The Bewitching Hour (27 page)

Priscilla tried to keep her tone light as she entered the drawing room. There was no need to worry Olivia if she could avoid it. "Olivia, do you have anything planned for this afternoon?”
    Olivia looked up from her embroidery and smiled. “I was invited to tea at the Elliot’s but I can cancel if there’s something you need me to do.”
    “If you don’t mind.” She looked down at the carpet and began to trace the floral pattern with the toe of her slipper. "I need to find a wedding gown right away.”
    Her companion's only reaction was a barely perceptible lift of her eyebrows. “Am I correct in assuming your bridegroom is Lord Stratton?”
    Priscilla nodded.
    “When will the wedding take place?”
    “Tomorrow at noon.”
    “Then we don’t have much time, do we?” Olivia tucked her embroidery needle into the pillow case she was working on.
    Surprised that the expected questions didn’t come, Priscilla said, “You’re willing to leave it at that?”
    Olivia offered a tranquil smile and slight nod of the head. “Yes, I believe I will. You don’t look as if you’re up to fielding questions.” She paused. “You love one another. You’re both of age. I’m certain you have your reasons.”
    Priscilla slowly let out a sigh of relief. “Do you think Mama will be upset?”
    “You know your mother better than that, dear. She’ll think it’s terribly romantic,” Olivia reflected with humor. “Her only disappointment will be that you didn’t climb out of your window and down a tree in the middle of the night and elope the way she and your father did.”
    “I know.” Priscilla couldn’t help but smile. “She's told me the story often. It was terribly romantic. When I was about eight or nine, I tried to talk Papa into having the gardener plant a tree outside my window. Papa wouldn’t hear of it. I don’t know if he was afraid I’d run off and get married or break my leg.” She shook herself out of her reverie. “You and Mr. Danfield will be the only ones present. We've decided not to tell anyone else of our marriage until Cecelia's ball is over. It didn't seem fair to take the attention away from her.”
    “I understand.” Olivia placed her embroidery in a basket on the floor and rose. “Now, let’s see what we can do about finding you a gown.”

When Lady Williams swept into the drawing room she found Philip sprawled on the settee nursing a glass of burgundy.
    “Where the devil have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days.”
    He looked up at her and drawled, “Lovely to see you too, my lady.” His eyes drifted lazily downward taking in the picture she presented in her jade green velvet gown. “Enchanting gown. Very flattering. You look good enough to eat.”
    Hands thrown out in frustration, she shot him a scathing look. “Where have you been? I needed you!”
    “I’ve been remarkably busy. Had my own affairs to tend to and I don’t remember having placed myself at your beck and call.” He took a drink from his glass.
    Her mouth twitched. “And I don’t recall having invited you to help yourself to my liquor.”
    “Had I awaited an invitation to avail myself of your hospitality I would have perished with thirst.” He held up the glass appreciatively before taking another swallow. “You serve an excellent burgundy, my dear. I’ve always been partial to this particular ’89 vintage. Can’t afford it myself.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “If you must drink, drink the port instead. Leave me something decent to serve to my guests.”
    “Your port is bloody awful. Tastes like swill.” He gulped the remainder of his drink and stood. “This meeting was at your request. If I must drink inferior liquor, I’ll do it in less shrewish company.” He sketched a mock bow and started toward the door. “Farewell, my lady.”
    Realizing he was serious about leaving, she sank into a chair and said, “Wait Philip. Please.”
    “Please?” He laughed mockingly. “You actually said please? To me? You are desperate aren’t you? Very well, Allow me to keep the bottle and I’ll stay.”
    Swallowing a retort, she said, “Keep it.”
    “Thank you. You’re most generous.” He sat back down and proceeded to slosh more burgundy into his glass. “Now, what do you want? And don’t say Stratton. I’ve decided I don’t give a damn who you marry.”
    Fists clinched, her cheeks burned with anger. “I’d sooner see him dead than marry him. He mortally offended me and that’s exactly why I want to talk to you. I demand that you do something.”
    He burst into laughter. “Are you bloody insane? What do you want me to do? Put a bullet in his black heart? I’m not willing to swing from the gallows just to satisfy your grudge. He’d probably kill me, anyway. If I’m to die, I’d much rather drink myself to death.”
    “But you have to do something,” she demanded furiously. “He insulted me. I won’t tolerate it.”
    Philip shook his head. “My, my, what have you been up to in my absence? Tell me, how did he insult you?”
    “It doesn’t matter how. He just did.”
    “You’ve told me this much. Spit it out, my dear.”
    She set her jaw and looked away.
    He sighed. “Then it’s time for me to leave.”
    “I offered him my companionship and he turned me down,” she said in a heated rush. “He called me a fool.
No one
calls me a fool.”
    “You propositioned him?” He leaned forward as his brows lifted in astonishment. “Why did you do that? That’s a bit much, my dear; even for you.”
    “I was angry!” Still sitting, she balled her fists until her knuckles whitened and the nails bit into the palms of her hands. “I know I bungled it badly, but that little mouse was sitting so smug in the Stratton drawing room. She claimed they were merely friends, but he came in and the way he looked at her... The chit’s barely a drop of aristocratic blood in her veins. Why can't he see that?”
    “You told him that? What in the devil were you thinking?”
    “I didn’t so much as mention her name! I was more subtle than that.”
    An eyebrow inched up. “It appear you were not subtle enough. I’ll not get involved with this. It’s a lost cause and with the approach you’ve taken I may very well lose my head if I interfere.” She opened her mouth to speak and he quickly added, “And don’t try to convince me. There’s nothing you can do to sweeten the pot.”
    Fury yielded to shock. “Have you forgotten that you need my cooperation as much as I need yours? I’m the only one willing to help you pay off your vowels."
    His lips curved into a derisive flickering smile. “But I don’t need you at all. Percy and I came to an agreement. He paid off my debts with the understanding that I won’t show my face in England for as long as I continue to draw a breath. And I imagine he’s hoping that won’t be for very long as he has agreed to continue my allowance.”
    For a moment, all she could do was stare. “I don’t believe you.”
    “He fears I will become an embarrassment to the family so my absence is required. Fancy that.”
    “Percy’s an idiot if he thinks that will work. You’ll come crawling back before the year is out.” She sniffed with disgust. “You can’t stay away from the tables and your luck is abominable. You’ll be in debt up to your eyeballs.”
    “I may well be in debt again but it’s rather difficult to crawl back across several thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean.”
    “You’re traveling to America?”
    “Good God, no.” He snorted. “I’m headed to Barbados, one of those lovely islands in the Indies where a fellow can drink rum punch, sleep on the beach and plow the bellies of plump, brown skinned native girls. Percy knows how to dole out the punishment doesn’t he?” His lips twisted into a sardonic smirk. “He’s purchased a small sugar plantation where I’m to keep residence.”
    “What do you know about running a sugar plantation?”
    “Not a damn thing. I didn’t say I was going to manage it.”
    “Then why does he need you there?”
    “Percy doesn’t need me
there.
The plantation is currently being managed by a very competent overseer who obviously knows what he’s doing. Percy needs me
gone.
As far away as possible. But he won’t have it on his conscience that he denied a kinsman food and shelter." He drained what was left in his glass. "I will have a roof over my head and food in my belly, but I’m to have nothing to do with running the place. Hell, I would run it into the ground before the year was out. My only responsibility is to stay out of the overseer’s way and hopefully drink myself to death so Percy won’t have to worry about me any longer." He grinned. "Either that or be murdered in my sleep for some indiscretion or another. Personally, I think it’s a splendid idea.”
    “But what am I to do? You promised to help me.” She heard the edge of desperation in her voice and hated it.
    “You’re far from helpless, my dear. You can fend for yourself. I’ve already given you the names of several potential husbands. You can add Lord Weston and Sir Miles Lawrence to your list. Of the names I’ve given you, surely you can snare one.”
    “But you don’t understand,” she cried. “He
insulted
me.”
    “It's over, my lady. I’ve been offered a solution and I’m taking it. You need to swallow your pride and do the same thing. Retribution isn’t always practical. Forget about Stratton and concentrate on finding yourself a wealthy husband.”
    Her jaw clenched so tightly, it hurt. Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “No. I won't let him get away with this.”
    He appeared thoughtful a moment and then sighed. “God only knows why I’m telling you this, but there is someone else who probably despises Stratton as much as you do.”
    “Who?”
    “Lord Mallory. He fancied himself as Miss Hawthorn’s future husband though I don’t believe she shared his fancy. Whether Lord Stratton and Miss Hawthorn are an item or not, the man didn’t appreciate it at all when Stratton appeared on the scene.” He stood and then shrugged dismissively. “Do what you will with the information.” He held up the bottle of burgundy. “And thank you for the gift. I will enjoy it enormously.”
    “Go to the devil, Philip.”
    He chuckled as he left the room. “I probably will.”

I
t was a far cry from St. George’s elegance but the small stone chapel outside Marleybourne was quaint and far enough from the hustle and bustle of Mayfair to suit their purpose. The weather was cold and dismal; the skies heavy with rain with no hint of sunshine in the offering. The lantern-jawed, dour faced vicar droned on in flat mournful syllables and it seemed the most peculiar wedding she had ever been to. Priscilla had an absurd urge to giggle. Nerves she supposed. But the urge was so strong that for a moment she was afraid a resounding snort would come through her nose and it was only that mortifying thought that kept her laughter tamped down.
    But when Stratton spoke his vows the rich timbre of his voice calmed her thoughts and gave her pause. All was well for the moment and for today she could be content with that. The vicar cleared his throat and she realized it was her turn to speak. Somehow she managed to get through her own vows without choking on the lump that had formed in her throat. Stratton’s hands were warm and steady as he slipped the now perfectly sized emerald and ruby ring on her finger. She placed the wide gold band she had picked out late last night on his. Then Stratton folded back her veil and much to the vicar’s dismay, proceeded to kiss her thoroughly. It wasn’t until Rand whispered, "Save something for later, old boy," that Stratton released her. He took her arm and they swept down the aisle to the vestry where they signed the register. Rand and Olivia added their signatures as witnesses and it was done. They were married. Man and wife. And regardless of the reason for the early nuptials, it felt right.
    Congratulations were offered. Rand kissed the bride. Olivia gave her a warm hug. “Be happy, my dear,” she said. “It’s the best advice I can offer.” And with that the wedding party bundled themselves into the carriage and rode the short distance to a waiting luncheon at the Hollyhock Inn of Marleybourne.
    “Pity the weather ‘ad to turn so bad.” The plump, rosy cheeked Mrs. Lawrence chattered as she led the newly married couple up a wide freshly painted staircase. “Raining buckets, it is. At least it waited until you were inside. T’would be a terrible shame to ruin that beautiful wedding frock milady. Don’t know when I’ve seen such a pretty one and I’ve seen more ‘n I can count. We get lots of newly-weds with the chapel close-by.”
    She threw open a door at the top of the steps that opened onto a parlor. “I think you’ll be ‘appy with the chambers. Nice ‘n cozy. There’s Madeira and brandy on the sideboard and bit of fruit and cheese on the table. My man laid a nice fire. You picked a good time to visit. We had a spot of firewood. That don’t ‘appen ever’ day.”
    “The fire is lovely and so is the room,” Priscilla said as she looked around her. It was a pleasant room with paneled walls and a blue and green patterned settee pulled in front of the hearth where a cheery fire was blazing. A small round table in the corner was set for two. “In fact, it’s perfect.”
    The landlady beamed. “Thank you, milady. Bedchamber’s through ‘ere.” She pushed through a door on the far side of the parlor. The room was papered in a blue and white print and through the opened bed curtains Priscilla could see a thick blue and ivory coverlet and a pile of large plump pillows. A second fire blazed in the hearth doing much to offset the gray rain sliding down the large windows. The dark wood of the vanity and wardrobe were polished to a high luster and the room was redolent of beeswax and lavender.
    “The bed linen’s were pressed dry just this mornin’ and there’s another blanket in the wardrobe.”
    “I’m sure we’ll be quite comfortable, Mrs. Lawrence,” Stratton said.
    “Doreen unpacked for you.” She turned a broad, cheerful smile to Priscilla. “Would you be needin’ the ‘elp of a lady’s maid? I’ll send Doreen up if you are.”
    “Not this evening,” Stratton said quickly. “Though she may have need of one tomorrow morning.”
    The landlady gave him a knowing wink then said, “If you fancy a meal later on, supper’s a nice leg of lamb, oyster pie, pickled trout and cherry tarts.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Lawrence. We’ll ring if we need anything.” Stratton stood by the door, his impatience becoming obvious.
    “Very well, milord.” She dipped a surprisingly agile curtsy and left the room.
    “It feels rather odd to be addressed as my lady,” Priscilla said. “It took a moment to realize she was talking to me. I imagine I will become accustomed to it.” She wandered over to the window. “It’s pouring out there.”
    Stratton came up beside her. “I suppose we will have to remain indoors all afternoon. Whatever will we do with ourselves?”
    Playfully, she tapped her finger against her chin. “Mmm. I suppose we could play chess.”
    Stratton made a show of looking around the room. “Alas, I don’t see a chess set.”
    “I’ll ring and see if they have one.” She moved toward the bell rope but he quickly advanced on her and caught her wrist.
    “Oh no, you don’t. I’d rather play lady’s maid.”
    “Lady’s maid? Do you have any experience?” She pulled a face. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”
    He laughed. “I won’t. Now turn around, wench.”
    The banter helped take the edge off her nerves. “Such impertinence! I’ve never had a lady’s maid call me wench before. I should turn you out without a reference.”
    “But you can’t,” he murmured as he plucked out the pearl hairpins securing the veil to her coiled hair. He removed the veil and set it on the dressing table. “It’s raining and you wouldn’t be so heartless.” His fingers combed through her hair searching for more pins and it tumbled down her back in a heavy wave. He lifted it aside and lightly kissed her neck before unlatching her pearl necklace, unclipping her earbobs and slipping them in his pocket. Running his fingertips down the long lacey sleeves of her gown he said, “Mrs. Lawrence is right about your gown. One would never know there wasn’t time to have one made. This fits you beautifully. How did you find it so quickly?”
    “It’s one of Mama’s. She had left it behind because it wasn’t quite finished when we set off for Vienna. Madame Claudette and her shop girls stayed up half the night sewing on the lace. She absently began to pluck at the lace at her wrists. “Dinner was very good.”
    “It was,” he agreed. “Though I noticed you barely ate anything.”
    “I wasn’t very hungry.” She cleared her throat. “Have you stayed here before?”
    “No. It’s a little off the beaten path but I’ve heard it was a first rate establishment.” He chuckled. “Priscilla, are you nervous?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Then why are you fidgeting?”
    She dropped her hands to her side. “I am nervous,” she finally said.
    He began to massage her neck with the pads of his thumbs. It felt heavenly. “Why are you nervous?” he asked gently.
    Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “Because I’m fairly certain you’re about to take every stitch of my clothing off.”
    “I am. But I’ve had you naked before,” he reminded her. “And I believe you enjoyed yourself immensely.”
    “But it was dark. I don’t suppose you’d consider waiting until it gets dark?”
    “The odds of that happening are very low, indeed. I need to see you, love.” He put his arms around her and cupped her breast in the palm of his hand as he nuzzled against her. Her knees weakened. It never failed. “I know what you feel like, taste like, smell like, but I need to see you,” he murmured in her ear. “Don’t be embarrassed.” He kissed the nape of her neck then ran the tip of his tongue along the curve of her ear.
    She let out a slow breath then leaned against him, lifting her arm to caress his cheek, touch the thick hair tucked behind his ear.
    He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss on her wrist and slowly lowering it to her side. He then placed his hands on the curve of her shoulders and moved her forward a few inches.
    “Close your eyes,” he whispered. She felt his words wash over her. He made quick work of the tiny pearl buttons at her back and slowly pushed the sleeves from her shoulders. His fingers continued down the length of her arms and she felt the soft swish against her legs as a lace and satin puddle lay at her feet. He pulled the ribbons of her chemise and pushed it along with her petticoat down over her hips until it joined the pile on the floor. Then he moved in front of her and knelt at her feet. The fire crackled. A wave of heated air caressed her skin.
    He deftly untied the garter and rolled down her silk stocking. She rested her hand on his shoulder as he slipped it off. His fingertips touched the dip of her waist then ran down the length of her leg. “You’re skin is so soft,” he murmured as he rubbed his cheek against her belly. He repeated the process then held her by the hips as he kissed the soft pale curls between her legs, his tongue darting out to touch the folds within.
    Eyes still closed she swayed slightly. A soft sound came from the back of her throat. He rose and took her hands holding them out as he gazed at her. “You are perfect,” he said softly. “Never be embarrassed when we are together. Think of your body as a gift to me; one I assure you I will not take lightly. I want to give in return. I want to learn more of what brings you pleasure.”
    Her lids slowly lifted. “You seem to know what brings me pleasure more so than I do.” She blinked and added, “I don’t know what to do for you.”
    He bent down and kissed her bottom lip, tickled its contour with his tongue. “Do what pleases you,” he murmured. “Taste, touch, explore. We have years ahead of us to enjoy one another. It will be a gradual learning process.”
    She gazed at him. Silver glints shone in his eyes. His lids were heavy with desire, his mouth slightly curved. He suddenly moved to the bed and threw back the covers.
    “Now Madam, prepare to be ravished.” Laughing, he picked her up and swung her onto the feather mattress. She moved to crawl beneath the covers, but she caught the look on his face and stopped. “Don’t hide from me, Priscilla,” he said softly. “Please.”
    With an embarrassed flush she tucked her legs beneath her and settled against the pillows. “This will take some getting used to,” she mumbled.
    He smiled, peeled off his jacket and waistcoat; tugged off the carefully tied cravat. His fingers flew down the buttons of his linen shirt and he shrugged it off and tossed it on the floor. She gazed with open curiosity. Other than the statues at the British Museum, she had never seen a man’s chest before but she was fairly certain they were not all this magnificent. And it was not just his chest. Powerfully built, perfectly proportioned, he was more beautiful than any man had a right to be. His chest and arms were well muscled and lightly tanned. He sat down on the bed and yanked off his boots and stockings then rose to push his breeches and drawers over his hips. He made no attempt to turn away. His erection sprang to life.
    Priscilla gasped, her eyes widened. “Good heavens,” she blurted out. “This can’t be right.” Everything else had faded into the background and she was solely focused on it and it was larger and fiercer than she ever would have imagined. How had she accommodated such a thing? It was surely impossible.
    “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.” His eyes flickered with laughter. “Men can be terribly vain about the size of their manhood.”
    “But I couldn’t have possibly…”
    He smiled as he slowly nodded his head. “But you did. I am no different now than before. We were made for each other, love. We fit beautifully.”
    “Are you certain?”
    “I’ve never been more certain about anything. You’ll get used to me.”
    She swallowed. “I suppose.”
    “Scoot over and give me a bit of room.”
    She did as he asked and he stretched out beside her and propped himself up with an elbow. “What a glorious creature you are,” he said softly. “Such lovely curves. We have all afternoon and evening to play. Though I suppose we shall have to sleep at some point. But for now lay still and let me reacquaint myself.” She closed her eyes and sighed softly, willingly giving herself up to the sensations he brought her. He took his time as he explored her body, his mouth and hands always moving, always caressing; learning every curve, every hollow, continuing the gentle wandering, touching places she would never have dreamed of as erotic.
    She shivered with delight as he nipped at her toes with his teeth, kissed her ankles, ran his tongue up the length of her calves, ending with at kiss to the soft skin at the bend of her knee. He took a lock of her hair and tickled her nose, traced the contours of her jaw and finely drawn lips. She was aware of her body in ways she had never been before. Every cell seemed charged with energy; the slightest touch enough to make her breath catch. And when she felt the soft brush of hair against her nipple her eyelids fluttered and she cried out with pleasure.
    “My beautiful wanton,” he murmured as he bent to kiss her. His hand cupped the golden curls between her thighs. His fingers found her slick warmth and he began to work his magic, teasing and stroking until Priscilla shuddered with release and a delicious warmth spread through her body.
    “That’s my girl,” he whispered.
    Languid, content for the moment, she sighed and tentatively reached out to touch him. The skin of his chest was warm and damp. He smiled at her. “I belong to you love. You may touch me as much as you wish. Wherever you wish. I am completely yours for the taking.”
    Curious but still shy, she flushed slightly as her fingertips continued her exploration stroking the hard curves of his muscles, the fine whir of dark hair around his nipple. He exhaled with pleasure. Emboldened, she caressed the taut muscles of his abdomen down to the nest of dark hair at the base of his erection. She took in a breath, her hand stilled.
    “It’s alright, love,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn’t bite.”
    This was definitely nothing like the statues in the museum. Instinctively she ran her fingertips up the shaft, curled her palm around him and slid it slowly down to his groin, feeling the tight smooth skin, the throbbing of the veins. He closed his eyes, groaned then propped up his leg allowing her greater access. Her fingers moved on to the heavy globes beneath his erection where the skin was darker, more roughly textured. She caressed them with her fingertips then cradled them in her hand as she bent down to touch the tip of his shaft with her tongue. He sucked in his breath sharply and she pulled away as if she had touched a hot stove.