The Bewitching Hour (14 page)

Ten hours later the sky was leaden with approaching rain and a damp breeze ruffled Stratton’s dark hair. His chestnut stallion shifted nervously on the cobbles and Stratton could feel the tension in the horse’s flanks. It had been a wretched morning. Both were taut with frustration and their early morning ride had done little to ease the strain. Even if it were allowed, Hyde Park was not the place for a breakneck, throw caution to the wind type gallop. And at the moment, that was what was needed. He should have made the trip to Richmond Park. Didn’t have the vaguest idea why he hadn’t. Whatever the reason, it hadn’t been a sound decision. He simply wasn’t thinking clearly. Scowling, he dismounted and tossed the reigns to his groom.
      “Can’t think why I didn’t turn you out, Biggs,” he said. “Remind me.”
      The blond young man grinned showing a row of even teeth. “Ya couldn’t find no one else who could ‘andle this beast of yer’s. Jupiter’s a ‘andful.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple. “Ain’t ya boy?” The stallion snorted then nuzzled his nose up against Biggs palm and took the apple.
      Stratton had to admit the young man had a way with Jupiter. The stallion was the finest creature he had ever owned, but the beast loved to challenge and intimidate. It was a damnable bit of luck that the only groom who could handle Jupiter could also not keep his breeches on and the reminder did not bode well with the disgruntled viscount. “You’d best watch yourself or you’ll find yourself tossed out on your ear, whether I can replace you or not,” he said in a harsh tone. “I’ll tend my own horse, if need be.”
      The grin quickly vanished. “Didn’t mean no disrespect, milord.”
      “I take care of those in my employ. If I hear you’ve tumbled one of the servants again, not only will I turn you out without a reference, but I’ll make it known that you can’t be trusted to keep your hands off the female servants.”
      The groom lowered his eyes and mumbled, “Yes, milord.”
      Stratton’s expression blackened as he tapped the edge of his riding crop against the side of his boot. “You may as well know that your young woman’s been found and was packed off to Reston Manor, yesterday.”
      Biggs looked up with a puzzled expression on his face. “My young woman?”
      Stratton fought the urge to plant his fist in the groom’s face. “The young woman who’s carrying your child.”
      His eyes grew wide. “Polly?”
      “Is there more than one woman carrying your child?”
      “No, milord.” He flushed. “At least, I don’t think so.”
      “When we return to the Surrey estate, you can marry the chit.”
      The groom’s tanned face turned pale and his mouth dropped open.
      If not for his sour mood Stratton would have laughed at the man’s astonishment. Instead, he said, “There are enough bastards in this world as it is. While working for me you will not add to their numbers.” He paused. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re irreplaceable.” Then he turned on his heel and strode toward the house leaving Biggs to ponder the threat.
      Stratton threw open the front door, expecting to see Reeds, but the foyer was empty. “Hell and the devil,” he muttered as he stripped off his coat and gloves and threw them down on the table. “Where’d the man go?” Reeds was always there to greet him when he came in from his morning ride. It was a ritual. With nerves stretched as tight as a bowstring he had no wish for a change in routine.
      His Hessians clattered noisily against the tile floor as he crossed the entrance hall and strode toward the staircase. He could have ridden to Surrey and back and it wouldn’t have helped. Neither would chopping up the furniture. As he took the steps three at a time he realized how idiotic his comment to Rand about chopping wood and self discipline was. This constant aching need for Priscilla was costing him dearly. He’d barely slept the night before and what little sleep he did get was plagued with erotic dreams of her. By dawn he was dressed and headed toward Hyde Park.
      Hell and damnation. Nothing seemed to ease the relentless ache in his groin. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, breathe in the scent of her golden hair, taste her soft skin. He shivered. Christ! Something had to ease this pain or he would go stark raving mad. A cold bath. He would order a cold bath and sit in it until his balls were blue and shriveled and he was as limp as a wet rag.
      He stalked down the hallway to his bedchamber and pushed the door open with a bang then pulled on the bell cord for his valet. Johnson quickly appeared, looking flushed and winded.
      “Yes, my lord,” he said unevenly as he attempted to catch his breath.
      “Where’s Reeds?”
      “I believe he’s with Madame’s dogs.”
      Stratton narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like the evasive look on the valet’s face. Something odd was going on. “Have you been running?”
      The valet hesitated a moment then said, “Yes, my lord.”
      “Why?”
      Johnson looked uncomfortable as he shifted his gaze to the floor. “We have a small problem. Nothing of great importance. Reeds is seeing to it, my lord.”
      Stratton folded his arms and stifled a groan. “A problem with the dogs. Specifically, what kind of problem?”
      “Um.”
      He was interrupted by a shriek and cacophony of yipping and yapping that grew louder by the second.
      “Damn it! Can’t we go a blasted day without those dogs causing an uproar?” Stratton yanked open the door and stepped into the path of a small gray kitten streaking down the corridor followed by a horde of brown and gray terriers scrambling close behind. The kitten flew at him and frantically climbed until it reached the top of his head. He felt pinpricks in his scalp and grimaced. He reached for the creature and was rewarded with a hiss and a swat. A low growl emitted from the feline’s throat. The terriers gathered at his feet clamoring for their prey.
      “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” The shrillness of Aunt Mirabella’s voice sent chills down his spine.
      Lips tightly pressed together, he watched as she scurried down the corridor squawking like a hen. “Madame,” he said. “Will you please cease your infernal caterwauling? Between you and these damned dogs, I can’t hear myself think.”
      The shrieking stopped but her mouth stayed open as her chest heaved and she gasped for breath. She stared at him.
      “And sit down before you swoon,” he ordered noticing the purple tinge to her face.
      The illusive Reeds appeared from nowhere and escorted her to a nearby chair.
      “And could you please call off your dogs?” Stratton added raising his voice over the din of yapping.
      “Now, darlings,” she managed breathlessly. “Come here.”
      
Hell and damnation. This is bloody insane.
“Quiet!” he bellowed. To everyone’s shock, they obeyed, and with tongues lolling and tails wagging they gazed adoringly at the tall man in their midst.
      “Reeds,” Stratton managed between clenched teeth. “What the devil is going on?”
      The butler cleared his throat. “It appears you have a kitten on your head, my lord.”
      “Yes, I had come to that conclusion,” Stratton observed in a dry tone. He reached up again and plucked the tiny creature off his head, wincing as it clawed at his hand. He held it by the scruff of its neck to avoid further injury. “As well as a pack of dogs at my feet.”
      “Did you have a pleasant ride this morning, my lord?” the butler inquired.
      “No, I didn’t,” he said. “There isn’t a decent place to gallop in this godforsaken town.”
      “Might I suggest you try Richmond, my lord? I’ve been told it’s a much better choice.”
      “I know it’s a better choice! I’ve ridden there countless times. I simply wasn’t thinking this morning." His voice lowered appreciably. "Why am I explaining myself?”
      He shifted, stepped on one of the dog’s paws and it yelped, beginning another round of barking. “Quiet!” The command worked again. “Now,” he said in a deadly tone as his gaze traveled from Aunt Mirabella to his valet and butler. “Where did this,” he glared at the pelt of fur hanging limply from his grasp, “come from?”
      Johnson glanced down the hall towards Cecelia’s chambers and a look of conspiratorial guilt crossed his face.
      “Don’t bother answering. I should have known. My tenderhearted sister who feels the need to rescue every misbegotten creature that crosses her path,” he muttered. He looked at Reeds. “Is Cecelia still in her chambers?”
      Reeds averted his gaze. “I’m not certain, my lord.”
      “It won’t bode well to cover for my sister. Let me rephrase this. Has Melly been upstairs to help her dress?”
      “No, my lord.”
      “Then unless Cecelia has crawled out the window in her night clothes, she’s still in her chambers.” He looked down at the squirming dogs who seemed on the verge of exploding. “Sit,” he ordered. “Reeds, get these bloody animals out of here. I’ll be with Cecelia a few minutes, but I want them gone when I come back.”
      “Of, course, my lord,” Reeds said. “I’ll retrieve the leashes and bring additional servants.” He bowed and hustled down the hall.
      He glanced at his valet. “And I want a bath made ready.”
      Johnson nodded. “I’ll see that hot water is sent up, my lord.”
      “No,” Stratton said sharply. “Not hot water. Cold water. And coffee, toast and the morning paper.”
      The valet looked surprised but went off to do as he was bid.
      Stratton eyes fell on his aunt. Her normal coloring had returned. “Have you recovered, Madame?”
      She nodded slowly and her mouth opened and shut several times before the words came out. “Oh, Eugie,” she said with a soft high trill. “You should have seen yourself. That silly little kitten perched on top of your head. It was so adorable. If only your mother had seen you. I simply must write her.” She broke into peals of hysterical laughter.
      “I’m pleased you find it so amusing,” he muttered. “I would hate to think it was all for naught.” He stuck the kitten in the crook of his arm and headed towards Cecelia’s chamber.
      The frightened kitten mewed as he pounded on Cecelia’s door.
      “Hush,” he ordered. “I’m not hurting you.”
Good God, I’m talking to a cat.
      No one answered.
      He pounded again. “I know you’re in there, Cecelia. I’m coming in whether you want me to or not.”
      “I’m resting.” Her voice was tentative.
      “Not anymore.” He tried the knob and the door swung open.
      Cecelia was curled up on a blue and gold chaise lounge. “I should have locked the door.”
      “It would have served no purpose. Mrs. Simpson has a key.” He held out the mewing kitten and walked toward her. “I take it you lost something.”
      “Poor kitty.” She took the kitten from him and rubbed her cheek against its fur. “Those awful dogs scared you to death, didn’t they?” She looked up at her brother. “She got loose.”
      He folded his arms and looked at her. “Obviously.”
      “I thought Melly had taken her outside so I didn’t look for her. Then I heard the dogs and you in the hallway.” She broke off. “You didn’t sound very happy.”
      “Imagine that.”
      “I more or less reasoned out what happened. I thought it best if I stayed in here until you weren’t quite so unhappy.”
      He continued to stare at her. “Coward.”
      She took in a breath. “You have to let me keep her, Eugene. I found her in the middle of the road, yesterday. She was meowing so piteously. I couldn’t leave her there; she would have been run over.”
      “It likely has fleas.”
      “But she doesn’t,” she protested. “Melly checked her over and couldn’t find a single flea.”
      “Even so, it should still stay outside.”
      “But she’s so little and the tom that stays in the stables is very territorial. He won’t want a kitten around.” She set the kitten down beside her and picked up a ball of yarn. ”And it still gets cold at night. I’m afraid she’ll run off if we keep her outside all the time. She can stay in my room.”
      “The cat can’t stay in here, Cecelia. I found out first-hand how sharp those claws are. She’ll ruin your drapes and furnishings.”
      “Could she stay in the kitchen?”
      “No.” He watched as the kitten pawed at the yarn Cecelia dangled in front of her.
      “Please Eugene. Don’t be mean about this.”
      Looking into her pleading eyes he felt his resolve begin to weaken. He sat down on the edge of her chaise and said, “I’m not being mean. I’m being practical. You can’t adopt every stray creature that wanders in your direction. We will soon be overrun.”
      “But she’s the only stray I’ve taken in since we’ve been here,” she protested.
      “We’ve been only been here a few weeks. At this rate we’ll have a menagerie by the end of the season. And that’s not counting Aunt’s mongrels.”
      She frowned. “That’s unfair. I had nothing to do with bringing her dogs here.”
      “True, but it doesn’t change the fact that they are here. They run amuck creating havoc wherever they go. I don’t want it to get any worse.”
      “Please, Eugene. You won’t even know she’s here. I promise.”
      “Wipe that pitiful expression off your face, Cecelia." He sighed with resignation. “We’ll do this on a trial basis. If she claws the furniture, she goes. She sleeps in the servant’s quarters, not in here. And you have to keep her away from those damned dogs.”
      “Thank you.” Cecelia crawled up on her knees and gave her brother a hug. “Did you hear that, Ashley? You get to stay with us.” She settled back against the pillows and picked the kitten up again. It began to purr loudly. A small, pink tongue darted out to lick her hand.
      As he watched, some of his ill humor drained away and his expression softened. “You didn’t waste any time in naming her. Why Ashley?”
      “She looks as if she’s been rolling around in ashes.”
      He nodded then did his best to look stern. “There will be no more animals brought into this house.”
      “I promise.”
      “Good.”
      She set the kitten on the floor and laughed with delight as it scampered sideways across the rug in search of some invisible prey.
      “Isn’t she adorable?”
      He thought of Mirabella’s remark and said dryly, “Adorable.”
      “Will I see you at breakfast?”
      “No, I have something else I need to do.” He left her room and headed toward his own chambers where a cold bath awaited him. At this rate, the morning didn’t seem likely to improve.

S
tratton impatiently checked his watch, then grumbled to Cecelia, “What in the blazes is taking Aunt Mirabella so long? We’ve been standing in the foyer for at least fifteen minutes.”
      “I imagine she’s still fussing over the hat she bought yesterday. I swear it looks as if she has a flamingo sitting on her head. It’s enough to make one shudder.” She grimaced. “Sometimes she can be so embarrassing. I can’t help but wonder what people think.”
      He smiled sympathetically. “I know, but you may as well resign yourself to the fact that there’s nothing to be done about it. Most of the ton accepted Aunt’s oddities years ago. Her peculiar sense of style is no reflection on you. Actually,” he stepped back to get a better look as he nodded approvingly at her attire; a pale lavender gown trimmed with white ribbons, a lavender velvet cap and a single strand of pearls, “that gown suites you admirably. You look quite elegant tonight.”
      “Thank you. So do you.” She tilted her head and grinned. “Will you be looking for a bride this evening?”
      “No.”
I believe I’ve already found one.
“I’ll be far too busy growling at your suitors.”
      “I’m ready, dears.”
      
Finally.
Stratton glanced up to see his aunt carefully descending the stair case. He blinked in astonishment as all rational thought deserted him. Her stout form was encased in layers of pink and orange taffeta and the ensemble was topped off by an enormous headdress of pink ostrich feathers that clashed horrendously with her flaming red hair. Stratton opened his mouth but nothing came out.
      “I warned you,” Cecelia said beneath her breath. “I wonder how many ostriches had to give up their tail feathers to create that thing?”
      He slowly exhaled and said, “She was supposed to burn it. I told her to burn it.”
      Cecelia looked at him oddly. “Told who to burn what?”
      There was no point in explaining. He simply shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.” Then a little louder he added, “Aunt Mirabella, will I be receiving a bill for that hat?”
      “Well, of course you will, dear. Though it may be a bit of a shock. I’m afraid it cost a fortune. You don’t mind do you? It’s so dramatic. I adore it.”
      Mirabella was far from impoverished but when in town; she managed to divert most of her bills to the Stratton household account.
      “I figured as much,” he muttered. “Were there any others like it?”
      “I was assured there wasn’t another one like it in all of Britain.”
      
Thank God.
      “Were you thinking of one for Cecelia?” she continued brightly. “It wouldn’t do for her to wear the same hat. After all, it’s very eye catching and people will remember it. Of course we could have it altered a little. As I said, it was frightfully expensive and it’s a shame to only wear it once. Having it remade would be an excellent idea. What do you think, dear?”
      Cecelia paled. “I look ghastly in pink, Aunt Mirabella,” she said with a touch of desperation in her voice.
      “Yes, that’s right,” Stratton agreed quickly. “She looks wretched in pink. Positively bilious.”
      “That’s utter nonsense, Eugie. She looks beautiful in pink. But of course we could always have the feathers dyed.”
      “Feathers make her sneeze,” he said emphatically. “Everyone will think she’s caught the ague if she wears feathers.”
      Cecelia nodded emphatically. “That’s true, Aunt Mirabella. They do make me sneeze terribly; my eyes get all watery and my nose gets stuffy. No one would ask me to dance if they thought I was ill. I’ll never find a husband that way.”
      “Oh, my. I didn’t know. You poor dear. What a dreadful shame. To not be able to wear feathers.” She shook her head. “They add such flair to one’s ensemble.”
      Stratton choked back a retort.
      “Are you alright, Eugie dear?'" She frowned at him. "You look as if you don’t feel well. I thought the ham didn’t look quite the thing at luncheon.”
      “I’m fine,” he assured her as he placed his hand on her shoulder and propelled her toward the door. “But it’s past time to leave. We’ve been late to every event so far. It’s rude and I don’t want to make a habit of it.”
      “Perhaps we should travel in separate carriages. I don’t want to make Cecelia ill. And I certainly can’t change my outfit at this point. It would take far too long.”
      “No, we don’t need separate carriages,” he said firmly as he guided her down the steps. “It won’t take more than twenty minutes to get there. That’s not long enough to make her sick.”
      “I’ll be fine, Aunt Mirabella,” Cecelia assured her as she followed behind. “I promise.
      “But dears, how can you be so certain?”
      “She can stick her head out the window if she needs to,” he said as he helped Mirabella into the carriage. “And I don’t want to hear another bloody word about it.”
      Mirabella pursed her lips as she settled herself in the seat. “You’ve been so irritable lately, Eugie. I’ve half a mind to write your mother.”