Potent Charms (14 page)

"I doubt he'd wave back," muttered Stephen.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,"
said Elizabeth, fixing Stephen with a baleful stare, "I
haven't been to the coast in ages. And we can discuss
eligible bachelors the entire trip. What do you say,
Phoebe?"

"My companion is coming, but...are you sure you can
spare the time? The trip will take several days. I don't even
know what--"

While Elizabeth and Phoebe rambled on, Stephen considered an idea teasing his brain. To be alone with Phoebe
away from London without another suitable male in
sight besides Winston, who was already married was to
tempting to ignore.

"I believe the idea has merit," Stephen announced.

"It does?" asked Phoebe, her surprise obvious.

"Undoubtedly. I am your new matchmaker, am I not? It
will provide me with ample time to discern the type of man
best suited as your husband."

"Splendid," Elizabeth crooned. "Why Phoebe, with all
our help we shall have a list for you in no time. Add the
weekend in the country, and you'll have a betrothal ring on
your finger in short order."

Not if he had a thing to say about it, thought Stephen. He intended to use the five days with Phoebe to his advantage,
wooing and seducing her into an agreement to become his.
He clasped her hand and kissed her palm. "I look forward
to our time together."

Phoebe tucked the invitation to Winston's country party in
the panel of her morning dress. Thank goodness Siggers
had remembered to give it to her and not to Hildegard.
Ever since the escapade with the mule, which remained a
secret for a paltry six hours, her aunt had been unbearable
to live with, her sole purpose making Phoebe's life more
miserable. Mercy, she was glad to be leaving for Marsden
Manor in two days. She could still hear her aunt's blistering tirade over yet another savory tidbit in The Times, linking Phoebe's name with Lord Badrick. Someone had
actually penned a cartoon with the American flag waving
over Phoebe's head as she tugged at a mule. Stephen pulled
from the other end, a British flag over his head. The caption read, "War? Again? Or is it soon to be nuptial bliss for
Miss P R, our illustrious colonial, and the
D of " Wary of her aunt's constant
scrutiny and changing moods, Phoebe had abandoned her
early-morning rides in Hyde Park indefinitely.

And if that wasn't enough, the number of her suitors had
doubled. Her newly found notoriety plagued her at every
turn. She should have been pleased. After all, she needed a
husband, and the more suitors, the greater selection to
choose from. The problem was that Stephen wasn't
amongst the group knocking at her door.

And she missed him with his do-as-I-say attitude and
churlish remarks. The wretch. She hadn't seen him since
the Doggett's race, yet every night he managed to invade
her dreams, wicked fantasies complete with burning kisses
and wanton caresses. She'd never had wicked thoughts
before, at least not like these. She felt justified in blaming
him for her restless condition. She needed to escape. Desperately. Trying to think of any plausible excuse to leave
the house without her aunt's supervision, Phoebe stopped
in the doorway from the breakfast room and stared.

Dee stood by herself in the foyer. She pulled a dead
mouse from her red-flowered apron and stuck it on a threelegged table where Hildegard kept her dearest of possessions: her embroidery, her spectacles and The Times.

"Dee, whatever are you doing?"

Evidently quite pleased with herself, Dee chuckled. She
covered the rodent with the social section of the newspaper. "I'm just wishing that woman never come back. She's
been nastier than Widower Webster the day he lost his best
piece of horseflesh to your father in that poker game."

Phoebe wrinkled her nose. "I'll admit, my aunt is not the
kindest of women. Where is she?"

"She dragged that poor girl off to some singing lesson.
Even the baker boy could tell that Charity don't have the
voice for it. Downright painful it is. It's a wonder she don't
just lock herself in her room and never come out." Dee
grabbed Phoebe's chin and tipped her head up. "Why the
long face?"

"I don't think I can endure one more afternoon of callers. Winston's party is next week, and I've yet to think
of a way to ask and convince Hildegard to let me go."

Grinning, Dee tweaked Phoebe's nose. "You'll think of
something, Sweet Pea. You always do. You just need a little
sunshine, not that you'll find any in this here city. Never
saw a place as gloomy as this. But then again, at least it's
not raining." Tucking her basket of mending, under one
arm, Dee draped the other over Phoebe's shoulder. She
turned toward the kitchen. "You know, child, I promised
Siggers I'd go to the butcher for him, and my feet seem to
be bothering me something fierce. I don't suppose you'd
like to go for me?"

An escape! If only for a short time. If humanly possible,
Phoebe felt as though her entire body grinned. "You know
I would."

Within minutes, she had her cape, a straw bonnet decorated with bright white daisies, a list of purchases and the
necessary coin. She waltzed out the front door. The sun
barely penetrated the haze and moisture clung to the air,
but Phoebe didn't care. She was free, at least for an hour.
And it wasn't raining. She practically skipped down the
lane toward Hyde Park, where people dawdled, enjoying
the break in the weather. Nursemaids conscientiously
watched their wards and ladies displayed themselves and
their finery in their carriages while gentlemen displayed
their horses. She found herself purposely slowing her pace,
searching the dirt tracks for Stephen.

Instead, to her bad luck, she found Sir Lemmer, dressed
in his typical peacockish fashion. Fine feathers certainly
didn't make a fine bird, she thought, then caught herself
before she burst into laughter at her own jest. He sat atop a
black stallion whose sides heaved from exertion. The poor
horse was lathered and carried marks consistent with the
harsh use of spurs. Her dislike for the man increased with every encounter. She averted her eyes, hoping he'd pass
her by.

"What have we here? A damsel, certainly in need of rescue."

"Good afternoon, sir." Nodding only slightly, she started
back down the path.

He nudged his horse forward, directly in her path. The
nervous animal danced in a tight circle several times before
Lemmer uttered a harsh command and yanked hard on the
reins, forcing the horse to stop.

"You might try a gentler hand, sir. I find an animal's loyalty is well worth the effort."

His gaze slowly slid down her body and up again, lingering on her breasts. Rubbing his finger across his chin,
his lips parted slightly and he crooned, "I have an affinity
for kindness when it suits me. Given the proper incentive, I
would be more than willing to make all your dreams come
true."

She felt naked under his stark appraisal. She almost grimaced. The odious man possessed the manners of a pig,
and not just any pig, but one who acted as though he'd won
a few too many blue ribbons at the local fair. She fought
the urge to cross her arms in front of her. "That's a mite
presumptuous."

He spoke softly, the slightest hint of warning in his
voice. "Miss Rafferty, is that any way to speak to your
future husband?"

She had never been purposely rude to the man, but neither had she given him any indication that she found his
intentions the least bit flattering. Lifting her chin a notch,
she said, "I don't recollect your asking me, nor my saying
yes."

He pressed his horse forward. "It's only a matter of time.
Lord Badrick won't marry you. He appears the perfect gentleman, but I know better. Count your blessings that
you have me to protect you from him. Like my poor sister
Emily, Badrick wives have a habit of dying mysteriously."

"Emily was your sister?"

"Didn't Badrick tell you? I'm not surprised. He talks little of his past. Don't blame the chap. Why would anyone
disclose something so reprehensible as the seduction of an
innocent young girl and murder? The curse has driven him
quite mad. I recommend you stay far away from him. If
you like, I shall see to it he doesn't bother you at all."

Phoebe digested the startling fact that Stephen was
related to Sir Lemmer. However had she missed that scrap
of information? She'd already heard the ridiculous accusations about murder, but the part about seduction certainly
was a new window into Stephen's past. Still, she doubted
that Sir Lemmer was the best source of information and
she wasn't about to stand here and argue with the man. She
stepped back, glancing from side to side. She realized he
had effectively backed her into a small, secluded area surrounded by tall elderberry bushes. The discomforting sensation of being trapped skittered up her spine. She tapped
her right toe and clenched her hands around her purse.
"My patience is gone, sir. Let me pass."

One corner of his mouth curled upwards. Using the handle of his riding crop, he traced a line from her shoulder to
the top of her breast. "And lose the first opportunity I've
had to be alone with you?" He swung one leg over the saddle. "Not a chance."

Phoebe knew enough to know Lemmer was thinking
something he shouldn't be. Considering the gleam in his
eyes, if she continued to just stand there, he'd likely try to
do exactly what he was thinking. She shuddered at the
thought of his body next to hers, his hands touching her as
he pleased. While he dangled with only one leg in the stirrups, she reached for the leather riding crop, tugging as hard as she could, effectively throwing him off balance.
The horse finished what she began. He pitched to the left,
throwing Lemmer to the ground on the right. Lemmer
jumped to his feet, his face contorted with rage. He
slapped the dirt from his breeches. "Why you
little...1 ought to-"

"Having trouble with your mount?"

Lemmer froze.

Phoebe skirted the horse and moved toward the familiar
and welcome voice. Sir Lemmer's advances had definitely
rattled her nerves, something not easily done. She practically kissed Stephen's boot right then and there. He sat
perfectly still atop his horse, for all appearances calm. He
didn't even seem to breathe, yet waves of anger emanated
from him, charging the morning air with an uncomfortable
silence. He locked a dark, savage glare on Lemmer, who
had managed to straddle his horse once again. With nothing more than a whisper, Stephen said, "I shall attend to
Miss Rafferty." His tone of voice, quiet but unyielding, left
no room for argument.

With a false smile that never quite reached his eyes,
Lemmer clenched his teeth so tightly his cheek twitched.
With his hands knotted in his reins, he nudged his horse
toward Phoebe. "Be assured, Miss Rafferty, we shall talk
again."

Not if she had anything to say about it, which she wasn't
sure she did. If only his horse would throw him to the
ground once again and kindly trample him a time or two.
Calling upon every ounce of arrogance she possessed, she
tipped her chin in the haughtiest manner possible and
remained silent as he spurred his horse into a canter. When
Lemmer disappeared from sight, Phoebe finally spared a
glance at Stephen. Surely he wanted to yell or offer a lecture of sorts. She pasted a cheerful smile on her face. "Why
Lord Badrick, what a pleasant surprise."

He climbed down from his horse, his movements deliberate and rigid. "It seems I am to constantly rescue you
from trouble."

"Now don't puff up about this. You just happened to
arrive before I resolved things. It's your fault anyway. I
was watching for you rather than paying attention to where
I ought to have been."

"I assume that was your circuitous manner of avoiding a
lecture." The tension slowly left his face and shoulders. He
tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, allowing his hand to
linger against her cheek. "You worry me, Phoebe Rafferty,
plague, haunt and worry me."

Gone was the warrior, replaced by the man she feared
was stealing her heart. One simple brush of his finger and
she trembled like a school girl. On impulse, she leaned into
the caress and placed her hand over his. His brown eyes
darkened to black, not in anger, but with something just as
dangerous. Lust, coupled with simple need. Both were
more compelling than Phoebe thought possible. Just as
quickly his hands fell to his sides. Whatever moment they
had shared vanished like the flash of a lightning bug.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Truly, I'm fine, but I do thank you for your timely interruption. That man needs a lesson in manners."

"I have said this before. Stay away from Sir Lemmer."

"I intend to, although he seems to have other ideas. He
sees himself as my champion."

He cocked his head to one side with a look of concentration she had seen several times as his mind dissected that
bit of information. "Really?"