Potent Charms (15 page)

"Yes, indeed. He thinks to save me from a similar fate
his sister, your wife, suffered. Would you care to elaborate?"

He shrugged matter-of-factly. "No."

"You can't avoid me forever."

"I have no intention of avoiding you, only the topic of
my past."

Stomping her foot, she struggled to keep her temper in
check. The man was worse than Tobias when he wanted to
keep a secret. A person had better luck trying to change a
dead man's mind. Just to let Stephen know what she
thought of his behavior, she gave a satisfying squawk in
the most unladylike manner possible and turned to leave.

He matched his steps with hers. "Where are you going?"

"The butcher and the milliner."

"A bit of a walk, isn't it?"

"My time these last weeks has been spent on teas, balls,
dinner parties and the opera. I'm accustomed to more rigorous endeavors. Since you refuse to talk to me, the walk
will be a welcome diversion."

"I didn't refuse to talk to you, but since you seem set on
this course and since I see you have ventured off, again,
without any sort of companion or chaperone, I will keep
you company."

"How generous of you, sir." Didn't the man ever ask
permission? She wanted to stay angry, she really did. But
there was no hope for it. His company was exactly what
she wanted. They walked leisurely, Cavalier trailing
behind. "If I remember correctly, you were to give me
counsel on my matrimonial candidates, yet you seem to
have neglected your duties."

He tucked his tongue in the hollow of his cheek. "Did
you miss me?"

"Like a case of measles."

When he laughed, she joined him. His good humor was
contagious. She had missed him, but wasn't about to admit
it. He was too sure of himself as it was. She pushed aside
other questions about his absence, prepared to simply
enjoy his company.

"You do realize your husband would forbid such behav for as walking about unaccompanied. He'd likely forbid
your early-morning rides in the park and possibly limit
your excursions altogether."

"I would likely test his patience daily."

"Then he might beat you and lock you in your room and
be justified in the eyes of the House of Lords. Mistresses
have so much more freedom afforded them these days. For
your information, my dear, most husbands expect far more
wifely obedience than you tend to exhibit. They dislike
quibbling, whether the subject is a gift, a meal or a scrap of
clothing. It upsets their constitution."

"That's a bag of moonshine, if ever I heard any. Don't
you mean it challenges their need for superiority?"

"Only out of concern for their wives."

"Phooey! Out of concern for their pride."

"There is that. However, if they said the sky was green,
they'd readily expect you to agree. If they preferred fish,
they'd expect cod for supper. If they disliked velvet, you'd
wear silk. If they abhorred Beethoven, you'd play Mozart.
If they"

She held up her hand to stay the flow of words on wifely
obedience. "I understand, my lord. Is all this written in
some book of rules or such? It might prove interesting
reading."

"Goodness, no. A true gentleman acquires such attributes at birth, making a wife's life most boring. My point in
all this is that few men enjoy a debate of any kind with a
female. Unlike myself, of course."

"Of course." The rogue. He was thoroughly enjoying
himself. She met his smile with one of her own. "You
would allow me to wear breeches?"

"Daily, if you so chose."

"And ride in Hyde Park by myself, and discuss Plato and
Socrates with you?"

"'Twould be invigorating."

"You would eat gruel and black pudding, dance in the
rain and allow me to cheat at poker?"

"Smiling at every turn."

Quietly pleased with herself, she flipped her bag over
her shoulder and watched his expression." 'Tis a good
thing. I intend to find a man, one of the select few such as
you, who has no need to exert his power over me."

Stephen admitted his defeat as he escorted her out of
Hyde Park. He asked, "What was your aunt's reaction to
Winston's invitation?"

"I haven't exactly asked her permission just yet."

He stopped and looked her squarely in the eye. "I hope
you plan to ask her soon."

She lengthened her stride. "I've been biding my time. I
plan to mention it before we leave for Marsden Manor.
Hildegard has been absolutely horrific ever since that...
well..." She kicked a pebble with her shoe. "I'm sure you
know why. I hope the mention of us in the newspaper
didn't cause you any problems. You'd think people had
better things to do with their time than worry about the
comings and goings of London society."

"Darling, it gives me no pleasure to be right about the
incident with the mule if it caused you aggravation. Many
people with too much idle time read the society section
before any other part of the newspaper. Put the problem
aside. I'll think of something."

As they walked, they discussed everything from King
George to blackberry pie, which turned out to be Stephen's
favorite. He even hired a street urchin to watch his horse so
he could help her with her purchases. Determined to show
her the benefits of being his mistress, he offered to buy her
a pearl necklace, a new hat, a pair of shoes and a gold pin
shaped like a seagull. She refused each and every gift, yet bought the hat herself. She loved every minute of their
time together.

As they neared Hildegard's house, she fidgeted with the
small bag she carried, the thought of returning home now a
worry. Her aunt had made her opinion quite clear. The
Duke of Badrick was not a welcome suitor. Leaves danced
about her feet as the wind blew. The skies turned a murky
gray and the air grew heavy with moisture, a perfect reflection of her mood. Rain would soon fall.

Stopping at the comer of Hildegard's lane, intent on preventing any sort of a scene, she reached for the purchases
he carried. "Thank you for your company. I had a delightful time."

He maintained a tight grip on his package and studied
her face. "What's the matter, Phoebe?"

A fat drop of water fell on the tip of her nose, followed
by another upon her forehead. She plastered a coy, flirtatious smile on her face. "Oh, silly me. I've just been gone
longer than expected. I best hurry on. Good day."

His hand snared her wrist, effectively keeping her
trapped before him. "You're a pitiful liar. The truth. Spit it
out."

Rain began to fall in earnest and people with the tiniest
bit of intelligence scampered to find shelter. The stubborn
man would likely keep her in this foul weather until she
caught pneumonia, but she couldn't very well tell him the
truth. Soon, her cape clung to her body and water dripped
from her hat, two of her spritely little daisies bowed over
the brim in submission to the rain. Still, he refused to
release her hand. Her shoulders heaved in resignation. "If
you must know, my aunt doesn't like you very much."

"I thought it was something of importance." He started
down the lane. "Do not concern yourself with such trivialities. Come along."

"She doesn't want me to see you. At all. She has no idea you mean to accompany me to Marsden Manor either, and
I'd appreciate that little bit of news be kept private."

"Trust me, I shall manage your aunt. Right now I am
more concerned with finding dry space." He grabbed her
hand, dragging her toward her aunt's home.

By the time they reached the front door, they were both
drenched. Siggers appeared quickly and efficiently and,
without so much as a blink of an eye, he directed them to
the salon. He took their packages and withdrew from the
room on a promise to return with suitable refreshments and
towels.

Stephen shut the doors and moved close enough to tug
on a lock of hair curling about her face. "You look quite
lovely all soggy." Using the knuckle of his index finger, he
traced a circle from her cheek to her chin to her other
cheek. "Beautiful."

Yearning clawed at Phoebe's stomach. "Siggers? My
aunt?"

"I know. We best not waste this opportunity." He nuzzled her right ear. "For the last few days, I've thought of
nothing else." His grip tightened. Pulling her into his arms,
his lips met hers.

Heat consumed her, every nerve ending alive with antic ipation and fire. She forgot the rain, Hildegard's edict, even
Siggers. Passion warred with her muddled senses. She
couldn't continue to let him kiss her like this whenever he
wanted. No matter the temptation. Didn't they need to
stoke the fire or something, although heat was the last
thing she required at the moment? Stephen warmed her
better and faster than any old fire ever could. As his hand
slid beneath her cape to rest on her rib cage, her breast
swelled. Pressing closer still, she tried to blame the reaction on her damp garments. She knew better. Her body
craved his touch. Stephen Lambert could kiss, and then
some. As if he read her mind, his hand inched upwards.
Slowly. Surely, she would die of anticipation. When his
thumb grazed her nipple in a tender assault, she moaned.
Her legs felt liquid and her body ached in places she never
thought possible. Finally, his hand stilled and his lips left
hers. A whimper, surprisingly her own, filled the void. She
willed her eyes to open. "Oh."

Stephen dropped his forehead to hers. "You drive me to
madness, woman."

Madness? Yes, she understood that feeling as well.
Swallowing convulsively, she stepped to what she deemed
a safe distance away, behind a large gothic library table
with hideously ornate table legs shaped like dragons. She
wrapped her arms about her waist. "You had best go. My
aunt will return shortly."

"I detest repetition, and I told you once already, your
aunt presents no threat." Stephen had no intention of leaving before he gained Hildegard's assurance that Phoebe
would attend Winston's party. Moving before the stone
fireplace, he removed the decorative screen and stirred the
embers, warming the room.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered to herself as she
removed the water-logged hat from her head and set it on
the table. "Perhaps you don't realize the extent of her dis like for you. Hildegard said some rather horrible things for
which I had no defense since you refuse to tell me anything
about your past."

"I don't remember requesting a defense of any kind."

"Nevertheless I felt inclined to do so."

"Defending me is not a wise plan. My reputation is quite
tattered. Few people will agree with you and, more importantly, you are likely to find yourself ostracized."

"All the more reason to tell me what I need to know."

"Give over, Phoebe. I have no need of a stubborn, single-minded female fighting my battles."

"Stubborn?" She planted her hands on her hips. "Hah.
That's a tale tell coming from a man who chooses to play
the martyr because of two dead wives and a fool gypsy
curse."

"Tread carefully, Phoebe. You know not of what you
speak."

"Then lands alive, tell me. Did you murder Emily?"

In exasperation, he threw his hands in the air. She was
worse than a guard dog with a thiefs britches in its mouth.
He knew she would snarl and chomp until he offered information or escaped. Escape was not an option right now. At
least her question was easily answered. "No, I did not. She
fell from a balcony in our home. I arrived to find the body."

Phoebe stood rooted to her spot, tracing a large pink
flower in the rug with her toe. She started to shiver. "Was
that so difficult to share with me?"

He dropped his head to the palm of his hand which
rested on his knee. So like a woman not to be satisfied.
They wanted a man's soul. Well, his was not available. Prepared to tell her so, he shifted to the balls of his feet as a
handsome Negro woman, obviously the companion
Phoebe spoke of, sailed into the room carrying a silver tea
tray. From the determined look on her face, he knew she
had something on her mind.

"What are you thinkin', child?" Dee asked, placing the
refreshments on a nearby table. "Getting yourself soaking
wet."

Stephen stood, one hand balanced on the large Grecian
urn beside him. "That would be my fault."

While Stephen and Dee silently took one another's
measure, Phoebe made the introductions.

"Well, I can't say I admire your manner of caring for a
lady. Most people have sense enough to come in from the
rain. What's your excuse?"

"Dee." Phoebe glared at her maid in silent communication. Then she smiled at Stephen, one of those apologetic,
my-servant-didn't-mean-it kind of smiles. "My companion
worries overmuch for me sometimes."

"Understandable," agreed Stephen, undaunted by the
woman's censure. Obviously Dee cared a great deal for her
charge and took her responsibilities seriously. He couldn't
blame her. He had similar feelings about Phoebe himself.
"I plead guilty, Dee. Admittedly, Miss Rafferty bewitches
me. My better judgment eludes me when I'm near her."