The Bewitching Hour (10 page)

Stratton handed Priscilla down from his carriage then turned to help Sally. After depositing the maid on the ground he took in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of newly shorn grass and spring blossoms. He gazed at Priscilla as she tilted her head back to feel the warmth of the sun on her face. Eyes closed, her lashes formed golden crescents against her pale skin. His gaze drifted down to the perfectly drawn lips and gentle curve of her neck.
      Then she quickly turned away and said to her maid, “Sally, you mustn’t fall behind, today. No more than fifteen paces behind us.”
      “Yes, miss,” the maid replied cheerily.
      Priscilla faced Stratton and added, “Please bear that in mind, as well.”
      Stratton grinned at her. “Oh absolutely, Miss Hawthorn.”
      He watched she fussed with her bonnet. The deep green confection covered most of her blond hair but a few shimmering strands had come loose and he reached up to brush them away from her cheek, allowing his fingers to brush against her jaw line before offering her his arm.
      She opened her parasol and stared at him a long minute before she placed her hand on his arm and they began their stroll. “My lord,” she began in a most serious tone. “We must talk.”
      “Yes?”
      “I would like to express how much I would dearly love to throttle you,” she said calmly.
      Her statement didn’t come as a complete surprise as he knew he would pay for the comments he had made during tea. Nevertheless he queried, “Beg pardon?”
      “I believe I said I would dearly love to throttle you.”
      “And why is that?” he said, making a great effort the keep the laughter from his voice.
      “For a moment, I thought you would tell Olivia about the mess Mary has created. That wouldn’t do at all. I can’t imagine why you thought to even make comment on her disposition. And you charmed Olivia!" Her eyes sparked as she huffed with exasperation. "Tell me. Is your wit spontaneous or did you spend the morning rehearsing remarks that you thought might please her?”
      He wondered if she had any idea how appealing she was when she was angry. “My wit is quite spontaneous, but it’s entirely your fault. You seem to bring it out in me.”
      “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me any credit. The glory is yours to enjoy.”
      He glanced over his shoulder to make certain Sally was not within hearing. “Don’t be perturbed. Cousin Mary’s secret is safe with me.” He did his best to appear contrite. “And I apologize. I didn’t mean to be charming. I’ll be an absolute fiend the next time we meet. Mrs. Hutton will be certain to hate me.”
      “That’s ridiculous.”
      “It is,” he agreed. “I couldn’t be a fiend if I tried.”
      She burst into laughter. A delightful, rich sound that charmed him to his toes. “That may be the case,” she said. “But I still want to throttle you.”
      He lowered his voice. “And I still want to kiss you.”
      She bit her lip and looked straight ahead.
      “Priscilla?”
      “You must call me Miss Hawthorn.”
      “Miss Hawthorn?”
      “Yes, my lord?”
      “Would you like to kiss me?”
      She stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “Good heavens, I can’t kiss you in the middle of Hyde Park.”
      Stratton found her answer heartening. She hadn’t actually said no, though if she had, he would have known it to be a lie. “That isn’t what I asked,
Miss Hawthorn.”
He drawled her name out slowly. "Would you
like
to kiss me?”
      “Don’t be foolish!”
      “You don’t kiss fools?”
      She bit down on her lip, as if thinking. “It appears that I do.”
      “And do you enjoy it?”
      “This is the most ludicrous conversation I’ve ever been a part of. It always seems to happen when I’m around you.” She brought her voice down to a whisper. “Yes, I suppose I enjoy kissing one particular fool. But I would enjoy throttling him, as well.”
      “Do I get to choose between being kissed and throttled?”
      She came to a complete stop. “How absurd you are! At the moment, I'm leaning toward throttling.”
      The parasol tilted and sunlight spilled over her, revealing flushed cheeks and vibrant blue eyes. Had they not been in the midst of Hyde Park, he would have kissed her. “I find you delightful, Miss Hawthorn." He placed his hand at the small of her back and urged her forward. "Are you certain you won’t attend the Sutter’s ball this evening?”
      She shook her head. “No. As Olivia told you, we’ve sent our regrets and accepted another invitation.”
      “Ah. A pity. I would enjoy myself much more if you were there. And, of course, one never knows when the treacherous Lord Bertram might appear. I could well use your protection.”
      She presented him with a most unconvincing frown. “I’m certain you can defend yourself quite admirably. We will see one another at the Morrison’s ball.”
      “If I were to find a letter from your cousin by then, would there be a reward?”
      She looked away, but not before he saw her smile. “Perhaps.”
      He leaned his head toward hers and murmured, “Maybe two kisses?”
      She nudged him with her elbow. "Talk about the weather, your country house, your family, anything but kissing.”
      “Why?”
      Her only answer was to nod her head in the direction of several groups of stylishly dressed men and women strolling toward them. Not far behind them, carriages filled with the fashionable traveled at a snail's pace, stopping periodically to chat with acquaintances. Though it was not yet four o'clock, the park was rapidly filling up. Soon, society would be buzzing with whatever scandal could be gleaned from an hour's time spent in Hyde Park.
      “Ah, yes, the gossipmongers,” he acknowledged. “We must maintain an air of propriety.”
      “In private, as well as in public.”
      “Very well.” He sighed. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Hawthorn. I know so very little about you.”
      She glanced up at him and he caught a ripple of apprehension. “There’s little to tell. I’ve led a most ordinary life.”
      “Let me be the judge of that.”
      “As you wish,” she relented. “What would you like to know?”
      “Why have I never seen you before?”
      She hesitated a moment. “You have.”
      Her revelation surprised him. “I don’t see how. Believe me, Miss Hawthorn, if I’d seen you, I’d remember.”
      “It’s been a number of years. We attended some of the same functions the year of my come out.”
      He thought back to the last few years before he had left for France and couldn't place her at all. Considering his self-indulgent lifestyle at the time, a young debutant would have been off-limits, but she was far too lovely to have completely escaped his notice. “Surely you’re mistaken.”
      “It was some time ago. I was only seventeen. I looked quite different.” Her face remained in the shade of her parasol, but given her tone of voice, he would have wagered she was blushing.
      How much could a young lady change is just a few years time? Quite a lot, he supposed. “Did you have pigtails and freckles?” he asked.
      “No.”
      “Shorter hair?”
      She shook her head.
      “Were you cross-eyed?”
      “Don’t be silly." She paused. "It’s only that I appeared much younger than I was.”
      He wondered at her obvious embarrassment, then, her meaning sunk in. “You were a late bloomer.”
      She didn’t answer.
      He cast an approving look that traveled from her head to her toes. “It was well worth the wait. You’ve bloomed beautifully, Miss Hawthorn. And I’m sure your petals are exquisite.”
      She frowned at him. “I’m not certain what you’re referring to, but it sounds most improper.”
      His eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I’m afraid it was highly improper."
      "Hush!" A group of young ladies about Cecelia's age had reached them.
      He tipped his hat and bowed courteously. Greetings were exchanged and as they continued their stroll, Stratton didn't seem to be able to pull his eyes from away her. He wanted to drag her over to the nearest copse of trees, toss up her skirts and make love to her. He imagined the soft flesh of her breasts in his hands, the taste of her skin, the sweet smell...
      "You're staring," she said.
      The words barely penetrated his mind. What had she said?
      "You're staring." The vexed tone of her voice brought him, at least partially, out of his lust.
Damn it! Take hold before you embarrass yourself.
He swallowed and forced himself to speak. "Forgive me." His voice sounded surprisingly normal so he continued. "I know it's rude of me to stare but I find you quite attractive."
      Her brows knit as she frowned at him. "If you don't pay attention to where you're walking, you're apt to stumble and take me with you. I'd rather not go home with skinned elbows and dirt and grass stains on my gown."
      The thought of causing dirt and grass stains on her gown very nearly did him in all over again. He forced his attention on a spot on the horizon and thought of a math tutor he'd had who delighted in rapping his hands with a wooden spoon whenever he gave a wrong answer. It seemed to help. "Very well, I shall tear my eyes away from your lovely countenance and pay attention our immediate wellbeing."
      "Thank you."
      After a few moments of silence, Stratton said, “Tell me about the rest of your family.” It seemed a safe subject and he found that he was surprisingly curious.
      She remained quiet long enough that he wondered if she had heard him. Just as he was about to ask the question again, she said, “My father died in a carriage accident when I was fourteen. Papa was very involved in politics and served as a minor diplomat." A faint smile touched her lips. "He was wise and in some regards, unusual. He always encouraged me to learn as much as I could about the world around me and I have done my best to do so." She made a face. "Few men seem to appreciate my efforts. It can be quite exasperating. I grow so tired of not being expected to have a thought on anything other than what frock to wear or what happened at the latest ball. I have no wish to be regarded as a bluestocking, but there are times when I long for more meaningful conversations.” She shot him a glance that looked very much like a challenge. “Do you find that objectionable, my lord?”
      “Not at all. I suffer far too much discussion regarding frocks and the social life of the ton when I’m at home." He grinned. "I suppose you expected an argument from me?"
      "Given your bull-headed attitude over my desire to speak with Bertie, I suppose I did," she said with a touch of petulance.
      Hoping to avoid another argument on the subject, he said, "Tell me about your mother."
      “We look much alike, but she’s a far more adventurous soul than I am and loves to travel. Lord Cunningham, my step-father, rarely denies her the things she really wants. He's promised to take her to Egypt as soon as is reasonable. She has her heart set on visiting the pyramids.” She frowned. “I don’t understand the attraction of traveling to Egypt. It’s terribly hot there and much of their traveling is accomplished on camels." She paused. "I suppose we’re fortunate she hasn’t asked to visit the wilds of Africa.”
      “I must agree with you there. From what I’ve read, camels can be most disagreeable animals. But why do you say you’re not adventurous?”
      “Because I’m not.”
      He chuckled. “I beg to differ. Under the right circumstances, I believe you could be quite adventurous.”
      "I don't see how you could possibly know that."
      "Call it a hunch." He tipped his hat and nodded as they neared another group of pedestrians. Once they passed, he asked, “Tell me how Mrs. Hutton came to stay with you?”
      “Olivia’s been a widow for a number of years. Her last companion married not long before Lord Cunningham and Mama and I had to leave for Vienna,” she explained, “so she leased her house and came with us. When I decided to return, she came as my companion. It’s worked out quite well. We get along famously.”
      “You didn’t care for Vienna?”
      “No.”
      Since she didn’t seem inclined to explain further, he asked, “How old are you?”
      She gave him a harsh look. “That isn’t a proper question, my lord.”
      “I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend. You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. However, according to my sister, I’m very old. Ancient, in fact.”
      Her lips turned up at the edges. “And how old is ancient?”
      “Thirty-one.”
      “Not quite ancient, then. If you must know, I’m one and twenty." She paused. "Too old for mindless flirtations.”
      Startled by her remark, he stopped and looked at her. “Is that what you think this is?”
      Her expression serious, she nodded. “Yes.”
      He considered his words carefully. “I must say with all conviction that though on occasion I have resorted to flirtation, neither one of us is mindless. You are beautiful and charming and I’m not sure I could exist with any degree of enjoyment in this town, if not for your company.”
      Her eyes flickered. She hesitated a moment and said, “May I be candid for a moment?”
      “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
      “It is no secret that you have much enjoyed bachelorhood and all of its amenities for a number of years. You have acquired a certain reputation. There are other women who might be more to your liking. Women of experience who understand and accept that you will go on to other pastures once you’ve grown restless.” She lowered her voice. “Your intentions concern me. What is it that you want from me?”
      Eyes fixed on her face, he gazed at her intently. “Everything.”
      Her eyes wavered uneasily before she raised them skyward. “Whatever do you mean by that? No, don’t tell me, for I’m sure I don’t want to know,” she said. “Why I agreed to this stroll is beyond me."
      He took her hand. “I don’t know how to say this more plainly. I want you, Priscilla. There isn’t anything about you that I don’t desire. I’m even willing to deal with your silly cousin and young Bertram to stay in your company. This is no mere dalliance on my part. I won’t ask for a commitment just yet, but I have no intention of letting you get away from me.”
      “We barely know one another.” She cast him a look of consternation.
      “Then we will spend more time getting to know one another,” he said. “You’ll find I’m not quite the devil that you think.”
      She stared at him. He noted a flicker of pain on her face as she said, “It’s possible to know someone for years, and still not really know them at all.”