Potent Charms (31 page)

Leaning insolently on one elbow, his face seemed dangerously close to her breasts. She perched her folded hands
on her bent knees. "Why Lord Badrick, if I didn't know
you better, I'd say you were trying to frighten me."

He placed his hand across his heart, his expression one
of shock. "J is the honest truth I tell. Winston will gladly
corroborate, although he will do his best to portray himself
as the hero. Anyway, we abandoned our shovels and darted
for home, our legs pumping as fast as possible. We dashed
into Winston's father's study wild with excitement partly
out of fear but mostly joy of our adventure. Come to find
out, it had been Winston's father in disguise. When all was
said and done we had quite the laugh over our folly."

"How wonderfully exciting." Intoxicated by the rich timbre of his voice and his mere presence, she knew that
remaining with him, alone, on top of this secluded hill was
likely not the best of ideas. Their problems forgotten, she
couldn't resist the attraction they shared.

"I knew you to be an adventurer at heart, Miss Rafferty."

She wasn't feeling much like an adventurer right now.
This was dangerous ground she tread upon. His fingers
toyed with a curl loosened from her braid near the nape of
her neck, and she felt herself shiver with delight.

His eyes blazed with an intensity that beckoned to every
nerve in her body. Swallowing convulsively, she feared she
would sound like a shy little church mouse. "Most definitely. When I was eight or so, a slave told me a tale of a
casket of coins left behind by a French pirate. I even discovered a map. I was determined to make the treasure
mine. I found the cave with the help of Tobias, Dee's husband. I was frightened and thrilled at the same time. We
found a skeleton and a weathered box. Then we looked
closer. In his one hand he clasped a golden locket. Inside
was the picture of a beautiful woman. In the other hand lay
a crumpled scrap of paper. The nearby box contained a
ring engraved with two entwined hearts, and a packet of
letters, obviously the ones she wrote. I believe he died
thinking of the woman he loved. It was quite sad yet terribly romantic."

"What did you do?"

"We left everything. We concealed the cave as best we
could and I destroyed the map. I know that's silly because
someone probably discovered it again sooner or later, but it
seemed somehow sacreligious to disturb him."

Stephen's hand entwined with hers. He studied her fingers as he traced the delicate lines of her knuckles. "You
have the heart of a romantic."

She was lost. Right now, at this moment, as they shared
bits of their past, she fell over the edge and into love's abyss. She had expected such for days, ever since their
time together at Marsden Manor. Now she was sure. She
would grant him anything. With the realization came a
sense of despair, which saddened her all the more. The discovery of love was a moment to be celebrated, not feared.
"And you, Lord Badrick? Have you a heart to give?"

"Most definitely. And if I'm not dreadfully vigilant, I'll
likely lose it."

"If ever given, I would cherish your heart as the greatest
of treasures."

A flicker of longing flared deep in his eyes, but it was
buried just as quickly beneath a haunted look. "Foolish
girl"

She wanted to weep for him, for all that forced him to
lock his emotions away. Unable to stop herself, hoping to
erase the agony in his voice, she reached for him and cradled his cheek in her hand. "I'm afraid I have little choice.
The deed is done."

"You can't--"

She placed her fingers across his lips. "Stephen, my
heart, the way I feel, is a gift freely given."

Freely? Stephen wanted to shout. Nothing in life came
without a cost, a consequence. He knew he had best leave
her now. Her declaration hurled his mind into a maelstrom
of needs and demands. To consume. To possess. To take
what she offered.

Shifting his position, he pressed her to the ground, his
gaze riveted on her face, studying the features that invaded
his sleep at night. Light brown eyebrows that arched over
green eyes the color of a spring meadow. Skin soft and
dewy. Lips, full, parted and ready for his possession.

"Phoebe." Her name was a plea. He hated the weakness
he felt, but seemed unable to control the need. It clawed to
be free like a beast from its cage. His lips brushed hers
lightly, reverently, knowing that kissing her was the last thing he should do. A wise man would run for his horse,
ride away fast and hard as if demons followed. He admitted demons did chase him, his own private demons, ones
that refused to allow him a life, a future. He would not
deny himself this brief respite. Stephen crushed his greedy
mouth to Phoebe's willing one.

Stephen had shared kisses with other women as a prelude to lovemaking, a task necessary to prepare a woman
for the physical act to come. Kissing Phoebe was a banquet
in itself. With the dueling of tongues and reckless melding
of lips, they feasted upon one another. Like a madman
unable to discern right from wrong, driven only by need,
his tongue explored the fullness of her lips, the recesses of
her mouth. He savored her gasps, her breathy sighs of
assent.

His hands caressed the bounty of her breasts. Her desire
was evident and his fingertips tingled, down through his
hands to the very part of him that demanded satisfaction.
One by one, he loosened the buttons of her jacket and slid
the garment from her shoulders. She offered no objection.

Shifting himself to his knees, he loosened the tie on her
skirt and slipped the fabric from her body. He froze.

With an unwavering stare, he raked his gaze from her
boot-clad ankles up her long legs, over the shadow beneath
her shift at the juncture of her thighs to the soft, supple
mounds of her breasts, the peach-tinted nipples already
swollen and hard. He slowed his breathing, a difficult task
when all he thought to do was bury himself deep within her
warmth. Damn, she'd told him she loved him. She was his.
He had all the time in the world to make love to her in all
the ways he'd imagined.

He lifted first one of her feet, then the other, removing
her boots and stockings. Using his knuckles, he massaged
her tender soles until her toes curled in response. Next
came her calves, his stroke slow and steady, kneading the muscles of her legs. As he inched his way to her thighs, the
fabric of her shift moved slowly upward. He straddled her
body and as his hands hovered at the top of her legs, he
waited until she looked at him, forcing her to acknowledge
what they meant to share.

She opened her eyes, burning him with a look of such
love and trust that he paused. Lord, what was he thinking?
But he knew. His hands scrunched the fabric into a tight
ball. He was thinking to make love to the woman who'd
just told him she loved him. She wanted him. What more
did he need to know? This was right.

"Lift yourself a bit." When she did, he edged the shift to
her narrow waist, beyond her shoulders, and up over her
head. He needed to see her in all her naked glory. The garment fell to the ground unnoticed.

Using the backs of his fingers, he brushed a featherlike
caress from her collar bone, over the rise of her breasts. He
circled her nipples, running his hand down her stomach
through the thatch of curls, over her legs to her feet, only to
repeat the torture until they both were panting.

Phoebe lifted her head. "Am I to be the only one without
clothes?"

He sat on his heels and shed his shirt, then lowered himself on top of Phoebe, pressing chest to breast, male to
female. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth. Her calm,
the last shreds of her control, shattered with the hunger of
his touches and kisses. The need to feed that passion overwhelmed all else. She could deny him nothing. The feel of
his naked body pressed against hers was unlike anything
she had ever imagined.

His hands slowly crawled in a slow, torturous path to her
very core, where he toyed endlessly until she writhed
against his seeking fingers. She stilled for a moment when
he placed a finger within her body, the shock of such action
foreign to her but enticing all the same. Two fingers, then, and the steady rhythm he set enveloped her body with a
marvelous tension, a suspense and need, a wanting of the
unknown.

Then and only then did Stephen lean away to discard his
trousers. When he lay atop her once again, she felt the
proof of his desire pressed at the juncture of her thighs.
She spread her legs further to adapt and accept the nourishment he offered, the only sustenance that would end the
gnawing hunger of her loins.

Probing gently, he pressed into her allowing her to
accept the part of him so different from her. She felt a
slight burning, horrifically awkward, for she knew not
what to do to ease the tightness. Then he thrust forward,
joining them in the manner a man and woman were meant
to be joined. Unable to control her reaction, she gave a
rather mouselike squeak. Stephen lay perfectly still, his
head burrowed in her hair, his gasps of air teasing the
strands at her temples.

She waited, the clawing need she'd momentarily lost
building once again. Still, Stephen lay perfectly still. "Is
that all?" she managed to ask. She felt the rocking of his
shoulders as he chuckled.

He raised his head to meet her gaze. "No, my sweet.
We're far from finished. I was giving you time to adjust."

Fighting the embarrassment of actually talking while
joined as such, she nibbled her lower lip. She really wanted
to continue. "I believed I've adjusted enough."

He laughed again, this time deeper and fuller. She felt
him deep inside her, his slight movement causing the most
intriguing sensations. "Oh, my," she sighed. He pulled
away ever so slightly, only to plunge into her depths again
and again, his movements gaining power. He kissed her
fiercely, his body's rhythm matching the thrusts of his
tongue. Her body rose to match his movements. Stephen
groaned and, she discovered the benefit of moving, partici pating in this act of love. Tentatively, she matched his
rhythm, pumping and heaving toward a destination she
knew existed, a plane of completion like none she'd ever
experienced. The pounding of her heart matched the throbbing in her loins until a pleasure ignited so great that she
could do no more than shudder beneath its fiery release.

A moment later, Stephen gave a final thrust, emitted a
lusty groan and bent his head to her shoulder. They collapsed, sated. With a sigh, Stephen slid from her body,
rolled to his side and leaned on his elbow, his head tucked
in the cradle of his hand.

Reaching her arm high above her head, languishing in
the warmth of the afternoon sun, she felt like a cat, too
content to do more than stretch. Love was a remarkable
thing. Her lips curved slightly as the racing of her heart
began to slow. She raised her eyelids to find Stephen staring at her, his gaze no less intense than it was earlier. In
fact, if possible, his eyes burned brighter, his expression
fiercer, almost triumphant.

Smoothing the wisps of hair from her brow, he said,
"Darling, as soon as we return to London, we shall find
you a place to live."

She still felt like purring. "A house?"

"You can chose whatever you like, I care not. Cost is not
a factor. I simply want you in my bed as soon as possible."

The brusque matter-of-fact tone of Stephen's voice penetrated the sensual fog that had wrapped about her body.
She'd declared her love, and truth be told, she hadn't
known what to expect from him but certainly not this.
He'd obviously misunderstood. She sat up, distancing herself from the man. "What do you think I agreed to?"

For the first time his expression wavered slightly. "To be
my mistress, of course."

"Of course." Reaching for her shift, she dragged the garment over her head. She pushed her arms through the sleeves of her blouse, stalling for more time looking for the
words to explain. Her skirt came next, the dampness from
their lovemaking evident. Which only increased her discomfort as she realized what she had done.

No, she thought. She had willingly given him her virginity and would never regret her actions.

She had surrendered her love, yet she wasn't prepared to
surrender her future. Two weeks remained before her
inheritance became Hildegard's. Ample time yet to sway
the stubborn man's mind, to prove he couldn't live without
her. "I admitted my love, but I did not mean, in any way, to
give you the impression that I"

"Spit it out, darling. What's the matter?"

"I am not going to become your mistress."

"The devil you say." He jumped to his feet, entirely
naked. He seemed not to care. "No other man will touch
you. You just gave me your virginity."

"Believe you me, I'm well aware of what just happened."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he yanked his
trousers over his hips, fastening the flaps with abrupt
movements. He threw his arms into his shirt. He marched
about, towering above her like the wall of trees surrounding them. "What game is this? Do you think to force me to
marry you?"

"You idiot." She stuffed her feet into her boots without
her stockings, which she tucked into the pocket of her
jacket. "Why must everything be a game, a ploy, a trap?
Can't I give you something without your suspicions taking
over? Listen to me, you stubborn man. I chose to make
love with you and that's that. I'm not ready to give up hope
for a future I've dreamed of all my life."

Stephen continued to prowl the wooded area, his movements, normally graceful and fluid, were agitated and stiff.
The muscles she had caressed and felt their sinewy strength now bunched with tension. Stopping to stare at a
squirrel that chattered from a nearby tree, his terse
response came from beneath a large oak, his face cloaked
in shadow. "You just experienced a woman's pleasure.
Tended to by me."