawned a
second time. "I heard you the first time, sir."

He slapped his gloves against his hand, likely aggravated over her lack of argument, before he stomped away
to gather his own horse. She turned her attention to the stable yard. It certainly took a lot of people to orchestrate a
fox hunt.

Stableboys and groomsmen saddled the horses. The
hounds howled and yapped and tugged on the tethers that
as yet, bound them to a large pole. As the fog melted away,
a gentle breeze teased her face, carrying the fresh scent of
spring and sunshine. Fraught with purpose, she seemed
unable to enjoy the activity.

Winston occupied himself with the huntsman. Elizabeth
stood at Winston's side, one hand on his sleeve. Their
affection for one another was so obvious that Phoebe
sighed. That sort of tenderness and devotion was all she
wanted. Was it too much to hope for?

A horn sounded, prompting the forty or so lords and
ladies to mount, herself included. Enthusiastic chatter carried through the morning air, sounding somewhat like the
spirited audience of a cotton auction back home. Imagine,
thought Phoebe as she climbed atop her horse, a tiny little
fox was the cause of all this excitement.

The huntsman, dressed in a lovely red coat, rode to the
front of the group and raised one arm. On his signal the
stableboys released the dogs. They obviously knew what
they were about, for they made a mad dash across the
clearing in the direction of the nearest cover. The riders
followed at a steady lope, maintaining a comfortable distance from the hounds. No one seemed overly concerned
about where he or she rode or how quickly.

Stephen rode beside Winston and Elizabeth. Periodically, he switched his gaze to Phoebe, a firm warning in his
eyes. Lemmer, also riding near the front, primped while his
horse pranced. Every now and then he slid her a backward
glance, his expression more like a leer. It took every bit of
restraint not to stick out her tongue at him. All in good
time, she reminded herself. If the hunt went as she
planned, the overgrown braggart would be eating crow by
dinner time.

She trotted near the end biding her time, listening to Lord Kendall, her self-appointed companion, babble endlessly about the skill required to tie a proper cravat. An
occasional bird squawked, no doubt annoyed by the
cacophony of baying hounds that tore through the wooded
glades. She kept her eyes open, alert and watchful, looking
for the path the young stableboy had mentioned.

After a half-hour, the riders passed a rotted oak that
resembled a hunchbacked witch. This was the moment she
had awaited. She placed her hand to her forehead and
swayed in her saddle. "Oh, dear, I feel a bit lightheaded. If
you don't mind, sir, I believe I shall rest."

Lord Kendall immediately stopped his horse. "Of
course. Let us retire to the shade of those elms."

"And ruin your chance to win a dance with me? Please,
go. I shall either catch up or return to the stables."

His eyes shone when she mentioned the little wager.
After he glanced a time or two between the parting group
and Phoebe, Kendall nodded abruptly and galloped away.
She waited for him to disappear behind a large bramble
bush, then yanked her horse around and cantered in the
opposite direction. She stopped and pulled from her bodice
the tiny map the game boy had given her. In the distance,
she heard a peculiar bray, followed by a loud yell and a
horn. The fox had been sighted. She didn't have much
time.

Cavalier jumped the three-foot hedge with the ease
Stephen expected. Eager to witness Phoebe's skill as a
rider, he veered off the leaf-covered path and waited. When
Lord Kendall flew over the obstacle, alone, Stephen knew
his earlier assumptions to be true. That caper-witted
female had concocted some sort of idiotic plan and had
traipsed off to parts unknown. By herself.

Wasting no time, he urged his horse to a gallop. Finding the spot he had last seen Phoebe, he stopped, trying to
decide where she might have gone. A small flock of magpies screeched and fled high above the trees. He smiled.
She wasn't far.

Maintaining a lengthy distance, he spied Phoebe as she
circled the woods toward some destination only she
seemed to know. After five minutes, he was rewarded with
her plan. Somehow or another the clever girl had managed
to learn the location of the foxholes. She had every intention of uncovering them, allowing the fox to go to ground.
Although annoyed with her decision to exclude him from
her plan, he grinned. There would be no winner today.
Lemmer would be suitably vexed. Quickly and quietly,
Stephen tied Cavalier to a nearby maple, advancing on foot
until he startled a small rabbit that dashed across the clearing. Stephen ducked behind a large bush.

Spying the frightened animal, Phoebe froze. Her gaze
darted from tree to tree. At least the girl had the good sense
to be nervous. She hesitated another moment, obviously
decided she was alone, then resumed the task of pushing a
large rock from the hole. Suddenly jerking her finger to her
mouth and sucking on it, she uttered a rather earthy expletive.

Stephen stepped into the open. "Phoebe Rafferty, you
have the mouth of a sailor! Was the hunt boring you?"

Jumping to her feet, she brushed the dirt and leaves from
her knees, her head tilted to the ground. "You know exactly
what I'm doing."

"True. And I should be angry. I leave you to your own
devices and off you go to kick up a lark." He shook his
head from side to side, wishing she would lift her face. He
couldn't determine her mood. "What am I to do with you?
Not that I disapprove of the concept, only the consequences if you're caught. What do you suppose the others will think when both you and I suddenly turn up missing?
What if someone else saw you and decided to follow? Not
everyone is a gentleman like myself."

She thrust up her chin with determination and fisted her
hands on her hips. She was dressed in a delightful blue outfit, and her breasts thrust forward to tease him mercilessly.
She had even loosened the top two buttons, exposing the
creamy flesh of her slender neck. "Is that so? If you are the
gentleman you claim to be, then come over here and move
this infernal rock."

Blast, the woman was a tempting armful, but now was
not the time to act on his baser impulses. He intended to
find privacy first. Shaking his head once again, Stephen
pushed her aside and easily lifted the rock away. "Most
men take their hunts very seriously. I wonder if you realize
the extent of your interference."

"Will Winston be angry?"

"Knowing him as I do, I imagine he will consider Lemmer's proposal, place your absence with mine, and come to
a reasonable conclusion on his own. Of course, he will
investigate to ascertain if his assumption is true. This little
scheme of yours could cause the stable lads a fair bit of
trouble. How did you discover the location of the foxholes,
anyway?"

Tugging on the ends of her gloves, she shuffled her toe
through the grass. "I sort of, well, I, more or less bribed the
game boy. He shouldn't be punished, though."

With deliberately casual movements, he brushed his
hands together and said, "If you willingly spend the afternoon with me, I shall explain the situation to Winston and
swear him to leniency."

"Exactly what do you desire, Lord Badrick?"

You. In my arms. Beneath me. Joined with me. If he
hoped to gain her company for the afternoon, he dared not
share the images wreaking havoc on his body. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of
her wrist. "A ride. Conversation. The rest remains to be
seen and is totally in your hands, Phoebe, but we'd best
hurry lest the hounds find our scent and you and I become
the targets of great speculation and ruination."

"Goodness gracious. We'd best be off, then." When she
folded her hand in his, she felt safe and content, anticipating the afternoon with renewed interest.

They located the second foxhole and together dispensed
with the barrier. The hounds brayed in the near distance
and they knew time had run out. With luck, the fox would
return to his burrow.

Mounting their horses quickly, they cantered across a
wide field alive with yellow primrose and purple violets.
Along the edge, budding cherry trees burst with color. But
Stephen was the most magnificent sight of all. An expert
horseman, he moved as one with the animal. His toffeecolored breeches molded to his thighs as he rode. The wind
teased his raven curls, exposing the strength of his jaw. He
smiled contentedly, evidently as pleased with the prospects
of the afternoon as she.

Following a path beside a rocky stream lined with ferns,
they slowly climbed a small hilltop. "Wherever are you
taking me?" she asked.

"Chanctonbury Ring, a place of magic and mystery. An
ancient Roman temple once sat on top of this hill. Winston
and I came here as lads and imagined ourselves embroiled
in all sorts of adventures."

Trees grew everywhere, towering to the sky, flowering
ash and young budding sycamores, majestic oak and grand
old elms. They formed a dense, eerie ceiling, effectively
blocking much of the sun. Not a bit of wind stirred and the
heavy scent of dirt and new foliage filled the air. In the center was a circle of crumbling stone monoliths. Patches of
wildflowers and grass grew amongst the rubble. Although the hounds sounded in the distance, she felt as though she
and Stephen were the only two people in England. She
whispered, "It's quite wonderful."

"They say that if you run seven times around this circle
of trees, backwards, at midnight on Midsummer's Eve, the
devil himself will offer you a bowl of porridge."

"Did you and Winston ever try?"

"Once. We made it to the sixth turnabout and decided
we'd best find a very large stick after which our stomachs began to grumble in a most disconcerting manner. We
elected to return to the manor in dire need of something to
eat lest we'd have too little strength to face our adversary."

His dark eyes gleamed with an intriguing mix of mischief and pleasure. His spirited mood and sudden willingness to talk about his childhood drew her to his side.
Laughing, she said, "You were cowards."

"Never. We were ten and we feared the story might not
be true. Legends are great fun, but unfortunately, they vanish like the shadows on the moor in the light of reason."

"Tell me more."

He climbed from his horse and lifted her down from
hers, brushing their bodies together ever so slightly. The
simple contact shot shivers up and down her spine, electrifying the tips of her fingers and breasts. Surely he felt her
tremble. When she blushed his lips curled to one side; he
had the expectant look of a man ready to savor a cigar and
warmed brandy.

Taking her reins from her, he tied their two horses to a
nearby branch, clasped her hand in his and led her to a
grassy spot centered within the ruins. "A white-haired
man, perhaps a druid, centuries old and searching for treasure, also inhabits this hill as does a ghostly army. Every
now and again, if you listen carefully, you can hear the
hooves of invisible horses."

"Have you seen the old man?"

"Now that is another tale in itself." He shed his jacket,
exposing a white muslin shirt molded to his chest. After
placing the jacket on the ground to serve as a blanket, he
knelt and extended his arm in invitation. Willingly, and
unable to stop herself, she sat beside him.

"We made our first visit here," Stephen said, "shortly
after Winston's father shared the story of the old man. Tell
a young boy of treasure and there's no stopping him. Like
two cross-eyed lobcocks, we spent nearly a week traipsing
through the woods, digging at every plausible hiding place.
One night we stayed later than we should have. A horrific
storm came up. The wind blew relentlessly, wailing in an
eerie song throughout the trees like a choir of the dead.
Or at least it seemed so in our wild imaginations. Suddenly
a figure in white with fierce, burning eyes and hideous,
wheezing laughter appeared from over there." He pointed
to a gnarled tree near the edge of the ruins.

"Winston, the poor lad, stood dumbstruck. As the
ghostly intruder edged toward us, I, of course, collected
my wits, grabbed my friend's quaking hand and dragged
him to safety."