Potent Charms (24 page)

Moving to her side, he towered above her, his head only
an inch or two from the ceiling. He snorted, more from disbelief than laughter. "Unlucky because they chose to marry
my ancestors or myself. Emily was the perfect lady, the
perfect female to quell the gossip of the Ton. I believed I
could protect her from all the evil in the world, including
myself. I seduced her into marriage as surely as I breathed.
Death was her reward.

"Louisa wanted my money, nothing more, nothing less.
She had it for as long as she lived. For years, I railed
against the fact that my ancestors were right, that the
Badrick line was indeed cursed. But young women have
died. Sweet mercy, if even one had lived a normal life, I
would maybe hope, believe otherwise, but..."

He dragged both his hands through his hair. "You once
asked if I believed in love. Perhaps I did at one time, but
love can bring me no joy. I never asked to be cursed,
Phoebe. I won't allow myself to care so deeply again. I
won't be responsible for the death, inadvertent or otherwise, of another woman. I won't bring another child into this world to suffer the pain of such a legacy. The Badrick
line dies with me."

The fervor with which he spoke revealed the extent of
his belief, the anguish revealed his despair. And now,
Phoebe thought, Stephen refused himself a future. He
refused to allow himself to care. The odds of changing his
mind seemed astronomically small. How did someone
combat such conviction, one based on the most honorable
of reasons? Given his current state of mind, now was not
the time to try. "It seems, my lord, that we are forever at
this crossroads." His eyes met hers, challenged them, his
body held in check as though he anticipated an argument.
A bit sheepishly she asked, "You didn't happen to find anything to eat while I was sleeping, did you?"

He relaxed. "And here I'd thought you suitably satisfied."

Hot color raced up her neck to her cheeks. "I was talking
about food. The sustenance needed for man's very existence."

Crossing to her side, a twinkle popping into his eyes, he
said, "So was I."

It was foolish to allow him to kiss her again. He'd
clearly stated that he would not marry her. She was better
off forgetting the man's persuasive lips and clever hands.
Still, her body refused to accept what it considered nonsense. But, the moment she leaned forward, the floorboards above them creaked and groaned, wiping away her
thoughts of kisses or anything else. It sounded like a small
army tromping around in the room upstairs. Just about the
time that relief flooded her mind, the barrier at the top of
the stairs opened and five familiar heads peered into the
darkness below. Squinting against the sudden infusion of
light, Phoebe recognized Dee first. Judging from her stony
expression, appearing to see more than was humanly pos sible, Dee looked none too happy. Elizabeth seemed
shocked, Winston appeared nonplussed. Wibolt and Hampson looked like two men who'd just met their maker.

"You intend to stay down there?" Dee asked, a hint of
challenge in her voice.

Dee's words mobilized everyone into action and suddenly six pairs of lips were flapping at the same time,
sounding something like a squabbling flock of seagulls.
Phoebe climbed the stairs while Stephen shook his head
and extinguished the candles. By the time she set her feet
on the floor of the music room, Phoebe had discovered that
Elizabeth was not ill, but pregnant; and that Mrs. Potter
had fainted yet again. At least two dozen questions had
been asked and she was trying her darnedest to answer
them.

Stephen, now beside her, cleared his throat. The chatter
continued. He tried again to no avail. Evidently deciding it
was time to assume control, he clapped his hands together.
"Enough. Let us move to the library and sit down. We will
answer everyone's questions, but one at a time for mercy's
sake."

Phoebe sat behind the desk, trying to maintain the cool
facade she felt necessary to compensate for her appearance. A few strands of hair loosened from her braid, which
curled about her face, and dirt smudged her dress. Her
appearance could be fixed later. Right now her future
needed tending. Quickly and efficiently, trying her best not
to remember those charmed moments in Stephen's arms
for surely her face confessed to every memorable touch,
every delicious moment she retold the events of the afternoon. Stephen sat in a chair across the room, one leg
crossed over the other as a silent observer. His face
revealed nothing.

Dee left for the kitchen to fix tea and prepare a bath. She mumbled the entire time as she made that long, deliberate
walk to the doorway, then imparted a final warning glare to
Stephen. Winston, who stood behind the chair Elizabeth
occupied, kept a restraining hand on his wife's shoulder as
they received congratulations on Elizabeth's pregnancy.
They both looked as if they might burst with happiness.

Wibolt sat on the now-closed window seat, his eyes
fixed on the battered hat in his hands. Hampson, who knew
the attention was now focused on him, stood perfectly still,
his old bones as rigid as a marble pillar. If the poor man
continued to stand so stiffly, Phoebe thought he might just
snap in two. She softened her voice. "Hampson, I'm not
going to order your execution. I simply want answers."

His thin shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his expression
remained sullen. "I don't deserve your kindness. Interrogate me as you wish, my lady."

Assurances wouldn't ease his worries. "I have no intention of treating you like a petty thief. Simply explain why
and how Marsden Manor is in its current state."

Nodding, he clasped his hands behind his back. "After
your mother died, your grandfather wrote the king for a
special dispensation, transferring the property to you."

"The king must have been feeling magnanimous that
day to grant such a request," Stephen said.

"Indeed, sir," agreed Hampson. "His lordship notified
your father in the Americas. Your father never responded;
nonetheless your grandfather kept the will intact. Over the
years, as your grandfather became ill, he paid less and less
attention to such details as the repair and upkeep of this
place. When he died, your aunt came."

"Lady Goodliffe?" Phoebe asked, surprised.

Wibolt slapped his hat against his leg. "She came to take
things, she did. To take them and sell them."

Hampson faced Phoebe once again. "I reminded Lady Goodliffe that the furnishings belonged to you, Miss.
She'd hear nothing of it. After her second visit, we devised
a plan to keep her away."

"Let me guess," Winston interjected. "The ghost of
Grandfather Augustus."

Hampson turned his head slightly. "Yes, sir. We used the
old tunnels, the ones in decent repair and if I may say so,
the plan worked grandly. Lady Goodliffe never came back."

The image of her nasty aunt being roused from a deep
sleep by her very own, very dead father lifted Phoebe's
spirits slightly. "Why did the ghost make an appearance
last night?"

Wibolt twisted his hands back and forth, his battered hat
the innocent victim. "I didn't mean no harm. I just
thought... well... maybe you'd be angry with us and if
we scared you, you'd leave us be." He wheezed a few times
before he continued. "Hampson didn't know. He told me it
was foolish. I apologize if n I scared any of you."

"Truth be told," whispered Elizabeth, "I thought it was
rather exciting."

"Might we continue?" interrupted Stephen.

"Go on, Hampson," prodded Phoebe. "Why is the estate
in such shambles?"

"Your grandfather neglected to consider the financial
ramifications of his will. Without other properties to subsidize this place, it quickly fell into disrepair after his death.
That's when Wibolt came. He was an old retainer of your
granddad's. Together we used our pensions for as long as
possible, even sold a piece of furniture or two, for which I
have an accurate accounting. We simply ran out of money."

"Didn't you think to contact my aunt?"

"I did, miss. The first time was a year ago. That's when I
wrote you. The last was a few months ago. She basically
told me to go to the devil."

"She never said a word to me," murmured Phoebe, not
really surprised by her aunt's unwillingness to help, but
rather at the extent of Hildegard's bitterness. She massaged
a spot at the back of her neck that had begun throbbing
with the barrage of questions and was now hammering
with the discovery of the woman's duplicity.

"I apologize, miss. I failed your father and I failed you."

"We failed you," Wibolt added dramatically.

Silence stretched uncomfortably throughout the room.
Phoebe stood and crossed to Hampson. "You did what you
could and more. Thank you. I'll think of something. Now
go along and help Dee."

Stephen waited until the two servants had shuffled from
the room, single-file, like a line of prisoners on the way to
the gallows. Poor devils. He turned to Phoebe, noted the
weariness in her body, the ashy pallor of her skin, the near
defeat haunting her eyes. It pained him all the way to his
heart. The greater agony came from the fact that he knew
he would not offer to ease her worries in the manner she
desired.

He escaped to the window to stare at the distant horizon,
his hands laced behind his back lest he succumb to the urge
to take Phoebe into his arms and promise her the moon.
"What will you do now?"

"We must return to London tomorrow. Somehow I will
set the matter to rights."

Stephen faced Elizabeth and Winston. "May I have a
word with Phoebe?" Elizabeth remained in her seat, an
expectant expression on her face. "Alone," Stephen added.

Winston, a wise and compassionate friend, eagerly
pulled his sputtering wife from her chair and escorted her
from the room.

Stephen straightened his spine. He tipped his chin. He
spread his feet to the exact width of his shoulders. "Please know that I gain no satisfaction by this turn of events, but I
do have a suggestion."

"Stephen Lambert," Phoebe said, wagging her finger
toward his face. "If you ask me to be your mistress right
now, I declare, I am liable to throw something."

"You are the most stubborn female I have ever encountered. I was going to suggest you sell the mansion today
and be done with the entire affair."

"I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing."

"Certainly not because I enjoy being right, simply
because I see the practicality of the situation."

As though prepared for battle, she crossed her arms over
her breasts. "I intend to keep my home. Hampson has lived
here since he was eighteen. He served my grandfather well
and although misguidedly, he did his best to protect my
inheritance. Wibolt has nowhere to go and in his condition it would be impossible to find work elsewhere. My
heavens, they spent their pensions trying to save this
place."

"Fine. I have another suggestion. Secure a loan."

"Whomever from? A banker would only laugh in my
face."

"Me."

"You?"

"Yes."

"You're serious?" She continued to stare. She slowly
rose from the chair, her movements sluggish. Crossing to
the window to stare at the gray skies outside, she considered all she'd learned in the last half-hour. There was no
discernable reason for her aunt's secrecy.

Hildegard had never mentioned her visits, the ghost,
nothing. Phoebe shook her head.

What could she do? She grudgingly admitted she
needed Stephen's help, no matter the embarrassment it
caused her. He seemed willing enough to help, and only a fool would turn away such an offer. She felt Stephen's
breath on her neck and fought the impulse to turn and rest
her head on his shoulder. "Fate seems to have placed
another hurdle in my path, one I cannot leap without your
help."

"If I give you-"

"Loan me the money," she interrupted as she turned to
face him. "I shall be the collateral."

He paused and looked at her with intelligent eyes that
flashed with speculation. A moment passed before he said,
"I doubt any future husband would appreciate the fact that
I hold such a promissory note."

"That is a chance I am willing to take."

"Why not simply agree to my terms now and end this
charade?"

"Why not agree to marry me and end my worries?"

He only scowled, the thought obviously so unsettling
that he avoided the subject altogether. "I shall draft a note
giving you two thousand pounds at your immediate disposal to do with as you wish. No tricks, no ties, no rules.
Take as long as need be to repay me."

"That's too generous."

"You'll need every pence."

With her hands behind her back, she leaned her head
against the cold windowpane. "Knowing I must marry and
knowing you seem decided against such a fate, may I ask
why the generosity?"

He leaned forward, his body flush with hers, and he
placed his hands on each side of her face, trapping her
within the prison of his arms. "Believe me, I haven't given
up hope of changing your mind, but, if you come to my
bed, if you allow me to make love with you, it will be
because you so choose not because you feel indebted to
me, not because you owe me money."

The heavy beating of her heart and the dampness between her legs was the immediate answer to his touch.
How easy it would be to climb the stairs and tumble into
his arms, to take what he offered. He took her lips, then,
and she returned his kiss with abandon; using her tongue as
he had taught her, she tried to show him without the benefit of words the passion, the emotion he stirred within her
soul.

She knew she teetered on the edge of love, feared she
might have already fallen. When she withdrew from his
embrace, she saw the fire burning in his eyes, the desire
and lust. She wanted more. She wanted what he kept
locked away. Like a soft breeze, an idea had teased the
edges of her mind ever since the morning. Standing here
with this man, she knew what she would try to do. She
would end this nonsense once and for all.