Potent Charms (32 page)

"I realize that," she said hesitantly, unsure of the direction of his thoughts.

"Such pleasure is not often shared between a man and a
woman."

"Why do you suppose that is, Stephen?"

"I have no bloody idea."

Love, she wanted to shout. Love made the difference.
Damn his soul.

"Do you think to find another man who can make you
respond so readily?"

"Probably not."

"Then abandon this ridiculous search of yours!"

"I have no choice."

"There are always choices."

She focused on the loosened buttons of her jacket. "So
you keep saying and I keep wishing."

He ripped a scrap of bark from the trunk of a tree and
tossed it to the ground. "I do not understand your willingness to go to a man you hardly know, one you might dislike, simply due to a piece of property. We shared more
than a kiss or two, Phoebe Rafferty, and don't even think to
forget it. I guarantee my caresses will haunt you no matter
the man you take as husband."

The truth of his statement was paralyzing. No man made
her feel as he had. She hated the fact that he knew it. She
stood and brushed the crushed leaves from her clothes,
which only fueled her discomfort. His blind refusal to
acknowledge what they had shared, what she had freely
given, hurt and shattered what little patience she had left.
Her body throbbed with rekindled passion. Anger. For the first time in weeks, she questioned her ability to change his
mind. "Since we seem to be speaking so openly, I venture
to say that you, Stephen Lambert, will remember the
response I freely gave and will spend the rest of your days
despising the thought of another man touching me as you
did. Think on that."

Like the ancient trees that surrounded them, he stood
rooted to the ground. Then without another word, he
stomped toward their horses.

Phoebe considered his silence a good sign; her comments had hit their mark. She still had a slight chance of
convincing him to marry her. With a conviction born of
years of hardship, she resolved to give the man one last
chance. Of course, she was a dreamer at heart.

Phoebe tore her gaze from Stephen, who stood on the other
side of the ballroom refusing to give her the time of day.
She stared at her aunt's pinched expression the knitted
brow, her normally pale coloring flushed with anger and
sighed. Hildegard was in the mood to lecture.

"Your willful behavior, Phoebe Rafferty, casts doubt on
your character, which in turn affects me and my own. I
have heard the whispers about your disappearance this
morning. The fact that Lord Badrick vanished near the
same time stimulates gossip amongst my peers. I shall not
have my name linked with his."

Hildegard's words rolled off her tongue with little care
as to who might hear while her arms flapped in every direction. A bit of the devil prompted Phoebe to widen her eyes
with false innocence and, knowing she would be better off
saying nothing, she spoke nonetheless, her voice a whisper
laced with shock. "Why, Auntie, do people think you were
with Lord Badrick?"

Hildegard sputtered twice, then snapped her mouth shut.
She frowned at Phoebe, then cast a glance to her daughter,
who had giggled quietly. "Charity, what do you find amusing? And quit your slouch. Your dress hangs like a worn
grain sack when you do."

Charity jerked her shoulders backward and thrust her
chest forward. However Charity managed to tolerate her
mother's constant attacks was beyond Phoebe's imagination. But then again, so was Hildegard's cruelty.

"And what, pray tell, did you say to Lord Renoke and
Lord Milsip?" Her aunt continued. "They seemed
absolutely horrified when someone mentioned your name.
Not that I care overmuch for their opinion. When I consider your mother's sins, I am not surprised at your behavior. She traipsed off to the colonies without a care to what
happened to me, leaving me to accept what meager proposals came my way. People talked then as well."

Gritting her teeth, wishing she were anywhere but where
she was, Phoebe purposefully smacked her lips. "Auntie, if
I may say so, I think that too many people spend far too
much time hashing over other people's lives as it is. As to
my disappearance this morning, I felt faint and went for a
walk. Remember?"

"At the same time as Badrick!" The disdain carried over
into Hildegard's words. "Even Sir Lemmer commented on
the so-called coincidence."

"Sir Lemmer's opinion means nothing to me."

Hildegard's lips twisted into a sneer. "You say that now,
but circumstance often changes quickly and unexpectedly."

Ignoring the warning that clamored in her mind, Phoebe
tried to think of a way to escape her aunt's company,
though she hated to abandon Charity. She grinned when
she saw Sir Ellwood and Lord Kendall heading in their direction. A dance with either man was better than a lecture.

"Here come Sir Ellwood and Lord Kendall," Hildegard
muttered. "Remove that wobegone expression from your
face, Charity. As I reminded you earlier this eve, do not
waste your time with Ellwood."

"But Mother, surely one dance wouldn't hurt."

"Humph. And for heaven's sake, try to think of something to say other than yes sir' and no sir.'"

"I am not a simpleton, Mother."

Clutching Charity's hand in hers, Phoebe squeezed. She
could offer no words, only support. Waiting until Charity
had secured a dance with Sir Ellwood, Phoebe herself spun
away with Lord Kendall.

Her aunt scowled, but Phoebe only laughed.

The unbidden image of Phoebe, her lips parted with surprise and passion, flashed repeatedly across Stephen's
mind. Tantalizing, unwelcome memories had taunted
Stephen throughout the day, making him more irritable
than anyone ought to be. With his thoughts scattered and
distracted he'd actually played one of the worst hands of
whist he'd ever encountered. He glared across the ballroom to the woman responsible for his foul mood.

Lord Eaton stood beside Stephen and sipped a glass of
sherry. "What do you suppose happened to the fox, anyway?"

"'Tis a puzzle, indeed," Winston said, looking purposefully at his friend. "What do you think, Stephen?"

"One can only speculate, my friend."

"Bloody shame if you ask me," muttered Eaton for the
third or fourth time not that Stephen was counting, but
the bore refused to change the blasted topic. Eaton tugged
his red waistcoat lower over his extensive belly. "I rather fancied the business of impressing the women. Oh, bother.
I shall have to rely on my wit and skill as a dancer. If you
gentlemen will excuse me, I for one intend to make the
most of the evening."

With a ridiculous flourish of his wrist, Eaton abandoned
the discussion, circling the dance floor, seeking the lady of
his choice. Already guessing the prey Eaton sought,
Stephen grimaced. His scowl deepened as Phoebe gave
Eaton a winsome smile and a giggle. The damned woman
had flaunted her charms all evening, dancing with gent
after gent, talking and laughing as if she actually enjoyed
their company.

It was an abomination. Why just this afternoon, she had
bestowed upon him one of the greatest gifts given a man.
Now she was allowing every manjack to touch her. At
least Lemmer had the good sense to stay away. Stephen
doubted he could have remained on this side of the ballroom, as he had all evening, if Lemmer had so much as
breathed in Phoebe's direction.

Clearing his throat, Winston grabbed two glasses of
champagne from a passing servant. He handed one to
Stephen. "By the way, my friend, how is that headache of
yours?"

"Fine."

"Truly?" Winston pursed his lips and studied Stephen's
face. "It appears as though you suffer for need of a physic
this very moment lest you expire at my feet. Unless, of
course, there is another reason for a scowl worthy of all
scowls to be plastered on your face?" Winston waited
patiently for a response, any response, from Stephen.

When none was forthcoming, he continued. "Eaton does
have an interesting point. I myself wondered what happened to the fox today. Sir Lemmer seemed quite upset
over the debacle. Much to my chagrin, Lemmer came to
his senses before he insulted my gamekeeper's skill. I rather liked the thought of planting a facer on him. Imagine
my surprise when my men investigated and discovered not
one, but two of the foxholes uncovered. Very odd."

In the arms of another man, Phoebe circled past
Stephen. Her laughter, like the effervescence of a fine
champagne, floated above the music and set his teeth
to clenching. His fingers curled around the stem of his
glass, wishing it were Eaton's miserable neck instead.
"Hmmm."

"Sweet mercy, Stephen. What the devil happened?"

Stephen pivoted away from the dancing couples to face
Winston. Perhaps if he ignored the girl his mood would
improve. Rubbish. "You are more persistent than a harrier
with a rabbit between his teeth. I have a fair idea you
already know what happened and torment me for your own
enjoyment. Phoebe decided on her own I might add to
save the fox from his fate and remove any chances that she
be saddled with Lemmer for the eve. When I discovered
her little plan, I naturally gave assistance as any gentleman would."

Winston lifted a solitary brow, a silent request to elaborate. He waved his hand impatiently. "And?"

"After which, we rode to Chanctonbury Ring where I
foolishly subjected myself to her manipulations and an
afternoon of frustration and torture."

Clearing his throat, likely hiding a chuckle, Winston
said, "My dear friend. Go ask the female to dance. You
might be more fit company for her than Eaton"

Not bloody likely, thought Stephen. He'd strangle the
woman or drag her from the room, peel her clothes from
her body and kiss her into submission or he'd admit that
he loved her. Bloody hell. Where had that thought come
from?

Guilt, he quickly decided. He'd not asked for her full
agreement before they made love; he'd assumed her declara tion meant that she'd accepted his conditions. He hadn't
bothered to clarify what she meant, but rather taken her virginity, and now he felt guilty. Thinking to ease his guilt, some
twisted piece of logic was convincing him he loved her.

But that was impossible. He'd locked the door to those
emotions and buried the key with his two dead wives. He
slapped his hands behind his back. "Considering the speculation caused by our absence this morning, that is the last
thing I should do."

"As long as no one knows the truth, no harm shall be
done. Let everyone wonder. Other than Renoke's and Milsip's misguided opinions, it certainly has not affected her
allure. Even Tewksbury asked about her earlier this eve. At
this rate, she'll make a match in short order."

"Like hell she will."

Shaking his head, Winston placed a brotherly hand on
Stephen's shoulder and squeezed. "The girl is perfect for
you. The curse is nonsense. Marry her and be done with it,
else I fear you shall be the most inhospitable company for
all time."

"I can't."

"You won't."

He viciously cursed. "Am I always to be plagued by
those who worry over my matrimonial state as if it were
their own?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, Stephen
stomped off in the general direction of the card room. He
wearied of watching every man and boy ogle the woman
he considered his.

He had warned Phoebe about her feelings. Lord, he
seemed to be the one unable to control himself. Infernal
woman. When would she realize she belonged to him?

Phoebe watched Stephen storm from the room. Stubborn oaf. Let him brood. He had ignored her all evening,
which suited her just fine. Unless he had something differ ent to say or was prepared to apologize, she intended to
keep her distance. She pasted a false smile on her face and
turned back to Charity. The poor girl stared at Sir Ellwood
as though the man held the moon in his hands. Phoebe
knew the feeling. She sighed and watched the lords who
circled them like vultures after a kill. How she wished for a
few moments alone.

Hildegard's nagging voice cut through her thoughts.
"Phoebe, I see you need something to divert your attention.
I seem to have left my fan in the portrait hall. Go fetch it."

Before Hildegard had an opportunity to blink, let alone
ask a second time, Phoebe jumped to her feet. "Gladly,
Aunt Hildegard. I welcome the exercise to waken me after
dinner."

The oddest look, one almost like anticipation, flashed in
Hildegard's eyes, then vanished. A feeling of unease jolted
Phoebe's body, which she quickly dismissed. After all,
what harm could come from fetching her aunt's fan?

In no hurry to return to the dancing, she slowly found
her way to the room near the back of the house where they
had earlier viewed Winston's newest acquisition: a lovely
painting of the Thames by some artist named Joseph
Turner.