Fascination -and- Charmed (96 page)

James’s mouth dried. “The very place,” he told her. By God, she was a succulent piece. The small, filmy sleeves supposedly holding the gown in place at her milky, gently rounded shoulders were inadequate and presently in the process of sliding further down her arms with every unconscious move. “I take it you’ve been to Blackburn.”

“Not actually inside. The squire was quite a hermit, or so I’m told. But I ride a great deal because…” She hesitated. “Riding is a great boon to me and I ride past the manor several times a week.” She averted her face and drew in a deep breath. The movement all but freed a thrusting, pale pink nipple.

James swallowed and pressed his teeth hard into his bottom lip. The swell of her breasts made him long to touch skin that resembled ivory satin, to pull the bodice down until he could fill his hands with her, to push her onto sweet-smelling grass, or soft sheets, or this very floor, and taste her full lips, her throat, that enticing nipple that would become a hard bud between his teeth. And when she whimpered and writhed beneath him, begging for all he would take such pleasure in teaching her, then he would take his time with the rest…

He tensed his thighs and gave thanks that the lights had lowered enough to conceal the bodily evidence of the pictures his mind so vividly painted.

“I wish you joy with your plaything,” Celine said suddenly.

The impression that she saw his thoughts almost made him gasp. But she referred to the manor. “Yes. Thank you.” Ah, yes, there was potential for joy here—or, more likely, intense gratification while he extracted from certain others a dear recompense for their greed.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Eagleton?”

“Nothing.” She must see some hint of his turmoil—and his excitement. “I do hope you will permit me to call upon you.” He hadn’t forgotten quite everything about the rituals of polite society.

She looked directly up at him, and he clenched his hands together behind him. This was a golden girl, a girl drawn in tones of honey and cream with light in her rich, heavy hair. How well he visualized that hair released from its bonds and tumbling about her shoulders, slipping through his fingers and across those magnificent breasts.

“May I call, Miss Godwin?” Surely she heard the thickness in his voice.

“You are most kind. But I shall not return to Dorset until after the Season. Otherwise I should be happy to receive you.”

Not so quickly, my soft little prize. And I will make you my prize. Yes, you shall become my plaything.
“I had meant that I’d like to call upon you wherever you’re staying in London.”

“Oh.” For an instant her apparent coolness wavered. “We are in Curzon Street. But I’m not sure...”

He smiled reassuringly. “Thank you. Until we meet again, then?”

“Until we meet again.” Her lashes fluttered down, and James withdrew.

Letting the curtains fall into place at the back of the box, James joined Won Tel, who waited at the end of the corridor.

“You have the appearance of a man who has been in battle,” Won Tel remarked. “One who has fought and won and enjoyed every moment.”

“As usual, your powers of deduction are remarkable. I have fought and won—at least for the moment.” Striding on, he reached steps leading down and took them two at a time. “That battle was a very small one, my friend. Ahead lies the war, but I find I am beginning to contemplate it with a great deal more pleasure than I had expected.”

“Will you—”

“Explain myself?” James gave a short laugh. They reached a lower hall and he strode on. “Yes, I will explain. I just met a beautiful girl with a magnificent body. She has great tawny eyes that belie her frozen manner. A young female like a wild animal, skittish yet curious, sleek and supple, untried yet ripe. Gad, but how ripe she is.”

Won Tel laughed. “Are we speaking of Miss Godwin?”

“We are indeed.” They gained the street, and James gestured to his coachman, who lounged with others of his station who had settled in to idly gossip away the hours until the end of the performance. “Won Tel, this night has produced even more than I had dreamed of. I have just made the acquaintance of a woman who will help me get exactly what I came to England for.”

“I’m pleased for you.”

The clatter of hooves approached, and James spared Won Tel a satisfied smile before the coach drew to a halt. “You should be pleased for me. If my instincts serve me well, even as she serves my purpose for wanting her, my innocent helpmate will learn a great deal…and I shall enjoy guiding her through every lesson.”

Chapter 1

The chit was a necessary nuisance. An indispensable nuisance. Plain or fair, romp or bluestocking, the comeliness and nature of Miss Lindsay Granville of Tregonitha were entirely incidental to the matter at hand.

Court her... for as short a time as possible. Compromise if he must, offer for, wed, bed, and set her up comfortably but at an acceptable distance... also using as little time as possible.

On a wind-torn ridge overlooking the Granvilles’ impressive Cornish estate, Edward Xavier deWorthe, the sixth Viscount Hawkesly, twitched his stallion’s reins and absently rested a hand on the animal’s quivering neck. The ride from Mevagissey had been hard, fueled by hatred and impatience. “Hold, Saber,” Hawkesly murmured. “We’re in the enemy’s territory. Best study the lie of the land... until the land becomes ours.” He smiled, flaring his nostrils, narrowing eyes he’d become grateful to know were considered “dark shutters on his soul.” In the days ahead he would doubtless appreciate his considerable ability to hide emotion. In any case, he would employ all available means in the accomplishment of his deception.

And the prize for that deception?
Vengeance!

“It’s time.” Straightening in the saddle, Hawkesly applied the gentle pressure needed to spur Saber downhill.

From barren knoll backed by the wild English Channel, gathering speed across pastures where sheep huddled into hedgerows that offered meager shield against February’s chill, Hawkesly moved as one with his mount.

Ducking beneath the naked limbs of drooping goat willows, he swept into a lane that would take him to Tregonitha’s curving main drive. His breath rose in white clouds and he bared his teeth. Better his rage be spent on the ripping air than the man who would soon make the acquaintance of the Viscount Hawkesly for the first time. That man must sense no hint of the threat his visitor represented. Roger Latchett, destined to serve the only sentence acceptable for his crime, would unwittingly receive his judge and jury with courtesy, even with avid anticipation ... and he would come to curse the day of their meeting.

Within minutes Hawkesly confronted the Gothic facade of the Granvilles’ manor house. He made to dismount but hesitated, hearing the crunch of fleet footsteps on gravel behind him.

Hawkesly swung to the ground as a swirl of deep blue velvet, the impression of a loose mass of blond hair, darted level with Saber. Hawkesly registered the precipitous approach of a young female and took an instant’s refuge behind his horse’s massive flanks. Since the Granville girl was reported to be reserved and rarely seen, this was undoubtedly a servant or some visitor to the household, but he must take no chances.

“Didn’t Calvin tell you to come through the woods?” A husky, breathless voice wobbled as its owner’s pale face peeked around the horse’s neck. “Do please be quick. If you... If you... Should you...”

Hawkesly found himself regarding wide and troubled eyes the same color as the indigo pelisse which he now saw was shabby and several sizes too large. The face was perfectly oval beneath a heart-shaped hairline, the nose small and tipped, the mouth full and parted to show small white teeth, the lashes about those remarkable eyes thick and dark. Hawkesly squared his shoulders. The stunningly beautiful face was also ridiculously young.

“If I or should I what, young lady?”

“Oh.” Fingers encased in extraordinarily heavy and serviceable leather gloves pressed to her lips and she blushed quite charmingly. “Oh. Well... If you care that Sarah doesn’t get into quite terrible trouble would you please go very quickly around to the stables and hide your horse?” To Hawkesly’s amusement, she dropped a speedy and definitely clumsy curtsy. “That is if you wouldn’t mind.” Those thick lashes lowered to brush now fiery cheeks.

He slapped his crop against a dusty Hessian. “Well, why not. Lead the way.” The poor little baggage was obviously distressed and some excuse to approach Latchett from an unexpected direction might even prove an advantage.

The girl, for she was more girl than woman, being extremely small and evidently almost immaturely slender beneath the ill-fitting pelisse, surprised Hawkesly by grabbing his hand and rushing along the path from which she’d approached. Despite the thick glove, her hand was tiny in his.

“I should have known Sarah hadn’t impressed upon you the importance of discretion. And I expect you forgot to stop at Calvin’s cottage on your way.” Her booted feet raced and she continued to tug as if Hawkesly weren’t able to keep up nicely at a leisurely stride. His black ambled beside, still blowing from the ride.

“What exactly—” He glanced sideways at her. “What do you think Sarah failed to tell me?”

“This is really too much.” She hauled him around a corner of the house into a cobbled stable yard. “I didn’t believe her, you know. Sarah makes up such stories. I agreed to her plan because I thought it was all one of her games. But I really didn’t think you truly existed.”

“Oh, I exist,” Hawkesly almost whispered.

The girl faltered. “Forgive me, please. I must sound rude, but I get quite ridiculously flustered. Everyone says I do. That and... well... Sarah should have made perfectly certain you understood how important it is that no one see you. Not just at the vicarage, but here, too. Please hurry.”

No groom presented himself and Hawkesly allowed the girl to lead him into a stable, where she took Saber’s reins. With the ease of one very accustomed to dealing with horses, she walked the black into a stall, tossed a blanket over his back and made sure he had feed and water.

“Now.” She turned to him, brushing back shining curls. “You must be cold and hungry.”

Hawkesly smothered a smile. An oddly fetching little piece, she seemed to have dampened his anger. Probably fortunate since he needed a cool head for what lay before him. “Am I to get a blanket and some hay, too?”

She frowned, stumbled as she slid the latch on the stall, then promptly blushed again. “You think I’m clumsy. Everyone does. If we don’t waste time, we can go to the kitchen where it’s warm. I expect I can find you something to eat and then we’ll decide what to do. You’ve missed Sarah, you see. She’s in Saint Austell with her papa. They won’t be back at the vicarage for
hours.”

“Perhaps you should summon the butler?” He’d taken the charade far enough. Clearly the child had mistaken him for someone else.

The huge, deep blue eyes didn’t waver. “Sarah really has made a terrible fuddle of all this. How fortunate I happened to see you arrive. This isn’t where she lives, you know. This is Tregonitha. The vicarage is near the village. Several miles away.” Slowly, the tip of a pink tongue appeared to be caught between those small, perfect white teeth. “Thank goodness Sarah described you so well.”

Hawkesly grew restless, as restless as the horses he heard shifting in their stalls. “And how did this... how did Sarah describe me?” He hadn’t given Latchett a definite time, or even a definite day of arrival, but now Hawkesly chafed to confront the man.

The girl frowned in concentration. “She usually talks about her brave officer serving with the Duke of Wellington and suffering from the pain of separation from her... I mean, she talks about you after she’s been reading her romantical poetry. That’s why I didn’t truly believe her until today.”

Curiosity detained Hawkesly. “And she says?”

“She says”—the girl regarded him intently—“tall, his dark curls windswept, fire in his black eyes, and his mouth—his mouth beautifully carved and firm. Fine broad shoulders to make of his coat a smooth perfection. And his legs—” Her mouth snapped shut an instant. “Oh, dear.
Please
don’t tell Sarah I said such things.”

Deeply amused, Hawkesly ran his fingers through “windswept dark curls.” “I won’t breathe a word to Sarah. Are you always so—” If he said “impetuous” he might embarrass her. Spontaneity was a rare and delightful commodity in young women of his acquaintance. “Are you always so outspoken?”

“Oh yes. Everyone says so.” She showed no sign of chagrin that he could discern. “We must get into the kitchen before you’re seen.”

He followed her across the stable yard and through an arched stone doorway into a walled kitchen garden beyond. Signs of careless maintenance were unmistakable in the scraggly remains of winter-dead plants. Hawkesly raised a brow. For a man who’d gone to deadly lengths to gain control of an estate, Latchett showed remarkably poor concern for its upkeep.

“In here,” his guide said.

A heavy door admitted them to a corridor at the back of the house. Cold struck from stone walls and floors as they passed the dairy, the meat and fish larders. Then the girl ushered him into a surprisingly large and well-appointed kitchen where the remnants of a fire burned beneath still spits.

“Sit down.” A bleached wooden chair was scraped toward the fire. “Here. Warm yourself.”

The thought was not without appeal and Hawkesly automatically sat, extending his hands toward the failing embers. This could indeed be a most fortuitous development. Latchett, a known hanger-on at the heels of Society, could not help but be disquieted at a viscount’s being shown into the house via the kitchens! Hawkesly jerked the corners of his mouth down.

“Where are the other servants?”

“I’m not... Oh. Yes. Cook has the afternoon off. Deeds—the butler—is probably working on accounts. The others—” she waved a hand airily. “When no guests are expected the staff all have tasks elsewhere in the house.”