Potent Charms (5 page)

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 resembled 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
with 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."