Potent Charms Read online

  "That curse is stuff and nonsense. You know that."

  "Curse or no curse, with and without love, I've tried my hand at marriage twice already. I learn from my mistakes and I have no intention of repeating that one. Ever."

  Winston vigorously massaged his chin, obviously contemplating whether to drop the subject.

  "Winston, I am content," Stephen said. "Leave it be."

  Scanning the ballroom with a resolute expression, Winston nodded. "All right. Let's rescue Elizabeth. She feels compelled to dance with every fellow who asks. That wretch, Lemmer, is waiting his turn."

  When Winston mentioned his first wife's brother, Stephen suppressed a sneer. He had no use for the man. Though he appeared the perfect gentleman, he was a vainglorious little monster in search of a title, and, Lemmer's sexual appetites slanted toward what Stephen considered depraved. They had hated each other since Emily's death. Considering the rapid pace Winston set, his friend evidently felt the same.

  It took only moments to cross the ballroom floor and reach Elizabeth's side. As a result of his prodigious size, most people quickly moved out of Winston's path.

  Elizabeth, a petite woman with a heart the size of her husband, beamed as she watched Winston approach. His besotted expression matched hers. Good heavens, Stephen thought, love transformed people into idiots and fools. Still, no matter how loathsome Stephen found marriage, he wanted only happiness for his friends.

  Winston wedged himself between Lemmer and Elizabeth, his display of ownership evident for even the simplest of minds. Stephen flanked Elizabeth's other side. Lemmer's eyes flashed for a moment and he appeared annoyed, but he merely nodded his head in greeting.

  Winston faced Lemmer. "Were you leaving?"

  With a sudden intake of air, Elizabeth glared at her husband. He merely shrugged his shoulders.

  Extending his arm toward Elizabeth, Lemmer said, "As a matter of fact, your wife and I were about to dance."

  "She looks a bit piqued to me," Winston apologized. "Do you not agree, Stephen?"

  Swallowing a chuckle, Stephen cleared his throat. "For the lady's safety, she had best rest with Winston and myself." He could almost hear Lemmer's teeth grinding at the snub.

  "Surprised to see you here, Badrick," Lemmer finally said. "I thought London too public for you. So much talk about gypsies, murder, dead wives and all."

  "Many people with nothing to do spend endless hours exercising their tongues at the expense of others. I worry little about them. You of all people should know that."

  "Ah, yes. The imperturbable Duke of Badrick. Are you here in search of another woman willing to take a chance on your dukedom?"

  "Hardly."

  With false sincerity, Lemmer placed his hand across his heart. "Pardon my indiscretion. I forgot. Finding a wife would be a trifle difficult, what with your reputation and two dead wives."

  Refusing to give Lemmer any satisfaction, Stephen flicked at a small green leaf he found on his sleeve. "Reputations are funny things. They crumble quite easily when certain information, best kept between gentlemen, falls into the wrong hands but I forget myself. This is not the place to discuss such things. Don't you agree?"

  "For now," Lemmer said, his expression pinched and a touch of red to his cheeks. He turned to Elizabeth. "Good night, Lady Payley."

  Winston stared at Stephen. "What was that all about?"

  "The man has despised my existence ever since I married Emily. Her death did not endear me. At least we're rid of his company." Grasping Elizabeth's hand in his, Stephen whispered, "As for you, my dear, we could still flee to the far ends of the earth and live happily forever."

  Tipping her head slightly, her walnut-colored eyes sparkling, she glanced from one man to the other. "j is something to consider."

  Winston snatched her hand from Stephen's. "Best say no, darling. Else I would have to kill him."

  "I had not thought of that." She stared at Stephen. "I'll simply have to find a wife for him as well."

  As his eyes lit with mischief, Winston rubbed his chin. "As a matter of fact---"

  Stephen cleared his throat. "Winston." He placed enough warning in that one word for an idiot to understand.

  "What?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Nothing," Stephen said.

  "I've known you since I was four," Elizabeth said. "I recognize that tone."

  Stephen wondered if he'd made a mistake in seeking information from Elizabeth. Winston needed no ally in his matchmaking schemes.

  She squared her shoulders. "Five minutes alone with me and Winston will reveal everything."

  Knowing there was no hope for it, Stephen gave in. "What do you know about Miss Rafferty?"

  "The American?"

  "Yes."

  Leaning over her shoulder, Winston whispered, "He met her tonight. Nothing happened. He does not want her as his wife since he desires no wife at all. We are ordered not to interfere. The girl made an odd statement and he simply wishes to ascertain her true circumstance."

  Stephen watched Winston adopt an innocent expression that Stephen imagined he used time and again when negotiating alliances.

  "I'm merely repeating what you told me." Winston winked at Elizabeth.

  Casting a speculative glance toward Stephen, Elizabeth said, "I see. I saw the girl from a distance. She's quite lovely."

  Turning toward the twirling couples with practiced nonchalance, Stephen said, "I suppose."

  Elizabeth tugged at her glove in defeat. "I can tell you are not prepared to reveal a thing." She paused. "Then I suppose I will. She is in need of funds, though she does have something to bring to the table. Whomever she marries will inherit the Marsden title."

  Ah, no wonder the girl appeared unhappy about her fate, Stephen thought. Still, she seemed determined to do what was necessary. Unfortunately, Stephen had no intention of entering the marriage mart to save the girl from the poorhouse. Matrimony was, quite simply, not an option.

  "Stephen," added Elizabeth.

  "Yes?" he said absently.

  "I believe Sir Lemmer intends to give suit."

  Stephen felt his limbs stiffen. He stifled the urge to find Lemmer and physically redirect the man's interests. "Over my dead body."

  Winston asked, "I take that to mean you intend to see Miss Rafferty again?"

  The image of a smiling Phoebe, the charming dimple in her left cheek visible, filled his mind. The creamy flesh above her bodice, the sparkle in her eyes when she laughed completed the picture. Indeed, she was a rare treasure. He smiled at a curious Winston and Elizabeth. "I believe I will. One way or another."

  Stephen squinted against the brilliant glare of the sun as it rose steadily over the treetops of Hyde Park, wondering once again if he had misplaced his good sense. Dawn was an unholy hour to make such a determination. For two days, with his normal calculated pragmatism, he had weighed all aspects of his plan, deciding his idea bore merit. He had no intention of allowing Phoebe to slip through his fingers and into the arms of another man, especially one like Lemmer.

  Cavalier, his black stallion, loped down the sandy track of Rotten Row while Stephen watched for a carriage or buggy, any conveyance that might carry the little Colonial. All he saw were grooms or noblemen out for their morning rides. The thunder of hoofbeats garnered his attention moments before a large roan lumbered to an abrupt stop at his side and reared. The mare's front legs landed in a puddle, spattering mud everywhere. The rider laughed exuberantly, the sound as refreshing as the brisk morning air. Damn if Stephen didn't recognize that voice.

  He turned in his saddle to assure himself that he was wrong. Much to his dismay, leaning over the mare, stroking the animal with the warmest of affection, was Phoebe Rafferty. The infernal female sat astride the huge red horse. Bareback. Not only that, she wore breeches. Men's breeches. A woolen cap slanted low over her forehead and covered the glorious wealth of red hair he had seen before. Her eyes, a deep green the color of lush clover, twinkled with mischief. At first glance, she resemble
d a young groom.

  Stephen scanned the area for her chaperone. When he found none forthcoming, he felt the unusual urge, reminiscent of the night at Wyman's ball, to lecture Phoebe on good sense, or rather lack thereof. Then again, lecturing a woman moments before asking her to become his mistress seemed preposterous. He shook a glob of mud from his glove. "Typically, one approaches another rider with more caution."

  Phoebe glanced at the numerous spots marring his trousers and boots, then hugged her horse around the neck. "Do forgive Flash. It's been days since we've ridden together."

  "I was referring to you."

  Phoebe threw back her head and laughed, sending her horse into a nervous shimmy from side to side. Displaying the skill of an accomplished rider, she controlled the horse with a simple squeeze of her thighs. Stephen wondered if she would react with such abandon when she rode him. He immediately regretted the impulsive thought; his arousal would likely not abate anytime soon. Forcing his undisciplined thoughts back to the present, he nudged Cavalier to a walk.

  Flash followed at a sedate pace. Although anxious to pursue the business at hand, Stephen knew women expected all sorts of nonsensical chatter and frivolous conversation. He surveyed his surroundings, searching out a suitable topic for a woman's mind. Birds noisily chirped in the nearby evergreens. Dogs scrounged for breakfast or barked occasionally as a squirrel chattered from a nearby oak tree. A gentle breeze swirled the earthy scent of dirt and dew through the morning air. He said," 'Tis a lovely morning for a ride, though I can't remember the last time I greeted the dawn in this manner. Flash is a fine-looking animal."

  "Why, thank you, your grace." she said proudly. "I'm training him."

  Remembering the horse's earlier display, he looked dubiously at her.

  Phoebe laughed. "That's not fair. Hercules, my horse back home, would have let himself be ridden to ground if the need arose. Flash belonged to my uncle and has been ridden very little. Given time, I believe he'll come around."

  "Then I compliment you on your ability. Such loyalty is hard-won with horses. Where is Hercules now?"

  "He was considered part of my father's estate and sold." She averted her gaze to the horse's neck, but not before he glimpsed the sadness lingering there. She sighed, then said, "This is a pleasant surprise. I didn't really expect to see you quite so soon."

  "It would appear we both made a miscalculation." She watched him and waited. He added, "When you said you ride in Hyde Park in the morning, I imagined something altogether different."

  Her gaze followed his to her male-attired body. "I've ridden every morning since I was no taller than our front porch. I know it's a blatant disregard for another of your English rules, but I can't abide sidesaddles. The fripperies women chose to wear when riding are impractical. Do you find my behavior shocking?"

  "Shocking is the wrong word. Unexpected, perhaps. Besides, I am the last person to cast stones. I do wonder why you respect the rules enough to dress as a stableboy?"

  "Oh, sweet heavens. If discovered, my aunt would faint dead away and then some, only to wake long enough to administer a two-hour lecture on my impropriety. She considers me a classless hoyden as it is. Inferior. Until I'm free of her household, masking my behavior seems the easiest solution."

  "Inferior? In what way?"

  She stopped her horse and shook her head from side to side, waving her hands in the air. He presumed she was imitating her dear aunt's actions. The girl certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

  "First, there is my father's Irish ancestry," she said, slowing her voice to a lazy drawl. "Therefore, my hair is too red, my eyes too bright. I am to move more slowly with less enthusiasm, an unlikely possibility because my legs are too long. But if I master the art of walking, it will benefit me since my oversized bosom would be less noticeable."

  Halting beside Phoebe, Stephen allowed his gaze to wander over every physical flaw she named, difficult as it was given the clothing she wore. He remembered her dressed in silk, her red curls blazing in the candlelight and the powerful urge he'd felt to take her into his arms. She would make the perfect mistress. He clasped her chin, noting the softness of the alabaster flesh, and he lowered his voice almost reverently. "Your aunt is either jealous or in need of spectacles."

  As though a hand gripped her neck, swallowing suddenly became difficult. She cleared her throat and licked her lips. "Did I mention my nasty little habit of speaking my mind?" Her voice seemed huskier, her accent more pronounced.

  "I believe I remember something of that from the other night, but I feel tact is often overrated. Shall we walk?"

  "If you like."

  Right now his greatest wish was to glide every inch of her delectable little body against his, not the most prudent of ideas given the circumstances. "I'd help you down, but I think it might appear most peculiar if I helped my groom from his horse."

  Veering off the path to a copse of elms and maples, Stephen tied Cavalier to a nearby branch. Spotting a clump of violets, he picked a handful and waited, watching Phoebe, her rear perched in the air as she slid from the saddle to the ground. She truly possessed a delightful derriere, a vision worthy of his appreciation when dressed in men's breeches. He'd always considered women's bodies one of life's greatest pleasures, partaken of excessively in his younger days. Older and wiser now, he'd learned to control his lust and usually limited his sexual encounters to mistresses or not at all. Nonetheless, the unbidden image of those soft mounds turned up trump on his bed, naked for his eyes only, flitted across his mind. His trousers suddenly fit tighter than he preferred.

  When she stepped near, he held the flowers out to her. „Violets dim, yet sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes or Cytherea's breath.'"

  Accepting the gift, she grinned. "Shakespeare. The Winter's Tale"

  "You know our esteemed playwright?"

  "You sound surprised. I'll have you know, sir, I've read all his works."

  Passion and stimulating conversation. The time for idle chatter was over. He paced back and forth, slapping his leather gloves briskly against his leg while Phoebe stood silent for a moment, stroking Flash's neck. His proposition made perfect sense. He needed to explain his position clearly and thoroughly to allow for no misunderstanding. Why, then, did he feel like a misguided schoolboy on the verge of mischief?

  "It seems something is clawing at your throat," Phoebe said. "I usually just blurt it out."

  Stephen halted beside a large bayberry bush and watched a robin play tug-of-war with a worm. Phoebe was right. He gained nothing by waiting. As if delivering a speech in Parliament, he clasped his hands behind his back, braced his feet apart and spoke calmly and concisely. "I want you to become my mistress."

  Phoebe's eyes rounded to the size of Dresden plates and her mouth fell open wide enough to swallow a small bird. Her mouth shut, then opened, then shut once again.

  "It appears I've rendered you speechless."

  "Lands alive. I don't know what to say."

  "Then say nothing until I've explained. You will have a house of your own, an appropriate staff and a healthy monthly allowance. A carriage of your own choice will be given to you as well as a pair of horses for your riding pleasure. You will want for nothing."

  Phoebe didn't look at him, but concentrated on the leather rein she twirled in her hands. "How very kind of you," she said, her voice now a shy whisper, void of its earlier enthusiasm.

  This was going extremely well. The dear girl was overwhelmed with his generosity. She'd probably never received such a grand proposal before. Stephen couldn't wait for her to hear all that he offered. "At which time we choose to part, you keep the house, the staff and everything you have received during my care. I guarantee you your allotted income until you marry or find another protector."

  "In return, you would expect me to...?"

  The red-silk-clad image of Phoebe, kneeling at the foot of his large feather bed, anticipating his arrival, forced a smile to his lips. He would kiss every inch of her, starting wit
h the adorable little mole below her right ear. He lowered his voice to a seductive purr. "Be available to me whenever I wish."

  "I see." Actually Phoebe saw nothing at all but a man she thought handsome and charming enough to seduce a stable filled with women, a man who looked overly proud of himself with his chin lifted and a cocky grin plastered on his face. Goodness, he both infuriated and intrigued her. However had he come to the conclusion that she would be willing to be his mistress? She tapped the toes on her left foot and twisted the reins into a tight knot about her fingers. "We hardly know one another. What makes you think such a relationship even possible?"

  "Quite simply, I want you."

  She wasn't quite sure how to respond to that declaration. He sounded as though that sole reason should be enough to convince her. The business of mistresses was not completely foreign to Phoebe. Although her father never had, many plantation owners took slaves as their lovers. Some went willingly, some didn't. When she was a child, she'd befriended some of the women on her own estate and heard them talk. The slaves foolish enough to care for the men waited like lost puppies, hoping for a scrap of time or a bauble to prove their worth. Phoebe shuddered to think of herself reduced to waiting on a man's whim. Good sense warned her to mount her steed and flee. Curiosity won. After all, she might never have the same opportunity to ask the questions she wanted to ask. "Shouldn't one's mistress require a certain expertise?"

  "One can easily be tutored."

  When his lips curled to one side he looked like a man confident in his skills. Her stomach fluttered strangely. No doubt he could tutor a woman on most anything. Pity, she thought. She needed a husband, not a protector. She looked him squarely in the eye, pasted her most congenial smile on her face and said, "Thank you very much for your generous offer, but I decline."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "What you ask is quite impossible."

  Suddenly he stood beside her, his hands fisted on his hips. "What game do you play, Phoebe?"