Potent Charms (9 page)

As if reading her mind, Stephen folded his arms across
his chest. "Although the idea has merit, I have no intention
of plying you with spirits and ravaging you in a theater
filled with people."

Unable to stop the blush creeping from her toes to her
face, she marched to the curtain and stared at the activity
below. "Fine. A sherry, if you will." Lordy, due to the
height of the room and the soft lighting, no one could possibly see inside, leaving her and the duke quite on their
own. As long as they were quiet. She felt his warm breath
on her bare shoulder and turned quickly enough to witness
the lazy grin on his face, as though he'd read her private
thoughts. She stiffened, swallowed her retort and
squelched the trembling that threatened her limbs.

Extending the crystal glass toward her, he said, "When I
make love to you, it will be somewhere and sometime
when no one would dare interrupt us. I hold this fantasy of
lingering over your body for hours."

Although unsure of what exactly one did when one
made love for hours, her body seemed to like the suggestion. Or was it just the close proximity of Badrick? He did
affect her in the most unusual manner. As dignified as possible, feigning an indifference she didn't feel, she said, "I'd
say that is rather presumptuous and exactly why I came
with you. You obviously did not hear a thing I said the
other day."

"I heard. I simply chose to ignore it. One of the benefits
of being a duke."

"That's a fine how-do-you-do. Well, sir, I don't have
such a luxury. This is my life, not a day at the races or a
game of chess with which you play."

"You make me sound like a spoiled lad who wants only
his way. I believe I know what is best for you."

"How dare you presume such a thing. You don't even
know me."

"Then tell me," he said, his voice warm and enticing.
Using the soft pad of his thumb, he gently traced a path
across her brow, her cheek and finally her lips. "Help me
understand the secrets you keep, your desires, your
dreams. Let me know what you require and I will endeavor
to give it to you."

Whether bent on seduction or not, Stephen remained at
the curtain. He waited patiently, giving her a chance to
make the choice. He did seem sincere. Perhaps if she confided in him, he would see the necessity of what she did.
She moved to the settee, perching on the very edge, both
feet firmly planted on the floor. Her eyes focused on the
claw foot of the chair in front of her while she contemplated how one explained one's dreams in a few short sentences. "Any choices or dreams I ever had vanished the day
my father died. The day the banker knocked on my door to
tell me my daddy owed everything I loved and held dear to
the bank. Bless his heart, he left Ireland behind thinking the colonies held the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Unfortunately, he was a good man with no talent for business. After my mama died, we moved several times. We
finally settled at River's Bend. With age came a greater
understanding of my father's foibles. I ran the plantation as
best I could, trying my best to keep us financially secure. I
was unaware of the debt he incurred with his final venture.
When all was said and done, I had only an inheritance I
knew nothing about until three months ago and enough
money to purchase a ticket for England."

Inhaling a deep breath, she tilted her head to look
Stephen squarely in the eyes. "You were right. I have no
desire to wed. Not under these conditions. If I had my way,
I'd find a man to love as my mama and daddy loved."

He waved his hand in the air. "A frivolous notion. As
spoken through the ages in verse and rhyme, love marks
every man and woman foolish enough to believe in the
illusion. Most sensible young women wish simply for a
suitable match. They are lucky to find even compatibility
along the way."

Intent on matching his nonchalance with her determination, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Sir, most
women want love. Their parents hope for a suitable
match."

"Perhaps. But more often than not, the pursuit of love
robs a man's soul of reason."

In all her days, she'd never met anyone who didn't
believe in love, who didn't dream of finding it in some
way. Love was the greatest of treasures to be given and
shared. It conquered all. Goodness, he made the emotion
seen like a silly schoolgirl's dream and a rope around a
man's neck. "What about your friends, Elizabeth and Winston?"

"Fine. I concede that some people, a minute few, are fortunate enough to find both love and compatibility, but let us revisit your situation. We established that you have no
choice and little time. Suppose love is beyond your reach.
Why tie yourself to a man you barely tolerate? I know
you're attracted to me, Phoebe. I offer you an alternative."

She remembered Sarah Hastings, a sweet, innocent girl
blinded by passion, who ran away with a gentleman from
Atlanta, a man who used and then discarded her like an old
coat. Sarah, unable to face alienation from her former
friends and her own parents, had thrown herself off a balcony into the path of a passing carriage.

Phoebe didn't think herself so weak-willed, nor was she
foolish enough to believe that Badrick had her best interests in mind. Consequences of some sort were always the
result of one's actions. She pushed herself from the settee,
circled to the other corner and placed her unfinished drink
on the table. "Your so-called alternative leaves you in control of my future and me at your beck and call. It is an
alternative that allows you to discard me whenever you
weary of my company, one that eliminates any possibility
of my claiming my only birthright."

"As a man saddled with such a destiny, I can honestly
say you might be better off without the responsibilities you
also inherit. But, if and I say if --I tire of your company,
you could return to America with a healthy income even
without Marsden Manor."

"What about Aunt Hildegard? I owe her more than a
scandal amongst her friends."

"Do you really care about your aunt's friends' morality?
You don't even know them."

Armed with logic and calculation, he was obviously prepared to deal with every possible argument she might present. She briefly wondered if all his past mistresses had
been hired so matter-of-factly. Likely so. His manner was
the epitome of composure. She doubted many people, if
any, ever saw him in a vulnerable position. Why in the name of Saint Mary did she like him so? "If you are so
interested in me, why not ask for my hand?" Hesitantly,
she asked, "Would marriage to me be so horrible?"

Since she stared at her slippers, she heard but never saw
him approach. Standing only inches away, he did not touch
her. "Not you, Phoebe. Never you, but marriage itself.
Wedlock is not for me. I would not give you false hope."

Although his voice hinted at wry amusement, she sensed
regret and even sadness. "You make marriage sound like a
death sentence."

"For some, it is."

"Why? Certainly you must have a reason."

He pinched the bridge of his nose as though the thoughts
crowding his mind required too much concentration. "Forgive my morosity. Suffice it to say, I am doing you a
greater service by offering you the position as my mistress
rather than that of my wife."

Scolding herself for the disappointment tugging at her
heart, she added a false bravado to her words. "It doesn't
matter anyway. I'm not quite ready to sell myself. I still
have four weeks left."

"At a task you dread. Let me help. I wish to take care of
you."

"Pardon me for saying so, but you've a wish to bed me."

"There is that, but something else draws me."

"Perhaps you want me simply because I injured your
pride when I refused your proposition the first time."

"I am many things, but not a fool. I would never shackle
myself to a female I disliked simply to soothe my wounded
masculinity. I assure you, my reasons are far less noble.
Shall I prove my point?"

She knew he intended to kiss her. And no tree blocked
her escape this time. Truth be told, wanton or not, she'd
been waiting, even hoping, for this very moment. She
watched his fingers, long and elegant, slide about her waist, and she trembled. His other hand gripped her chin.
As his lips descended, she met him halfway. The kiss,
more sensual than she remembered, planted a seed of
desire deep in her belly, one she sensed would grow and
flourish with a few caresses. Even more compelling was
the sense of rightness, the way her curves molded with his
muscles. Lands alive, she had to admit she liked kissing
this man, and when he used his tongue like that, she liked it
even more. She pressed her body closer.

A soft, insistent tapping permeated the heady sensation.
Startled, she jumped back. Her one hand nudged the table,
which set the various glasses and tumblers rattling
moments before Winston peeked around the door. Her
other hand remained trapped within Badrick's, who
refused to loosen his grip.

"Ahem," Winston said sheepishly. "Excuse the interruption, but Elizabeth requests, rather adamantly, that the two
of you join us."

"Assure Elizabeth that Miss Rafferty remains well. We
will be along in a trice." After Winston left, Stephen pulled
Phoebe to his side once again, refusing to acknowledge the
scowl she threw at him. "Do not be so quick to make a
decision. Unfinished business lies between us, and I warn
you, I intend to use all of my persuasive powers, which are
considerable, to sway you to my way of thinking. You just
might change your mind."

"And if I demand you leave me be?"

"Would you be so cruel? Besides, I attend a great many
functions. As you hie yourself about London looking for
your mate, we shall surely encounter one another frequently."

Pursing her lips into a doubtful frown, she boasted, "You
are not the only one with persuasive abilities. Who's to say
that I won't change your mind?"

"Shall you use your female wiles to force me to do your bidding? Hmmm. Who holds the greater will within them?
You or I?" He grinned at the obvious challenge. "It seems
the next few weeks shall prove to be rather interesting.
Come, before Elizabeth sends the royal guard in search of
you." Without another word, they descended the stairs,
Stephen's hand on Phoebe's elbow as he directed her to
their destination. "Here we are."

The moment they entered their box, Elizabeth spun on
her seat and glared at Stephen. "Shame on you. The second
act is about to begin. How am I to acquaint myself with
Miss Rafferty if you insist on monopolizing her time?"

"Elizabeth, my dear," Stephen said. "To my brewing
consternation, I am most confident you shall find an opportunity to interrogate Phoebe to your heart's content."

"As a matter of fact," announced Elizabeth, her grin confirming Stephen's suspicions. "Saturday is the Doggett's
Coat and Badge Race." She beamed then continued
onward like a child in search of treasure, happy with her
quest and not to be deterred. "Phoebe, you shall accompany us. It's an absolutely delightful diversion, as long as it
doesn't rain. Simply everyone ventures to watch."

Caught up in Elizabeth's exuberance, Phoebe asked,
"What is it?"

Obviously feeling left out, Stephen moved to Phoebe's
side. "Apprentice seamen race from London Bridge to
Chelsea. The winner earns the right to wear the grand scarlet coat with the silver Hanoverian badge. There shall be
raucous crowds, heavy gambling, pickpockets and thieves,
plus hawkers peddling their wares, not to mention a gathering of the scraggliest group of men who sail the seas."

Stephen's manner, somewhat like a preacher denouncing the sins of the local tavern, contrasted to Elizabeth's
enthusiasm. Phoebe burst out laughing. "It sounds delightful."

"I told you she would accompany us. I shall send my carriage for you about one. Besides, it might be one of the
few times we can go about together. Stephen rarely shows
his face in London and ventures into public even less. A bit
of a recluse, he is."

"How interesting," Phoebe cooed, remembering his
claim that they would meet frequently. The sneak.

"Elizabeth," Stephen drawled. "Do be quiet. The play is
about to begin."

Waving one hand, Elizabeth patted the empty chair
beside her with the other. "Phoebe, sit next to me. We shall
whisper throughout the remainder of the opera, driving
Stephen to distraction as he wonders what secrets I might
reveal."

Phoebe sat as instructed, hoping that Elizabeth would
become a trusted friend, one capable of easing her loneliness and offering council. As the theater quieted, Stephen
reluctantly sat behind the two ladies, beside Winston.
Throughout the remainder of the opera, Phoebe tried to
focus on the actors and actresses on stage or on Elizabeth,
who occasionally quizzed her. Try as she might to ignore
Stephen, whenever Phoebe peered over her shoulder it was
to discover his dark eyes fixed on her. As if drawn by his
will, she found herself peeking more often. The corner of
his mouth even curled upward as if he'd proved a point or
gained some advantage. Once, the wretch even blew her a
kiss. When the opera finished, she quickly bid good night
to Elizabeth and Winston.

With Stephen at her side, Phoebe wove her way through
the corridor, trying to return to the other side of the theater
as quickly as possible. Likely Aunt Hildegard was frantic.
As people crowded about, she found herself pressed
against Stephen. Her body didn't seem to mind one little
bit. Against her better judgment, which seemed to elude
her whenever he was about, she purposely squeezed closer
to him a time or two. From the corner of her eye, Phoebe studied the man. Glory be, he was a handsome devil. And
charming, in a rather prideful way. His aversion to matrimony baffled her, though, and he refused to offer any
insight. She considered Nanny Dee's suggestion that she
change the man's mind about marriage, if in fact he was
the man she wanted.